That's a neat party trick.

A conversation preceded by me asking El Hub to refill my water for the eighty bajillionth time since I got pregnant last year:

Me: I just realized that instead of turning water into wine, I turn water into milk.
El Hub: Yeah, but that's a lot less fun at parties.
Me: It involves boobies, that makes it MORE fun.

Fun times. A more genuine post on the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding coming soon.

Scariest day of my life.

George is fine. That's just a good way to start this story.

So yesterday I went to go get the mail. That's another way to start this story. I wish that was the beginning of a terribly boring story, but boring stories don't end with stitches and black eyes and emergency room visits and fearing for your baby's life. Whoops! Belated spoiler alert!

I was carrying George in a sling as I was walking back to the house. I tripped over the curb - who the hell trips? - and discovered that as you fall to the ground while holding your six week old baby, you have a frightening amount of time to think. And get scared. And do your best to break your fall with your free hand, the hand in front of the sling, and your face.

Oh my god. I really cannot even tell you how awful it was. There was blood everywhere, and my glasses were broken so I could barely see a thing. George was crying, and I could not even see well enough to tell if he was okay. I started screaming for help. And no one came.

With no idea where my cellphone was and no way to see well enough to look for it, I ran into our house, hoping that by setting off the alarm that help would be sent. Then I went to the neighbor's house to ask to use their phone so I could call 911, have them check the baby, and call my husband.

Our neighbor's poor kid opened the door. Facial wounds bleed a lot, so I don't even want to think about the mess that kid had to look at. I asked him if his parents were home, trying not to hyperventilate. His sweet mother, who barely speaks English, came to the door. It all gets blurry after that. She took George from my shaking arms, looked him over as I frantically asked if he was okay, and she pronounced him fine. Her husband handed me a Blackberry I didn't know how to operate. Their son ended up dialing 911 for me. After that, I asked them to come to my house with me so I could look for my phone and insurance cards.

The ambulance arrived quickly, and there were so many paramedics. Maybe there were two ambulances? In the end, we only used one. Half of the paramedics attended George, and the other half tried to attend to me, but I insisted they all check the baby before even looking at me. George was crying since it was time to eat, he was alert and looking around, and absolutely everyone assured me they were not worried about him in the slightest.

They looked at my hands and my wrist, which was swelling pretty nicely by that point. They looked at the cuts on my face and tried to assess if I had broken my cheek. When they asked what hospital I wanted to go to, I said Arnold Palmer for Children. I needed more people to tell me George was okay.

Poor Rob. I called him a couple of times before he answered. Who on earth wants to receive a call that begins, "They say the baby is fine, but I might not be." He has an amazing fortitude for staying calm and seemed to take it all in stride. He left work to meet us at the hospital.

The hospital was more of the same - people looking at George and pronouncing him fine. I kept crying. Accident is such a terrible term - it's not a magical word that mysteriously alleviates all guilt. I still feel terrible. George has a little scrape on his head, maybe 1/10th the size of my pinky nail - I would need a macro lens to even photograph it. I hate that scrape.

His onesie was covered in my blood. When we finally got home, I tossed it on the floor of his bedroom. It's still there. I don't know what to do with it, so I'm just leaving it there.

I am fine. After lots of poking and prodding and stitches and x-rays, nothing was discovered to be fractured. I was worried about my hands and wrist because I so badly wanted to be able to do everything I can to take care of the baby. Today I'm working on getting back in the saddle - we drove to my six-week postpartum visit, and I will walk to the mailbox with him later today.

When we were at the hospital, I told Rob I do not want to have anymore kids. This is terrible, to have your heart live outside of your body.

Wow, what a negative story so far, huh? Here's the upside: I am so grateful. I am grateful it wasn't worse. I am grateful my baby was fine and most concerned about his feeding time being messed with. I am grateful he was in a sling so my hands were somewhat free to break our fall (along with my face). I am grateful for Rob and his sense of humor. I'm grateful for my own mother's strength, who had to start her day by putting down her cat and end it by seeing her daughter and grandson in the ER. I am grateful I am able to force myself to get out today, because the alternative of hiding from the world would not do any of us any good.

Yesterday really sucked, guys. Today is better.

Rest in peace, Charlie.

Charlie was put to sleep this morning.

Charlie is my mother's cat, and he has been since I was 13 years old. He had been sick for almost two years now, and the vets never figured out what was ailing him. I'll spare you the details, but every few weeks, he would go through a bout of suffering. The episodes had been coming more frequently lately, and he had lost even more weight. My mother said he couldn't even walk last night, and the vet had trouble getting the needle in his vein because he was so dehydrated.

Charlie was one of the most awesome cats I have ever known. He always had a voracious appetite, and he even sat at the table with us one Christmas morning because he was so interested in our food. I told my mom that I am sure he is at an endless cat food buffet right now.

Charlie was one of the prettiest cats I have ever known. A Maine Coon, which probably also attributes to the friendliness. I wish I had taken more photos of him.

Charlie was hands down the friendliest cat I have ever know. He was so freaking friendly, you would not believe he was a cat. Charlie liked to hang out on the sidewalk in front of the house, and when strangers would walk by, he would flop on his back to expose his belly, demanding petting. As friendly as he was, he was most definitely my mother's cat. She used to joke that Charlie only liked her because she fed him, but the truth is, he just loved being with her. My mom knew that when Charlie couldn't even purr when he was with her that it was his time.

Love you, Charlie. We will miss you.

One month.

Thank you Young House Love! I adore saving money and not having to keep track of onesie stickers for the next year.

Also, shh, but he was actually one month and two days old in this photo. It took Mommy a couple of days to get her act together. Worth it!

Motherhood so far.

We are three weeks and two days in.

Sleep that lasts more than an hour and a half is a luxury.

I've worn my crazy curly hair in a braid every day since coming home from the hospital.

There are two robes I rotate between so one is in the wash and the other is on me.

We only leave the house for baby-related activities.

George's fussy times are still a mystery, but we are getting better at soothing him.

Breastfeeding is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

I am more appreciative of my own parents than ever before.

I am more in love with El Hub than ever before.

And it is taking me several hours to write this post.

Worth it.




In the days before the big due date, I kept thinking, "I can't wait to meet this kid." Now I am realizing that I will be meeting him in bits and pieces for the rest of our lives. Some of the things that bring me the greatest joy now are actually a preview of the future - his little gas smiles, when he accidentally finds my finger and grips it with his little hand, moments like those. Someday, his smiles will be real smiles, and his cuddles will be born from affection. I am doing my best to enjoy the now, but the future looks pretty awesome too.

Nothing like becoming a mom to make you appreciate yours.

How is my baby two and a half weeks old now? I honestly do not know how I would have gotten through this time with Rob and Mom's monumental help. Recovering from delivery has not been a picnic, and I am convinced it is the universe's joke that we have to be in so much pain as we deal with the steep learning curve of taking care of a high-maintenance newborn (Sorry George! But it's true. Man, you sure know how to dirty a diaper right after we just changed it ten minutes ago). Add to that the fact that breastfeeding is not going well (four lactation consultations, one oral motor specialist, low milk supply, herbs and prescription medications, pumping, supplementing with bottles, people who go "Just switch to formula!" OH MY LORD this kid better be getting all those immunity benefits) and I am one tired new mama.

Which makes me appreciate my own mom that much more. Rob went back to work Monday and his thoughts of going back part-time the first few days did not pan out, so I am exceedingly grateful my mom was able to be with me during the day most of this week. She has enough on her own plate with her crazy busy job and looking after my dad, but she made the time to help me out this week. My mom held George when I needed rest, gave him the bottles that made me want to break down into tears, ran errands for us, prepared wonderful food, and helped keep the laundry and other household messes from exploding. Even more than that, she has been my cheerleader and assured me I am doing my best at the times when I needed to hear it the most. Who else but a mother, right?

So thank you, Mom. At a time when I am figuring out what kind of mother I want to be, I hope I can be as supportive of George as you have been to me my whole life.

Hi George.

Hey hey baby George!



Born March 2, 2011
March 2, 2011
9:47 p.m.












It's been a wild eleven days. El Hub has been Super Daddy, and I am trying to get the hang of the breastfeeding thing (which involves lactation consultants, herbs, and googling "breastfeeding is hard" and "breastfeeding sucks" at 1 a.m. And 3 a.m. And 5 a.m.).

Cue a sleep-deprived rant from the mommy of an 11-day-old: I can't believe I'm writing this post. But the baby will be up soon, so no point in trying to nap when it takes me longer to fall asleep than it will take for him to wake up! Edit: Well, he actually woke up as I was typing that, so now I am back with a baby napping on my chest. Later, peeps.