from a few days ago, when I wasn’t feeling well and he was my nurse
In my heart, I’ve always been a New Yorker. It’s been over a decade since I lived there, yet every year around this time I get really nostalgic for life in that magnificent city, and I miiiight have poked around Craigslist for apartments (ha!) in the midst of a “what if” moment last night. MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL, UNIVERSE.
But that is not what this post is about.
credit to babe baker for this gorgeous shot
Early Friday morning, Emet and Jade left with their dad for the annual Miller Family camping retreat, an event which very clearly marks the end of this beautiful season. They’ll return late tonight, with just one day to spare before the new school year begins, our life once again governed by alarm clocks and lunch boxes.
I like to reorganize their room while they’re away, to tidy their drawers and clear their space of any clutter, in anticipation of the chaos these next few weeks are sure to bring. Of course, all I’ve managed to do up to this point is make a much bigger mess than they ever could! At the moment, however, I’m avoiding doing anything about it at all, since both my mister and my baby are sleeping and I can’t remember the last time I was able to quietly sit and sip an entire cup of coffee with nothing but my thoughts and the ceiling fan buzzing about.
I have mixed feelings about you, September.
We watched the sun set over the ocean last night, and as the last of the light dipped into the sea, it occurred to me that while the freedom of summer break has come to an end, our adventures do not have to suffer the same fate. Sure, we spent more time in our house than anywhere else these past several months, and maybe we didn’t have as many barbecues or sleepovers as we could have, but we do happen to reside in one of the premiere vacation destinations in the world, and I fully intend on stretching out this summer by punctuating the rest of the year with twice monthly beach days and at least a dozen exploring expeditions (as per my goals for this year, ahem) because why live in San Diego if we aren’t going to live in San Diego?
With that, I wish you a very happy and relaxing Labor Day. I’ll be making a slow tomato sauce while I finish sorting through the last of the big kids’ things, all the while pretending that Fall isn’t just around the corner. Summer Forever!
favorite candid shot from a lunch date with my handsome fiancé a while back
Tomorrow I will celebrate another birthday, and since I always seem to wax nostalgic about these sorts of things, I offer this here assortment of sentiments in honor of my thirtyfirst year.
Oh, 31. You were good to me, but you also kind of kicked my ass. I spent the entirety of these past twelve months not feeling exactly like myself, which is odd. And after all that’s happened, I’m not quite sure what myself is supposed to feel like. Between pregnancy and ongoing postpartum issues, I’ve gotten a little lost in the shuffle of things. But instead of freaking out about this minor identity crisis, I see it as an opportunity to grow, which is how I know I’m not just getting older, but wiser, too. Age is a blessing, thank you very much, and I think I’m starting to get the hang of this whole woman-in-her-thirties thing.
I accomplished a few personal goals that I’d been working toward for what seemed like forever, all three of which were finally ticked off my life’s to-do list on three consecutive days, just like that, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little bit more like a grown-up. Also, this coming September marks the longest tenure I’ve had as a teacher at any one school, and even though my role has shifted a bit – moving from one subject to another – I’m more comfortable and confident in my career than ever. Working in the Waldorf movement inspires every other part of my life, and I’m very lucky to be able to do what I do.
To be brutally honest, nothing has aged me more in all my years than the delivery of one Roux Huckleberry Baker and the subsequent recovery therefrom. I woke up from emergency anesthesia to a body I didn’t recognize, one I’m still learning to claim as mine. I mean, even my broken foot hasn’t fully healed! In short, thirtyone was not kind to my physical self. But if there is one thing I know about bodies, it’s that you get out of a body what you put into a body, and I’m carrying that tidbit very close to my heart as I move into this next year.
Speaking of my heart, thirtyone was a mighty good year for love. The best year. That mister of mine, he’s full of surprises, which is precisely what made his marriage proposal so special. I had absolutely no idea! Seeing a sparkly ring on my finger every day still takes my breath away, I simply could not be any more over the moon madly in love with the man I’m going to marry. He’s one of a kind, and he’s a damn good father to boot. To all three of my kids, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. So, yeah. Our engagement is clearly the highlight of what was, quite simply, a furious and fabulous year of my life.
Any year that brings me a baby is going to be special, that goes without saying. And this baby, well, he’s all kinds of special. His wellbeing has occupied a significant part of my day to day, almost at the expense of my own, and in taking stock of things, it’s clear to me the ways in which I can afford to expand as a person. And if clarity isn’t a sign of maturity, then I give up!
Seriously though, I’m starting to feel like an adult and I like it. Because let’s be honest here, I couldn’t name one song on the radio if you paid me.
image via
I have no fewer than six essays in various stages of completion cluttering my drafts folder, in case you were wondering. I haven’t had a lot of time to finish things lately, and not just silly things like blog posts. My to-do list is long, and although I’m getting through it much more slowly than I’d like, I have managed to do a pretty commendable job of fattening up a certain tiny guy. I thought about it the other day, and I literally spend between 4-6 hours a day nursing him, which doesn’t exactly leave time for much else, although I did manage to tackle all the laundry, a personal victory.
June really crept up on me, which is fine by me seeing as it’s one of my favorites. I love me a good summer solstice. Also, there are just three school days left before summer vacation officially begins, and thank goodness because I’m pretty sure we’re all already on break. I’m really really looking forward to lots of little adventures with all three of my kiddos — I plan on taking full advantage of the fact that we live in San Diego, one of the loveliest cities on planet Earth, which is finally starting to feel like home.
I started this blog back up last year around this time, well before I knew I was pregnant, when I was just starting to feel like myself again after a couple of really turbulent years, including that one in Oregon that really unsettled me to the core. One year later, and I’ve got a new baby, we live in a lovely new-to-us home, and we’re more settled as a family than we’ve ever been, Jesse included. In other words, a lot has happened over the last twelve months, and somehow I’ve managed to chronicle bits and pieces of it here. And only one recipe! Shame on me, is all I have to say about that, but the rest of it is pretty spot on and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m rather proud of what I’ve published.
This next year is sure to bring lots more exciting things to write about, including wedding shenanigans. I apologize in advance for the many posts to come about all things related to our totally rad future nuptials, but there are just too many thoughts and they have to go somewhere! I also hope to incorporate more recipes and even a few craft projects into the rotation because, let’s face it, those things are helpful! I’ve learned too many things from the internet not to give back at least a little.
Thank you for reading this silly ol’ blog of mine. I really do pour my heart into the things I write, and having you along for the journey is nice company. Your comments and messages are so kind and thoughtful, I appreciate each and every one and feel pretty lucky to have such a gracious audience.
Seriously, though. My precious firstborn is one month away from turning eleven years old. His tenth birthday was a day I’ll never forget, as it was the very last day of my life as a mother of two. Discovering that a new baby would be joining our family the following day, and all that has happened since, has been wild and wonderful. I can’t even begin to imagine what lies in store for us this coming year. I’m sure there will be plenty of good stories to tell.
holding my huckleberry for the first time, 36 hours after he was born
The thing I can’t wrap my head around is that some women actually choose to have their babies delivered by C-section. For me, that was never even a consideration. I skipped over all the chapters – even in Spiritual Midwifery there are chapters – pertaining to hospital deliveries, and almost especially I did not read about surgical deliveries and or recovery therefrom. Why would I? I was giving birth at home.
Up until a few hours before my baby was born, I had been exclusively cared for by midwives during the course of my pregnancy, with the exception of one initial prenatal visit with my beloved OB in Los Angeles. And this being my first non-obstetrical pregnancy and therefore my first experience as a patient of midwifery, I had little reference by way of either expectation or practice. So I went with it, and since everything seemed fine, I didn’t ask too many questions.
To be honest, I really loved, and still do, the idea of compassionate birthing. Being a person of strong physical constitution, and also one that vehemently believes in the natural abilities of the body, it was very easy for me to accept the idea that biology know best, especially in the case of mothers growing babies. Plus, I’d already had two relatively healthy pregnancies and did not expect for this one to be any different.
In many ways, this pregnancy was similar to my others in that I was blindingly nauseated for months on end. But it stood out to me mostly because I was so aware of, and so grateful for, being pregnant. In spite of how awful I felt all of the time, I loved every second of carrying a little baby in my belly. And I most certainly was not ready for it to be over, and so suddenly.
It’s been eight weeks since my tiny guy was born the only way he was able to be, through emergency surgery. I walked into a hospital with a question, and did not leave until five days later, after what was easily the most emotionally intense experience of my entire life. I had absolutely no intention of giving birth within the walls of a hospital, and yet without a hospital and a highly skilled team of doctors and nurses, my baby would not be alive. In a matter of minutes, I faced one of my biggest fears without even the slightest bit of advanced preparation. And little by little, I’m getting through it.
At my six week check-up, my doctor (I sort of adopted the physician that helped me through my labor, more on that later) informed me of a condition I developed during pregnancy that is the primary cause of stillbirths. There are a variety of reasons as to why this particular condition can arise, including the baby compressing his own umbilical cord for a period of time, and both the baby and I will have tests over the next several months to rule out any serious complications.
The good news is that, for the most part, we are both doing really well. That baby of mine is fattening up rather nicely, and all thanks to my boobs, which is quite an accomplishment when it comes to premature infants. He’s starting to coo, and I’ve spotted a few smiles peeking around the corners of his sweet little mouth.
We are both, however, still rather sensitive. The baby, well. The baby wants to be held. Which makes perfect sense given the shocking and most traumatic way in which he entered the world, but which also means I don’t get much else done other than nursing and cuddling a baby. Also, sleep. We have not yet established our rhythm, meaning I’m pretty sure we’re both totally exhausted.
As for me? I can’t touch my scar without crying, and from a conflicted place of deep sadness and profound gratitude. It is not a pretty wound; it very clearly illustrates the urgency of the situation. I experience consistent, throbbing pain throughout my lower abdomen, which I’m told can last for an entire year. I’ve yet to wear anything with a waistband. And I’m constantly leaking breastmilk.
In reality, I still haven’t completely processed what happened the night I delivered a baby over a month early, while strapped to a gurney, completely knocked out from general anesthesia, and in front of at least a dozen people I had never met. I’m not sure I ever will. The truth is, I’ve learned a lot more about myself from this than I would have from a home birth, including my ability to handle devastation with grace. I discovered strength I didn’t even think I had, and I felt loved and cared for completely. As the days pass, I still feel those things. But they’re joined with feelings of grief as I mourn the loss of the birth I wanted.
Ultimately, I did not get pregnant so that I could have a home birth. I got pregnant so that I could have a healthy baby, and that is exactly what I have. An extremely cute one, to boot. And as much as I’ve yet to recover from the circumstances of his birth, I’d do it all again this moment just to bring him into the world. Because truly, he is a miracle.
“a portrait of my children, all three of them”
Well, it’s been a busy few weeks over here. With everything that has happened recently – a nearly ten day hospital stay, a new baby, a handsome fiancé, and not a lot of sleep – my personal projects have fallen a bit by the wayside. I had the most noble intentions when it came to this portrait series, and it seems that at this point, I’ll just have to take what I can get and work with it as best I can. Which, not for nothing, seems to be a current theme in my life.
Emet has wanted a baby brother for as long as I can remember, and seeing how much he loves and cares for the newest member of our family is absolutely priceless. He takes his role as the oldest very seriously. Whether he’s reading to his sister, or fawning over our tiny guy, the love he has for his younger siblings is unsurpassed. Jade is over the moon excited about having a baby in the house, being the little mama that she is. The days since bringing our bundle home from the hospital have been full of so much love and so many tender moments, my heart can barely contain it all.
Did I mention that I’m not sleeping? I’m not sleeping. At most, I’ve gotten three consecutive hours since the baby was born. Whether I’m being woken by soft newborn cries, or the sharp sting of too much milk in my boobs (sorry, but it’s true), one way or another sleep escapes me entirely. Surprisingly, I haven’t lost my mind completely. I have somehow managed to get the big kids fed and off to school in the mornings, and to keep our house relatively tidy. Ok, the mister gets most of the credit for keeping the house tidy, so I guess what I mean to say is that I’ve managed to not destroy our house, which is kind of the same thing, right?
We’re beginning to find our rhythm, and I’m slowly climbing out from under the weight of all these thoughts I have swimming around in my head. I’ll be honest, it’s hard to spend so many months planning and visualizing one kind of experience only to have the exact opposite come to pass. And I’m a sentimental gal, meaning it’s far too easy for me to be swallowed whole by what ifs and whys.
Tonight was supposed to be our last date. We’d planned on seeing The Grand Budapest Hotel, and enjoying one last fancy meal together. The chances of us actually making it to the theatre to catch this film are slim, let alone getting out for a grown-ups only dinner anytime soon. We did, however, steal away to a favorite local spot for lunch today, and the baby slept through the whole meal. It sure felt like a date. A date chaperoned by the smallest, sweetest person I’ve ever met.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though I was caught completely off guard, and rather unexpectedly, I’m finding my way back. And I’m a better, stronger person for it.
image via
There is a very fine line between life and death, one that isn’t always easy to recognize. What is easy, though, is taking for granted the gift of intuition. On February 16, I trusted my instincts over my reasoning and have been permanently altered as a person – and as a parent – as a result.
I can’t say exactly how I knew, only that I did.
The past two weeks have been incredibly intense, and I’m only barely beginning to be able to wrap my mind around the magnitude of it all. It is my hope that as I begin to distill this experience into words, that I will be able to have a better understanding of what I went through, and why.
When February began, I had a sense that it was going to be a busy month, but for very different reasons than what it turned out to be. And here we are, the first day of March, and it seems so surreal that I don’t still have a baby in my belly or a home birth to look forward to. Instead, I have a tiny guy to nuzzle and a sparkly ring on my finger, two of the greatest gifts this life has ever given me.
What surprises me the most about this whole thing is that I’m not sad, really, only nostalgic. Everything happened so suddenly, and I wasn’t exactly prepared. Thankfully, with the love and support of my precious family and dearest friends, I have managed to survive what is easily the most tragic and triumphant time of my life.
I have no inclination as to what this month shall bring, but I’m thinking it’s going to be a good one. And if I’ve learned anything at all from all of this, it’s that my gut feelings are usually spot on.
In that case, I say hello to you, March! Show me what you got.
Maternity Leave, how I love you so!
After getting the kids off to school this morning, I climbed back into bed and stayed there until almost 11 AM. That is what I’m talking about! Also, I haven’t stopped eating since I last saw my midwives, and I’m fairly certain the baby and I have both made fighting weight. I’ve not quite reached maximum discomfort yet, though, so I know there’s still room to grow. Which of course is crazy, because look at that enormous belly!
The rest of this week will be spent completing a long list of home projects, things like hanging curtains and rearranging our cabinet space, as well as the first few loads of tiny clothes and diapers. I will be cloth diapering this baby, a first for me, and am pretty excited about these soft little newborn nappies that I’ve started to collect.
These are the days. Being relieved of my responsibilities at school allows me to fully immerse myself in my family during this precious time, and I’m so grateful to be able to have these last few weeks together as we continue to prepare our home and our hearts for the highly anticipated arrival of our new little person.
I still can’t believe that we’re having a baby next month!
Monday morning, I saw Dr. Fan, a wise and wonderful healer who has been graciously tending to my broken foot. A former surgeon, and a master of Chinese medicine, he finally said to me that in order for my foot to heal more quickly, I need to stay off of it completely. I took the rest of the day and spent it in bed and you know what? By that night, the swelling near my injury decreased for the first time in nearly four weeks.
And then I went to school the next day.
By the time I got home that evening, my foot was back to its swollen state, and I was in pain. I was still determined to finish my last week and a half, though.
That is, until I saw my midwives yesterday. Turns out, my belly measures four weeks smaller than it should, which is not terribly concerning, because I’ve measured small during my whole pregnancy. However, I haven’t grown hardly at all since my last visit two weeks ago, and my weight gain is not significant, having put on a mere three pounds since November. They want me off of my feet until they see me again, meaning that my leave is starting a full week earlier than expected.
In other words, today is my last day of work. We’ve reached the home stretch. I keep saying how quickly this pregnancy has gone because it’s true! I can’t believe we’re already here: Maternity Leave.
We’ve managed to collect almost all of the essentials needed for birth and baby, including two very important bottles of Birth Day Champagne. One of my best friends in the whole world is staying with us for the weekend, and I’ve got nine hours left to spend with my sweet students and colleagues before I turn my focus entirely upon my family.
The next six weeks are gonna be so good.
We built the baby’s cradle tonight. We are getting ready, folks!
I had a follow up appointment for my foot and the good news is that I’m healing, but not very quickly, because my body is growing things other than my bones. So relax, says the good doctor. And stay off my feet, which is pretty much the hardest thing for me to do. Hello, swollen ankles.
Things have come together rather quickly over the last week, meaning that we went from not having anything for the baby to having a place for our tiny one to sleep. And a car seat! There are baby socks, and they are so small. I look at Emet’s sock, which happens to be the same size at Babe’s, and it’s just crazy how fast it all goes. Really.
There is still quite a lot left to do before this baby arrives, and not that much pregnancy left to do it. This darn foot of mine is not helping, but it is forcing me to go slower, which in itself is a good thing? At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I’ve been waiting for months to read the first book Ina May Gaskin ever wrote, intentionally saving it for this last stretch before the home birth….
I can’t believe we’re less than 50 days away from having a baby right here in our house.