Sick days

There is nothing like a sick baby. It’s the first time Daniel is properly, truly, miserably sick. He coughs and then dissolves into tears, his face melting from the strain and possibly pain. He won’t eat anything but nurse, and when he tries food every once in a while, he throws it back up 10 seconds later. He isn’t alone. Our home is a vortex of whirling germs, barely contained by the occasional remembering to cough into elbows. Mummy A is a mess, still, after a week. She is going back to the doctor. Ben, thankfully, is recovering, though he is clearly thrown by what is a distinct change in his safe “family normal” status. He has a flair for the dramatic, which A attributes to my influence, hmm... But he has certainly been tempestuous this week. And me? Amazingly still well, bit of a runny nose, the odd headache. It’s a miracle. I am ODing on vitamin C etc, but I think it’s just good luck. I’m on more of an existential trip, feeling the full impact of being the bio-mom again. Since Daniel’s been eating solid foods at six months, I have felt the “need” for me lessening. It was a good time to return to work. And then this… Me, the sole source of nutrients again. Not to be too graphic but his poo has reverted to infant poo consistency (those of you who have cleaned this know how many wipes it takes…). I am not actually complaining. I have simplified my life back down to the microcosmic baby to boob to bed. I am holding onto a clinging little monkey who is snuggling back. Normally he is adventuresome and too busy for that silliness. Instead there have been deeply precious moments where he has slept in the curve of my body, our breathing in synch. Despite the hard nights with both boys up, the sad snotty faces, I feel honoured to be so needed, so reduced to a lovey-dovey mush pile. Life’s challenge can also be its beauty.

E

Bending forward

Part 1: Jan.31, 2013

How do I feel? The best answer is PREGNANT! I know, such a blessing. How can I complain? Five years to get pregnant (not trying the whole time), and such a sweet pregnancy so far. I give deep, abiding props to all my friends and ladies out there who have known it to be rough (including A, nauseous for 9 months). Oh there have been symptoms, and I was hella moody for the first trimester! But it’s been a dream overall. This last week however marks the beginning of the end, and to celebrate, my pelvis has decided to throw a belated party! I feel like I’ve been doing the splits for 6 straight hours while being pummeled throughout the area by a swarm of angry imps bent on bruising me! I know they are the same imps that are helping me get ready for labour… But fellas, labour standards in Canada demand regular breaks! Arnica and baths are helping for sure. And thank Hindus for yoga! I love my prenatal class. Can't see my toes of course. Most of the time I feel like an geriatric hippo every time I move from sitting or lying to standing, grabbing my sides with accompanying “ugh” sounds and then limping lamely off to, you guessed it, the toilet. Again. I either laugh or whimper, sometimes both, because it’s so absurd looking. And they mean it when they say to slow down. I did too much yesterday (though I felt fabulously productive at the time), and ended up burning my arm on the frying pan, biting my unsuspecting spouses’ head off, and almost weeping from the sound of the hungry cats meowing their dinner requests while weaving around my legs and tripping me! NB: my good friend gave me an extraordinary osteopathic treatment which reconnected the energy flowing through my spine (and essential self) down to my pelvis, which I had diverted unnecessarily to the babe. My pelvis has felt pretty fab since (all things considered).

I couldn't resist painting my 38-week belly; it is a swirling ocean with an oroboros snake (wholeness of the universe) surrounding a bright golden light. Baby and I are both "snakes" in Chinese astrology.

Part 2: March 3, 2013

I am a day away from D-date. Wow. Currently I am sipping the Gatorade I bought for labour and eating saltines since the stomach bug that went around our house finally got me. Let me tell you, it is not comfortable to reach the toilet preggers! Talk about timing too. A has been frantically Googling early labour signs since many flu symptoms comply but really it is an honest to goodness bug. Thankfully our midwife said women don’t tend to go into labour sick as a self-preservation thing. I would be a mess. I am also currently listening to my fabulous birth mix, which could be called a dance party at an Ashram (holy community retreats). I hope I get to use it! Who knows what we’ll ever want or need in labour, but I know that chanting and a good beat keep me positive and focused and get me to move. We have inflated the birth pool. Well, actually our donor and friend came over with this massive air compressor thing, we put concert grade ear muffs on Ben, and he inflated the whole thing in what felt like 5 minutes. Oh the things we’ll remember! I hope I get to use the pool too. At this point everyone is anxious, A can’t sleep, Ben’s bedtimes have been a gong show because he can feel the tension. I am trying to stay relaxed and remember that this quiet time is short lived, that due dates are so approximate as to be ridiculous, and that one way or another, babies come out! I am scared though, not terrified, more apprehensive. I worry about back labour, meconium, Mercury Retrograde's influence (though I think it could be good), hospital transfers, c-births (after much processing I have come to accept internally that they remain births, and it's nicer to call them so than "sections") and of course the baby’s wellness. I worry about making myself proud. It’s odd to just be going through my days knowing the most intense thing to ever happen to me is coming any minute. As much of a mind trip as feeling feet and toes through tummy skin! We are very excited to meet their owner! Wish us luck!

E

Martyr me

I’m no Christian saint getting mauled by a lion in a Roman amphitheater, but lately I sure feel like I’m dying for a cause. No capital D, rather the little deaths that represent the pain of change. I feel that I’m generally pretty resilient as people go, but everyone has something which breaks them down. For me it seems to be sleep training. It’s taxing. Though we make progress, and he goes weeks doing pretty well, it’s apparently never-ending. Every life change  requires a re-set, for example this Real Life Scenario: it’s early December and baby catches a phlegmy cold which makes him breathe like a rabid wolf. Mummy and Maman (me) then catch it too, and Mummy’s weak lungs are working overtime so Maman goes and sleeps with baby. Add to this snotty, coughing mix that baby then catching a nasty stomach bug and prolific liquids begin erupting from both ends. You’d think it wouldn't phase us, having had a spit-uppy baby. It actually feels frightening and out of control. Mummy catches it too, of course, and gets it bad. She still has to breastfeed since baby won’t have anything else and is dehydrated, but she can’t keep much liquid down herself. The only solution for her is a couch, bowl, hot water bottle, ginger-ale and a “House” DVD marathon. Maman is now looking after two sickies, while coordinating a large fundraiser for her youth group the next day and the eventful final graduation/movie screening of her program at work. Boom, that night, she gets the bug too. A quick passing through, mercifully. A had to take care of Ben that night but could barely stand or breathe without coughing and feeling wretched herself.

How do single parents survive? It’s mind-boggling and every one of my hats is off to those of you out there. In either scenario, who takes care of the caretaker(s)? We were lucky to have some divine intervention (soup deliveries), and kind calls/emails, which saved us. Did I mention that both of us also got our periods that week-end (A for the first time since before conception)? Here’s the kicker, the day after I got sick marked the one-week deadline until we moved, yes MOVED, to a new house. Were we packed? Not even close. Our moms descended from opposite ends of the 401, and both promptly got the stomach bug too (after packing a substantial chunk thankfully). As did our friend and neighbour who  helped us pack. As did pretty much anyone who hung out for more than a minute. We wrote on our door “enter at your own risk, plague house”. We managed to move, by some miracle, and in reaction (we assume) Ben proceeded to begin screaming a whole new range of bloody murder when being put down to bed. And in the middle of the night. Like 1.5 hours from 3:30-5. For weeks. Wait, there’s more! We drove to each parent’s house (4/5hr trip x4) for the respective holiday gatherings, occasionally in freezing rain. And then Ben started daycare, and A started work. Need I say more?

I sometimes feel annoyed when I hear myself telling parts of this story, like I’m whining or saying “poor me”, or being a veritable martyr. I believe attitude counts, and instead I could have written about all the neat features of our new place, the lovely time with grandparents, the peaceful snowy afternoons. But aren't most parents entitled to claiming martyrdom from time to time? When they say parenthood requires service and sacrifice, they weren't kidding. When they say nothing prepares you for this, it’s the truth. When you think everything will change, you can’t know how tremendously much. It would all be bearable if it didn't also tax relationships to the edge of reason. A French writer penned a book listing 40 reasons not to have kids. I say there are only two: sleep and relationship stress. I miss sleep with every fiber of my being, like I've been ripped out from some safe hole and left to walk through a minefield. Leaving the warmth of duvet and body heat of partner to enter the cold shock of wintery nighttime, only to run into a wall of sound and fury, sometimes feels like the ultimate test. Finally, when I creep out of his room, careful to only walk on the non-squeaky parts of the old wooden floor, gently turning the door knob to avoid a rusty squeak, that’s usually it. Every so often though, once I've gotten comfortable, as the world is starting to go black … no… it can’t be. A sniff, a squawk and slowly but surely the crescendo of sound from the small person down the hall begins again. I would have said there is nothing to compare to the first nighttime crying session, but I amend that to say in earnest, that I would give up almost anything (including highly confidential political information) not to have to deal with the second nighttime cry (or 15^th as one unfortunate mother in our play group knows only too well). As for relationship stress, that’s a whole blog entry for another time. But people have children anyway and they are gorgeous and magical and irreplaceable. And we’ll survive, mostly intact, because we chose this. No one can say that lesbians came into this mess “by accident”. Pema Chodron aptly names it the “wisdom of no escape”, the power of being in the moment, of not resisting what is. I tried to explain this Buddhist theory to Ben one particularly tough night though I think it was largely lost on his 11-month-old self.

E

Lovesick

I’ve got it bad for a man. I wouldn’t have said the tall, dark and handsome cliché was my type, but I am making an exception. He has the softest, fullest lips and stares into your eyes like he’s trying to read your soul. Swoooon… The age difference is a little bit of a hurdle, seeing as he is one month old today, but my heart doesn’t seem to realize it. Am I in love? I feel like a teenage girl. I have all the standard symptoms: a fluttery feeling in my chest when he looks my way or grabs my hand, a deep warmth when I hold him that radiates out in all directions, an inability to be apart from him for long, lack of sleep from staring at him, a runny nose, inability to think clearly, appetite swings, chocolate cravings, the sad list goes on. Doctor, I know I’m lovesick. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s spreading.

E

Separate beds ahoy!

Ever heard of pregnancy cough? It’s a real thing, trust me. Add an exhausted woman whose lungs are total germ magnets, ready to lay down their healthy glow to the first sleazy bug and what do you have? Separate beds. Mind you, we were in separate beds for a few weeks prior to “walking pneumonia” coming by for a jaunt. We share a double bed you see, which under normal circumstances is fine for two snuggly, average-sized ladies. For a while however, it felt like we had become polygamists since her damn (I mean blessed) body pillow takes up more room than I do!! A was having trouble sleeping, since she’s a natural tummy sleeper and suddenly there was a watermelon beneath her. She’s never been one to easily give over to the sandman. And she is so HOT these days (in many ways, but especially in body temperature). Long story short, I wasn’t sleeping either. Hence the separate beds, nay, separate rooms! I miss her. She misses me. It’s too sad.

E