This is how most attempts to capture them both in a single picture go.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
First Month
We call her Lucia, Luci, Lu, Lulu, Lula... Gus has his own special pronunciation--instead of lu-SEE-uh, he says LU-sya.
The sure fire way to get her to sleep is to wrap her up tight and hold her in the cradle position with her head in the crook of your arm. This is her happy spot and she'll fall asleep there while I'm moving laundry, making Gus lunch, or unloading the dishwasher with the other arm. She's not as crazy about slings (though she's getting better now that I'm insisting) or sleeping on chests.
She's an easy baby, eating, and sleeping, and gaining weight well. It's amazing how much she's grown in just one month. We're estimating that she's gained two pounds now, and she's out of newborn sizes.
She makes chirpy little newborn sounds and is starting to coo. She seems easily bothered by loud sounds, which is a bummer with that brother of hers and the dog around...
Kona sniffed her when she first came home, but as long as he's not barking, she doesn't seem to notice him yet. Meanwhile, her second night home she was crying during a diaper change in the wee hours, and Kona started whining as she cried. He "complained" the entire time and when she calmed down he literally gave a big doggy sigh. Apparently she was keeping him up. I almost kicked him out for that one.
There's so much fun mystery in a newborn. What will she be like? Who does she look like? What early signs of her personality will we only realize when we reflect back?
And it all goes so fast. So we're getting in all the snuggles we can.
The sure fire way to get her to sleep is to wrap her up tight and hold her in the cradle position with her head in the crook of your arm. This is her happy spot and she'll fall asleep there while I'm moving laundry, making Gus lunch, or unloading the dishwasher with the other arm. She's not as crazy about slings (though she's getting better now that I'm insisting) or sleeping on chests.
She's an easy baby, eating, and sleeping, and gaining weight well. It's amazing how much she's grown in just one month. We're estimating that she's gained two pounds now, and she's out of newborn sizes.
She makes chirpy little newborn sounds and is starting to coo. She seems easily bothered by loud sounds, which is a bummer with that brother of hers and the dog around...Kona sniffed her when she first came home, but as long as he's not barking, she doesn't seem to notice him yet. Meanwhile, her second night home she was crying during a diaper change in the wee hours, and Kona started whining as she cried. He "complained" the entire time and when she calmed down he literally gave a big doggy sigh. Apparently she was keeping him up. I almost kicked him out for that one.
There's so much fun mystery in a newborn. What will she be like? Who does she look like? What early signs of her personality will we only realize when we reflect back?
And it all goes so fast. So we're getting in all the snuggles we can.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Daybreak: Lucia's Birth Story
Prologue
Friday morning I woke up feeling nauseous. It wasn't quite first trimester nauseous, but something about it made me feel like it was a hormonal thing. By mid-morning I was hoping that it meant labor would be soon, because otherwise it was just me feeling really bad at 9 months pregnant on a hot day for no good reason.
12am
At midnight I noticed some painful contractions, but I thought maybe I could sleep them off. After they'd woken me up multiple times, I looked at the clock and saw that it was one, and realized I'd better start timing them. I also texted my sisters in Modesto to see if they were awake...no response.
1am
So I wake up Adam. My support person, my birth partner, my rock.
And he got up and puked.
Yes, he did.
We thought he must have eaten something that disagreed with him (it may have been a virus though since our second night home with Lucia, Gus threw up all over his bed...).
2:00am
At two o'clock the contractions were averaging about 10 minutes apart and I decided to call my sister to come stay with Gus. I was still afraid that I might not really be in labor, but I was convinced enough to drag her out of bed, and thank goodness I did it then. I considered calling a local friend to come until Annah could get there, but since I was 10 minutes apart, I thought I probably had some time. (Ha!)
By the end of the hour I was averaging about five minutes apart. And Adam puked again. (So violently, it turns out, that blood vessels in his eyes broke and they were pretty scary for the next week.)
3:00am
Being five minutes apart was making me a little nervous, and I started to wonder if my contractions were becoming more intense...then I had one that was unquestionably difficult. I swear I felt myself dilate at least two centimeters. I think it was then that I became "a woman possessed" as Adam referred to it. I had him call my sister to see where she was because I was suddenly convinced I was actually in labor and I was now afraid we were running out of time.
My poor sister arrived about 10 minutes later, and I had every intention of giving her a big hug and telling her I owed her a coffee...shop. But instead she arrived while I was in the middle of a contraction and making my whale noises. Then she came in and tried to say hi and I pushed past her on my way to throw up. In my defense, I'm sure she preferred that to me trying to say hi and puking on her.
As I was hurling, I wondered if I had food poisoning too or if I was in transition. Both seem like pretty bleak options since I WAS STILL AT HOME. So as soon as I was done I burst out of the bathroom muttering "we have to go, we have to go" practically mowing my sister down a second time and yelling at Adam to get me something to puke in as I try to make it to the car before I contract or throw up again.
We have a Pilot. It is not a small car. But with two rear-facing carseats in the second row and a stroller and dog gear in the back, there was no place for me to stretch out at all. I'd been getting through all of my contractions by climbing onto our bed into child pose with some pillows under my chest, and I just couldn't come up with any better position. So I was on my knees in the passenger seat bent over the center console and I was praying, praying, praying that we get to the hospital in time and that I don't have too many contractions in the car because I'm horribly uncomfortable. And I was a little afraid that I might have the baby on 280.
It's only a 10 minute drive to the hospital and I have about three contractions just during the drive as I'm hanging off the seat and holding on to Adam's seat. At one point I thought we were getting on the freeway, but then I looked up and saw that we were still on city streets. Poor Adam was doing the best he could, but I was a mad woman. "WINCHESTER?!" I bellowed.
I was praying very loudly for help as each contraction ramped up and then thanking "sweet, sweet Jesus" as they ramped down. I think I temporarily left the Presbyterian church and became Charismatic. Between contractions I started singing, and the song that came to me was "Good to Me" so I was muttering repeatedly "Lord my rock, my strength in weakness...for you are good, for you are good, for you are good to me."
Adam parks in the emergency lane at the curb in front of the emergency room (He totally left the car there--thankfully we didn't even get ticketed though there were several police cars there. Guess they had bigger fish to fry...) and grabs a wheelchair which I climb onto backwards so my knees are in the seat and I'm bent over the back. Luckily I knew the way we had to go thanks to my false labor, but I also knew that it was a really long hall we had to go down.
It's funny because from the time we got to the hospital until Lucia was born, I had my eyes closed most of the time and so my memory is of a bunch of disembodied voices except for two people.
The front desk lady was one of the two people I looked at because I was trying to kill her dead with my death glare. She had me sign three things before they'd take us back...I may have given them our first born...I don't know. I do know that my signature was virtually unrecognizable, so I think that I can show that it was made under duress. (She actually did expedite things because after the birth we had to do all of the stuff we normally would have done before.)
So then they had me wheeled to the observation room that I was in last time (for the false labor), and I'm thinking "Seriously? You're going to make me get into one bed and get checked before you take me to the delivery room? I am CLEARLY in labor this time!" The nurse in the observation room was the second person I looked at--trying out my death stare again. It totally didn't work. But before I could climb out of the wheelchair I had another contraction and my water broke.
I hope they cleaned that wheelchair really well.
This fortuitous turn of events earned me a ticket straight to a delivery room. There they said they really needed to check me, so I managed to get on my back and I was just praying that I was a 7 or 8 because if I wasn't, someone was going to have to shoot me and put me out of my misery.
Honestly I kept asking myself why I do this without painkillers. How stupid am I? There are all of these people here who would happily give them to me. Next time I'm getting the works. Scratch that, there won't BE a next time!
I was an 8.5 and 100%. And then--major props to Kaiser for this--they let me get back on my knees on the bed and raise the back up so I could lean on it for support--a position I stayed in for the rest of the labor.
4:00am
Suddenly the room was quiet. It turned out there were a LOT of deliveries that day (might have been why they tried to stall me in the observation room, though the nurse told me later that many women do come in acting like I was and they're only 2cm. I...can't even imagine...). I could hear people out in the hallway, but we were alone. I had another contraction and this time I had an uncontrollable urge to push. That never happened to me the first time, and I was really scared the baby could come shooting out (unfortunately my labors aren't THAT easy). Anyway, I screamed that I needed to push and that they needed to get someone in there.
Honestly I was acting like I was in a bad movie script. I'd told myself that I was going to be more calm this time. I mean, if Katie Holmes can do a silent birth, I could at least act like a human being, right? But, yeah, dignity out the window.
So finally people start arriving...more disembodied voices...somebody authoritative sounding says I'm just about ready to push.
NO KIDDING. I actually thought I was pushing (I wasn't--she must have been moving down the birth canal or something, but I wasn't crowning yet).
There was some discussion about me needing an IV, but they ended up not having time for it. Soon they're saying that it's time to push with the next contraction, and as I start pushing there's a conversation about when I started this labor and Adam was answering for me because all I do at this point is grunt, and someone says how lucky I am that I have such fast labors.
And I'm thinking I DO NOT FEEL LUCKY.
(In hindsight, yes, I'm rather lucky. But labor still isn't fun.)
But it did feel good to start pushing--the contractions don't seem so bad when I'm pushing. I must have pushed for about 20 minutes or so. Apparently once I got most of her head out her chin was still stuck there and that's when everybody started screaming at me that we had to get her out NOW, PUSH, PUSH, DON'T STOP PUSHING AGGHH!
And as soon as she was out my normal personality returned and suddenly I cared that I was, ahem, rather indecent and also, I'd like to turn around and sit on the bed like a normal person now, thanks.
So I turn around and there on the bed in front of me is this huge, full-term baby who could not possibly have come out of me. They'd told me she had dark hair when she was coming out, but the first thing I noticed when I saw her was Adam's nose.
It was 4:38.
We'd had a few different names in mind and we decided that we'd settle on a name once we met her. I'd been praying that we'd know the right name when the time came. I'd spent a lot of time looking up the different names and their meanings, and I loved that one of the meanings of Lucia was "daybreak" and that in Italy it was traditionally given to girls who were born as dawn broke. And when I read that, I thought that if she was born in the early morning hours, I would know that she was Lucia.
So when they asked what her name was, I looked at Adam and said "Lucia." And we were holding her as the sun rose.
Friday morning I woke up feeling nauseous. It wasn't quite first trimester nauseous, but something about it made me feel like it was a hormonal thing. By mid-morning I was hoping that it meant labor would be soon, because otherwise it was just me feeling really bad at 9 months pregnant on a hot day for no good reason.
12am
At midnight I noticed some painful contractions, but I thought maybe I could sleep them off. After they'd woken me up multiple times, I looked at the clock and saw that it was one, and realized I'd better start timing them. I also texted my sisters in Modesto to see if they were awake...no response.
1am
So I wake up Adam. My support person, my birth partner, my rock.
And he got up and puked.
Yes, he did.
We thought he must have eaten something that disagreed with him (it may have been a virus though since our second night home with Lucia, Gus threw up all over his bed...).
2:00am
At two o'clock the contractions were averaging about 10 minutes apart and I decided to call my sister to come stay with Gus. I was still afraid that I might not really be in labor, but I was convinced enough to drag her out of bed, and thank goodness I did it then. I considered calling a local friend to come until Annah could get there, but since I was 10 minutes apart, I thought I probably had some time. (Ha!)
By the end of the hour I was averaging about five minutes apart. And Adam puked again. (So violently, it turns out, that blood vessels in his eyes broke and they were pretty scary for the next week.)
3:00am
Being five minutes apart was making me a little nervous, and I started to wonder if my contractions were becoming more intense...then I had one that was unquestionably difficult. I swear I felt myself dilate at least two centimeters. I think it was then that I became "a woman possessed" as Adam referred to it. I had him call my sister to see where she was because I was suddenly convinced I was actually in labor and I was now afraid we were running out of time.
My poor sister arrived about 10 minutes later, and I had every intention of giving her a big hug and telling her I owed her a coffee...shop. But instead she arrived while I was in the middle of a contraction and making my whale noises. Then she came in and tried to say hi and I pushed past her on my way to throw up. In my defense, I'm sure she preferred that to me trying to say hi and puking on her.
As I was hurling, I wondered if I had food poisoning too or if I was in transition. Both seem like pretty bleak options since I WAS STILL AT HOME. So as soon as I was done I burst out of the bathroom muttering "we have to go, we have to go" practically mowing my sister down a second time and yelling at Adam to get me something to puke in as I try to make it to the car before I contract or throw up again.
We have a Pilot. It is not a small car. But with two rear-facing carseats in the second row and a stroller and dog gear in the back, there was no place for me to stretch out at all. I'd been getting through all of my contractions by climbing onto our bed into child pose with some pillows under my chest, and I just couldn't come up with any better position. So I was on my knees in the passenger seat bent over the center console and I was praying, praying, praying that we get to the hospital in time and that I don't have too many contractions in the car because I'm horribly uncomfortable. And I was a little afraid that I might have the baby on 280.
It's only a 10 minute drive to the hospital and I have about three contractions just during the drive as I'm hanging off the seat and holding on to Adam's seat. At one point I thought we were getting on the freeway, but then I looked up and saw that we were still on city streets. Poor Adam was doing the best he could, but I was a mad woman. "WINCHESTER?!" I bellowed.
I was praying very loudly for help as each contraction ramped up and then thanking "sweet, sweet Jesus" as they ramped down. I think I temporarily left the Presbyterian church and became Charismatic. Between contractions I started singing, and the song that came to me was "Good to Me" so I was muttering repeatedly "Lord my rock, my strength in weakness...for you are good, for you are good, for you are good to me."
Adam parks in the emergency lane at the curb in front of the emergency room (He totally left the car there--thankfully we didn't even get ticketed though there were several police cars there. Guess they had bigger fish to fry...) and grabs a wheelchair which I climb onto backwards so my knees are in the seat and I'm bent over the back. Luckily I knew the way we had to go thanks to my false labor, but I also knew that it was a really long hall we had to go down.
It's funny because from the time we got to the hospital until Lucia was born, I had my eyes closed most of the time and so my memory is of a bunch of disembodied voices except for two people.
The front desk lady was one of the two people I looked at because I was trying to kill her dead with my death glare. She had me sign three things before they'd take us back...I may have given them our first born...I don't know. I do know that my signature was virtually unrecognizable, so I think that I can show that it was made under duress. (She actually did expedite things because after the birth we had to do all of the stuff we normally would have done before.)
So then they had me wheeled to the observation room that I was in last time (for the false labor), and I'm thinking "Seriously? You're going to make me get into one bed and get checked before you take me to the delivery room? I am CLEARLY in labor this time!" The nurse in the observation room was the second person I looked at--trying out my death stare again. It totally didn't work. But before I could climb out of the wheelchair I had another contraction and my water broke.
I hope they cleaned that wheelchair really well.
This fortuitous turn of events earned me a ticket straight to a delivery room. There they said they really needed to check me, so I managed to get on my back and I was just praying that I was a 7 or 8 because if I wasn't, someone was going to have to shoot me and put me out of my misery.
Honestly I kept asking myself why I do this without painkillers. How stupid am I? There are all of these people here who would happily give them to me. Next time I'm getting the works. Scratch that, there won't BE a next time!
I was an 8.5 and 100%. And then--major props to Kaiser for this--they let me get back on my knees on the bed and raise the back up so I could lean on it for support--a position I stayed in for the rest of the labor.
4:00am
Suddenly the room was quiet. It turned out there were a LOT of deliveries that day (might have been why they tried to stall me in the observation room, though the nurse told me later that many women do come in acting like I was and they're only 2cm. I...can't even imagine...). I could hear people out in the hallway, but we were alone. I had another contraction and this time I had an uncontrollable urge to push. That never happened to me the first time, and I was really scared the baby could come shooting out (unfortunately my labors aren't THAT easy). Anyway, I screamed that I needed to push and that they needed to get someone in there.
Honestly I was acting like I was in a bad movie script. I'd told myself that I was going to be more calm this time. I mean, if Katie Holmes can do a silent birth, I could at least act like a human being, right? But, yeah, dignity out the window.
So finally people start arriving...more disembodied voices...somebody authoritative sounding says I'm just about ready to push.
NO KIDDING. I actually thought I was pushing (I wasn't--she must have been moving down the birth canal or something, but I wasn't crowning yet).
There was some discussion about me needing an IV, but they ended up not having time for it. Soon they're saying that it's time to push with the next contraction, and as I start pushing there's a conversation about when I started this labor and Adam was answering for me because all I do at this point is grunt, and someone says how lucky I am that I have such fast labors.
And I'm thinking I DO NOT FEEL LUCKY.
(In hindsight, yes, I'm rather lucky. But labor still isn't fun.)
But it did feel good to start pushing--the contractions don't seem so bad when I'm pushing. I must have pushed for about 20 minutes or so. Apparently once I got most of her head out her chin was still stuck there and that's when everybody started screaming at me that we had to get her out NOW, PUSH, PUSH, DON'T STOP PUSHING AGGHH!
And as soon as she was out my normal personality returned and suddenly I cared that I was, ahem, rather indecent and also, I'd like to turn around and sit on the bed like a normal person now, thanks.
So I turn around and there on the bed in front of me is this huge, full-term baby who could not possibly have come out of me. They'd told me she had dark hair when she was coming out, but the first thing I noticed when I saw her was Adam's nose.
It was 4:38.
We'd had a few different names in mind and we decided that we'd settle on a name once we met her. I'd been praying that we'd know the right name when the time came. I'd spent a lot of time looking up the different names and their meanings, and I loved that one of the meanings of Lucia was "daybreak" and that in Italy it was traditionally given to girls who were born as dawn broke. And when I read that, I thought that if she was born in the early morning hours, I would know that she was Lucia.
So when they asked what her name was, I looked at Adam and said "Lucia." And we were holding her as the sun rose.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
22 months
And then there were two.
In his twenty second month, Gus became a big brother.
He was immediately excited about his sister's "baby toes!" and "baby hands!" and "baby eyes!" He was not so excited about mama, however. He tried to ignore me in the hospital and protested when I asked for a hug.
With daddy home the first two weeks, he was a pretty happy camper, but I definitely have to watch him now for unnecessary roughness with the baby. Still, she is the one he wants to see when he gets home or wakes up in the morning.
This month he became more interested in puzzles and impressed us with his improving abilities. He's also trying to count: "One, two, five! Three! Five!"
He weighs himself on our bathroom scale and announces that he's "thirty five." (He's not even close to 35 lb--I have no idea where he even heard that number.)
This month, he decided that he likes to swing. Most kids have been enjoying swinging since...forever...but he never liked it. Then my mom put him in it, and he saw another kid enjoying it, and now it's all he wants to do when we get to the park.
We have all kinds of bizarre pictures on our cameras because he's figured out how to operate them.
He's inquisitive and energetic. He has a really cute farmer's tan. His feet are constantly dirty from backyard forays. He loves "snuggles." He's our boy.
In his twenty second month, Gus became a big brother.
He was immediately excited about his sister's "baby toes!" and "baby hands!" and "baby eyes!" He was not so excited about mama, however. He tried to ignore me in the hospital and protested when I asked for a hug.
With daddy home the first two weeks, he was a pretty happy camper, but I definitely have to watch him now for unnecessary roughness with the baby. Still, she is the one he wants to see when he gets home or wakes up in the morning.
This month he became more interested in puzzles and impressed us with his improving abilities. He's also trying to count: "One, two, five! Three! Five!"
He weighs himself on our bathroom scale and announces that he's "thirty five." (He's not even close to 35 lb--I have no idea where he even heard that number.)
This month, he decided that he likes to swing. Most kids have been enjoying swinging since...forever...but he never liked it. Then my mom put him in it, and he saw another kid enjoying it, and now it's all he wants to do when we get to the park.We have all kinds of bizarre pictures on our cameras because he's figured out how to operate them.
He's inquisitive and energetic. He has a really cute farmer's tan. His feet are constantly dirty from backyard forays. He loves "snuggles." He's our boy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)