The FLU and an explanation for my absence

Three days laying on the sofa can make a person introspective.  Once I've exhausted the finite number of episodes of "Call the Midwife," there's nothing left but to think.  I don't do well with too much time to ruminate about life's imponderables, it has a tendency to blow my mind then make me anxious. I've always had a bent towards the melodramatic, from the age when skinned knees were akin to amputations right up to full mourning for a break up. It shouldn't surprise me, then, that when I have the flu I always without fail, think I'm dying. I tearfully tell my husband there is something very very wrong with me.  I pitifully ask for a glass of gingerale and an ice pack cherishing them both as if they were my last meal.

Something about this flu seemed even more pathetic. As I lay on the sofa fully immersed in my misery, I was aware that I had a daughter to take care of.  I heard her being brought home from the babysitter's and being given her bath.  I was forbidden by my germ phobic husband to have contact with her, so I waved at her as she was wisked off to have her diaper changed.  Perhaps most traumatizing was listening to her tears when she was being put to bed without our nightly nursing ritual.  I didn't have the strength nor the desire to pass on my germs, so I listened to her cry.

Being a parent makes everything just a bit more special and a bit more difficult.  Eventually the flu made it's rounds through our family.  First the projectile vomit of Callah where I spent two hours wiping the floor, Callah and me up and waiting for the next eruption.  She felt fine the next day, but by that time my husband was laid out flat for two days.  Remarkably that was the first such experience for us and although it was a rough week, we survived it and all still love each other.

The flu and spring break explain why I have been so remiss about posting on my blog lately.  I hope to get a few more posts and pictures of the last few weeks up shortly.  In the meantime, I plan to relish the spring and enjoy the health of my family!

High Needs Baby (Read: Colic!!!)

We were blessed with a high needs baby, a baby stuck in the "fourth trimester," a fussy baby, OK fine, a screamer!  From about 2 weeks to 10 weeks, if she was awake she was fussing, if she was asleep she was on me. If we stopped moving she started crying. She hated her car seat, her crib, her bassinet, and her bottle.  For about 10 of the 24 hours in a day she was swaddled in a sling and bouncing on an exercise ball.

I'm writing this post because as a mom with a new baby who seemed to be never content, I was desperate for support.  I gave up dairy and sugar in hopes that it would calm her tummy.  I gave up the notion of setting her down or sleeping for more than 2 hours at a time.  I accepted that we could not take her places after 5 pm.  I stopped going to my mommy-baby group because the happy babies who slept through the night caused me anguish.  I trolled the Internet for stories similar to mine and relished the ones that were worse.  Thank God for the mom who spent all night for a month driving on the freeways of Los Angeles.

The strain of having a baby that cries all the time was felt in our marriage and in my friendship with others.  I didn't want to talk about my baby with other moms because I felt insecure in my own mothering ability.  My neighbor Patti was my saviour, she would hold Callah so I could go to the bathroom or put away clothes, but most importantly she listened to me and hung out with me.  It was a lonely time being away from colleagues, friends and my family.  I felt isolated by a baby that I loved so fiercely that no one else (even her daddy) could say a negative word about her.

The funny thing is, as I write these words it seems like another person another lifetime ago that had those experiences.  Even though most evenings after 6 were spent with a pacifier, a bouncy ball, and a CD that played a hair drier; I still cherish those memories of the days (and nights) I spent with Callah as an infant.  In retrospect, what didn't I love about watching Netflix for 20 hours a day?  I couldn't push her in a stroller because she hated the stroller (I forgot to mention that before) but I got to wear her in a Bjorn as we walked around the neighborhood on sunny fall afternoons.  I loved that!  Yes, it was unpleasant to listen to fuzz blasting on the car radio to attempt to drown out the screams (which worked by the way), but compared to all the tiny little wonders of her new life it was a small price to pay.

From Baby to Little Girl- the birth of a person

Today I twisted Callah's thin hair into a teensy pony tail on top of her head.  That and her jeans, sneakers and sweater morphed her from baby to little girl.  It's hard not become nostalgic for the sleepy infant born almost a year and a half ago.  

Once you have a child your life quickly becomes separated into two parts--after kid and before kid.  Suddenly things that seemed important before she was born drop into oblivion.

My husband is writing a blog about photography and his last post talked about the feeling he wants a photograph to convey (http://wphotographicdesign.blogspot.com/).  In this picture taken immediately after Callah's birth I am brought back to the moment the doctor held her up to me and said, "do you see what you had?"  In the emotion of the moment I felt a rush of panic.  This is a test!! Don't fail.  Ok, it's ok, this is a girl.  Right, a girl?  I looked at my husband and he nodded his head.  Phew, passed.

Just a few hours before she was placed into my arms for the first time, I was sitting at home on the couch watching family members read the names of loved ones who died in the World Trade Center.  It was September 11, 2011 the ten year anniversary of 9-11.

Since Callah's due date was still a week away, my brain, novice in the ways of childbirth didn't recognize what was going on in my body as early labor.  I sat on the sofa and sobbed--for the victims and for their families.  By eleven that morning we were on our way to the hospital.  After a terrifying few minutes in which my room suddenly filled with five people talking anxiously about heart rates, I had an oxygen mask on my face and was wheeled through the hallway to a birthing room.

As seems to be the theme with most birth stories I read, the day didn't go how I planned it in my head.  I had made a carefully researched play list, intended to labor on the exercise ball and in the bath.  Nick and I thought we'd play Scrabble (ha) as we waited to go to the hospital.  Our classes told us labor could last days and we would most likely be at home in the early stages of labor for 8 hours.  As it happened we left our bag in the car and Nick was afraid he wouldn't have time to run and get the camera before our baby was born!  Needless to say the ipod and exercise ball were completely forgotten.

I don't want to ever forget the amazing day Callah Mackenzie Woods was born.  Although she shares her birthday with an infamous and sad anniversary, I hope that she, like the meaning of her beautiful first name will bring peace into the world.

All grown up.