Busy Weekend for a Little Man

Asher has had a lot going on in his little world over the past few days, in more ways than one.

His Aunt Gie Gie (aka, Angie) came down Thursday night and doted much attention on him through Saturday afternoon. We rode with her to Logansport on Saturday afternoon so we could spend the night with Nee Nee and Pa Pa, and he also got to meet Grandma Marla (Angie's mom). This was his first night away from his daddy and, although it was evident he missed him dearly, he did quite well. I have to admit I have thoroughly enjoyed all of the help I received from Angie, Mom, and Bob over the past few days - even having someone else entertain him for just half an hour so I can take a shower, a nap, or check my e-mail feels like such a huge treat. I love you with all my heart, buddy, but sometimes Mommy could use a minute or two to herself. It's what keeps me semi-sane.

Asher has also been active developmentally blossoming. He's finally started smiling! Granted, the smiles are very few and far between and we have to work hard for them (we're only lucky to get a handful a day), but we feel like the most special people in the world when they occur. He is also working hard at mastering the art of bringing his fists to his mouth. Half of the time the fists make it to his cheek, nose, eye, or somewhere off to the side of his head, but he does manage to make contact with his chompers sometimes. I love to watch him concentrate on his little fist, staring at it as he slowly brings it to his face, sticking his tongue out in anticipation of its arrival, only to miss and hit his cheek. His vocabulary has really begun to increase in the past week, too. We're hearing more and more baby coos and, I have to say, they are the cutest "words" ever spoken (especially when they're wedged between bouts of angry grunting or crying). My most favorite thing he's been doing, though, is sleeping almost through the night. Like, for six or seven hours at a time! Then we wake, change, and feed, and GO BACK TO SLEEP for another two or three hours. It's wonderful - I almost feel like a fully rested person for most of the day. If I didn't get up every few hours to relieve my bosom engorgement, I'd be rich with sleep. Oh well. Instead, I'm rich with frozen boob juice.

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Desperate Kitties

Everyone told me it would happen, and I refused to believe it. "I love my kitties!" I'd defiantly protest. "They're my babies - I'd never treat them any differently."

And then the baby came.

I was exhausted, frustrated, stressed, and felt as if every last ounce of love I had to give was being poured into Asher. And it was. Sadly, it appeared everyone was right - the cats had become just cats. No longer did I yearn for the cats to come up and curl up next to me on the bed at night - instead, I'd find myself pushing them off the bed because they were taking up too much space, or keeping me awake during the precious few hours I had in which to sleep. Sophie's constant meowing and begging for attention no longer I found endearing; rather, it became so annoying. And the noisy galloping playtime Sam and Charlie would have turned from hilarious and adorable into just plain inconsiderate behavior. Don't they know they could easily wake the baby that I just spent an hour trying to put down for a nap?

So the cats are desperate for attention. Desperate to reclaim the owner they once had. The owner who practically worshipped them, who annoyed the crap out of them by following them around doling out attention, who consistently fed them three times a day. Their current owner they want gone. The one who scolds them for meowing too loudly, or jumping on her lap while she's trying to feed the baby, or being underfoot, or jumping in the crib. The one who easily forgets to feed them.

I do believe their plan of action is to fool me into believing they are, in fact, babies, too. Sophie has taken to sleeping in the bassinet when it's empty. Charlie climbs all over the baby's clothes when I'm folding them. Both Sophie and Sam can be found from time to time hanging out in the crib. Usually, they only climb in it when it's empty, but notice in the above picture there's a little baby lying in the crib behind the Sammy Cat. He's pulling out all the guns now - I think he's trying to develop an alliance against me with the baby.

It's slowly getting better, though. I'm forcing myself to check their food dishes more regularly throughout the day. I'm making a conscious effort to start talking to them again - you know, in ways other than yelling at them - and paying them more attention. I figure they don't deserve to have their lifestyles totally disrupted just because ours is. That was our decision, not theirs.

However, if Sophie keeps using the crib as her butt cleansing room and the rocking chair as her own personal scratching post, she may find herself living in the garage.

Just kidding. Kind of.

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Romance? What's That?

Stephen and I have never done much in the past to celebrate Valentine's Day. I don't know, there's something so false about the holiday - don't get me wrong, I love getting presents and going out to dinner and all that, but it's really never been a big deal to me. For some strange reason, Stephen has always been okay with me being low maintenance on V-Day. Hm. Even with that being said, we hit an all time low this year in celebrating the day.

We ate sloppy joes and french fries for dinner. I ate in the pajamas I was still wearing from the night before. No make up, hair unkempt (how else?) - I'm not even sure I'd brushed my teeth. I did, however, take a shower before I went to bed. I just didn't think it'd be fair for Stephen to have to go to bed with a stinky wife on Valentine's Day. Not that we'd be doing anything in bed, anyway, but still.

It was all good, though; Asher Bug was more than enough of a reminder of our love for each other. A very poopy, squawking, exhausting reminder. He actually was a very sweet baby yesterday, spending the majority of the day napping and, when awake, was in a fairly good mood. I took the below picture of him after our morning nap together. This was when I told him he could be my Valentine this year, because he sure knows the way to my heart. Sleep. That was the best gift ever. The two massive poopy diapers he gave me later that evening were just icing on the cake.

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Six Weeks Old

Today Asher turned six weeks old. Six whole weeks! It's amazing. Not only has time absolutely flown, but, more amazingly, all of us have managed to survive six whole weeks of living together. I was just positive Asher would have kicked me out of the house by now; I'm not the easiest person to live with. Just goes to show what a good little guy he is.

I had my six week postpartum checkup this morning - note to self: no more scheduling such activities prior to 1:00 p.m. whenever possible anymore - and I am apparently healing well. We were also given the "go ahead" in the bedroom department - just in time for Valentine's Day! As much as I'm sure our mothers would just love for us to get back in the baby-making business, I have to admit that's the very last thing on my mind right now. When my doctor asked what type of birth control we intended on using, I was like, "You're kidding, right?" How on earth does a woman feel sexy when she hasn't showered in two days, her hair looks like a rat's nest, has sore leaky boobs, is still dressed in her flannel pajamas at dinnertime, and feels like she hasn't slept in two lifetimes? Okay, and say by chance she does feel in the mood, how on earth is there any time for such activities with a fussy six week-old?

Really, I still wouldn't label Asher as a fussy baby, but he's definitely much fussier than he was in the beginning. You know, back when he was a semi-conscious blob. Now that he's becoming more and more a conscious blob, he seems to get frustrated and irritated a lot at the whole world in general. I guess that's just what happens when you're alert but not able to do much physically with that energy? It is amazing, though, how quickly he's learning to do things. One day he lies on his activity mat and cries and notices nothing on it, the next day he lies there making baby noises and looks not only at the lights blinking above his head but also at the little toys dangling around him. If we place him on his tummy and allow him to get pissed off enough, he's able to roll over onto his back. He's able to track slow-moving objects with his eyes and seems to be focusing better every day. He still hasn't officially smiled on purpose yet, but we can tell he's really trying. And when he does, we know it'll be magical.

It's still hard to believe that we made this little fellow. Less than a year ago, in fact. It's even more hard to believe that he lived inside of me for nine whole months. I was telling Stephen this evening that I don't quite feel like a parent yet - however that's supposed to feel. I feel more like this demanding little alien has moved in and chosen us to care for him. It's all so incredibly surreal. I can't say we've gotten the whole parenting thing mastered yet - there are still large chunks of time that I feel like I'm in over my head, that I don't have any clue what I'm doing, that I question if everything's going to be okay. But, it's getting better. Much, much better, in fact. For instance, it's such a huge relief when Asher falls asleep. I feel lighter, like a weight of burden has been lifted off my shoulders. I can finally close my eyes and rest, or check my e-mail, or read a chapter in my book. I get a break from changing, feeding, playing and trying to soothe him. However, when he does wake up, when his little blue peepers pop open and he starts to squawk, I find myself rushing to his side, sweeping him up and smothering his sweet chubby cheeks with kisses. As dorky as it may be, during those few hours of sleep, I actually find myself missing the little Asher Bug.

Yeah, I think we'll keep him.

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What We Crave

Ah...sleep deprivation. It's no secret that it comes with the territory of having children, but of course, as usual, I'd underestimated the toll it'd have on us. I find myself falling asleep while pumping, while feeding Asher, while trying to get Asher to fall asleep, while "playing" with Asher (as much as you can play with a one-month old), and...well, that's pretty much all I do these days, but I'm sure if I had the time to read or watch tv or BREATHE I'd probably fall asleep doing those things, too.

Our conversations - what few we have the energy to have - are mumbled, jumbled, and highly unintelligent. Stephen can't put his thoughts into words and gets his facts mixed up. I no longer find myself telling him I'm uninterested in his banter regarding the latest shopping center construction in Noblesville; now, I find myself hoping he'll go into his rambles so I can take a mental snooze. In other words, my ability to listen no longer exists - it puts me to sleep.

I've heard from EVERYONE that the lack of sleep won't get much better for at least another 18 years - when Asher goes to college. I don't know about that; I spent five years at college and with that experience I think I'll sleep even less at that point, knowing what he's probably up to.

Luckily, I'm too tired to worry about the future. I think I'm going to go take a nap.

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Still a Healthy Boy

This afternoon, Asher had his one month checkup with his pediatrician. It was fairly uneventful, but as always, I won't spare you the details.

The first thing we learned during our visit is that Asher is still growing like a weed. In the past three weeks, he's gained a whopping two pounds - he's now up to 11 pounds 7 ounces, which puts him in the 90th percentile for weight. I swear he doesn't look like a chunk, but it's evident when you pick the boy up he's pretty damn solid. He's only in the 50th percentile for height, measuring in at 22 inches. Dr. Timmons was happy with his weight, even though when I asked her about the angry grunting pig he becomes after he eats she suggested he may be acting that way because he's filling his tummy too much and experiencing a little reflux. She stated we could cut back on the amount of milk he eats, but said we could also just continue to do things as we have been - letting him eat as much as he wants - because it won't hurt him and his weight gain is good. I also informed her that I'm now just pumping breast milk and feeding it to him via a bottle, to which she told me everything everyone else has been saying - whatever works for you is PERFECT, we're still both getting all the benefits of breastfeeding, he's NOT going to develop some sort of Freudian boob complex, if I decide I want to start nursing again at some point I can, yadda yadda yadda. Yes, deep down I already knew all of this, but I am a woman who always doubts herself and needs reassurance - which is exactly why I wrote my last posting, because I knew my wonderful friends and family would say all the supportive things I needed to hear in response. And, having his doctor tell me the way I'm doing things is perfect - as she said, he's obviously not missing out on anything since he's gaining plenty of weight - just further tames my insecurities.

His favorite part of the visit was flirting with the pretty nurse who measured and weighed him. In fact, I swear he came this close to smiling at her. Like, closer than he's come to smiling at his own mommy! However, she was also the one who administered his second Hepatitis B shot (he'd had his first right after birth), so he soon forgot all about her. Poor little man was very brave and only cried for a few seconds right after receiving it. He received a very fashionable Bugs Bunny bandage to sport over his little wound, which you can see in the below picture. It absolutely broke my heart to watch him get his shot, but I sacked up and held his little hand while it was done. I outdid Asher and managed not to cry at all, but I didn't receive any parting gifts for my brave face. I'm really dreading his next visit - he'll then receive FOUR shots and an oral vaccination. I think I'm going to have to bring along a box of tissues and a paper bag to get me through it.

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Establishing Limits

Angela had mentioned to me that one of her friends refers to breast milk as white gold. Now that I've begun pumping my breast milk, I've begun to refer to it in the same way and, let me tell you, I've become absolutely obsessed with my white gold. I obsess over calculating how to obtain a goodly amount for freezer storage for when I go back to work and when, one of these days, we're lucky enough to have a couple of hours out by ourselves and have someone else watch the lad. I obsess over how I'll be able to keep my supply up when his appetite increases. I obsess over how much Asher eats when I nurse him. It's lovely when I pump because I can see exactly how much milk my body has readily available at different intervals of the day and I can see exactly how much food he's getting. When I nurse, I have no way of knowing if he's getting enough to eat. Especially when he behaves like a crazed lunatic. That's right: I called my baby a lunatic.

I don't know what his problem is lately, but in the past week or two, Asher has begun doing this horrible, horrible thing toward the end of eating. He'll start grunting, his face will get beet red, he'll start groping my boobs with his tiny yet sharp CLAWS, and then will clench down with his gummy jaws of steel, rear his head back, and jerk it from side to side. Think of a puppy playing tug of war with it's owner. Asher treats my nipples like they're chew toys. It's possible he's pooping, or has gas, or is feeling that reflex I've read about in which newborns' digestive tract kicks into motion once they begin eating which sometimes causes discomfort, or maybe he has acid reflux or some other digestive issue he can't tell me about. I think this is definitely something I need to discuss with his pediatrician on Monday afternoon at his one month checkup. For one, is this normal? Two, is there something I can do other than throwing out F-Bombs at an innocent baby? Then, to top it off, I finally break the latch (which is difficult because his jaws are STRONG!) and try to establish a new latch. He acts as if he's finished eating, refusing to take any more Boob. I put The Boob away and we go about doing something else. Five minutes later? He's fussy, mad, and rooting around - HE'S STILL FREAKIN' HUNGRY after all. We've been known to play this game for an hour at a time and, let me tell you, it's exhausting. Especially when you know he'll want to play the game in another hour or two - which means I could potentially spend approximately half my time in the trenches with Asher. Yes, sadly, I sometimes feel as if during nursing my son is at war with me. Or, at least at war with my boobs.

I have to admit, pumping my breast milk and feeding Asher via bottle is, right now, a much, much more pleasant method of feeding than nursing. I'm very disappointed about this - I really do want to enjoy breastfeeding, and there for awhile it seemed like we were really getting into the groove of it together. Now, however, he causes me pain at the end and seems unsatisfied - probably because I end the feeding session due to his lack of ability to treat The Goods with respect and care. Pumping and bottle-feeding takes us either the same amount of time, or often less time, as nursing. It's pain-free. It's struggle-free for both of us. I can give the bottle to someone else and let them share in the pleasure of feeding him. Stephen and others I've discussed this with think I should just strictly pump and bottle-feed instead of nursing because, hey - why not? Both Asher and I will still get the benefits of nursing without the discomfort and struggle.

So why do I feel like a bad mother for considering this option? He really doesn't seem to show a preference between the bottle and the breast, so I shouldn't feel as if I'm taking something away from him. But for some reason I do feel that way - I worry he'll develop some sort of Freudian boob complex because I couldn't sack up and deliver his nourishment the proper way. Even more than that, I feel like this is the first time in his life that I may have to tell him "NO" and set boundaries - and it's really difficult, especially when he's only a month old. However, as much as I love my child with every ounce of my being, I am NOT a chew toy and cannot allow him to turn my bosoms into raw hamburger. That's just not going to do either of us any good, for I worry if this continues I'll get frustrated and give up on breastfeeding altogether. For as convenient as pumping is, how incredibly easy it would be, though expensive, to just have cabinets of that pre-made formula on hand!

I just pray he'll develop more consideration toward and coordination with "mommy parts" by the time he's seriously dating. Or maybe not. If he were to keep this behavior up, it would be a good way to ensure he wouldn't be getting much action.

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To Grandmother's House We Went

On Saturday evening, we rounded up the boy and headed north to Logantucky for our first attempt at making an overnight visit at someone else's house. What better people to serve as guinea pigs for our test run than Nee Nee, Pa Pa, and Aunt Jamie? After all, if absolute and utter chaos were to occur, they couldn't very well kick us out of the house. Not with their beloved grandson, at least.

Alas, everything went really well. Asher was on very good behavior, for the most part, and thoroughly enjoyed being constantly doted on by people other than his mommy. For me? At the risk of sounding like a terrible mother, it was pure heaven to go someplace and let other people care for the guy for awhile. I even pumped milk for him, as opposed to nursing, to further free myself from the baby chains and allow other family members to bond with him through feeding him. Now, thanks to having a day that was semi-responsibility-free, I feel refreshed, relaxed, and ready to take back the role of primary caregiver.

Of course, this time tomorrow, I'll probably be dying to go back to my mother's, but at least I got one day of confidence out of the weekend.

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The Trifecta of Bodily Functions

I've been piddled on. I was nearly pooped on. And now I've been thrown up on.

Last evening we went out for a few hours and when we got home and took Asher's coat off we found him sopping with sweat. Poor baby - we'd totally overbundled him! Then I took him upstairs for a feeding, since it'd been a whole 3 1/2 hours since his last meal, and, boy, did he eat and eat and eat. When I took him over for a diaper change afterward, he nonchalantly looked up at me and spewed all that milk he'd gorged himself on - the milk I'd worked so hard on making! - all over me, himself, and the floor.

I now feel officially welcomed into motherhood. And I know it's only going to get grosser.

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Real Men Love Bubble Baths

Tonight Asher had his first bubble bath. And he didn't hate it. He almost even seemed amused when I covered his body with bubbles and swished him around in the water. Almost.

The little blob of newborn is quickly turning into a semi-blob of baby. Aside from being awake more and more, he's also expressing himself more and more - primarily through crying and squawking. Luckily he still doesn't fuss much, but it's enough to put the fear in me that he could at any time become a fussy baby. On the other hand, he's also becoming more lovable. I've noticed that sometimes, when he gets fussy, I'm able to calm him by holding him extra close and nestling his head under my chin. I'll then catch him looking up at me every now and then, almost as if to make sure it's still his mommy holding him. He has also become very good at fixating on our faces and has finally noticed the mobile on his swing and car seat. It's amazing how quickly he's developing from a semi-conscious blob into a tiny person. I read that babies begin socially smiling around one month of age - that's just next week! I can't believe my baby is almost old enough to smile, and I can't wait to see it. After all, the expression on his face in this photo is his signature look - boredom and disappointment that he's forced to spend all his time with a couple of morons.

So anyway, back to the topic of baths, the reason he received a bubble bath tonight was due to his newfound pleasure - tinkling all over himself. Today he piddled on himself twice (and all over Stephen once). In fact, note the carefully placed washcloth in the photo which prohibits him from making a fountain in the water with his winkus. Without the washcloth, he sprays himself in the face with his own tinkle. Kind of defeats the purpose of bathing. I'm just waiting for the bathtub pooping to start. And speaking of poop, last evening while changing him he not only sprayed the changing table down, but he also shot poop about three feet off the changing table, hitting the carpet, dresser, and our floor lamp. The floor lamp with a paper lampshade. Any suggestions for getting bright mustard yellow baby poop out of paper?!

He sure is lucky I have a good sense of humor, especially when it comes to poop.

My sister has informed me that she NEEDS to see daily pictures of Asher, and Stephen has also demanded that I start posting more pictures of Asher. (That I don't quite understand; the man lives with the child, but whatever.) So, I'm going to attempt to make regular posts to my highly neglected blog, Picture Pages (see left sidebar for the link, too). If you want to see more Asher, that's where you'll find him.

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Alone!

My sister has left us!

Alone!

With a baby!

I came to the realization tonight after dinner that we haven't been alone but for a few hours since Asher was born. The night we came home from the hospital we were alone, but other than that, we've had visitors here constantly since. Jamie has been staying with us for the past two weeks and has offered me so much relief I don't know how I'm going to function without her. Largely it's been due to the fact that she has been the biggest baby hog and would actually offer to hold and watch the baby in between feedings - so I never felt guilty about pawning Asher off onto her. If I wanted a nap, a shower, a meal? Jamie was there with open arms and a huge greedy smile plastered to her face. Now? I fear I'll be left with a screaming baby as I attempt to scarf down a bowl of cereal for my first meal at 3:00 in the afternoon or I'll only have the energy to shower every fourth day because I'll be too frazzled trying to care for Asher and doing housework to take naps.

I'm trying my best to be a brave woman and spread my wings and soar into motherhood, but this is scary not having that net down below to catch me when I fall. Stephen is working all day and all evening the next two days, too, so I'm sort of going to be thrown into the deep end of the pool.

Serenity now! (Insanity later...)

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Two Weeks Old?!

Is that even possible? I thought my pregnancy went by super quickly, and I guess time isn't planning on slowing down any now. Ah, Baby Neener, I carried you around in the sling today for the first time, and you fell asleep right away. I worried because you were all curled up in there, smooshed like a little bug in a rug, but you seemed right at home and I realized the sling probably felt quite spacious in comparison to the place in which you dwelled two weeks ago. I have to admit, I've felt a little sentimental today, missing carrying you around inside of me. Despite all the aches and pains I experienced, it was the most wonderful thing I've ever had the privilege of doing.

Two weeks isn't much, I know, and I also realize this is just the beginning of me feeling as if time is slipping between my fingers. He'll be two years before I know it, and then eventually twenty years. I worry I won't have the chance to savor every moment because the moments are passing so quickly.

This week we've begun to introduce tummy time into his "routine" (you know, scheduled in between 16 hours of sleeping, 6 hours of eating, and an hour of pooping). He doesn't seem to enjoy it much - he just kind of lies there grunting, kicking his legs and flopping his head about occasionally. In an effort to make this time more fun for him, we went out this evening to Babies 'R' Us and used one of our gift cards on an activity gym. (We opted for the Fisher Price Rainforest one, to keep in theme with his swing, mobile, and crib toy.) We also purchased a Halo Sleepsack for him, as he appears to detest swaddling. He sleeps well when swaddled; however, getting him to fall asleep swaddled is a chore. He fusses and twists and grunts endlessly while attempting to free his restrained arms and, by morning, sure enough no matter how tightly we swaddle him, his arms are popped out of the top of the swaddle. He's quite the little Houdini. He's definitely becoming more alert, keeping his blue peepers open for longer periods of time and gazing blankly around the room. He is able to focus on my face now, though, and I can't wait for the day when he actually appears to recognize me. I don't take it personally, though - he can't even recognize the difference between his hands and his beloved milk dispenser (my boobs), yet.

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Doctor Gives Baby A+

Asher had his first doctor's appointment this afternoon. Luckily, unlike many of the other babies there that could be heard from miles around, he didn't have to get any shots this time - he will get another Hepatitis B shot in a couple of weeks, though, to follow up the one he received right after birth. We were very proud of our little man as he bravely stripped all his clothing in that chilly room and allowed Dr. Timmons to give him the once over with barely a whimper. She was very happy that he's actually gained weight since he was born (he's now up to 9.2 pounds) and said because of his healthy weight gain, I needn't worry about waking him in the middle of the night to feed - I can just let him sleep until he wakes on his own. This is wonderful news to me because he'll often sleep 4-6 hours straight. Ah, relief! And, now that I've said that, he'll wake every two hours tonight. That's just my luck. Asher's jaundice is pretty much all gone except for maybe just a touch in the face and I was reassured that all of the sneezes he's been making is perfectly normal.

I also asked the doctor about breastfeeding - what's the best way to do it - because it seems like everything I read on it seems to be very opinionated and contradictory. She assured me that there is no right way, not to worry about what the "breast nazis" dictate, that the body and the baby will adapt to however I decide to do things. In other words, it's fine to alternate breasts, and it's also fine to feed from both in one sitting. It's okay to pump and incorporate a bottle at this point, that nipple confusion shouldn't be an issue anymore. Then I brought up the topic of baby blues and she informed me that this is what she calls "Hell Month" and it's totally expected of all new moms to feel depressed and overwhelmed. I told her I really hoped she and everyone else who has been so sweet to reassure me that it's going to be okay aren't lying to me. Seriously, though, somehow hearing it from a doctor's mouth almost makes it more bearable, like this is just a new mom symptom, similar to the backaches I had from pregnancy. Just a rough patch to get through, and then I can wear my badge of honor proudly. Very proudly.

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The First Outing

We got really wild and crazy this evening: We left the house.

My parents came to visit today and my mom, knowing I've been pretty down in the dumps lately, suggested that we go out to eat because maybe leaving the house would lift my spirits. So, off to Chili's we went and, aside from me having a tiny panic attack about where in the world we would put Asher during dinner (shows you how much attention I'd paid in the past to other restaurant patrons with children as I'd never noticed they actually have car seat stands in restaurants - brilliant!), everything went splendidly. Asher was a perfect little well-behaved man, barely stirring at all during the entire dinner. He'll always be this easy to take out in public, right? We must remember to cherish these days of semi-consciousness.

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Asher's Four Talents

Being only a week and a half old, Asher isn't much more than an adorable, warm, squishy blob. I'm already beginning to feel inadequate as a mother in the respect that I just don't know exactly what to do with an adorable, warm, squishy blob. Do I play with him? If so, how? His eyesight is still very underdeveloped, as is his hearing. I put him in his swing or bouncy seat thinking maybe he'd enjoy some "alone" time away from my lap, but then I feel guilty for leaving him to be entertained by some contraption. However, when I hold him for long periods of time, I then feel as if I'm not stimulating him enough. Really - what do you do with a newborn?

I have discovered that Asher does enjoy doing four things, and seems to be doing them very well. He is an excellent sleeper. I think he loves sleeping more than I do, if that's possible. During the night, he'll often sleep 4-5 hours straight if I let him, and spends probably 75% of his time sleeping. He also loves to eat. He starts making his baby-bird-reaching-for-food faces every 1-4 hours and has been known to eat for up to an hour straight. (His first doctor's appointment is on Monday, and if I find out he's lost much weight since birth I'm going to be very distraught!) Asher takes pride in being a pooping machine, too. A few days ago, in fact, he already had his first "explosive" diaper in which he managed to fire up and out of his undies. I've always said there's nothing cuter than the feeling of little baby toots on your arm as you're holding them. Unfortunately, Asher doesn't seem to have cute little baby toots - his are LOUD and upon hearing them it's very evident he passed more than just a little gas. What I love is the way he scrunches his face up and makes "ugh, ugh, UGH!" noises prior to letting them fly. At least he usually gives a little forewarning. What I find most talented about him, though, is the wide array of facial expressions he's perfected already. Seen below is his Popeye impression and above is the face he often makes while poop-tooting (and, if you enlarge the photo you can see dried milk crust in the corner of his mouth - he's a very classy little fellow, indeed).

His mommy and daddy sure are proud of him.

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Flailing Our Way Through the Transition Phase

I survived pregnancy. I survived labor and delivery. Now I'm praying we will survive the first few weeks of parenthood.

Asher is, so far, a very mild tempered little guy. He's rarely fussy except, of course, in the middle of the night. He sleeps most of the day, waking every few hours for The Boobs or for diaper changing. When he is awake, he enjoys lying there and pondering life with the most serious old man expression he can possibly muster and perfecting his E.T. impressions.

Stephen has been extremely busy working his butt off so we can afford to keep our new little pet. When he isn't working, he's been having fun tending to his very demanding wife, stressing about finances, stressing about work, and stressing about finances some more.

I am...surviving. Honestly, I put so much worry and stress into the delivery of Asher that I really hadn't thought much about how things would be after he arrived. I assumed the worst would be labor and if I could make it through that then it would be clear sailing. To some extent, that's true - not because the labor ended up being horrendous (thanks to everyone who recommended the epidural, by the way), but because it had forever been a huge fear of mine and I overcame it. However, it never occurred to me that there might be a recovery period after the delivery - I had some pretty extensive repairs that have been very painful and have made mothering and maneuvering extremely difficult. I didn't get very hormonal during pregnancy, so I assumed I'd be perfectly fine, emotionally, postpartum. A couple of days ago, however, the baby blues arrived as a most unwelcome guest. For some reason, I seem to be fine the majority of the day, but during the evening I get a major case of the weepies. I feel very overwhelmed, very scared, and surprisingly very much alone. Everyone has been so generous and helpful to us - visiting, calling, e-mailing, sending gifts and cards, staying with me and helping out - and I have a beautiful baby in my arms, but I sometimes feel more alone and separated from everyone than I ever have felt before in my life. In my mind, I know it's the hormones, the change of normality, the fact that my husband is stressed, and our usual worries sprinkled on top that are creating these feelings of depression and loneliness, but unfortunately knowing that doesn't make me feel much better. I'd read about postpartum depression, but I guess I never thought it'd feel quite the way this feels. I thought I'd just be weepy, just a little sensitive to things. I didn't think I'd feel as if I'd been dropped into a deep hole in the middle of the woods at night in the pouring rain with a hungry baby nursing on my sore boobs with three hours of sleep and a sore heiny. Which brings me to another topic I was totally unprepared for: SORE BOOBS. I knew they'd hurt, but I thought it'd be more of just a discomfort than actual pain. When my milk came in a few nights ago - YEOUCH! - I bawled like a baby. I didn't think I'd ever have such huge breasts, and now that I have them, I feel at my most unsexy. I've flooded so many bras and nightgowns, even with nursing pads on, that Stephen should probably start building an ark. I find myself worrying a ton about Stephen and his state of mind and the amount of sleep he gets - which in a way might be good because it temporarily gets my mind off of my own woes, but also just makes me feel more alone with my own struggles. I also worry about money, not being able to take more than 7 weeks off of work (when the short-term disability runs out), and all that other fun stuff I've been worrying about for months.

It's not all bad, though. We have a BABY! A real, live BABY! Who is adorable and sweet and cuddly! And, we're now a family! Yes, the future ahead of us is unknown and a bit scary. Yes, I'm totally confused and have no idea what I'm doing. But it's an incredibly exciting and happy kind of confusion and fear. I pray that my recovery will continue to progress and my mood swings will become less intense so that I can begin to enjoy the time I have off with my baby. I will post more pictures of Asher as I have the time and energy to. Thank you so much to everyone for your concerns, support, prayers, visitations, gifts, and phone calls - as many of you know, I have a tendency to become like a hermit when I'm going through a difficult time in my life, so your reaching out to me has kept me from sinking too far into the depths of insanity! I've been very blessed in that Stephen's mother and my sister have very generously stayed with us to help with the baby and with housework. More than that, it's been very important to me to have someone here, especially when Stephen is at work, to keep me company and keep me from feeling too lonely and depressed. I don't know what I'm going to do when the company is gone and I'm actually left alone to deal with my new life.

I know there will be more and more positive posts as the next couple of weeks progress and I gradually pull myself together. Until then, please bear with me as I am new at dealing with this spiraling sensation of parenthood!

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Baby Neener Has a New Name

We *think* we've decided on Baby Neener's official title. He shall be from here on out be called Asher Duncan Barr. We've had his name picked out for quite some time now, but have been struggling on the order of the names - whether he should be Asher Duncan or Duncan Asher. We decided that we'd wait and see when he came out which seemed more fitting and, although it was a very difficult decision as we liked both names a lot and both have very significant meanings to us, it was decided Asher suited him best. Asher was my maternal great-grandfather's name - a man I never had the privilege of knowing as he passed away when my mom was little, but was a man my mother dearly loved and was extremely close to. The name Asher is also a biblical name which means "happy and blessed." How could you go wrong with a name with such meaning? Duncan is Stephen's mother's maiden name and, bless her heart, she's been trying and trying for years to convince her children to name one of their sons Duncan. I hope she's not too disappointed in our decision which, as I stated, was extremely difficult to make.

As for an update on our new family (it seems so surreal to use that term), everyone seems to be doing pretty well. Asher attempted for quite some time to breastfeed, but they poor little guy was so pooped from the day that he'd latch on and suckle a few times and then would fall asleep. His blood sugar was 86 right after birth, but around midnight was only at 24. So, they had to give him a bottle, which quickly raised his level up to around 49. He was also very slightly under temperature, so they put him under a warming lamp. I hear from the nurses that he's doing really well and they're supposed to bring him back in to me shortly for more breastfeeding attempts. I have gotten a couple of hours of sleep in and have finally regained most of the feeling back in my legs. I'm still pretty numb in the waist area, though, but this is fine by me considering I had to have extensive repair "down there" from the labor and I know will be quite painful soon. Luckily they have my prescription for pain meds on hand so as soon as I start feeling any discomfort I can partake of the relief. Stephen ran home for a couple of hours to shower and feed the kitties and recently returned and is now slightly snoring in the chair next to me.

We are all so very tired and worn out from such a long day, but it's been beyond worth it.

Hopefully tomorrow Stephen can upload some photos of Asher, so stay tuned...

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It's a boy!

I am reporting live from the scene. Kim and Stephen have had a beautiful baby boy! He arrived at 7:42p.m. weighing in at 8 pounds 9 ounces and 21 inches long. Everything went great. She pushed for about 45 minutes and once he started out he came quickly. Stephen, Kim's mom and Jamie were in the room during the glorious moment. Stephen's mom, Bob, Ella and I waited impatiently for the news right outside the door. Ella I believe said "I want to see my new baby cousin" about ninety-six times.

Mom is currently breast feeding with Stephen's encouragement. There will be more news posted soon with a long awaited picture!

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It's About That Time

Well, the time is about here. Kim was at 10cm as of about 30 minutes ago. She is to rest for about an hour before the true action of the day is to commence.

We should have good news on the next post.

Keep it here for live, local, & late-breaking news.

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4 o'clock Update

The last check by Liz, the nurse, showed that Kim is now up to about 6cm. She also got sick just before she received her anti-nausea medicine.

All is well now and she is resting nicely.

Here is a list of everyone that is here besides me:
Judy
Bob
Jamie
Ella
Maryann
Angie

TTFN

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