One Week

Pace is now one week old. Ok…one week old plus one day. I didn’t get this post up yesterday like I planned.

His umbilical stump fell off yesterday. We made that discovery after we returned home from lunch out and some grocery shopping. I was changing his diaper and saw his belly button free and clear. I couldn’t find the stump, though. I looked at Pat and asked, “What if it fell through the bottom of his onesie in the grocery store?” Simultaneously, we both stole a phrase from Sarah….

“Ewwww!!”

I could just see this little black stump being kicked around in the dairy department. Or worse, by the bagels hidden among the fallen poppy seeds. I’ll stop before I get really gross.

Pat found it lurking among the folds of the onesie and we both breathed a sigh of relief.

On another note, I’ve started reading Anne Lamott’s “Operating Instructions.” This makes my third time through as I also read it when both of my girls were infants. It’s a journal of her son’s first year. It’s hilarious, sad at times, and completely validating. She’s honest about how it feels when the baby won’t stop crying or nursing, or sleep for the fifth night in a row.

Pace has kept me up until 3:00 in the morning for two nights now. I’m exhausted….

and completely in love.

Meet Pace

More later...

Imminent

It’s fast approaching.

Ok…it’s not so fast. It’s slowly creeping up on me.

Crawling…hour by hour….

minute by minute….

false contraction by false contraction.

My son will be here in less than 24 hours.

He’ll be born in the same hospital, and by the same doctor, as both of his sisters. In a small neighborhood hospital that has two birthing rooms. What happens when a third woman shows up in labor? I have no clue. Luckily, I haven’t had to find out, and hopefully I won’t tomorrow.

I described the magic of Savannah’s birth last week. Tonight I’m thinking about Sarah’s. She was scheduled to be induced the fourth day after her due date. In the wee hours of the morning on the third day, though, my water broke. Three hours later we were at the hospital in the birthing room all the laboring mothers want. It’s a room that feels more homey than sterile. The bed is hidden from view and a curtain stays up at all times so you feel as if you are completely away from everyone and everything. The windows look out to the trees that surround the lake.

If another lady is there at the same time as me tomorrow morning, I’ll throw my billfold at Pat and say, “Here, Honey. Take care of the insurance and paperwork. That room is mine!” I'll room up the stairs to the fifth floor if I have to.

Unlike labor with Savannah, this time it was just the two of us. No family or friends were there. They were all driving into town, working, or caring for our oldest. Pat and I were alone and it was one of the most beautiful, intimate moments of my life.

Sarah was born 8 hours after my water broke in true Drama Queen style. The doctor showed her to us and that bottom lipped slowly formed a pout and out came a wail. I had never seen a newborn pout. Don’t they typically throw their mouths open and cry? Sarah pouted…for hours. Even then she wanted to be sure she got all the Awwww’s she could. And believe me, she did.

How could you not oooo and aaaah over this face?

Week 39

I was all geared up to write about being one week away, and possibly more, from giving birth.

BUT....

The doctor has scheduled us for induction this Friday morning.

So we are not ONE WEEK away.

We are THREE DAYS away!

Our family of 4 is about to become a family of 5...

And we will be complete.

Week 38

I had my weekly check up Tuesday and my doctor refused to touch me. No, I didn't stink or look dirty or crouch down on the table blowing air out of my mouth like Mr. Peepers on Saturday Night Live.



My doctor's going out of town this weekend and didn’t want to risk pushing me into labor. I was really hoping something might happen this week until he told me he’d be in Philadelphia Thursday – Sunday. He and the same nurse have delivered both of our girls. I don’t want him to miss delivering our son, nor does he, so I’m good with crossing my legs and sitting tight.

I didn’t say I liked it, but I’ll do it.

For some reason the 30th is sticking out in my head. Don’t know why, and I really hope I’m wrong because that’s more than two weeks away. Okay, not by much, but you see, there’s this meeting next week…

Is it bad of me to want to go into labor so I miss a meeting?

We are getting so close. 2 weeks away!

Week 37

Tuesday morning Savannah left for a 4-day school trip. They’re studying the environment at a school camp. It’s an exciting trip for her, but I’m missing her like crazy. I still feel like I was the reason she had to get stitches and I want to smother her in affection. I probably won’t be over these guilty feelings for a long time considering I still feel pangs when I think about the tooth I helped her chip when she was 4. That was 7 years ago. I tend to hang on to things.

All week I’ve stopped and watched the pictures flash across our computer screen: Savannah with her new glasses, Sarah & Savannah on the swing, me holding Savannah as a newborn. These pictures, mixed with the pending birth of our third child, has me thinking about her birth and the absolute magic I felt our first night together.

My doctor induced me 3 days after my due date. Once he broke my water around 1:00 that afternoon it was full force ahead and Pat and I had our first daughter at 7:52 that evening. My sister Valarie was in the room with us while her husband and daughter and my mother waited in the hallway. I’ll never forget the door opening after Savannah was delivered. I still had my legs up while the doctor was taking care of things. I looked out into the hallway and there sat my brother-in-law Rick and my niece Eva, who was then 10. Their eyes were huge. I don’t know if it was more of a fear of the noises that had come out of that room, or if it was more, “Oh my God, I can see her xxx.”

While I laid there with my legs hiked in the air scarring my niece for life, Pat experienced his own bit of magic. They were cleaning Savannah up on the warming table and she was wailing. Pat kept looking over at her. I could tell he wanted to be with her, but felt he should stay with me until the doctor was done. I told him to go to her. The hard part was over. He walked over to the screaming baby, leaned down close to her ear and said ever so softly, “Hi, Savannah. It’s Daddy.” She stopped crying that very moment. Her protector was there. Maybe it was appropriate that he was the one to pick her up from school last week when she fell. Sometimes there’s nothing better than the presence and the loving words from your Daddy.



That didn’t work. I still feel guilty.

Pat slept at home that night, and I was really nervous about being alone with Savannah for the first time. She stayed in the nursery for the first few hours while I slept and then sometime in the middle of the night I woke to a knock on the door and they wheeled her into the room to eat. Her red fuzz covered head was facing me. At just a few hours old she moved around until she could get her head back and look at me as they brought her closer. We locked eyes and the sparks flew. I didn’t want her to leave my side again after that moment. And that includes this week while she’s away studying nature with her fifth grade class.

I can’t fathom how it’s possible to have this amount of love for a being. I literally feel an ache for a little bit when I remember that she’s not in her room reading, or getting ready to ask if she can play Wii.

And to think that love spread to include another one. And soon it will expand again and envelope yet another little one. Love is a miraculous thing, isn’t it? Pure magic.

3 weeks to go!

Another Installment in the Bad Mother Saga

Get ready. This one ends with a lot of blood, 8 stitches, and a heaping amount of guilt. Pass the kleenex please.

I’m notorious for hitting the snooze button. It’s part of my morning routine. When the alarm goes off, that is. Our current clock is very unpredictable. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Pat swears it’s a “user issue,” meaning I don’t know what I’m doing. I disagree. I’ve successfully set many alarms in the past 25 years, and I can figure out hotel alarm clocks in mere seconds. I don’t think it’s a “user issue,” my dear.

But I won’t drag you guys into our little spat.

This particular morning, last Friday to be exact, I awoke to silence…40 minutes past the scheduled alarm time. Piece of crap.

Anyway…I hustled out of bed and ran to Savannah’s room yelling for her to get up and get dressed while I threw something together for breakfast. I got ready for work while she ate and we were out the door in less than 30 minutes. I was really impressed with ourselves, and hopeful that we might make it to her school on time.

Alas, we pulled into the parking lot a couple minutes past the school’s start time. And there was that Nazi…errr…lady, affectionately (?) called “The Yanker,” locking up the door. She’s called The Yanker because she can sometimes literally yank your kid out of the car if she thinks they’re taking too long. She’s out there rain or shine, hot or cold. Someone’s gotta get that carpool line under control, dammit. I call her the Nazi because she refuses to cut these kids any slack. We’re two minutes late, dang it. Let my kid in the door instead of wrapping it in chains and snapping the padlock shut with brute force. I can just see her giving her best Hulk Hogan move each morning after a good yanking session.



Instead of letting my daughter through the doors, she turns and grunts, “Go down to the office!”

*sigh*

OK, I’m not that passive. It’s more like, “Damn *&^% $*&^ *&^!”

So we drive down a few feet where another tardy person is parked. I calm myself, give my kid my usual, “Bye. Have a good day. I love you.” Normally, I would sit and wait for her to get in the back doors that lead to the office, but this other tardy person was having difficulties with letting her kid go and was parked right in the line of sight, so I drove off.

On my way to work I ran an errand, stopped for donuts (which I got busted with later), and ever so slowly made my way into the office because I just didn’t want to be there. After eating a bowl of cereal, because I felt I needed something semi-healthy before scarfing fried fat, I listened to my work voicemail that had been blinking at me since I walked in…30 minutes before.

The first call was the school, “Mrs. Boyack, please call the school as soon as you get in.”

The next call was Pat, “Yvonne, why is your cell phone off? I’ve been trying to call you. Savannah fell at school. I’m taking her to the ER. Turn on your phone!”

Savannah had tripped on the school steps just outside the door and bashed her head on the iron rail…AS I WAS DRIVING OUT OF THE PARKING LOT.

How did she trip?
She was running because she was late.

Why was she late?
Because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND the word is her mother has alarm clock user issues.

Why did it take an hour for anyone to reach said mother?
It only stands to reason…it’s because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND her mother never turned on her cell phone.

When I arrived at the ER I was overcome with guilt as I heard the story and saw my girl lying on the bed with blood stains on her shirt and shoes. Pat said she had been covered in blood but the school receptionist had cleaned her up before they left for the hospital. I meekly handed over the previously referred to donuts. "Sorry about your head, sweetie. Here's some chocolate."

Such a brave girl. They said she handled herself so maturely. Never cried or whimpered. She just sat calmly as they tried to reach me and waited for her dad. She then talked with the doctor as he put her forehead back together with 8 stitches. It probably didn’t hurt that he was really nice and very good-looking.

Yes, Pat, I noticed.

Later Savannah went with me to the office to gather some work to do over the weekend (I have maternity leave approaching fast and lots to do to take off without worry). On the way my guilt drove us to Sprinkles of Beverly Hills where I bought my freshly sewn kid the BEST CHOCOLATE MARSHMELLOW CUPCAKE EVER! I treated myself to a red velvet cupcake. I mean, it was there, we were there…what are you going to do? Let it sit there for the person in line behind you?

All weekend I showered Savannah with hugs and kisses (and treats). I must have had a sad look on my face whenever I looked at her stitches. She would say, “Mom, it’s not your fault.” She knew I was struggling with the fact she was running because she was late.

I now have a new ritual when I drop Savannah off at school. As I drive away, after flipping the Wrestler Nazi the bird, I turn on my cell phone.