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My big, but partial, list of pregnancy and baby musings

1. The Coming Home Outfit: Your baby does not need to be dressed in stiff formal wear for the journey from hospital to home. This seems to be a regional/cultural tradition and I readily admit I do not grasp why it exists.

Put yourself in a newborn’s booties: You are brand new. Your skin is tender and sensitive. You’ve been naked for 9 months, immersed in gorgeous, perfect warmth. The only texture you’ve felt? Smooth, soft, liquid. Suddenly, someone is jamming your body into a crisp powder blue sailor suit or an itchy lace-strewn dress and bonnet? Ouch! Ick! Mercy!

My philosophy: Dress baby in the simplest, softest clean cotton sleeper. It’s okay if it has ducks and junk. The baby won’t be lost in yards of fabric and big bows, and I PROMISE the pictures will still be adorable.

archiecominghome

This is Archie when he was dressed and ready to go home.

2. Nursery Decor: It’s fun, it’s cute, it’s harmless. With our first, I commissioned my mom to make a quilt, bumper, and crib skirt in the cutest pastels of 1997. Our little daughter’s little bedroom was a source of pride. Before she was born, I’d visit often and play with her stuff. I’d fold and refold, arrange and rearrange. It was a nest for my bay-bee.

But she didn’t sleep in her room until she was six months old. By then, I had removed the bumper, lowered the mattress, and ditched the quilt because of suffocation hazards. The modern nursery is simply a showcase for style and decorating prowess. I promise babies do not care if the crib sheet is rose or blush. If you have the money and time, go for the splashy nursery—but don’t be surprised or disappointed if it’s rarely used.

90% of unplanned co-sleepers out there have a nursery down the hall. A dusty nursery.

3. Pacifiers: Use silicone rather than rubber. It’s easier to tell when they are dirty, they smell better, and you don’t risk introducing an allergen into your baby’s system.

Also? They are not evil. Some babies simply need to suck and it’s okay to indulge that instinct. I never believed in nipple confusion because babies are smart. My kiddos managed to swap pacifier for me with ease from their first days of life. I don’t think it’s just them.

4. “If It Hurts, You’re Doing it Wrong:” This is the biggest of the bad nursing advice out there. Lactation consultants love to tell you if it hurts, you are doing it wrong. If it doesn’t hurt, you are doing it right. BUT THINK ABOUT IT. A strong little mouth is sucking with all its might on tender, thin skin for hours and hours and hours a day. It will hurt, at first. It’s okay to admit it hurts. You build up a tolerance, baby improves, you improve.

Maybe more women would stick with it longer if they didn’t feel like failures for experiencing very natural pain? To be told pain is a sign of being a nursing doofus is not helpful or encouraging.

This doesn’t mean you should ignore a wonky or unproductive latch. It just means it’s okay to be honest and realistic about the mechanics of pressure, chafing, and gnawing. Those things don’t collide without a bit of the ouchy sometimes. It doesn’t last forever.

5. Stretch Marks Can’t Be Prevented: Unless a cream dives into the very core of your DNA structure and rearranges the strands that control your skin’s elasticity, you are out of luck. Genes are destiny. Stretch marks occur in the deepest layers of skin.

You might be able to minimize the amount of stretch marks you get by not drinking a big bottle of sugary Sunny D every morning at work or gobbling a chili cheese dog every night. Cough. Rapid weight gain is the worst enemy of skin, but even a sensible, slow weight gain can mean looking like a wolf attacked you.

I was initiated into Team Wolf with our first. It came back for a few more swipes the second time around, but it has left me alone ever since.

6. Breast Size as Indication of Nursing Prowess: I worried about this with my first pregnancy, as I was not visited by that particular Good Fairy at birth. In fact, Flora, Fauna, Merriweather, and Dolly all fluttered past my cradle. Naturally, I wondered if my milk supply would reflect what wasn’t nestled in my shirt. But it didn’t matter.

Somehow, they pulled through and were able to feed seven hungry babies for varying lengths of time. I always root for the underdog. If you have underdogs, you can nurse too.

7. Graciously Accept All Offers of Casseroles and Help: Many first-time moms are reluctant to accept visitors in the name of having time and room to bond with the baby. It’s much easier to bond with a baby when you have a tuna casserole on board and a shower taken. Other people can hold your baby for 10 minutes.

I promise the baby won’t fall deeply in love with your neighbor while you are soaping up for the first time in 3 days. If you don’t believe me and think you will handle first-time parenthood with energy and grace, think of this photo. You are about to be scared straight:

leenewdaddy

I can’t believe it’s been almost 13 years. To be fair to my husband, I looked 1,000% worse. But I had the camera.

8. Get the Belly Cast, but Know Your Grandchildren Will Try to Sell it at a Garage Sale After You Die: I’ve seen some artistically impressive belly casts. The height of the craze was around my 4th pregnancy when it seemed all my fellow pregnant moms were offering up their bellies for plaster posterity. I didn’t get it and still don’t, mostly because I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

It might be kind of fun to pop up a big batch of popcorn for movie night and serve it in mommy’s special bowl.

9. If Your Hospital Bag Has Wheels, You are Taking Too Much: You need clothes to wear home, something soft and cotton for the baby to wear home, a blankie, socks, grooming stuff, a camera. Have someone bring the carseat later. That’s it. All of the above will fit in a backpack. A pillow from home is always nice to have, too.

You do not need a deck of cards, thank you notes, tennis balls, hair dryers, diapers, a big fluffy robe, good pajamas, a DVD player, books, magazines, hand-held games, your own undies, candles, or non-maternity clothes.

You will leave the hospital almost as rotund as you entered the hospital. You’ll be far more tired than you’ve ever been before in your life and you’ll be leaking. Make it easy on yourself by streamlining the stuff. Remember you’ll have to pack it all to take home, plus flowers, balloons, gifts, and hospital freebies.

10. Other Women’s Pregnancies Go By So Quickly. Yours Will Not: Sigh.

Let her eat cake

Almost too beautiful to eat.

cupcake

But I managed. I want cake.

Earlier in my pregnancy, I craved saltier foods and strange combinations. Remind me to tell you about the recent afternoon when I sliced sharp cheddar and dipped the rectangles in ranch dressing. It hit the spot.

No photo of that food experience. Sorry. You’ll have to use your imagination to conjure a vision of electric orange Wisconsin sharpness swirled in Hidden Valley’s very own creamy gift to the world. I want to move there, but I hear it rains a lot.

I craved cheddar cheese when I was pregnant with Aidan. For several weeks, my husband would bring a plate of cheese to me when he came to bed. I’d wake and nibble in the dark, mouselike. I was a very big mouse.

Still, I find myself wondering if cravings are real or all in my head. I saw gorgeous cupcakes and suddenly the baby and I NEEDED a cupcake or else. It felt like a real craving—Little jabs from the pit of my stomach, anxiousness, and the feeling I could taste it before I took the first bite.

When my husband brought the plate of cheese he sliced in our little kitchen, I felt cared for and loved. He wanted his wife and baby girl to be happy and if cheese did the trick? Let’s dull our knives. Women everywhere may hate me for saying this, but I think having the perfect food delivered to you by someone you love is an element of the craving. It’s a throwback, caveman idea but I’ll admit to it. I like when my hunter delivers. Primal grunt!

That doesn’t mean you don’t need the chili cheese dog with every fiber of your being. It’s simply more special when it’s delivered with a smile, a kiss for you and a kiss for the baby.

Vocal cords

I’m thinking about the howl we heard when I stood up in the ultrasound room and smoothed my shirt back into place.

It came from across the hall. My husband and I glanced at each other.

He opened the door and pushed Archie’s stroller into the bright hall. I held Beatrix’s hand. A woman wailed screaming sobs behind the closed door only feet away. We looked at each other again and we knew. Nobody groans like that in an obstetrician’s office unless.

We walked down the hall to the waiting room. I still had to see the doctor and go through the blue pen bureaucracy of pre-natal appointments. Weight, blood pressure, urine check—Things to note in my bloated chart. I was given orange glucose to guzzle before my next appointment. Beatrix went to the play area. I could barely think.

That woman.

I struggle in sharing this because it’s not really my story, except that we happened to be on the other side of a door. Our story is: We heard utter anguish but could not investigate or rush to help. Nothing there, move along, none of your business, forget about it, stop speculating, it’s not worth your time.

I wouldn’t know her if I saw her on the street. I wouldn’t know her speaking voice or her laugh.

Somewhere, there might be people who heard me from the other side of three different doors on three different awful days.

They do not know my speaking voice or my laugh.

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Smoosh died. I found him this morning before the rest of the family stirred. I was grateful I woke up before the kids and especially before Sam. He took it hard, like I knew he would. He gives his whole heart, holding nothing back.

He’s slowly learning that love is risky. We can fall fast and hard. We can raise a bright flag with a big heart and watch it flap in the wind, a proud banner of declaration that we love-sweet-love. Then, one day, it’s gone with a groan. The edges are tattered but as it’s written in that most difficult song to sing, our flag was still there.

Deciding to add to a family is to raise a flag. When we bought the fish for Sam, I had a flash doubt because of his experience with Juicebox. It was going to happen again, eventually. Statistically, boys outlive pet shop bettas. Were we just setting him up for another heartache?

As someone who has been deeply wounded by loss, I can readily see the appeal in protecting the heart. But I’ve also seen what can happen when we put it all out there and try again. Good things. Gooey kisses from children who would not be here if…

There are no guarantees, I must say. It’s like a legal disclosure that everyone knows but skims over.

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Something I’m lingering over and pondering:

I’m sharing a photo from Mr. Baby’s ultrasound. I can’t figure out how he wrangled himself into this configuration of anatomy. Here he is, with his leg and foot in his face as if he’s detecting whether the new shoes from Payless are just as cheap and airtight as the last pair.

footface8

It’s a simple little collision of timing and well-placed probe to see such a sight. It’s something our grandmothers never saw but maybe dreamed about.

I think that’s better than dreaming about something, but never seeing it.