It's important to be warm

Benjamin is one month old today. I’ve posted several of his cutest shots at joyian.net.

We went on a lovely Father’s Day outing to Presque Isle State Park but there are no photos, sadly. Despite having camera, macro lens, and the polarizing filter, the battery did not seem to be charged. We’ll simply have to go back. It was beautiful, and not too far away for a day’s adventure.

To fill in a few days between the end of my photos and the end of month one, Alexandra took some adorable shots at the Storm.

Happy first month, little one.

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Baby toenails are weird. Baby foots are delicious.

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As we walked out of the Quiet Storm today, the air smelled of just-right summer heat and diesel, a smell I immediately associate with funnel cakes. It’s the smell of waiting in line near a proper classic roller coaster; sweaty but not yet stinky people having a good time; noisy old cranks and gears on creaky wood; sweet, fatteningly delicious things and powdered sugar.

I caught myself wondering how long it will be before Benjamin is “As Tall As This Sign”. I remember each year being so anxious to see if I *finally* measured up for The Thunderbolt. Of course, I’ll have to see what he thinks of Kiddieland first, but I do hope he’ll be game for it. Some people want their children to grow up to be doctors, I just want him to enjoy thrill rides with his mum. Not gonna overthink what that means right now…

The Arts Festival is happening and I wish I was paying some level of attention to it. There are funnel cakes there, too. This brings another summer memory recall: the smell of the fountain, mixed with that particular city smell of hot concrete, recycled water spray, grime and a sticky but pleasant breeze, usually with music coming from either the nearby stage or someone’s radio or booth nearby.

They claim that smell is the most reptilian sense of the human brain. It’s so deep in our system wiring that we can’t consciously fathom the effect that any certain smell may trigger in us. I know that Benjamin knows who I am but it surely isn’t his vision that makes him recognize me. Sure he knows my sounds: my voice, my heartbeat pattern. That’s in his wiring from living in my body, but without saying a word, I feel his recognition. Babies function fundamentally from those deeply wired triggers, along with their being digestive tracts with noise-making abilities. I wonder what smells he will recall from this city he was born in. He probably won’t live here long enough to actually know what he’s recalling when he catches a whiff of thick, humid green underlaid with hot asphalt, so often punctuated with the sounds of road construction. Will he have that enveloping sense of belonging from the dense, tree-covered landscape, these soft old mountains under a hazy, white-blue sky that I get as the airplane tucks below the cloudline? I don’t know how long my hometown will be his, and I certainly can’t predict where he’ll call his hometown once he’s my age. I’m just pleased he could start out here, in this place that is intrinsically part of me.

Shout out to Susan for her smelly post that pushed my inspiration for this post.

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Benjamin had his twice-weekly weigh-in this morning and we’re all thrilled that he’s finally gained 2 ounces. We go back next week of course, but at least he’s not losing, and hopefully is about to hit a bit of a growth spurt. We might even get back to his birthweight…

In celebration, pictures!

The snoozy turtle at 9 days old.

Representin’ L’ville at 9 days old.
There are few things more amusing than a newborn in a hoodie, yo.

On the road again…
13 days old.

Filed by joy at 10:55 am under baby, visuals
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Yesterday, 6-6-6, was Benjamin’s original due date. Instead of being born, he went to the library. We took out the stroller for a first tour of the ‘hood. The Lawrenceville branch is a lovely old building, with its stacks set in a radiating array into the curved windowed wall of the main room. It’s small and lovely. It also has audio books, which is my latest attempt to deal with the boredom and general inability to multitask while nursing. Also, it’s easier than reading at 4am when my eyes aren’t willing to focus. First book is David Sedaris’s Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Demin. It’s much funnier than the Sears book, too.

One of the nice details of our adventure out into the world was that I wore jeans for the first time in months. Of course they were maternity jeans, but still JEANS! I didn’t know how much I’d miss them. It was a little too warm for them, but it was so triumphant to wear them at all that it didn’t matter. Besides, the snugness replaced the huge support belt the hospital gave me for helping heal the c-section scar. I felt well tucked in AND got to be in denim again. It really is about the simple pleasures.

Another happy note of the stroll around was passing by a couple of neighborhood people out on their stoop. The woman was talking to another mother pushing her baby in an umbrella stroller up the street. The stoop-dweller told the man in front of the stoop to move out of my way as I was coming down the sidewalk and he had his back to me. I thanked him as I passed, while the woman was clearly smiling at the tiny one in the comparatively huge stroller. She cooed at him, “So little!” and I answered gleefully, “He’s only two weeks old.” She responded, “Girrrl, you are walking pretty good for two weeks!” I laughed and called back “Well, you know, pain medicine…” She smacked her teeth, “I know that’s right!” Smiles all around.

Actually, I’m not taking anything anymore, but no one likes a show-off, especially in the mothering-olympics. I refuse to play that game, so I’d rather tell a good lie and make everyone feel better about the whole situation.

Benjamin is tricky. He does not like slings since he prefers to be able to arch his back and neck, so babywearing around the house becomes baby-carrying, which doesn’t leave me with more than one hand to do anything else with. I’m working on a solution, though for now, he really just wants to be held. He’s had a sniffle for a week, and hasn’t yet gained any weight. Our pediatrician isn’t giving us too much hassle, but is concerned. I was initially scared by a bright grass-green poopie diaper thinking all the worst for him, then had to just get over it. Babies are weird like that. Pediatrician thinks it’s a virus, which doesn’t make me feel any saner about any of it. It’s exhausting to be feeding him for hours and hours every day and he’s still 10% below birthweight. At least he’s not losing weight, but that’s of small comfort. Of course, he’s generally happy otherwise, which makes up for a lot, but not everything. I admit to being tired of it, mostly because I’m process-oriented and need to see some improvement on anything that I’m working so consistently toward. Yeah sure parenting is a long-haul thing, but babies should gain weight. Balance…breathe…sigh.

Of course, I know we’re lucky beyond words. He smiles, even does something close to a laugh. He’s not colicky or troublesome in any real way. It’s still WAY better than being pregnant since I can actually pass him to Ian for awhile to get a break. Benjamin runs what we’ve dubbed his “Search Algorithm” where he hunts every bit of skin for a nipple to suckle. Ian often ends up jokingly apologizing to him that he is searching in vain. He runs that same algorithm on me, and any bit of skin will do, as proven by a rather impressive tiny hickey he’s given me just under my collarbone. He’s clearly still working on his sense of direction. To accompany the algorithm, he makes little Mars Attacks noises, “eh, eh, eh, eh” to accompany the head bonking of the hunt. It’s really quite funny and almost, just a little bit, makes me want a video recorder. Still, those devices seem to me a pathway drug, making a recording of things that will never be watched (willingly) and take up space. I’m not sure I’m ready to be one of those parents. Yet.

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There are those that I want to mention, those that I need to remember.
• All my family and friends, and friends of friends, people I haven’t even shared more than an email with, who hearing my sad little tale and fears of this birth becoming little more than a medical event for which I’m to be present, all reached out and made sure I was going to get through it. During pregnancy, I felt so alone, even in crowds. The preparation for Ben’s arrival left me as frightened as I could’ve possibly been. The list is crazy long. It makes me a little weepy to think about it.
• Sheila, my yoga teacher, who in the week before assured me that a hospital birth could be beautiful and spiritual. Of course, she was right. She also called me the morning I was scheduled in just to say her thoughts were with me.
• Gretchen, my doula, who walked through it all with us, from the terrors to the acceptance, to the perfect baby at the finish/starting line.

The team that made me not hate hospitals:
• Liz, the nurse who gave me the ability to feed my baby as already mentioned.
• Julie, the lactation consultant who coached me and gave me the products I needed to heal.
• Priya, the resident who delivered Ben, who loved the photos we took of his Birth, and gave us the play by play based on them of what happened. She hugged me on the day we checked out of the hospital. She was there to see my entire process, from the version to checking on me daily, at the beginning and end of at least one of her shifts that was at least 24 hours long. She always spoke kindly and had a smile for me. The last day, she checked my incision as the other resident pulled the staples, with just a bit of pride. I liked seeing just that quiet glimmer of pride in a job well done.
• Dr. Golde, the head OB. He and I didn’t start off so well given my terror at the attempted version, but we came right. Once I was prepared to have this baby, we could see one another’s cock-eyed sense of humor. And I’d far rather have an odd doctor with a slightly off bedside manner than a doctor who was even slightly less professional about it all. By Wednesday, when he came to check on me in the morning, he happened to pop-in while I was in the bathroom. When I called out from the bathroom, he told me he’d come back around later by quipping “Well, I’ll go where I’m wanted then”. It was funny, though it doesn’t really sound it as I type.

There are several others whose names I don’t have:
• The other resident, Priya’s assistant I guess, who took out my staples, and also wanted a hug before we left.
• The other nurses, so numerous, who chatted with me, told me how perfect Ben is, and simply took good care of us all.
• The anesthesiologists, both of them. The primary one who talked me through the c-section, accepted my fears from before it began, and peeped over the blue fabric screen to tell me what was happening as they opened and closed me up. The second one, probably her superior, told me all that I might expect in the ways that a spinal feels, how bizarre it is, noting he’d never had one, but his sister had, and he’d administered so many that he could offer me the range of what I might feel. I can no longer exactly remember when he said it, though I think that it was when Kathy went off to bring Ian into the OR, the anesthesiologist told me he really appreciated my attitude about the whole situation, that I was clearly going to enjoy myself despite all the unpleasantness and fear. He liked that I kept smiling, which made me feel all the safer that he and his assistant had just put needles into my spine.

I don’t want to forget to remember each act of kindness given me. I know in time things fade, so I’ll keep them listed here.

Filed by joy at 12:49 am under baby
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