It’s been a week since we went to the ER. Olive shows no signs of illness and seems to be doing well. I on the other hand am run down. Olive turned a month old the day we went to the ER, we have had a whole month of living with two children in this house. A friend once told me that when I had my second child I would know why they say “having one is like having none.” I hate it that I understand it now. I had a whole post in my mind, of things that I have learned in the past month. Things that having two kids has taught me. However, the fatigue of having those two children has robbed me of my list. Instead, there is a just a bold question mark blinking like a cursor in my mind. With each pulse of the stupid question mark, more knowledge of grammar, spelling, and syntax ooze from my brain. I really don’t understand how people can have large families. I mean, it has taken me AGES just to get these few sentences written. I know it’s not just sleep deprivation. It’s a day of having Olive screaming at the top of her lungs until she puked. A day of Sadie talking about how much she loves her sister, Sadie giving me a running commentary on the things she sees out the car window, Sadie asking me what a sponge really is, Sadie asking me if she can have “arm” and her “paci” and some juice and a snack and watch a show.

The auditory clutter leads to mental clutter and now I can’t even organize my thoughts when I have a moment of quiet. I am so happy we have Olive and Sadie around, and 9 times out of 10 I am even happy to have the noise and the chaos. It is just a shock to my system. I know that I will adjust, and my old life of no kids, or just one kid, will fade into the abyss and I will only know the life I have now. I know it will happen and probably quickly, because honestly, I can’t even remember what my life was like yesterday. I guess there is something to be said for that, I guess it keeps you in the moment or whatever. Anyway, happy belated one month birthday to Olive, and happy one month anniversary to “the end of life as I knew it” to me.

So there is this Mother’s Day ad that Juicy Juice is running. It tells us that, “Motherhood means ponytails are even.” The ad goes on to say a bunch of other asinine stuff is what “motherhood” means. What they don’t tell you, is that motherhood means being scared a whole lot of the time. Being frightened that something is wrong with your kid, or that harm will come to your child. They don’t mention that motherhood is waking up at 4:00 in the morning and knowing that something is wrong with your one month old baby. Motherhood is lubing up the thermometer and shoving it up your child’s ass. It’s calling the doctor in the wee hours of the morning and setting your phone on silent because your other kid and your husband are still asleep. Motherhood is being told that your baby’s temperature is high enough to warrant you shoving your family in the car and rushing to the kid’s emergency room. Motherhood means being able to completely dress your two and a half year old daughter while she is sound asleep. It means making the long drive to the ER pretending to yourself and your spouse that you are not on the verge of losing your shit. Motherhood means walking into the ER and seeing all the other kids with their parents there at 5:00 in the morning and knowing that their mama’s are also trying not to lose their shit.

Motherhood means keeping it together when the admitting Dr. tells you that your brand new perfect baby has to have a spinal tap. Motherhood means not punching the nurse in the face when she proceeds to dig into your newborn child’s hand for what seems like ages, trying to get an IV in, but totally missing the mark. Motherhood means smiling at her when she finally gives up jabbing your screaming child and goes to get someone who can actually do the job without maiming the baby. Motherhood means that when the Doctors ask you to leave the room so they can bend your baby over, stab her in between her vertebrae and take her spinal fluid, you do it. It also means that you wait in the hall and once again, keep it together so you don’t freak out your other kid.

Motherhood means that after five hours in the emergency room, after a battery of tests and x-rays, when they tell you that your kid seems to be okay, for now, you don’t really relax. You stay on the alert because you still have to wait for all the results to come in. Motherhood means you enjoy the beauty of your sleeping baby and are happy that they are done poking and prodding at her, but you are also screaming and weeping and crying on the inside, because it is only 10:00 in the morning, but you have already had the worst day of your life.

Motherhood means that you can see the beauty and pain in the whole experience, in every experience, because that is what every damn part of motherhood is filled with. Motherhood means being happy your babies are growing and thriving and becoming big girls and eventually women, but it also heart wrenching as they enter the world and are crushed by it and the things you can’t protect them from. Motherhood is the ultimate unrequited love, but it fills your heart until it hurts too.

Motherhood means giving up a weekend filled with lots of good plans and silliness for something much scarier and heart wrenching, and not really being disappointed. At the end of it, the Mother’s Day weekend trip we had planned was canceled, but I could care less. We are all okay, and we are together, and motherhood means being overjoyed by that fact.

I am sitting here, on my bed, with two little people asleep on me. It’s the best time of the day, because I can stare at both of them, study their faces and imagine what is coming next. It’s pretty swell.

I always have these dreams where I can fly. I have this special move, in my dreams, that propels me right into the sky. It’s a cross between a kick and that disco move where you roll your hands around each other, except it is done with my legs. You know, that move that looks like this?

I know that it’s only in dreams that I can fly, but part of me, part of my brain, until like, three years ago, really thought I could fly. I can’t explain it, but I really would be like, “I can totally fly.” Of course I only thought it to myself, and never said it out loud, but still, it was like a little treasure that made me happy and that would reassure me in my down times. However bad things were, or got, it was cool, ’cause I could fly! Of course one day I was just sitting there and it dawned on me, of course I can not fly. Of course it was just in my dream world that my fancy kick/disco move worked. I was kind of really crushed, and defeated about that realization.

So, all of the above proves a few things.
1) I am crazy
2) I am insane
3) I am really good at doing what Journey has commanded me to do, in that, I do not “Stop Believin”

Remember this when I tell you that today I had a little, um, epiphany when I was putting Sadie to bed. She likes to pick at my arm for hours upon hours as I lie there waiting for the scratching to become less intense and then eventually stop all together. In those times that I am waiting, holding my breath as to not scream out in pain, I do some of my best thinking. Today I realized that there is this little corner of my brain. This little teeny tiny, smaller than a particle of dust, part of my mind that was thinking that I could travel in time. There is this little teensy weensy part of my consciousness that kind of imagined until I believed it part of my mind that was thinking that each and every photograph I have ever taken of my children was in some way not only a snapshot of time, but a secret little door that would allow me to return and exist there. Which I know is crazy. I know it is not really a true and real thing, don’t get me wrong, but it was like this subconscious magical thought that was going on behind the scenes of my normal (somewhat) rational mind. It was a thought that I shall call an “elevator music idea,” in that it was always there, kind of buzzing around my head, but I never noticed it was there. I think it is some kind of coping mechanism that has sprung up to allow me to continue living from day to day. Otherwise I would probably be lamenting the passage of time and how quickly babies grow up, and I would be a heap of sobbing mass in the middle of the floor. Then I would miss out on everything and that really is crazy.

So whatever, I just realized this, and then I realized that I hadn’t posted forever, so now you get a little insight into my mind and yes, I am totally crazy and now you and the entire world wide web have proof. So there, feel superior for a minute or two, why don’t you?

The past two weeks have gone by rather quickly. We have been living through a mountain of dirty diapers and laundry. Why is it so easy to forget the burdens of having a newborn around? It must be one of those evolutionary things that makes it so you breed again. Because, 10 months ago when I went off birth control I was NOT thinking about all the bright yellow stains I would be scrubbing out of the baby’s clothes, or my clothes, or the bedding, or the couch cushions. No. I was thinking of the cheeks, THE CHEEKS! The delicious cheeks I would have around to nosh on. Sadie is doing pretty well with the transition. She is free with the kisses for Olive, but she gets a little weird in the eyes if Olive is too close to my arms.

I have an itch inside of my brain that happens whenever I go too long without making something with my hands. The fact that my hands are busy holding a baby doesn’t really matter to the itch. So I need to figure out a time to cram in some knitting or something, because if I don’t I know the itch will just get louder and louder. I wish I had more to say, but really, it’s been all baby all the time around here. So I leave you with a joyful Sadie in her new bathing suit:

I so genuinely would like to update, but I’m drowning in a sea of diapers and snot rags. Sadie has caught a cold and Olive lives her life by the maxim “food in, food out.” The wiping of all of these orifices leaves little time for the internet, too bad for you! No delicious details about yellow butter butt, or bright green snot rivulets. Lucky, lucky you.

The past few days have been long, long and filled with the most gigantic breasts you could ever imagine. Really. The engorgement of my chest is not a comfortable feeling, and I am only barely able to even reach my arms around my breasts to reach the keyboard to type this. I just thought you should know that we have actually named our baby.

Introducing:

Olive Anne Judy Fran!

Of course I have an earworm for this auspicious event:

Yesterday I heard this song a million times, it kept repeating on my ipod during labor, and early this morning while I watched Brett & the baby sleep:

First of all, an observation: Who knew that internet p0rn & having a baby would develop the same skill? I am typing this one handed right now, and doing a first rate job, if I may say so myself. In my right arm I am holding a swaddled, sleeping BABY! I can’t believe it, but there really was a baby in that swollen body of mine.

Yesterday we took extreme measures to force this kid out. We dropped Sadie off at my mom’s house and we went to the midwife’s office. She swept my membranes three times, (not much fun, I have to say) she gave us a mixture of blue & black cohosh to take every half hour, and then we went to a local indoor mall for a brisk walk. We had to go somewhere indoors because it was SNOWING. Boo to snow in April, climate change, boo. After our briskish walk, (I was having some cramping and I was all giant and huge, and my pants were falling down.) we went back to the midwife and she stripped my membranes three more times. We came home ad instead of getting it on, we opted for nipple stimulation with a breast pump. With the cramping and the membrane sweeping, my body was SO not in the mood for anything fancier than eating in front of the TV with a breast pump attached to me. So then we headed back to the midwife for one last membrane sweep, but she said I was dilated to a 3 so she would refrain from the last membrane sweep. This, was the lovliest news ever.

We went home and just hung out in our big bed. I took a little nap between the contractions that had started. I’m not sure how many episodes of Law & Order we watched, but let’s just say for the entirety of my labor, excluding one episode of Clean House, was filled with back to back episodes of one kind of L & O or another. My labor started getting serious around 9:30pm, but in accordance with our birthing practice (The Bradley Method) & the birth center policies, we labored at home as long as we could. Brett called our midwife at midnight & we met her at the birth center at 12:30.

I was having contractions the whole way there, but when we arrived, she said I was only dilated to a 4! I was pretty grumpy about that. She filled up the giant tub in the bathroom while I had more contractions on the bed. Let me take a moment to say how awesome Brett is as a labor coach. He’s sweet and attentive, and he did so well at supporting me, I can’t even tell you. He sat by the side of the tub as contraction after contraction rolled over me. They came so fast I barely had time to rest between them. Laboring i the water was so terrific, until I had to pee. I got out to go to the bathroom, and then I had the urge to push. The midwife let me push on the toilet for awhile, but she was emphatic that I could not give birth to the baby on the toilet. So I ended up giving birth to this little one while I stood in the bathroom. Brett held me up from behind while the midwife caught the kid. She was born at 3:08am. You don’t know weird until you are standing naked in some medical suite, holding a slippery baby and straddling their umbilical cord while you hobble from the bathroom to the bed.

She is perfect and sweet, just like her big sister. Unlike her big sister she did not break my tailbone, and so we thank the universe for miracles large and small today. We still haven’t settled on a name, but we have set the limit of namelessness as tonight, so check back in for that info later.