Spare the Night-Waking, Spoil the Mom

Parents can’t spoil infants, but infants can spoil their parents. I know this firsthand.

After raising her Record Hours Slept from four to 11 hours in just a week, Ava had lulled me into a nice little routine.

When she fusses 6 p.m., I jiggle and snuggle her till about 6:45 then we head up to her bedroom. I swaddle her, she stares in amazement at her dimmed lamp while I put away laundry. She fusses, I nurse her and plop her back in her crib, where she sucks her pacifier to dreamland. Then she sleeps for impossibly long stretches, making her mother weep with joy.

Until last night, when she screamed during lamp-amazement time. She screamed after I nursed her, then spit out her pacifier and screamed before I could even say, “Night-night.”

And on it went until 11:30 p.m., when we put on the Happiest Baby on the Block DVD, playing its womb sounds for crying babies. It knocked her out, but she screamed again once back in her room.

She spent the night in our bed, and it took me a long time to get her to sleep. After much whining and sniveling (by me), she gave up at about 1:30 a.m.

Tonight I went through the evening routine on eggshells. Would she go down? Was last night an illness, a fluke, or proof that I should never, ever speak of my child's good sleeping habits out loud?

She screamed at the now-unamazing lamp, then again after we nursed, but she quieted when I swaddled her in her crib with the pacificier. We’ve had to run up and soothe her about 10 times so far, and it’s only 9 pm.

I know that parents with infants will read this and say, “What is this of which she speaks? Infants, sleeping 11-hour stretches? Her 9 week old has one bad night and she comes unglued?”

So let me just say, I blame Ava. She gave me every thing I wanted so now I’m a spoiled rotten brat.

And, I am not unglued. Yet.

Bragging Rights

Heading into the living room to put Ava into her bassinet, I pass Ben perusing the Oriental Trading Company catalog on the family room floor.

"I'm having a little alone time, Mama," he says.

"That's great. Isn't it nice to have some quiet time?" I say, continuing down the hallway. "Ben is getting to be such a big boy, Ava!"

Not to be outdone, John pipes up from the bathroom: "I didn't fall into the toilet, Mama!"

Turning the Lights Back On

I haven’t been to church in awhile. Didn’t even go after my miscarriage. It’s been that long.

What’s worse for me though is that I haven’t been praying. As my father-in-law would say, I’m lacking a prayer life right now. Since it’s been over a year, it’s no surprise I feel disconnected from God.

Not disconnected in the sense that I don’t believe, I didn’t think. I figured it was just my failings that where distancing me from God but my belief was still solid.

Then I checked in on this blog I follow, How Is Luke Doing? As I clicked, I thought, “He’s probably doing the same, mostly unable to express himself or move at will, having trouble with swallowing and fighting infection.

When I read the latest post I kept blinking my eyes. Such wonderful news! A major turning point for this determined, inspirational family. Their faith throughout their son’s near drowning and year-long struggle to recover has lifted me again and again. To see their steadfast belief that God would heal Luke completely, “from inside out,” beginning to happen, was just wake-up call I needed.

To realize that, as I clicked I doubted that Luke would be improved? That God would even someday restore him? Humbling to say the least.

I have learned, and continue to relearn, that I need four things to function here on earth with some enjoyment and efficiency: time to pray and attend church; time to exercise; time to write; and time to prepare and eat a healthful diet. Those are my four plates, so to speak, the ones I must keep spinning, because when one hits the floor I tend to go with it.

I’m most ashamed that I haven’t brought the boys to church in a long time. At one point last year, Ben and John would say, “We should go to church,” even though they couldn’t remember the times we did go. Ben, who never knew what day it was, except trash day, would declare on Sunday mornings: “Is it Sunday?"

"Yes."

"We should go to Church today.”

Another time the boys asked to see “their” church, so I drove them by it on the way home from Ben’s preschool.

Not that God was trying to speak to me or anything.

Now that Ava’s born and sleeping well, I’m ready to listen. For the past year I felt too physically and emotionally drained. I blew off the Sunday morning “up and out” of going to church to sleep in, stay in my PJs and read the Sunday paper. Next thing I knew I also blew off prayer time.

So, Sunday Ben and I will attend church. We’ll sit near the front, I’ll fill a tote with some kids' religious books for him. He’ll love it. I figure by the time Ava’s four months or so, before the Chistmas season begins, we’ll be attending church as a family.

It will be a huge relief.

American Idol Will Never Be the Same

I admit I became slighly obsessed with American Idol during the seasons Kelly Clarkson and Fantasia won. My barometer for obsession being my refusal to delete the show from Tivo until I've watched a performance a billion times. But now it's Rockstar INXS I won't delete, and I'll never enjoy AI the same way again.

So many things make Rockstar a superior show:

- The new INXS lead singer? Way cooler than yet another American Idol.

- Once they name INXS's new lead singer, the competition's over. We won't have a new INXS lead singer every season for the next eight years or until viewers enter boredom-induced comas.

- This show rocks! Can you picture an AI contestant stage diving, singing while playing accoustic guitar or re-energizing Foreigner's "Cold as Ice"? Didn't think so. Will I sit through another Clay wannabe crooning "Climb Every Mountain"? No way.

- Rockstar shrewdly capitalizes the reality aspect of the show. On the other hand, AI has its contestants doing Ford Focus commercials. Maybe that's why I'm more of a rocker that a popster. Pop's about money and mass market success; rock's about rock.

- The Rockstar contestants have talent and spontaneity, jamming together on a whim and owning the stage like only a rockstar can. The amateurish variety-show perfomances on AI couldn't be less appealing in comparison. It makes me realize just how much I'd rather watch professional rockers competing than amateur popsters. Maybe AI should raise it's age limit to 35?

- Ryan Seacrest vs. Brooke Burke. Paula Abdul vs. Dave Navarro. Need I say more?

I love freeze-framing Tivo on the judges' faces during bad performances. The look on Dave Navarro's face during Jordis' rendition of "Dream On"? Hysterical. No wonder she said, "I'm never singing again."

I predict JD or Mig will win. I thought Marty had a chance (I loved his rendition of "Mr. Brightside") until the judges lambasted him last night.

J.D. has that I'm-dangerous-borderline-insane, want-to-have-sex? vibe going on. Women love that, as evidenced by every single woman in the front row Tuesday night, who looked like they were about to rip their shirts off during his performance. But I love his voice and his take on the songs, even if his days as an Elvis impersonator still show through sometimes. And Mig is just so sweet.

Who do you think will win?

Ava's Arrival

Well here it is: long-winded, long overdue, but saved in detail for posterity. Our birth story.

I’ll remember this as the birth where no one believed me, specifically, my husband and mother. I was already 4 centimeters dilated at 38 weeks. Yet they figured I went 40 weeks with my first two babies, so I couldn’t be ready. But I was.

~~~

The weekend I hit 38 weeks, we had a heat wave. On Saturday, Brian wanted to work on the house with his dad but I told him no way. Instead, we walked around the air-conditioned mall. I made two friends in the children’s play area. Seems everyone loves an ultra-ripe pregnant woman.

Sunday brought our local park’s annual family festival, symbolic for me since, at the end of the festival last year I had the pit of doom in my stomach. We were about to start trying again after a miscarriage. But I so wanted to just go home, have a few beers and forget the whole thing. At least that’s how I felt that day.

This year, though, as I trudged along in the hot, soggy air, my belly hung low enough that strangers kept meeting my eye. “You know you’re close to giving birth when everyone keeps smiling at you,” I told Brian and, later on the phone, my mom.

~~~

She had planned to come ahead of time, so she could stay with the boys and I wouldn’t have to worry about waiting for someone to show up. She’d be with me.

I called her Sunday evening, when I realized that, she still wasn’t here! And, could she drive in the dark if I went into labor tonight?

She told me she could if she had to, but I knew her eyes gave her trouble. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

“I’ll be there on Tuesday,” she said. I glanced outside at the persistent daylight, and set about persuading her.

“The last four nights, I couldn’t fall asleep,” I began. “Everything feels like the start of labor.”

I listed off other evidence: the nesting, pelvic pressure, swelling, tearfulness, weight loss. I mentioned the 25 loads of laundry I’d done in the last five days, how I reorganized all the kids’ clothes and set up John and Ava’s new closets.

I’d procrastinated these projects but now they quieted my mind and my body, both of which buzzed with anxiety, especially surrounding the birth. The main tenet of hypnobirthing is to let go of fear so you can relax and accept labor. But here I was, in the final days, having anxiety attacks every other minute. Now that the laundry was done, I wanted my mommy.

~~~

I had reason to be concerned. When I had John, I dilated to 10 centimeters in just three hours. This time, I didn’t want to labor lying on the couch by myself, making phone calls while Brian flew about the house readying our exit. I didn’t want a car ride during transition.

Plus, at my 38-week appointment, the midwife told me I had group B strep, which I’d had with John, too. During his birth, there was some panic about getting the antibiotic in me before his delivery. Without it, John could have contracted the illness and possibly died from a resulting systemic infection. They wanted me to hold off on pushing for at least an hour, which I did.

So I told my mom on the phone Sunday evening all of my symptoms and anxieties, that I needed to leave for the hospital the moment I felt a contraction, not just for my comfort, but for the baby’s health. And, hello! I was 4 centimeters four days ago!

“I don’t think you’ll go before Tuesday,” she said finally, slightly exasperated with me.

“Well, good,” I snapped. “If that makes you sleep soundly tonight, I’m happy.”

Yes, I said that to my mom. Yes, I can be a bitch.

We hung up. I cried. I recognized it as another sign of impending labor. I talked to Brian, and he said, “Don’t worry, when labor starts, we’ll just start calling people until we find someone to come.” We did have three candidates within half a mile, so I decided to trust in that and just relax.

Then my mom called back. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” I just had to make it through one more night.

~~~

We settled in to watch Hell’s Kitchen at about 10 pm. I tried to relax, but Ava kept kicking my abdomen. Despite several days of watching my posture and doing exercises to make her turn, it seemed she still sat facing my front, which meant back labor.

I had back labor with my first birth and I dreaded a repeat, especially a fast, intense one experienced in the passenger seat of my minivan. So while watching the angry chef I began doing what, along with laundry, occupied my entire last week of pregnancy: crawling around the parameter of my family room on my hands and knees.

When I stood up 20 minutes later, I felt Ava sitting differently, lower or just repositioned -- something. Then, pop! A small splash of liquid came down.

“Uh, oh. There it is.”

“What?”

“I think my water broke.”

I had just handed Brian the hypnobirthing scripts he’d been putting off reading, and he was sitting Indian-style on the floor, cramming. In the bathroom, I saw that a tablespoon or so of clear liquid had come out.

~~~

“I should call the midwife.”

“Why?”

“I think my water did break.”

“You’re not having contractions, though.”

“But it says on the paper they gave me that if my water breaks they want to know about it.”

“Right.”

“And I have group B strep. They need to give me antibiotics so the baby doesn’t get it. It could cause systemic infection and she could die.”

“Oh.”

“So I’ll just call her.”

Pause. “You’re gonna call her?”

~~~

“How soon can you make it to the hospital?” asked Beth, the one midwife I hadn’t met yet.

“Why do I have to come in?” I asked, apparently in denial myself.

“I’ll do a culture to see if you’re water really broke, then we’ll take it from there.”

It was quarter to 11. “We’re going to the hospital,” I told Brian, then I called my niece, Dee, who lives around the corner but had told me of her plans to attend Irish Night downtown. She was probably still out, or buzzed.

“Hello!” she exclaimed, seeing my name on her caller I.D. Thankfully I didn’t have to convince her that I really needed to go to the hospital.

I told Brian that Dee was on her way, and began pulling my stuff together: overnight bag, camcorder, camera, CD player.

“Are we bringing all your stuff now?” Brian asked, totally serious.

Dee came in and I chatted her up and down, full of nervous energy. She kept saying, “Yeah, mm-hmm,” as in, “Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital now?”

Then we got into the car, and Brian looked at me and said, “So, we get to make a dry run this time!” Again, clearly missing the whole impending-birth aspect of the moment.

“Honey,” I said, “I don’t think this is a ‘dry run.’”

“Well, your not having contractions,” he rationalized. “You’re not in labor. So they’ll just send you home. Right?”

“We’ll see,” I said, tired of explaining. (Group B strep, water broke, 4 centimeters four days ago ... Ah, fuh-gettit.)

~~~

Driving to the hospital, I remembered seeing in the hypnosis material the question “What do you want your contractions to feel like? Pressure? Numb?” So right then I decided on pressure, since I knew numbness probably wouldn’t happen. I also psyched myself up by thinking about what I didn’t have to face: back surgery, a spinal tap, third-degree burns over 90 percent of my body. Those things were painful. Labor? Nah.

Once there, my nurse, Joanne, got me onto the labor and delivery bed and hooked up the monitor. Ava began her usual bedtime gymnastics routine.

When Beth, the midwife, came in, I immediately liked her. Even though she seemed younger than me, she had a calming air about her. She took the culture and left the room, reappearing 10 minutes later.

“Your water did break. So I’m going to admit you,” she said.

I shot Brian a look. “Ha!”

Because of the group B strep and my history, Beth wanted me to relax at the hospital for the night. If labor didn’t start by 8 am, they would induce me.

The other nurse who came in to set up my IV – my brother’s goofy neighbor whom I was glad didn’t recognize me – forgot to attach something and didn’t notice until gallons of my blood had pooled onto the floor. “Hey, she needs that!” my nurse said, half kidding.

Beth asked me all kind of questions that made me glad I ditched the doctors at the last minute: Was I ok? Are my other children all set? Was there anything I needed?

“What kind of midwife do you like?” she asked.

“Maternal,” I told her. “Basically I want my mommy.”

Then I had to ask the dreaded question: "Can you check the baby's position?"

I held my breath as she checked. "She's perfect! Anterior, ready to come out."

What a relief.

~~~

After every thing was settled and Dee had agreed to stay until my mom arrived at 6 a.m., I remembered Ben, my five year old. He’d gotten into the habit of coming into my room at 4 am or so, frightened. He had just started going pee in the middle of the night by himself, and he’d run to wake us, wanting reassurance and someone to tuck him back in.

I realized he would enter my pitch black room and we wouldn’t be there and he’d be traumatized and horrified standing in the middle of this pitch black room. Of course this made me want to bawl.

So when Beth looked at me and asked “Are you OK?” tears welled in my eyes and I realized I had to call Dee again at 1:15 in the morning. Thankfully, she was still awake, and she agreed to turn the light on in my room to prevent scarring Ben for life. (Of course, he never got up that night.)

I also almost had a panic attack when I realized that the teeny tiny room I sat in would be mine for the duration. “This is it?” I asked. “I feel claustrophobic in here.”

Beth and Joanne pulled open the curtain that surrounding the incubator and other equipment, and assured me that this was as big as the rooms got. I’d have to deal.

~~~

Brian left to go call my mother (Ha! again) and Beth returned with two Ambien, “So you can get some rest.”

Since we had just discussed that I didn’t want pain medication, I assumed that this was a mild sleep aid. Wrong. I swallowed the pill, went to the bathroom, put on my Johnny, got back into bed and picked up my People magazine, only to find it too complicated for my Ambien-riddled brain to comprehend. I gave up and closed my eyes. A huge green field appeared, on which red flowers began blooming until the whole thing was covered.

“Whoa,” I said to Brian. “This stuff is heavy duty.”

Then I passed out.

~~~

It started as a dull ache across my low back, no edge to it at all. I glanced up at the clock: 4 a.m.

Right on schedule, Joanne came in to refill my antibiotic I.V. We chatted, and she left.

I laid there, dozing in and out, watching the clock, until about 5 a.m. By this time, the contractions had gone from 10 minutes apart to 5 minutes, so I buzzed Joanne.

“Can you ask the midwife to check me?”

“Really?” she asked.

Really.

~~

Beth came in a few minutes later to take a look. “Seven centimeters,” she declared. “You know what this means? You’re having your baby this morning!”

The next hour and 45 minutes felt like a half hour. I was very “in my head” during this labor. For the first time, I had no doula to help. But my mind stayed hyper-focused on all the hypnobirthing suggestions I’d practiced, and I’m sure the Ambien didn’t hurt either. Between the two, I had no problem staying relaxed.

A big part of the hypnobirthing practice is to picture yourself floating on a bed of mist, then breathing it in. The color of the mist changes depending on which body part you want to numb or relax. For the first time, I used this imagery throughout my labor, most of the time envisioning red mist with back pain and orange mist for abdominal pain. Also for the first time I did the slow breath part of hypnobirthing, breathing in for 20 counts and out for 20 with each contraction.

So I laid in bed in the silent and dim room, breathing in and out, telling myself, “pressure, gentle pressure, breathe through it, relax into it, breathe in the red mist ...”

From what I recall, this is how I spent the 5-to-6 hour. Brian claims that he put on my Desert Flower CD and that he read scripts with me, but I don’t remember it and he could be covering his ass.

~~~

Somewhere around 6:15 am I got up and headed to the bathroom. “Just to warn you,” I told Beth, “I tend to camp out on the toilet when I’m in labor.”

“That’s OK!” she chirped.

On the toilet, I realized that the contractions, praise be to God, didn't hurt. It did feel more like pressure. I was intensely focused on the breathing and the colored mist. The sensations moved freely from my back to my abdomen.

At about 6:30 I looked at the clock and said, “I want to be ordering breakfast by 7:30.”

A few minutes later I felt like bearing down. I kind of panicked because Beth hadn’t given me the go ahead to push. I grimaced through it and then said “Am I fully dilated?”

Beth said, “Oh yeah.”

“Then, shall we?”

~~~

We moved to the birthing stool, which resembled bicycle handlebars much more than I’d remembered. I think the other midwives had taped towels around it, but this time? Cold hard metal.



By now I felt very trippy. I’d blame it on the Ambien, but the third stage of labor always feels this way to me. A moment after I sat down, as Joanne and Beth buzzed about making last-minute preparations, I realized I had to pee. Yes, I sat on the toilet for 30 minutes yet I forgot to pee.

I laughed on the inside, since my laugh muscles had apparently become paralyzed. Then, rather than asking for a bedpan, I just started peeing, and what I thought would be a trickle became this never-ending stream.

“Um, I’m peeing.”

“That’s OK,” Joanne said, “we expect a mess.”

Later Brian laughed as he confirmed, “It was a lot of pee.”

~~

The first two times I used a birthing stool, I leaned backward onto Brian. This time, I leaned forward, with my forearms along the bars. This allowed a clear view of the goings on down below.

I breathed through the contractions as Ava made her way down. Within a few minutes, Beth said, “I can see her head, she’s right there.”

When her head came out I could see it, and for a second I felt that rush of relief – she’s out! But then Beth said, “The cord’s around her neck,” in this breathy, urgent voice, and she began pushing Ava back into me.

Another contraction came. “Don’t push!” Joanne and Beth yelled together.

“O.K., don’t push,” I told myself as I looked over my shoulder, not wanting to see the commotion between my legs. Just then a contraction came and I guess I pushed because Ava came flying out. (Beth later said, “The only time you pushed was when I told you not to!” I blame gravity.) I looked down and there she lay, arms startling, eyes wide, head moving left to right and back again, as Beth worked to get the cord off her neck.

Next thing I knew Ava was sitting bundled, in my arms. She looked up at me, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “You are very white,” I said to her, still feeling trippy, “and you are very sad.”

With that, Joanne whisked her out my arms and moved me to the bed.

Then Beth approached me. “I know you didn’t want her sent to the nursery, but where the cord was around her neck, the doctors would like her to go upstairs for a physical, to make sure she’s ok.”

“Of course,” I said. “But don’t let them bathe her.”

~~~

After Ava went upstairs, Beth began pressing on my uterus. With Ben and John’s birth, the pain of this part rivaled the worst pains of labor, causing me to say things like “What the hell?!” and “Nooooo!!!”

But Beth and Joanne were so gentle, it didn’t hurt much. They kept apologizing as they did it, but I kept thinking, “This is nothing.”

~~~

Beth assured me that Ava was OK (her oxygen levels were 100 percent, and her heart rate never dipped), then told me the on-call doctor had ordered Cytotec to prevent bleeding. This confused me since my OB insisted he couldn’t use anti-bleeding drugs preventatively, so I asked Beth to double check. She did and returned with the suppositories.

Yes, suppositories.

“Remember, hemorrhoids,” I told her.

She laughed. “I’ll be careful.”

“Phew, that wasn’t so bad!”

“Just two more.”

“Oh.”

~~~

With that taken care of, I ordered some breakfast. It was about 7:10 a.m.

Beth came in and further displayed her cord-removal prowess by presenting us with a good amount of saved cord blood. I ate a cheese omelet and drank some gross coffee, read People magazine and made a few phone calls.

Joanne came in and said, “I was very impressed with you. You just did your thing. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Beth said I swayed her opinion of hypnobirthing. “You looked just like the women in the videos!”

I took a moment to pat myself on the back for all the times I didn’t skip listening to that darned CD.

~~~

Then I realized something was missing from this joyous post-birth scene: my baby. This hospital has a habit of keeping babies in the nursery for 11 hours once they get hold of them. Two hours had passed since she went, so I sent Brian to kidnap her.

When he brought her to me, she looked like a gorilla. Not exactly, but her upper lip and forehead were purplish black. Her eyes swelled like a boxer’s, enlarging before my eyes. Her waxy, matted black hair didn’t hurt either. I called Joanne.



She lifted the pink cardboard sign on her bassinet: “My face is bruised,” written in black marker. She showed me her pink tongue then explained how fast labors cause trauma to the baby, something I’m glad I didn’t know. She assured me the bruising would fade fast; it did, within 36 hours.

Ava had a deep scratch on her neck from where the midwife cut the cord, which was “very tight.” The large blood-red area on her eye healed within six weeks, though the pediatrician said it would last a very long time. She still has a small blood dot/hematoma on her cheek.

Other than that? Perfection.

?

Brian’s family’s annual cookout/reunion? A blast.

Me? Exhausted.

My house? Disaster zone.

Ava? Fussy. Got lots of hugs but ended up with prickly heat, feeling manhandled then nearly developing hypothermia before someone else’s mom figured out SHE WAS COLD! And newborns get cold, they’re used to 98 degrees, doncha know! (Yes, I fell victim to a mild mommy drive-by.)

Even worse? The salad Brian made with Pasta Supreme, the one I ate all day thinking it was dairy free? Romano cheese is the first ingredient, I discovered when we got home tonight. Oops. For this, Ava (and I) will pay.

Our birth story? Almost done, so close. But so tired. It’s coming soon.

First Smiles

First Smiles, originally uploaded by clouth.

Ava is now seven weeks old. The only thing she enjoys playing with so far are my breasts, which makes me very proud considering her humble beginnings. She clearly has overcome all her nursing problems. Since establishing her lovely chubby cheeks, she's begun work on some delicious thigh rolls. She's also, dare I mention, sleeping through the night. I'm talking about eight-hour stretches people! In fact, life with Ava has been so easy of late that I'm starting to reconsider having a fourth baby. Somebody slap me.

A Little Bit of Ava in Our Life

Ava, originally uploaded by clouth.

Click here for some recent pictures.

Guilt? What Guilt?

My latest post is up at DotMoms:

I first experienced mom guilt before I even got pregnant ...

Six Weeks (in which I admit how much I suck at this)

It’s hard for me to believe that Ava’s six weeks old already, which "those who do studies and make charts" say is when infants cry the most. Now she can look into my eyes as she cries, which gives her more blood-pressure-raising power. I would say that she did reach her crying peak in the last few days, but I don't want to invoke the Parent Jinx or anything.

She’s settled into a nice routine of sleeping from 8 pm to 1 am, and she does pretty well between 3 am and 9 am (with a snack at 5:30). Now if she could just stop partying from 1 to 3 in the morning, life will be perfect! Oh yeah, she also started taking a semi-regular nap at 10 am, which is how I found time to write this.

You’d never know she had trouble nursing at first, considering her now-advanced skills. She does this fly-by, super-suction mid-flight nipple catch (have you seen that one?), and there is no engorged boob that she can’t conquer.

Her face has baby acne and is all flaky, which I’ve tried to capture in photographs so I can show her when she’s 14 that her skin could be worse. She loves to be swaddled, and sometimes, when she’s crying and crying, it turns out that she just wants to go into her crib. What? Not the sling or to nurse or to be walked around?! Just go in her crib! You gotta deal, kiddo!

Ava does love her crib, and she’s already in her own room, which is strange considering my boys stayed in my bedroom (in a bassinet or crib) until they were almost 1. Every time I think of moving her crib into my room, my chest gets all tight and I start to black out. I have so little me time that giving up my few minutes of reading before bed could lead to prescription anti-depressants. But once she hits two months (the beginning of the SIDS months), I may change my tune.

And now for the public service announcement portion of this post. I would never admit this because, well, I nearly squashed my baby, but I wanted to warn any other co-sleepers. When I take Ave into bed, I usually put her in between Brian and I, which, according to Sears, your not supposed to do. But my big mistake was breaking another of Sears' rules: turning to sleep on my side with my back to her, when Brian took over trying to get her back to sleep.

I remember rolling onto my back, then I heard Ava start to fuss. I thought, Ava's fussing. That’s what woke me up. Not until I started to turn to her did I realize I was lying on top of her! This happened at 6:30 in the morning, when I thought I’d be too awake to do such a thing.

All I can think is, what if she hadn’t fussed? The thought makes me sick, obviously. But I share this story in case anyone reading plans to cosleep. If you do, read up on the safety rules, and follow them all.

I must remember to:

• Call the newspapers to put in birth announcement.
• Mail birth announcements?
• Buy a baby book for Ava.
• Start writing in her baby journal (and start writing in the boys' journals again too).
• Write out and mail thank you cards.
• Get the boys’ hair cut, before people start thinking they’re girls.
• Stop ignoring the boys! Pull out some activity books, figure out some things to do with them.
• Buy more dairy-free chocolate ice cream.
• Finish writing Ava's birth story (it’s almost done!).

A Meme? Me?

Ten years ago: I was working as an administrative assistant to a group of project managers at a pharmaceutical research organization. I had figured out that I didn’t want to work at a newspaper, and was finagling my way into editing and writing at magazines or corporations.
I still hadn't quit smoking.

Five years ago: Ben was two months old. We were getting used to being parents. I spent half my life carrying or nursing him and the other half praying that he would stay asleep for a while longer.

One year ago: Brian and I had just started trying to get pregnant again after my miscarriage. I felt overwhelmed by everything pregnancy and baby related that lay before us, and I started this blog.

Yesterday: My mom watched Ava so I could take the boys to Salem Willows. They went on the kiddie rides, then we had hamburgers and hot dogs with lemonade for lunch and took a walk on the pier, where a group of kids were catching crabs.

Five snacks I enjoy: Chocolate ice cream, Cocoa Puffs cereal, chocolate cake with white frosting, chocolate, nuts

Five songs I know all the words to: Most Led Zeppelin songs, every song on Morphine’s Cure for Pain, most on Lenny Kravitz’ Are You Gonna Go My Way?, “Good-bye” by Patti Griffin, Paul Simon’s Greatest Hits, Vol. 2 …

Five things I would do with $100 million: Donate to the church and Catholic Relief Services, buy properties, give to certain relatives, hire a chef and a gardener

Five places I would escape to: My bedroom, the beach, the mountains, the bathroom, Italy

Five bad habits: Complaining, being lazy, Internet surfing when I should be otherwise engaged with life, yelling, eating/drinking too much

Five things I like doing: Reading, writing, exercising, cooking, nothing

Five things I'd never wear: A tube top; a pencil skirt; a tutu; a t-shirt with a liberal saying on it; Lennon specs

Five TV shows I like: Rockstar INXS, Survivor, Lost, Supernanny, 20/20

Five biggest joys of the moment: From 8 pm to 11 pm every night, Newman’s dairy-free chocolate, my kids, breastfeeding Ava, air conditioning

Five favorite toys: My computer, my books, my television, my stereo/CD player, my bed.

How's That for a Kick in the Pants?

• Our baby swing stopped swinging.

• The boobs? Well, my right’s always been bigger than my left. But this time, now that I'm nursing my third baby, for some reason my right boob is way bigger than my left. Like, way.

• All the milk I pumped? All 190 ounces? There’s dairy, in all of it. During the weeks I pumped it, I ate a big bowl of ice cream every night and was prone to pulling into Dunkin' Donuts for a large iced latte. I had to give up dairy because when I eat even a small amount, Ava insists on performing this monotonous one-woman show called Purple Baby: screaming, stiffening, gagging, breath holding. It gets old, you know?

• My family room rug smells like the previous owner’s dog all the time now, not just on rainy days.

• I brought Ava to my chiropractor, who does this craniosacral thing on newborns, because Ava got a lot of bruising and such at birth. So, she told me to hang her upside down for a bit each day. 15 seconds here and there, 2 minutes total a day. She’s like, “Have you hung her upside down at all?” She’s all casual, as if that’s a normal thing to ask. So I did it, and Ava peed on her own face. I made my baby pee on her own face. That is a new mommy low.

Isn't It Ironic ...

How babies sleep nearly all the time, yet still manage to keep us up all night?