Good Morning Sunshine.

This morning has been hard. The more attention I give Ethan, the more he wants. I get to the point where the sound of his voice saying, "Mooom!" makes me feel sick to my stomach. Or I don't hear him at all, and Joey has to tell me, "Danae, your son is standing right behind you. He's said your name like five times."
Really?
And my hormones are still messing me up, still making me want to cry when I get on the computer and then Joey comes in and tells me he was still working on something-so get off.
He took Ethan to the battery store, and I feel like I can breath. Feibi is laying in the sun and I can hear Riley take breaths, in and out.
Noah sleeps through all of this, silent, in his crib.
Oh, and my hair? I am at the most horrible growing out stage ever created in the history of hair. Barretts and bobby pins and goo and spray help only a little. I keep telling myself this is the best time to do it; heck, I am in my fat jeans too and everywhere I go the baby is what everyone cares about anyway.
I cannot wait for the day when I feel pretty again.
At least I've got big boobs right now--Ethan calls them "boo boos", as in when Noah is crying, "Mooom! Noah wants your boo boos!"--that's one thing that's going for me.

sleepy, pretty days.

September is beautiful. It's been so warm, it still feels like August, only it cools down at night making a warm bed feel so comforting, and in the morning a cup of coffee hits the spot. I could drink three cups if I let myself.
Last night we went to a BBQ at my dear friend's house. Lots of old friends were there, friends who went through my fun, if not somewhat troubled teen years with. We all have kids now, and it's like watching little mini me's run around. Little Angel, little Luke, little Joey. It's weird, like you are literally watching time pass in front of you.
Then today we went to a BBQ at Joey's parents house. Noah came along in that big, old car seat of his, quiet as a mouse. It's like he's been here all along.
We all walked down to the triangle park near the house and played a game of whiffle ball, something that we do once a summer or so with his family. This time, Ethan actually got to play.
I am so tired I am almost falling asleep as I sit here, typing.

Little wise one.

He's more like a wise, old soul than a baby. Especially after he eats. It's like he just spent hours of solitude in the desert, with God.

I need a bra.

This picture has nothing to do with the post. It's just cute.
It feels soooo amazing to have that kid out--of my pelvis, of my ribs, not smashing all my vital organs anymore. I can breath, I can go longer than twelve minutes without peeing, and my back can straighten. Ahhhhh....
The transition from one kid to two has been smooth, no unexpected bombs here. I've heard the second kid is harder, but that is a heavy load of bs. I don't feel completely disorientated, like I just became a different person (named "mother") like I did with Ethan. All the crazy feedings, all the red face screaming (because the little guy has to burp, duh. Why was that so hard to figure out the first time?) all the alone time gone--is no big deal.
I am enjoying him so much. His little weepy sounds he makes after I nurse him remind me of a tiny, hurt bird. He's so open and vulnerable.
Today we will venture to Target because Khole's and Wal-mart (Wal-mart doesn't carry something! Amazing!) have decided nursing mothers don't matter in this world so they don't carry nursing bras. Hello? This really hit me low. I mean, this is a vital piece of clothing, not like some dumb shirt. For the past week, I have either been going braless (braless!! with huge,wet boobs!) or I completely remove, (i.e. get halfway undressed) my regular bra. Nursing in public is bad enough with the proper attire. Without, it is unbearably embarrassing.
So anyway, I heard Target, bless them, carries nursing bras. I think I might tip the cashier on the way out.

Honeymoon at Home.

These first days with Noah have been so peaceful, a hundred and ten times easier than the first couple of weeks? months? years? with Ethan. Having a baby a second time makes me feel so darn competent. So far, Noah is happy as long as he's fed every two hours (my life is now broken up in two hour intervals; you'd be surprised how hard it is to: feed the baby, get dressed, eat, maybe get one thing done, and then it's time to feed again. Going out of the house? That's a whole different story altogether, especially with a fifteen to twenty minute drive time anywhere one way).
I don't mind getting up in the middle of the night when I hear his loud, desperate cry. The house is so still, and with just the hallway light on outside his bedroom, we sit together and rock and he eats, sucking the milk from my body. He looks up at me with his dark eyes, and I can tell he's starting to know me. Then he has to burp. He seems to do this on his own, but I pat his warm back anyway as I look at his face, which seems to already be changing. By this point, he's usually very sleepy and out of it, occasionally opening his eyes just a bit, and then closing them again as his head flops forward. I can't get enough of it.
When he's happy and fed, his diaper is changed, and he's back in his snuggly, I give him one last squeeze, on last smell of his soft head, and then leave him alone in his crib, happy we'll get to do it all over again in another two hours.
Seriously, I know that all sounds insane, but that's how it is.

Noah Jay's Birthday.

Noah is named after Papa Jay.

A couple of seconds old.


Big brother's first hold. "I think he likes me."

He's out and I am having real coffee. I have been up every other hour or so for the last three nights and I feel fabulous, somehow. Ethan is playing with his trains and Noah is sleeping, grunting every so often. He reminds me of a tiny little wrestler, or a cowboy. He's tough, despite his floppiness, his lack of neck control.
Labor was NOTHING like last time. I went in thinking, Well, if I leave alive, and the baby is alive, that's all I'm asking for. And right now I can't believe how good I feel. I came home yesterday, just a little bit over a day after having him, and was so ecstatic I could clean all the dog pee off my kitchen floor on my hands and knees. I have almost no blood, after two days. I bled after Ethan's birth for six months.
I mean, comparing the two experiences is almost ridiculous they are so different. Ethan almost killed me, Noah made me feel alive.
We got to the hospital at 2 PM, and I kept thinking there is no way they are going to let me stay, I am not even uncomfortable. My contractions are not consistent. I haven't even timed them.
My doctor (bless her, bless her) told them not to send me away, so they admitted me. As the nurse got me all hooked up to the tubes and wires, I kept thinking, we are going to be here for DAYS. I felt like we were sneaking in, like the nurse staff could tell I was a faker but couldn't send me home. One nurse even asked me, "So why are we here today?" (Uhhh, is that a trick question?)
I told her to have a baby in the most confident voice I could muster up and I hoped she believed me.
They gave me Pitocin and I was nervous as hell about what it was going to do, but it really didn't do anything. My contractions got a little harder, but Joey and I were still just sitting around. At 4 PM my doctor came in and broke my water. I was at four centimeters.
That got things rolling.
It was just me and Joey in the room, it was quiet and dark, and I was sitting on the bed, trying to count through my contractions, up to ten, then back down. My eyes were shut, and I felt like I was in so much pain I could not move, let alone tell Joey that things were getting out of hand and that I felt like my back was getting wrenched open with a crow bar could he please stop turning his back on me to get a drink or chew? I wanted his hand on my back constantly, pushing, counter-acting the pressure of Noah descending. But I couldn't say anything except ohhhhhhhhhh, and an occasional quiet f-word.
At five thirty the nurse came back to check me and I was at a seven. This surprised the heck out of me and despite the pain made me extremely happy. I wasn't convinced however, that I was done, or that labor would continue to go quickly. I knew there was no way I could continue in that pain for hours, stuck, like I was with Ethan, so I said, Yes! Yes! Give me something in that little IV bag to take the edge off. So she did, at the peak of two contractions. I watched her push the drug, which looked like water, into my IV.
Soon I felt a little buzzed, which was great, but the contractions were still there. It was like being in two places at once: my head was relaxed and felt great like I was out with friends a year ago, but my body was still in labor, still on that hospital bed. I don't know how long we were there; it felt like fifteen minutes, and then I felt like my body was going to explode.
I was not convinced that it was my baby my body want to explode out of me. I was so scared. I never felt the urge to push with Ethan, despite pushing like hell for two hours. I told Joey, Help me! Help me! I have to push!
I have never been so scared.
Joey got a nurse super quick and when she checked me all I heard was he's right there, you are ready--and then it was madness. All these people in blue scrubs came rushing in and a HUGE light came down from the ceiling, and I had to scoot my butt to the bottom of the bed and there was my doctor, telling me, One push Danae, one push and we'll have a baby.
I, of course, was still in denial. One push? Yeah right. Shove it.
Later I learned Joey was on the phone, telling his mom that we were starting to push, when he literally got sprayed with a burst of amniotic fluid as Noah slipped out, and he hung up on her.
My doctor told me, You are holding back. Push Danae. I decided to trust her, so I pushed hard, right into that ring of fire, and I felt my body open. I pushed one more time, and out he slipped.
And that was it.
He's beautiful too, you know. Perfect. He lays on my chest, all curled up, like a warm bag of flour, his little face like a doll's. He takes deep breaths sometimes that shiver out him with a little, baby sigh. He's so helpless and just lovely.
God is good to me, gracious and so good.

My Little Survivor.

So maybe Noah will come out today, or tomorrow. Am I ready? Yes, in the fact that I don't want to be lugging around this humongous belly any more, I want to fit in my old jeans, I want to feel like myself again instead of like a waddling womb, and I wouldn't mind my hormones coming back down to an appropriate level.
Am I ready emotionally, to take care of this little guy? No.
Am I ready physically, for pain? No.
It was good to get a little perspective today when on Facebook someone mentioned how thankful they were for life, in light of it being 9-11.
If in some miraculous way he actually does make in into the world today, it wouldn't be the first time he has lived up to his name in the sense of him being a survivor: this little guy has been exposed to the craziest things, included, but not limited to:
*A healthy amount of caffeine (and by healthy, I don't mean healthy for him, I mean healthy for me). I didn't give it up this time. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's how I felt in the morning, trying to care for Ethan who wakes up like a bowling ball on fire, shooting down a lane, versus me, who wakes up usually feeling close to being dead.
*A blow to the gut from Ethan's head, with a running head start of a good twenty feet. I fainted soon after, and my abdomen was sore for a week. I'm not sure how Noah felt.
*A car accident
*Relational stress like I have never experienced before.
*A New Year's Eve dose of wine, pre-pregnancy test.
*A ten day dose of antibiotics, which the doctor told me were perfectly safe but when I was reading the tiny print over breakfast on about day four, realized the doctor was full of crap because they actually never test these things on humans at all, just little rats.
*An oozing appendix.
*An hour or so of anesthesia.
*Lots of red 40 because besides not trying to avoid it in food, it was also an ingredient in each of my pre-natals, when I took them.
And to top it off:
*A good few days of Morphine, and then a week of Pitocin.
So this baby is the Lord's. Because as much as I felt like the best mama in the world for Ethan, in terms of health, I feel like the worst for Noah. But Ethan still came out with one ear. I like control, like to think that if I do--or don't do--A, B, and C, then E won't happen. And that's not how life works.
So today my prayer is small, the only thing I can think of when I close my eyes is Lord have mercy and gave me grace, no matter what happens. Hold my baby.

Sept. 8, 2009.

First week of work went well. I am thankful for the schedule and the money. The kids, well, they will have to grow on me. I can't tell you how many times I have said I will never be a teacher, and here I am, lessons plans and all.
The first day one kid pooed his pants. I swear he did it on purpose. Other than that--and feeling like the meanest woman ever on Thursday because by then I think the whole class and me were just plain sick of each other-- the week went surprisingly fast and well. And whoever planned Labor day the second week into school was an absolute genius.
I've noticed the last couple of days the weather is cooler; I don't open the doors anymore in the morning, and hot tea feels better than it has. Today I even ate breakfast with a blanket over my legs.
I am ready for this change.
The balloon races are this weekend and if I don't have a new baby I would like to be there, early in the cold morning with a cup of hot chocolate. I remember a time when Joey and I were dating, or maybe we were brand new married, and we went to the races with my sister. Something about a warm, fleece blanket and hot chocolate, walking in the dark down to the park holding his hand...it's a good memory, one that won't be able to be re-lived for who knows how long, but in a sense that is what makes it so dear.
I am having contractions sparadically (like now). I don't remember having these pre-labor fakies with Ethan. I think I was a different woman when I was pregnant with Ethan. If I remember correctly, there wasn't one bad thing about being pregnant to her.
Now? seriously, you don't want to ask. Ironically, I have gained HALF the amount of weight with Noah as I did with Ethan, yet I feel double or quadrouble the amount of discomfort. I fart without knowing it until it's too late. Sleeping well is a thing of the distant past. My butt probably has a permant toliet ring around it from peeing so much. I waddle, and people I hardly know point this fact out to me. My hormones (yes, I am blaming it on them) have called my husband the most horrible things, right to his face. And finally, I feel like I am lugging around a bumby, hard, six pound boulder that makes standing, sitting, and lying down somehow painful.
So I am on my hands and knees, praying to God I will be two or three centimeters on Friday, so my doctor will induce me.