Right.
So the post I was going to write last week got sidetracked because I forgot I was going to write it.
With the holidays coming up, Tarzan and I decided that it was time to get a family portrait taken, since we have Cheetah now, and our family looks different than it has for the last 15 years.
Our last official family picture was in January, when Cheetah was blessed:
It's been almost a year and so much has changed, not the least of which is he was aware of this experience:
He was so fascinated with the equipment and the computer screen he wasn't much for smiling:
Until Daddy got serious with the tickles:
He was really interested in the backdrops, the floors, the props, anything that was not the actual picture taking. We were lucky he hasn't figured out how to sit down yet, or these would not exist:
This is me and I have become that woman.
I swear my brains fell out when Cheetah was born.
I can't remember anything to save my life anymore. I never know what day of the week it is. (I forgot it was my birthday last month. That has *never* happened before.)
I nearly forgot our anniversary.
I forgot NaBloPoMo.
It's bugging me to because I used to be the one who knew all that little stuff - Tarzan doesn't remember the little things - and now we're in trouble because neither of us knows what's what.
This is me hoping its not forever.
One of the Sunday morning traditions Tarzan and I loved from when we were young is listening to Music and the Spoken Word. (I swear Lloyd Newell has been the voice of the show forever, though according to the link it's only been 25 years. Who did we hear before that?)
This morning was a special broadcast for Veteran's Day, dedicated to the service men and women who have fought for the liberties we enjoy.
One of the songs sung was called 'Because of the Brave.'
And the chorus is "...we are the land of the free, because of the brave."
The choir - of course - has a lovely, full sound and the sentiment is very moving. It got me to thinking beyond the physical borders. This land is blessed by Heavenly Father because of covenants made with righteous people who lived here long ago. Possession of and ability to live in America is granted to those who keep those covenants.
We who live now are responsible for maintaining those promises if we want the protection and blessings to continue.
It won't be because of the military personnel that freedom fails.
It's the simple, everyday bravery of all the people that will keep America free.
The bravery to choose the right and keep the commandments of God.
To keep the Sabbath Day holy, to vote, to be kind, to read the scriptures, to share, to honor the sanctity of marriage, to be honest, to not be greedy and covetous, to love one another.
It is our every day behavior - and bravery - that is the hinge of freedom in this land.
This is me and I need to be braver.
I wonder where they find the people who make up - and then research - or is it the reverse? - the random statistics for college football?
Real statistic on the screen: 5-0 when leading at the end of the first quarter.
I could do that.
How many times have they won while in [insert stadium name] in November?
Or how many touchdowns thrown with left hands?
Or how many injuries in the fourth quarter?
Or how many times have they won when coming from behind in the third quarter?
Oooh! Oooh! How many times have they won when the kicker was wearing blue boxers?
This is me making stuff up.
Holy do-you-know-how-old-I-was-when-my-parents-celebrated-15-years Batman?!?!
That's right.
Old enough to remember it. (Old enough to babysit so my parents could go on a date for the first time in 13 years.)
But here we are (well, were; our official anniversary was Wednesday) with our own 15 year milestone.
We celebrated in true understated fashion; dinner at home, cards for each other and leafing through the wedding album.
The menu consisted of bacon wrapped filet mignon topped with goat cheese and a balsamic reduction, roasted potatoes, butternut squash and kale salad with brownies and ice cream for dessert.
I had a beautiful plan in my head, I started with enough time and everything was on schedule. Until Tarzan got hung up at work and Cheetah decided he needed to eat immediately. It was a downhill slope from there.
When we finally sat down to eat, the filet was dry, the potatoes were cold, the squash was just okay but the salad - which was a dumped from a bag into a bowl - was lovely. Bless him, Tarzan ate it all - ate so much there wasn't room for dessert so we ate the brownies yesterday.
We did look over the wedding photos and redid the celebration in our heads the way we should have done it - not the least of which was getting a photographer who used digital!! - laughing over how young everyone looked and how big the glasses were:
The whole night was a metaphor of our marriage; we had a plan, a good plan, a considerate, modest plan, and it all went different than we thought. Scheduling out of our control, demands we hadn't expected, results less than perfect and hindsight being 20/20 we'd have done it differently and maybe saved ourselves some stress.
But in the end we have each other (and now Cheetah too!) so it is worth all the insanity.
This is me and it's a ride.
Epic, epic fail Jane.
I completely forgot about NaBloPoMo.
I really did.
First time in eight years I wasn't prepped and ready to start posting come November 01.
Last year I was moments from giving birth and I still remembered!!
Heck, I even pre-dated some posts so I wouldn't miss a day, and this year I'm just doodle-doodle-doo-ing along until our anniversary shows up and I realize that in years past I've put up an ode to us and then that reminded me of posting a lot in November and then oh whoops!
NaBloPoMo is this month.
Well, call it a cheat or not one of the things that keeps this blog from totally falling apart is the 30 posts of November, so late we may be starting, but 30 we will be posting.
This is me, so there.
The last weekend of June we traveled to Salt Lake City for the wedding of a friend of Tarzan's family.
It was Cheetah's first time on a plane and other than the eternal taxiing of the aircraft that caused him to finish nursing before we actually took off, I feel he weathered it well:
And despite his screaming for the first third of the flight waiting for his ears to pop, once he had adjusted, he charmed everyone, including the flight attendants and gossiping college girls sitting behind us.
The wedding was on Saturday but we left the Jungle Thursday night to spend some time with Tarzan's brother Phatfiddle, Liezel and their family on Friday.
We met in the morning for some play time and catching up. (It's been a while since we've seen them.)
**I must apologize for my distinct lack of photos on this trip. I was intently focused on Cheetah having a positive experience and making sure he slept, which he does not like to do when there is new stuff to see. And this whole trip had a lotta new.**
We stopped for lunch on our way to a local farm/petting zoo and sadly for Cheetah, Daddy was not sharing his hamburger:
No matter how long and hard he stared:
Liezel and Phatfiddle's children are almost 5 and 3 so while Cheetah was a novelty at the farm, he was not much good for playing:
He was slightly interested in the geese:
But no one looked as cute in their hat as this kid:
I am *so very* thankful that Cheetah sleeps well at night because he doesn't nap well during the day, even when we're home and it's boring. He did sleep good Friday night which was excellent as Saturday was the day and it was both lovely and busy.
The happy couple:
At the wedding luncheon our family contingent took up an entire table:
The food was very picturesque:
(And, thanks to Gamma, Cheetah got to try roasted red peppers and pistachios that day. (There was a romesco sauce on the chicken.) Mommy was mean and drew the line at the chocolate pudding.)
He also ate his own food:
But all eating stopped when Uncle Phatfiddle pulled out the violin:
During the actual wedding, Mommy and Cheetah hung around outside and despite all the cool sites to see:
Cheetah got bored - it was a Saturday in June after all, so the temple was a little backed up, but we amused ourselves as best we could:
Cheetah discovered that Gamma wears a lot of really cool adornments:
And she's always good for a cuddle:
There was a reception following the wedding but Tarzan - being bishop - needed to be back for early morning meetings on Sunday so we dashed off to the airport to catch our flight:
Cheetah was exhausted, so he slept most of the way home and didn't even wake up when I moved him from the car seat to his bed.
This is me and it was a big adventure.
I have never been more thankful that Tarzan is a teacher than this year.
In fact, most years I have been bitter that Tarzan gets 12 weeks off in the summer (plus 1 at Thanksgiving, another 1 in the spring AND the 3 at Christmas)
Not because I think he's not working. He works hard during the school year, including Saturdays, I don't envy him AT ALL his getting up at 5am all year long to go to school and he still manages some substitute time during the summer, just for kicks and because he gets bored on vacation.
But usually, on his vacations, *I* still had to go to work and so I was jealous.
This time around though, we have Cheetah, I have no pressing work to go to, so we have time together.
Which is awesome.
And we decided to start taking advantage of the many, many cultural institutions here in the Jungle.
Despite Cheetah being only seven months old - and unlikely to remember it - we took him to one of the local museums to see the "art" that was recently installed.
Cheetah slept through it:
When he did wake up he was not impressed with the statues:
The historical locale:
Or his parents:
In fact, all he really cared about was watching the wheels on the stroller go around:
And the traffic:
Though he did try and pull up a tuft of his first grass:
Tarzan and I had a blast though and we look forward to many summer adventures this year and in the years to come.
This is me and it's looking good.
So this is why one is not supposed to use regular dish soap in the dishwasher:
I wasn't washing dishes, just cleaning the machine - light, quick periodic wash as recommended. I thought using the 'extra strength' cleaner would be a good idea.
It was not.
Had to repeatedly cancel and restart the cycle until the suds subsided enough for it to complete the whole thing and rinse out.
This is me and at least the dishwasher is squeaky clean!
Since Tarzan got his new phone he has totally taken to the blog thing and - as I did once upon a time - when he has some free time at work, he posts. I appreciate his interest because I do not have the free time I used to have.
Some of that is Cheetah of course.
Some Most of it is the lack of a complete sleep cycle I'm experiencing. And much as I would love to, I can't blame that on the baby. Not completely at least.
It isn't that I'm not sleeping, now that Cheetah is here. It's that I'm not sleeping the same as I did before he arrived.
I used to be a really good sleeper.
It took me only a few minutes to snuggle down into my pillow and I was asleep. And once I was out, I slept for the whole night. Tarzan could snore, the neighbors could party and play loud music, the cats could fight, sirens, man hunts, none of it bothered me. I didn't nap unless I was sick and I would feel loopy after having one. I couldn't understand my mother who would fall asleep seconds after sitting in a chair, particularly during movies or TV or conversations.
I apologize very sincerely to my mother.
These days I still fall asleep easily. In fact, I'm dropping off nearly every time I sit down.
Naps are a blessed gift and I take them whenever possible. But I also wake up at the slightest noise. If Cheetah coughs in the middle of the night, I'm halfway across the room before I'm conscious.
I wake up if the neighbors turn on a light in their room.
I'm pretty sure I'm missing my REM sleep or something equally as vital.
The other night I woke up convinced I had fallen asleep with Cheetah on my chest, so I carried him carefully across the room and straight into a wall. Turned out, it was my pillow I was handling so gingerly and I was disoriented enough to mistake the mirror on the closet door for the door of the bedroom.
Despite the fact Cheetah has never slept in our bed, I frequently wake up convinced I've dropped him on the floor - it's always my pillow - or sure that I'm smothering him and end up frantically digging Tarzan's shoulder out from under the blankets.
I'm not sure what the surge of adrenaline is supposed to accomplish at 2am but I've got some to spare.
This is me and I don't dream like I used to either.
Happiness is sitting on our new reclining couch with the baby asleep on my lap, a blanket over my toes (the weather is up and down like a roller coaster over here), my phone and iPad within easy reach and nothing begging to be done today.
This is me rejoicing.
There's something ironic about the "Talk To Your Baby" (or they'll grow up to be an ax-murderer) campaign showing half a dozen commercials in an hour when I'm sitting there with laryngitis and can't do more than weakly rasp out his name.
It's a good thing he won't remember these first few weeks...
This is me unable to speak.
The problem with giving baked goods for the holidays is that you have to space out the giving - leading to some people thinking they have been overlooked and all kinds of hurt feelings there - or spend one crazy day/night baking and decorating and labeling. When one has a newborn this is more stressful/exhausting than it has ever been.
(At one point I looked at the clock thinking it was close to midnight and finding out it was only 8:30. On the one hand, that's good - more time - on the other my sense of time is severely distorted.)
If I was less idealistic, I would have recognized the challenge before getting mired in the process and ending up with icing all over because I wasn't thinking clearly and didn't put a tray under the rack of glazed cookies.
This is me rethinking my plan.
The crying has got to stop.
Not Cheeta. He's very stingy with his crying - only when denied food for a while or when sitting in a wet diaper does he cry.
No, MY crying.
Jeepers, hormones are one thing but this is ridiculous.
I've seen Steel Magnolias dozens of times. I don't even like it that much. (Sally Field is great as is Shirley MacLaine but the storyline bugs me. Always has.) Never shed a tear previously. Now it's all over my lap.
White Christmas? Classic holiday movie, lots of songs and dances, it's a funny flick I've seen at least once a year my entire life. Never even thought about crying. Now I'm tearing up every other scene.
And that horrible Christmas song on the radio about the shoes? Makes me mad every time they play it. *So* many problems with that song.
Also makes me weep this year.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night had me crying in church last Sunday.
I can't even say why.
I understand why Cheeta smiling does it to me, or thinking of him getting older and not being able to protect or provide everything for him. Sure. Makes total hormone sense, but random songs and movies I don't even like?
This is me and say it stops eventually.
I understand why parents get up in the night and stand over their child's bed just to check that they are still breathing.
Not so much to verify their respiration - though one can think of some horrible things in the middle of the night - but to confirm that it's actually happened. And to revel in the moment. They're so small and helpless but they have personalities and potential that is vast, so you I go and watch him sleep to try and soak up all the 'now' time I can. I have to sleep sometime too but I hate it because I might miss something. Makes me bleary at 3am but I go and skip napping in favor of watching him the next day anyway.
Odd as it may look, having four arms would be a wonderful thing. (And not just for nursing; holding both hands out of the way, pulling down a lower lip, cupping a head, guiding things into mouths, it's a complicated dance we do over here...) Then I could hold him all day AND do the other things that need attention. (Laundry, dishes, brush my teeth, get dressed, etc.)
This week has been one of accomplishment and a little lessening of the tension. Cheeta is eating which makes me feel better. I learned that the headache comes from sleeplessness (right?!) and the pain in my back is tension from my right arm which is the one I hold Cheeta in when he nurses, on either side. Knowing that he is eating and I haven't broken him makes the tension - and hence the back ache - a little less.
He is growing and learning - too fast, too soon but what can I do? - and making connections. He's learning our faces and voices and smells. He stays up in longer stretches and sleeps in bigger bits. (Sleeping through the night is not as distant a dream as people tell me.)
We went to the pediatrician this week and everything is okay. Cheeta has a big head, but so did I and so did Tarzan, and he's pretty steady on the length thing so hopefully he will be tall like Daddy and not short like me.
For the first time since he arrived I feel like I'm not chasing the care thing, but actually on board with it. We'll see how that goes this week when we start making personal appearances and return to church next Sunday.
In closing, I leave you with this:
A visit from two of Tarzan's aunts and an uncle today. So cute and so well behaved.
The baby too!
This is me and I don't want to miss a thing.
There is something validating about day wherein you make it to a morning appointment (nearly) on time with a newborn; a medical professional tells you your newborn looks perfect; said newborn has gained weight (9 lbs) and length (21"); the lactation consultant says he is eating well and enough (score!); and you also make it to the grocery store so you and the husband don't starve while looking after the newborn.
This is me and I really need a nap now.
Friday, November 14th was a fairly typical day for me, late in my pregnancy. (I was 3 days from my due date.) I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions periodically but they went away when I laid down and didn't happen at all when I went to see Dr. She (my obstetrician) for my weekly appointment. She mentioned that walking might bring on regular contractions and we'd follow Dr. Smartypants' (my perinatologist) recommendation for any artificial means of getting things going. At the moment, he said, waiting for labor to start naturally was fine because Cheeta was not yet "too big." The official weight for a baby considered "too big" is 4500 grams. (Cheeta's birth weight was 3775 grams or 8lbs 5ozs which made me laugh because Dr. Smartypants was sure he would be 9lbs or more.)
After visiting the doctor - where all was declared fine - I had some errands to run, grocery store, post office, sat in on an inspection for Stingy, etc.
That evening my contractions started getting more intense and they didn't always go away when I laid down, so I knew we were getting somewhere. In an irritating fashion they woke me up every 10-15 minutes all night long, so I didn't get much sleep.
Saturday morning they were still pretty far apart so I sent Tarzan to work and started to get ready for a Primary activity we had that morning. Naturally the contractions amped it up right then. After coming every 4-5 minutes for an hour I called Tarzan and had him come home and take me to the hospital. (I feel bad for the Primary President as I had promised her I would be available for this activity.)
The nurses were very nice but they said I was only dilated 2cm and I could go home and come back when the contractions were more intense and closer together. They also recommended walking.
So we went home, Tarzan went to his second job and I went to bed. Still not much sleep but laying down was good for my back which had begun to ache. When Tarzan got home at 4:30 he took me walking around the block of the local high school.
We walked and walked and walked around the thing, pausing every time I had a contraction. They did indeed get closer together and I learned the difference between a 7 on the pain scale and a 9. When the contractions were regularly 2 minutes apart, around 6pm, Tarzan deemed it acceptable to stop walking and go back to the hospital. Funnily enough it was the same shift of nurses at the desk and they could tell right away things were different. This time I was admitted, having dilated to 5cm, with regular intense contractions. The doctor on call that night was Dr. Beard, my regular gynecologist, who was not my OB only by virtue of his schedule being too full when I made the first appointment back in April.
So I knew him and he recognized me.
Labor progressed rather steadily from that point. In the next six hours I continued to dilate up to 9cm. The contractions weren't my favorite - it was very hard to not push - but progress was being made, Tarzan was there to hold my hand and I breathed through it, as the nurses suggested.
No one is entirely sure when my water broke. There are three possible moments but I sure don't know if or when the contractions got more intense. I do know that around 2am Sunday morning I was still at 9cm and this was not moving as fast as the nice professionals said it would. My back was really giving me fits and it didn't abate after the contraction was over. The nurses kept saying the back pain meant the baby was moving but every time Dr. Beard came in I was still at 9cm and Cheeta was still "getting ready."
That's when they offered me the epidural. And though I had told myself previously that I didn't want one, it was a lovely thing when it came. Of course, they put the needle in the smaller, spinal tap area, instead of the larger epidural area so I only got a small amount of medicine and it had to be given every hour AND I had to let it all wear off before the next dose, so the next few hours were a circle of blessed relief and some dozing for 40 minutes, a gradual increase in discomfort for 15 minutes, hard contractions for 5-10 minutes and then back to blessed relief.
Dr. Beard had a surgery to be at early Sunday morning and while he was gone the other on-call doctor came in once, around 8am, said she was concerned that I hadn't progressed beyond 9cm in so long, my temperature was going up which might mean an infection - my water had definitely broken at that point - and Cheeta's heartbeat was rising though he wasn't moving down like he should have been.
She was recommending a C-section.
This was harsh news. We had been at this for so long, were almost there and had tried to avoid a C-section all along and why was this chick - who we didn't know - pushing? We asked to talk to Dr. Smartypants who was the next doctor on call that night/morning. (Dr. She came on-call after he was done so I really lucked out with the available professionals.) She said that was fine.
Dr. Smartypants came in about 40 minutes later, along with Dr. Beard and two other doctors, including the one recommending the C-section. It seems what I had was "failure to progress." There are many reasons why labor is long or slow but I had most of the factors on the list and Cheeta's rising heartbeat was a big concern. If it climbed any more he would have to be in the NICU for a mandatory 72 hours, however the birth developed.
So on to the C-section we went.
Having the epidural put in the wrong space was a plus for the spinal tap for the C-section - speed of preparation - and Dr. Smartypants did the surgery himself, which helped me relax a little. He was very quick; we were in and out of the surgical room in about 30 minutes. (Nearly every doctor in the hospital came by to see the incision over the next two days, all commenting on what a good job Dr. Smartypants had done.)
It was totally weird, feeling the pressure and pulling but not any of the pain or stress as they helped Cheeta out. Poor Tarzan was divided, being there for me, not looking over the screen at my lower half and wanting to see the baby, all at once. It was surreal hearing Cheeta cry but not being able to hold him for a while:
The three NICU people got peed on for their involvement - but he had inhaled some amniotic fluid and so it was good that he was born when he was and in the end we both came out healthy and safe. (Poor kid had a serious conehead too, but that's all gone now.)
Which is really the most important thing:
This is me and that's how it went.
I can't promise to do a post EVERY week for Cheeta but things change so quick at the beginning it helps me keep track of what happened when.
This week we saw an increase in awake time, so after eating he does not go immediately back to sleep. This is adorable of course because when clean and full, he is very focused on our faces and memorizing who we are:
Or the mop next to his head.
I can't count the number of times this week Tarzan has said, "I love holding him like this!"
Cheeta also has decided he likes to be held while asleep - I blame Tarzan for that one; all those hours at the computer, reveling in the fact we made another human being - so once he is asleep, we take a few extra minutes walking around in the dark to make sure he really means it.
There have been a few adventures this week; Thanksgiving being his first long drive (2 hours out to my parents' house and then 2 more back), meeting his cousin Ted - neither one of them seemed to care much - making it through Mommy's first solo day and his first rainstorm. (Bring it! The Jungle needs the rain.)
Big news; we are making progress in the nursing department.
I think.
We will find out at the pediatrician's office this week if Cheeta is gaining weight. I'm encouraged by the number of wet diapers he creates and then...then there was the epic poo of this afternoon.
I share this not to embarrass my son - who, if he is like his father will take pride in the story one day - but as an illustration of my belief that he is, in fact, gaining nourishment from somewhere.
I am not as naïve as you might believe. We have had one blowout diaper over here already that got on clothing and went down legs, so when I heard the telltale noise from Cheeta's direction, I did not panic. I took him to the bathroom and laid him on the changing mat, undid the legs of his sleeper and waited. Sure enough, there was another of the distinctive sounds. And I waited that one out too. When there had been a few minutes of silence I thought it was safe to start the clean up. I used the diaper to get the most I could, reached for a wipe, while holding Cheeta's heels up slightly out of the goo, and was totally surprised when the poop came shooting out, over my hand, down the front of my robe, onto my slippers and - silly me, I jumped - then on to the wall.
In three places.
Naturally, in the stunned pause that followed, he decided to pee on me as well. Figuring we were really done this time, I started to clean it all up - bless Tarzan for the newspaper in the bathroom - only to have more poop arrive on the scene. A little less distance, just as much mess. Followed by more pee.
Poor kid ended up dressed in a diaper and a towel crying on the couch while I got changed, tried to restore order to the bathroom and prayed Tarzan would get home from church soon.
(He did not get back soon enough.)
This is me still cleaning it up.
Another one of the "it's a given" sort of posts, but I am so thankful for Tarzan.
For his determination to do good, for his work ethic, for his effort to be a good, fair bishop, for his talents, for his love of Cheeta and of me, for his efforts and plans to be a good father, for his desire to be a better person everyday.
Even though it drives me crazy at the time, he keeps me grounded and makes me laugh. He doesn't let me get hung up on the details, as I am wont to do. He has a much larger "big picture" view than I do and I appreciate that.
He was solid throughout the pregnancy, coming to all appointments he could, being part of the conversations and discussions, supporting me and what I wanted to have happen.
When it came to labor and delivery I don't think he left my side once. I don't know how he avoided needing the bathroom for 30 hours, but whenever I needed him, he was there. There to hold my hand, to talk to the doctor, to report how I was feeling, to sign the paperwork, to fetch a nurse, or some water, to hold the baby and to tell me what was going on.
It hasn't stopped since we came home. He's happy to change a diaper, get up in the night, hold Cheeta and hug me too. He always asks how the day, or night, went. If there's anything he can get or do to make a situation easier. Some things he volunteers or gets, just because.
Whatever I need is okay and he'll move heaven and earth to get it. It helps me be a little more humble knowing that he's there.
He was and is amazing:
This is me and my eternal companion.
I am thankful that there is an industry standard for baby paraphernalia; that allows all lids and tops to be the same size, so no matter which one I grab in the dark of the night, it will fit the bottle I am holding and expedite the Cheeta feeding process.
Is it just me or is a crying baby much louder at 2am than at 2pm?
As for the bottle situation, we are doing as much breast milk as possible over here - sometimes in a bottle and sometimes au natural depending - but my body hates me (no surprise there!) and is a bit behind in the manufacturing process, so Cheeta gets a little formula too.
I really hope I am not ruining him forever.
This is me feeding the baby.
