I attended a large Northeastern university for college, which boasted a magical place known as "M Street." At the time, the "M" is this two-block bar- and pizza-joint packed little slice of heaven stood for the first letter in its name. Now, I think it may have stood for "motherhood," as I received some of the best training I could ever ask for when it comes to taking care of my newborn son.
Huh? you say. Ah, yes. Allow me to explain.
Newborn babies aren't really all that different from drunken fraternity boys. I have good amount of experience with caring for the latter, and very little for the former, but my time on M Street trained me well for my current vocation. First, there's the "I know you don't feel like eating right now, but you have to, because I promise you that you'll thank me later" speech. I give that now almost as much as I did 15 (!) years ago.
Then, there's the look. With eyes sleepily half open, drool coming out of the corner of the goofy smile, and the head bobbing side to side, you can't help but giggle a little bit, especially when they profess their love to you.
And finally, there's the ultimate parallel: Don't throw up on me, DON'T throw up on me, DO NOT THROW UP ON ME!
Yeah, it didn't work then, either.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Burp the Raven
Nursing is the most full-time gig I've ever had.
Who knew that a newborn could need to eat so much, and so often? He's a very punctual dude, pretty much knowing that it's chowtime every 2.5 to 3 hours, right on the dot.
That's not so bad during the day, although it does require some location planning and boppy juggling (if you're not aware of what a boppy is, just wander through the baby section at Target and look for strangely shaped pillows with a wide array of slipcovers available).
At night, however, it gets tiring, and long. Especially at 3 a.m. I don't really mind it, especially once I'm out of that initial "What, again? Already?" haze. But it is funny what your mind does to keep itself occupied at that strange hour. The other night, I was halfway through our 3 a.m rendezvous, and took a brief break to burp my dear baby. As I was groggily sitting there, patting his little back, I suddenly heard Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" going through my mind. That's strange. Why is that, I wondered? Maybe because I was thinking about my in-laws, who happen to be huge Ravens fans. Huh. But then I realized: I was patting my little baby's back to the exact rhythm of the poem. As in "Burb the Raven nevermore."
There's nothing like literary lessons at 3 a.m. Next up, we're going to be tackling iambic pentameter.
Who knew that a newborn could need to eat so much, and so often? He's a very punctual dude, pretty much knowing that it's chowtime every 2.5 to 3 hours, right on the dot.
That's not so bad during the day, although it does require some location planning and boppy juggling (if you're not aware of what a boppy is, just wander through the baby section at Target and look for strangely shaped pillows with a wide array of slipcovers available).
At night, however, it gets tiring, and long. Especially at 3 a.m. I don't really mind it, especially once I'm out of that initial "What, again? Already?" haze. But it is funny what your mind does to keep itself occupied at that strange hour. The other night, I was halfway through our 3 a.m rendezvous, and took a brief break to burp my dear baby. As I was groggily sitting there, patting his little back, I suddenly heard Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" going through my mind. That's strange. Why is that, I wondered? Maybe because I was thinking about my in-laws, who happen to be huge Ravens fans. Huh. But then I realized: I was patting my little baby's back to the exact rhythm of the poem. As in "Burb the Raven nevermore."
There's nothing like literary lessons at 3 a.m. Next up, we're going to be tackling iambic pentameter.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Prince Charming changes a mean diaper
We've been married for almost seven years now, and I still never cease to be amazed by my husband. These last few days have driven that amazement up exponentially.
After being sent to bed for much-needed, but much-fought-against nap, I groggily came to, only to walk out and discover a candlelit dinner for two, actually, now three, waiting for me. Not just a candlelit dinner, mind you, but one with a linen tablecloth, a background serenade by Frank, cheese plate, salad, reheated but still just as tasty lasagna, and Key Lime Pie, all served on our good Waterford china and crystal, which he had to dig out of the basement to use. With bouncy seat parked on the other end of the table, I marveled over the candlelight at this guy who loves me almost as much as he loves he new son, and wondered how I got so lucky. We drank, we laughed, we even danced (much to the amusement of our neighbors in the post-college group house next door to be sure). I'm so very blessed to have this man in my life, and my baby is so blessed to have such a fantastic father. I can't wait to watch them grow together. I love them both so much.
Who knew Prince Charming could change such a mean diaper?
After being sent to bed for much-needed, but much-fought-against nap, I groggily came to, only to walk out and discover a candlelit dinner for two, actually, now three, waiting for me. Not just a candlelit dinner, mind you, but one with a linen tablecloth, a background serenade by Frank, cheese plate, salad, reheated but still just as tasty lasagna, and Key Lime Pie, all served on our good Waterford china and crystal, which he had to dig out of the basement to use. With bouncy seat parked on the other end of the table, I marveled over the candlelight at this guy who loves me almost as much as he loves he new son, and wondered how I got so lucky. We drank, we laughed, we even danced (much to the amusement of our neighbors in the post-college group house next door to be sure). I'm so very blessed to have this man in my life, and my baby is so blessed to have such a fantastic father. I can't wait to watch them grow together. I love them both so much.
Who knew Prince Charming could change such a mean diaper?
Monday, August 20, 2007
Is nothing sacred?
Seriously, now, it's bad enough that women have to try to live up to the images of models all over TV and magazines normally (which, by the way, have you seen those new Old Navy jeans adds for their three new cuts? The ones that I swear are spray painted on? Didn't The Gap learn this lesson with the whole "skinny pants" debacle of last year?).
Anyway, I digress...
As I sit here, one day past my due date, and feeling huge, puffy and otherwise unattractive, I naturally turn to that household crack known as daytime TV. Which is fine, especially when I come across Discovery Health's birth shows. OK, I think, some training and preparation for the kid's big arrival. Great.
But then what comes on next? A show called "Runway Moms." I look up from my frantic-thank-you-note-writing/e-mail-announcement-address-gathering/last-minute-list-making activities to check it out, thinking I'm about to learn about what all those wacky supermodels do (typo note here: I just wrote "due" instead of "do" - can't imagine what I've been thinking about... :)) when they switch from strutting runways to changing diapers. Should be amusing.
Um, no. It's a show about maternity models. As in, normally beautiful, skinny women who also happen to be beautiful, skinny pregnant women. As in, lots and lots of images of those lean, glowing, radiant women with the perfect little beach ball that you're sure you're going to look like when you're pregnant someday. That, when you're huge and bloated and feeling like the Michelin Man that you later convince yourself CANNOT TRULY EXIST IN NATURE. Sure, occasionally you spot one or two who come close to looking like that in the store, shopping in the "extra small" section of the maternity area, to whom any pregnant woman can tell you she silently sends mental daggars at as she sifts through the sea of mumu's that she's looking in (they don't come in XS, by the way). But really, those models are all doctored on the page, right?
No, they're not. Here's TV evidence of that fact.
Like I really need this right now.
P.S. And, oh, yeah, the model being featured succeeded in a total natural childbirth. For the love of everything holy...
Anyway, I digress...
As I sit here, one day past my due date, and feeling huge, puffy and otherwise unattractive, I naturally turn to that household crack known as daytime TV. Which is fine, especially when I come across Discovery Health's birth shows. OK, I think, some training and preparation for the kid's big arrival. Great.
But then what comes on next? A show called "Runway Moms." I look up from my frantic-thank-you-note-writing/e-mail-announcement-address-gathering/last-minute-list-making activities to check it out, thinking I'm about to learn about what all those wacky supermodels do (typo note here: I just wrote "due" instead of "do" - can't imagine what I've been thinking about... :)) when they switch from strutting runways to changing diapers. Should be amusing.
Um, no. It's a show about maternity models. As in, normally beautiful, skinny women who also happen to be beautiful, skinny pregnant women. As in, lots and lots of images of those lean, glowing, radiant women with the perfect little beach ball that you're sure you're going to look like when you're pregnant someday. That, when you're huge and bloated and feeling like the Michelin Man that you later convince yourself CANNOT TRULY EXIST IN NATURE. Sure, occasionally you spot one or two who come close to looking like that in the store, shopping in the "extra small" section of the maternity area, to whom any pregnant woman can tell you she silently sends mental daggars at as she sifts through the sea of mumu's that she's looking in (they don't come in XS, by the way). But really, those models are all doctored on the page, right?
No, they're not. Here's TV evidence of that fact.
Like I really need this right now.
P.S. And, oh, yeah, the model being featured succeeded in a total natural childbirth. For the love of everything holy...
Thursday, August 16, 2007
And so we begin
Maternity leave. Day One.
My belly is huge. I'm sitting on the couch in my little house. And I have no idea whatsoever what to do with myself.
My due date is four days away, this Sunday. I had originally planned to work right up until my water broke, both to stash some extra funds as well as to keep my mind sharp and working. And to avoid the uncertainty that I'm feeling right now.
I haven't not worked in 15 years or so. I'm not very good at being on vacation, especially a quasi-permanent one before a massively life-changing event. I'm not so good with change.
Part of taking these few extra days off was with the great intention of doing all those projects I always say I never have time to do. Organize all our finances. Clean the house. Finish the thank you notes. Learn to how to build a Web site. Figure out my next career goals. You know, nothing major. Just a few little things here and there.
But I'm facing the irony that with unlimited options in front of me, I'm afraid of beginning. I have no idea what to do first.
So, I figured I should at least write. Hey, that's what I do for a living. Maybe if I jot this all down, I'll start to figure out what this all means to me, and sort out some of these strange feelings. Or maybe help someone else to do the same thing.
And shower. Yes, that's probably a good first step, considering it's 1:30 in the afternoon. Yup. A shower's a good place to start.
No baby yet...
My belly is huge. I'm sitting on the couch in my little house. And I have no idea whatsoever what to do with myself.
My due date is four days away, this Sunday. I had originally planned to work right up until my water broke, both to stash some extra funds as well as to keep my mind sharp and working. And to avoid the uncertainty that I'm feeling right now.
I haven't not worked in 15 years or so. I'm not very good at being on vacation, especially a quasi-permanent one before a massively life-changing event. I'm not so good with change.
Part of taking these few extra days off was with the great intention of doing all those projects I always say I never have time to do. Organize all our finances. Clean the house. Finish the thank you notes. Learn to how to build a Web site. Figure out my next career goals. You know, nothing major. Just a few little things here and there.
But I'm facing the irony that with unlimited options in front of me, I'm afraid of beginning. I have no idea what to do first.
So, I figured I should at least write. Hey, that's what I do for a living. Maybe if I jot this all down, I'll start to figure out what this all means to me, and sort out some of these strange feelings. Or maybe help someone else to do the same thing.
And shower. Yes, that's probably a good first step, considering it's 1:30 in the afternoon. Yup. A shower's a good place to start.
No baby yet...
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