You've Been Chopped

Sorry Tarzan:

This is me and he looks so much older suddenly.

Disturburbingly Charming Baby

So I read somewhere about how misleading social media is. People generally tend to post positive news and images which often creates a skewed version of reality.  I've been think of that as I look at Cheetah. I don't know if he is photogenic or not but we have captured some images of him that are sooo adorable (even after excluding for parental bias). He doesn't always look so cute but then I am biased. I like looking at him when he is crying or fussy since its taken so long for him to arrive. I suppose that will fade in time. Its also interesting to note that Cheetah is most cheerful, just before he cries. Interesting duality. At any rate life is definitely more enjoyable even though I spend most of my time away when I get to see this:

Not In A Good Way

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.

Happy 2015!

2014 was quite a year.
The first quarter I spent oblivious and the next three quarters I spent going to doctors.
It all came out okay.
Perfect in fact:

And my life will never be the same.

This is me, thankful and looking forward to 2015.

Cheeta: Week 6

(The kid is only six weeks old and I am already reduced to post dating blog posts to appear current and on top of things.)
This is essentially a photo dump post because one; people have been asking for more pictures, two; he's changing and though I don't notice it while living day to day, it's really apparent in the photos and videos and three; complete strangers tell me he's the cutest baby they've ever seen:

Cheeta is six weeks old now and starting to develop a schedule.
Sort of.
He wakes up most mornings around 9am. This makes getting ready for church an adventure and the last two weeks I have had to feed him in two pieces, during Sharing Time or Singing Time as I was in charge of one of them each time.
Then he goes back to sleep for most of the morning.
The afternoon and evenings are still random, depending on what we are doing and where we have to be. Dinner time through 11pm is Cheeta's fussy time and he spends a lot of it thinking he's hungry only to fall asleep after nursing for 3 minutes and then crying when he gets put in bed. It's a party.
He goes to sleep for real between 11 and midnight - except for the night he stayed up until 2am - sleeps until 4am or so, gets up to nurse, wants to play and is convinced to go back to sleep around 5:30 or 6 and sleeps until 9am. It's not a bad schedule and I am really thankful he lets me get ~4 hours of sleep at a time. It cuts down on the number of times I have to check my phone to see what day it is.
As far as dislikes, Cheeta still does not like a soggy diaper though he is just fine sitting in his poop. He does not like light when he is trying to sleep, though he stares at all lights and sunbeams all the other times.
Overall, he's a pretty agreeable baby. He fusses at home but when we're out he charms all the people:

Likes; he likes singing and that will usually work when won't settle down. I am finding I don't know the words to many kid songs, other than church ones. I really need a Raffi CD or something.
He likes the mop in the bathroom next to where we change him on the counter:

He loves bath time. Thank you Rocketgirl for the tip. When they get crabby, stick them in the water and watch how fast they cheer up:

Cheeta likes driving in the car, which can be an advantage when we are running errands. As long as the sun doesn't get in his face, he'll usually sleep:

As with every baby, he loves to be held and sometimes that is the only way he will sleep:

Which makes it hard if I need to do something with both hands, like shower. It has been a real blessing this holiday season to have Tarzan home so we can take turns holding Cheeta and getting other things done. I'm almost caught up on the laundry!
Cheeta REALLY likes that mop:

If he's fussy we can sometimes put him down and have him spend 10-15 minutes communing with the cleaning supplies:

Because of my left-handedness, and our position for nursing, Cheeta has developed an affinity for his right shoulder and spends a lot of his time staring in that direction. I hope it won't develop into a need for physical therapy in the future. (I worry about a lot of weird things like that.)
He is learning to smile. We're not entirely sure when/if he means it or if he's just working his facial muscles but it's adorable when it happens:

His Daddy is pretty smitten:

And I'm pretty sure - as long as he's fed and dry - that the feeling is mutual:

This is me; have I mentioned how much he likes that mop:

Merry Christmas 2014

From our house to yours:

This is me wishing you a very Merry Christmas.

Shalom

On this, the last day of Hanukkah, it's a good thing we aren't Jewish.
I realized we have a ham, bacon and pork sausage in the fridge right now.

This is me, prepping some pig for consumption.

They Get Stale Quick

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.

Getting Soggy

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.

Cheeta: Week 3

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.

Victory

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.

Cheeta: The Birth Story

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.

Cheeta: Week 2

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.

I Am Thankful For Tarzan

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 For Interchangeable Pieces

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.

Thanksgiving 2014

This year, Thanksgiving means a whole lot more.
Not that Tarzan and I haven't been thankful in the past. We've meant every single one of our kernels, every year. The thankfulness seems bigger, or less qualified this year. My heart has no room for anything other than pure, unadulterated joy and thanksgiving.
This time around, I'm pretty sure Tarzan and my first kernels are the same, but here are my three.

1. Cheeta. Of course I am thankful that he arrived safely. Given the number of things that could have gone wrong, and didn't, I am very thankful for that. I am also thankful that he was able to come at all and I can't take any credit for that. Strictly a higher power in charge of this one, so all I can be is thankful. And try my best to do my best for him.
2. Tarzan. Without him, this trip into parenthood would not be as enjoyable and not as fun. Our world outlook has shifted and it's all for the better, together. He's amazing and was throughout the entire pregnancy/labor/delivery/birth/first week. The change in his demeanor makes me laugh and he's so tender with Cheeta it makes me cry.
3. Sleep. This may seem a redo of another post earlier this month but it is a valid quality for thankfulness. I did not realize what a sense of place and space sleep gave a person until my world got upended and now I don't have any idea what day it is or time of day most of the time. But it doesn't bother me as much as it would have previously because of kernel #1.

I hope your holidays are as joyful and full of thanks as ours are sure to be from now on.

This is me wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!!

I Am Thankful For Cheeta

It finally hit me today - like a brick to the face - that I am someone's mother.

Not just someone's but this kid's mother:

I was standing by his bed this afternoon, getting ready to lay him down and his face quirked into a smile. (I know, it's not legit because he can't control his face yet but it was the right direction.) And then he did it again. Made me cry and you all know how often I cry. (Try zero times. I am was not an emotional type of person. That has changed too it seems.)
It was almost a laugh the second time and I thought of the trust that he has in me, the way he calms when I pick him up, how he listens to my voice when I talk or coo or cuddle him.
It's both terrifying and empowering at the same time.
Inadequacies abound - boy howdy - but this is something I have always wanted, a position I have sought out and thought denied me and I want to do well at it.
I have such plans and goals and desires for him. I have methods for helping him succeed.
(Of course Tarzan will be there too, to help and support and guide etc., but it's mostly my "job" to nurture and I can be good at it.)
I am so very thankful for Heavenly Father's trust in me to allow me this opportunity to raise a son, teach him the gospel, how to choose right from wrong, how to live in the world, how to be a good example to others.
We're going to teach him to read, to share, to play well with others, to participate, to be humble, to grow his talents, to do so many things.
I'm excited and nervous and capable and deficient and all of it at once.

This is me, a mother.

I Am Thankful For Family

I can see how easy it would be to post another adorable picture of Cheeta and call it a blogging day but I feel I should put a leetle more effort into it as I have been and am so richly blessed.
And it is Thanksgiving week.
I am thankful for my family. For my parents who tried so hard to teach us right from wrong, to help us develop our testimonies, who taught us how and why we should get along with each other, who took us places, who prepared us for school and then explained why they world wasn't perfect and how to deal. I am extremely thankful that they were married in the temple of the Lord so we could be an eternal family forever.
I am thankful for my siblings who really are there for me, and me for them, despite the number of times we tried to kill each other as children. I am thankful for the things we have in common, the different talents we share between us, the advice, the experiences, the humor, the inside jokes, the new jokes, the things that aren't even funny, the way we can start or stop a conversation and pick up 6 minutes, or 6 weeks later without a pause.
I love my family.
I am thankful for Tarzan's family who accepted me from the very first; a short, round, music-less girl who had has a series of issues. I am thankful for Tarzan's parents who try to include my preferences and needs into their very busy schedules, who have never tried to interfere in our marriage with "advice" or made us feel less than because - until now - we weren't giving them grandchildren.
I am thankful for Tarzan's siblings and the common ground we were able to find, despite our different upbringings. They are all so talented and smart and fun and such different personalities from me and mine, but we gel and it isn't and hasn't ever been hard to get along.
I am thankful for the eternal family Tarzan, Cheeta and I are now are. Tarzan and I have been floating for many years, just doing our thing, and figuring that was all it would be. But now, as Tarzan keeps saying, we have a legacy, a reason for living, a goal, a plan, a family to support and things to teach and do and places to go. Because we have Cheeta it all makes sense. And he will be ours for eternity, no matter what. (I wasn't a weepy person before, but I sure am now!)
I am thankful for the opportunity to be Cheeta's mother and Tarzan's wife and to do a good job at both.

This is me and it was supposed to be this way.

One Of Many Cute Ones

This is Tarzan's new favorite way to sit at the computer now: 

I'm not sure how much he actually gets done with one arm but it is very sweet and I'm glad he enjoys the time together.
The next picture is not very clear - tres dark in the living room last night - but it did capture an elusive facial expression of one Cheeta O'Grady that is mighty difficult to catch on film:

Mostly because he doesn't know how or why he's doing it. But the adorableness is extreme.

This is me with the cuteness.

Cheeta: Week 1

And so it begins.
I will spend the rest of my life whining about how I can't believe how quick time passes.
Cheeta is 1 week old today.
This time last week I was laying in a pain medication induced euphoria, wondering where my vegetable broth had gone because food services did not send it up with my "dinner."
So all I got to eat was Jell-O and water.
The doctor was concerned I might throw up after not eating for 30 hours and then the C-section so he wouldn't let me have 'real' food. First time in 8-1/2 months I did not feel stuffed full and I wasn't allowed to eat. (I felt like quoting Bill Cosby: "I once ate a dead frog and didn't throw up.")
It has been a wild week - birth story coming soon - and a good one. We are home and though I don't know what time or day it is anymore we are making it through:

Cheeta likes to sleep in large chunks of time 4-5 hours at once, which make the doctors crazy, but as long as he is eating I can't see the trouble of it. It has made for easier nights for me too, getting up only twice or so. I'm sure it won't last but it's been nice at the beginning.
On the subject of nursing; it is a wonderful thing when Cheeta and I both do our share and everything works. Seems natural and easy and well worth the effort. When one or more parts isn't working the way nature intended, it hurts beyond explanation, my back tenses up so I can't move my head and I wonder what is wrong with formula.
We're still working on it but it was wonderful having my mother most of this week to suggest all the tricks of the trade to get it work properly. And we'll see her again on Thursday for a tune-up.
Cheeta likes to stare intently at the face of whoever is holding him - Tarzan could spend more time just looking rather than dancing, singing and scatting, but I understand his excitement - so we have had some intense bonding moments this week:

He gets a lot of comments on his intent stare and his good behavior.
Cheeta does NOT like wet diapers, but poopy ones are not a cause for crying so we have to keep an eye out for those. I will say, Tarzan is very eager to change a diaper - I have had to do very few so far - and I hope to remind him of that when we reach #4295 rather than #18.
As for me, I go from feeling great to feeling exhausted in a matter of minutes, I haven't had on regular clothes since we got to the hospital a week ago (except to come home in) and I spend a lot of time wondering if I broke the baby already. My steri-strips came off my incision today and it hurt a lot less than I had imagined it would, so that is good. I am not taking much of the pain medicine anymore, but the doctor did load me up with enough pills for a 90-year old. Iron, psyllium, stool softeners, pre-natals of course, and then two kinds of pain meds. I think I'm set.
It's definitely an adventure; some parts are far more intense and difficult than I imagined, others are second nature already. It's work for sure, but it's work I feel comfortable doing.
Far fewer unknowns, now that he is born and here.

This is me, being a mommy.