Teeth and sleep, sleep and teeth

As I mentioned previously, we are growin' some teefies up in here.

If you've been paying attention to Facebook, you know this is not an enjoyable experience for Peyton or for myself.

It's funny because Denny's mom told me how he got his eye teeth first. If anything, our daughter is the spitting image of her father, so I swore she would most likely take after him in her teething process as well. I was so focused on those upper gummies of hers that I paid absolutely no attention to any other area of her mouth. So convinced, I was. EYE TEETH ARE COMING FIRST.

I was also so wrong, but it's not the first time I've been mistaken, nor will it be the last (pshhh).

About two weeks ago I was doing my normal check, feeling, of course, only her upper gums, pep talking those little teeth into existence. Then Peyton BIT ME, and I felt a little nubbin on her lower gum. That thing was so effing sharp I actually cried out in a mixture of surprise and pain.

So there was a tooth. Where most babies get them. Bottom gum, front and center.

All downhill from there.

Peyton had actually been doing quite well with her sleeping. After a lot of thought and sleeplessness and TOTAL AND UTTER DEVASTATION (exaggeration) at night, I finally caved and tried the Ferber method of sleep training (am I alone in constantly thinking "Fockerize" every time I hear about the Ferber method?). Ferber encourages timed check-ins to let baby know you haven't disappeared forever, but my check-ins only induced hysteria the likes of which I have never seen and did more harm than good. Eventually I had to tearfully (both of us) leave her in her crib, tell her I loved her a million times, and then sit and wait for the crying to stop. After about a week, we could put her down and she'd be asleep in five minutes.

But I digress. Because then TEETH HAPPENED.

Alllllllll downhill.

I couldn't just let my baby CRY while her MOUTH HURT. That's barbaric. And then she got sick. I couldn't let my baby CRY because she's SICK, DAMNIT. So back we went, rocking and nursing until she was sound asleep. I undid all my hard, stressful (seriously, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do) work. I would try to put her down, sound asleep, but NOW the second she hit the mattress, her little eyes popped open.

PARTY TIME.

Gentle encouragement, that "no, darling, this is not playtime, this is sleep time" does not translate well to babies. I am such a sucker for that quivering lip and tear-filled eyes.

A huge sucker.

Now I make excuses:

"She's getting her second tooth; she's in pain."

"She had a fever on Friday!" (it's TUESDAY.)

"She misses me already!"

"I just changed her crib sheet. She must not like the pattern."

Now we're back at square one.

But baby is better now, no more nasty cold and the fluid in her ear must have miraculously disappeared because no symptoms of an ear infection ever popped up. And now, since Sunday night, we are enduring the brutality that is bedtime in our household, trying to get my baby to sleep on her own again.

And tooth number two is coming in, guns a-blazing.

I have the strange feeling that the next few months are going to be a vicious cycle of sleep, teeth, no sleep, rinse, repeat.

But did I mention that those teeth are freaking ADORABLE? I love me some gummy baby smiles, but there's something about those two little teeth that KILL ME.

Thing 1 and Thing 2, I've named them.

Chaos, just chaos

We're still alive over here.

Things have been, in a word, INSANE since Thanksgiving. I'm further embracing my inner Martha Stewart and getting way too crafty for my own good. Making lots of gifts homemade this year, which is awesome and it makes me feel pretty darn productive.The dining room table has taken a hit though, since it's currently where I'm storing all my goodies.

My goal was to ultimately finish up my shopping/crafting this week so I could enjoy the week preceding Christmas and do Christmas-y things and just relax. But I'm realizing my slacker self would have benefitted immensely from, oh I don't know, maybe starting my Christmas shopping and planning back in OCTOBER.

This is pretty much my train of thought once October hits:

"Oh wow, Halloween is in a few weeks. Can't believe the holidays are so soon! I should at least START my shopping."
"Oh wow, it's Halloween...candy! No shopping yet, but I still have all of November. I'm golden!"
"November 1st, turkey soon! Maybe I should just start picking up just one gift a week."
"Thanksgiving! Well, I haven't gotten anything yet, so I might as well try out Black Friday and see how that works out."
"It's December already! Good thing I got TWO WHOLE GIFTS on Black Friday." (This one is actually somewhat false. I finished all my shopping for baby and absolutely no one else, HAAAAA.)

Next thing I know it's December 16 with all this to do:

Finish shopping
Finish homemade gifts
Wrap all of the above
Bake a crap-ton of cookies
Physically and mentally prepare for the whirlwind that will be December 24th and 25th.

It really doesn't seem like a lot when I write it out, but throw a sick baby (POOR BABY!) and a sick mommy (POOR ME!) into the mix and it seems pretty daunting. With only eight days left.

Once it's all done it'll feel pretty good. But in the meantime I am locking myself in the house and turning this place into a veritable Santa's workshop.

I WILL PUT THE FAT MAN IN RED TO SHAME.

SHAAAAAAAAAME.

PS: Peyton now crawls, sits up, AND has two teeth. I feel inclined to reiterate how much teething sucks, but those little baby teefies are ADORABLE.

PPS: I can't wait until we move into a big big house where I can host holiday festivities and everyone will come to ME.

What we've been up to

Holy busy month of November. I feel like it has been non-stop since Halloween. Plus I feel like I have nothing relevant to write about, thus I had nothing to post all month.

Bad blogger, BAD.

So instead of leaving a complete and utter void in this space, here's what we've been up to:

This started happening right after Halloween:

I can't stress this enough...my kid does wear pants.

Yep, my teeny tiny baby crawls now. At five months old. This prompted a meltdown of epic proportions since MY SWEET BABY IS GROWING UP SO FAST, and also since it remains to be seen if she will be the only baby we have. It's happening so fast it breaks my heart.

Peyton has reflux. The good doctor prescribed her Zantac and HOLY MOLY it's like she's a whole new child.

SO HAPPY.
SO SMILEY.
HARDLY CRIES.
NAPS FOR MORE THAN 20 MINUTES.

Whyyy did it take us almost five months to figure this out?!

I started crocheting, thanks largely to "Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3". Once that game entered our house, I figured it was time to pick up a hobby that would pass the time spent listening to simulated gunshots and explosions that were bound to fill our home. So I made a few scarves and some hats so far:

Peyton obliges to show off the goodies.

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.

.

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Just kidding.

I'm also getting crafty. Crafty as hell. I'm scaring myself with just how crafty I'm getting. Pictures of goodies to come.

Another reason why I haven't been blogging as much is because I've been introduced and addicted to Pinterest. So instead of blogging I'm pinning and repinning and ohIjustloveitsomuch. Try it, you'll love it.

Thanksgiving happened. It was wonderful, but so busy. So many people to see, and only one day to do it. I had an itinerary that had us down to the minute. Sucks, but it had to be done and it worked out perfectly and required no stress about being late or whatever. JUST FOLLOW THE DAMN SCHEDULE. It really was a great day. Lots of food and family. Reasons #2 and #1 (respectively) why I love the holidays.

Black Friday also happened, oh ho ho, Black Friday. I've never gone out on Black Friday before, especially in those wee hours of the morning, but I figured I'd give it a shot this year. There was a particular toy I'd had my eye on for Peyton that was heavily discounted at Target, so I put on my crazy pants and out I went at 12:30 (pleeeease, I wasn't waiting in any lines for that place to open--I gotta draw the line somewhere). Baby and Denny sleeping soundly at home.

It was, shall we say, a special experience.

I went by myself so I was only willing to get in and get out, and not to use the experience as a socialize and shop event. So methodical, I am. Anyway, there was this woman there with an infant. I'm talking brand-spanking-new infant. Outside, in the cold. I put my Judgey McJudgerface on, but went about my business. Until I passed the rack with PJs (!!!) on sale that I wished to peruse quickly, quietly, and politely before I moseyed on over to the toys. But lo and behold, there was this woman, with HER BABY BALANCING ON THE TOP PART OF A SHOPPING CART (cringeee), completely blocking any and all access to the desired PJs with her cart and her posse of five or six large women. I tried to peek around them, hoping maybe they'd be nice and let me take a look as well, but nope. They stayed put. I huffed and puffed and might have rolled my eyes, but no dice. Bitches ain't movin'.

So off I went to toys and (cue singing angels) the toy I wanted was there and it was the last one one the shelf. I grabbed it and silently gloated in my discounted shopping luck.

Here comes the woman, her precariously balancing baby, and her gaggle of girlfriends. Looking for my toy. She asks her girlfriend to find the toy on sale (MY TOY!), but they picked up the wrong one and off they went to annoy other shoppers. I said to her "Oh yeah, this is the one. I'm getting one for my daughter and I'm sure she'll love it."

Dumb lady didn't even look in my cart to see that the actual toy that was on sale was in my cart. KARMA, BETCH.

Then I went back to the PJs, scored a few cutes ones for the babykins, and that was the end of my Black Friday shopping ordeal. Home by 2:00 AM. My kind of shopping.

Now our house is decorated, we'll probably get our tree some time in the next week or two, and I can officially start revelling in the wonder that is the holiday season. Getting to relive our childhood traditions and maybe starting a tradition or two of our own is, by far, my most favorite part of this particular time of year.

It's the most wonderful time of the yearrrr!

I'm already in the holiday spirit. I will not lie, I have enjoyed some festive Christmas music already. I had to stop myself from purchasing Michael Buble's Christmas album yesterday. I've already started planning out Christmas light schematics for the house.

My favorite time of the year is here!

It is kind of bizarre that Christmas officially starts at like, 12:00 AM, November 1. I kind of hate that Christmas has turned into a big, consumer-driven hoopla. I don't really appreciate the holiday season for that, though. There's just something about Christmas that is really special. It will be especially special this year, thanks to my little munchkinface. I know she'll only be six months and won't remember a single thing, but OH MY GOD I am so excited.

But first: Thanksgiving. I'm already having dreams about my mom's string bean casserole. Peyton's Thanksgiving outfit is already in her closet (has been since August). I'm planning out my Black Friday shopping (if I even decide to go). I'M JUST SO EXCITED I WILL GO TOTALLY CAPS-HEAVY WITH EVERYTHINGGG!

Some belated Halloween photos:

The candy. Ohhh, the candy. I didn't take Peyton trick-or-treating this year because, honestly, a grown woman pushing her tiny little baby to your door to trick or treat...you know damn well who that candy is for. Plus it was so, so cold. I did want to show her off, though, so we visited with some family and friends instead. A very busy, exciting evening, indeed. 

Peyton was exhausted after all was said and done:

And so was Daddy, apparently.

I still have 30 pounds to lose, but we still have so much candy. And it's all the good stuff, too, so I can't even be like "Bahhh, it's just Sweet Tarts and Milk Duds." No no, friends...I have so many Reese's cups in my house it's like a factory opened next door.

But I will BEAT the candy. I will stare that Reese's cup in the face and prevail.

Adventures in Baby Food Culinary Awesomeness

Yesterday was so gross. Just so so gross. Some people got snow, but we got rain.

I was too chicken to poke my head out the door,

but it was just gross.

I don't think I can use the word "gross" enough to explain what yesterday was like.

Gross.
Gross.
Gross.

We didn't leave the house, and it was just a bum around kind of day. I started getting antsy around noon and the house was already clean and I had a random squash laying around the house...so I made some baby food.

And now...I will share my baby-food-making-wisdom. Even though it's not wisdom at all. You can find ways to make baby food all over the internet. My particular favorite is Wholesome Baby Food because EVERYTHING about babies and solids is right there.

So anyway...this is a butternut squash, and in the background is an oven preheated to 400 degrees:

The immature perv in me giggled at the shape of this squash, a little bit.

Always in the gutter, my mind is.

Clean the squash. This little guy (a guy, for ooooobvious reasons) got chopped into a bunch of pieces like so:

And then I scooped out the seeds (like a pumpkin!)

See ya later, seeds.

Arrange your squash pieces flesh side down onto a baking pan filled with about an inch of water, like so:

I like to use foil, but I also hate scrubbing pans.

I can't be the goddess of domesticity every day, you know.

Roast the squash for about 45 minutes. When it's done the skin should be blistering away from the squash:

"I've got blisters on me fingers!"

The next step is very important: LET IT COOL. My overeager self thought, 'How bad could it be? I'll be careful.' There is no such thing as carefully handling food that has been heated to 400 degrees. Unless you use an oven mitt, so just let it cool. At least until you can handle it.

Once it's cool enough, scoop the flesh away from the skin.

And put it into your blender or food processor. There are all kinds of gadgets that are specially made for the purpose of making baby food, but I have a blender and my blender has a "puree" button, so it works for me and it was already in my kitchen so I didn't have to spend a ridiculous sum of money on yet another gadget. WIN.

Before.

Add water (preferably the water it was cooked in to keep the nutrients and not simply water it down). And puree.

After. I think it's gross,

but Peyton sure does seem to enjoy it.

Once that's done, spoon the puree into ice cube trays:

Boom.

And freeze. Throw the frozen cubes into a freezer bag and they'll be good for about three months.

I bought two butternut squash at like, $1.50/lb., which yielded 64 cubes (approx. 1 oz. per cube, and 16 average jars of baby food). A four ounce jar of organic baby puree is about $0.70 each, give or take a few cents. My homemade food is about $0.30 for every four ounces. Sure, it's only a $0.40 difference, but that sure will add up as Peyton starts to eat more. Plus I have peace of mind that I made it myself and know exactly what's going into my baby's little body. Plus I have a jar of organic squash sitting in one of my cabinets and the expiration date isn't until December 2013. I kind of question anything that can stay fresh for so long.

Don't get me wrong; I will buy SOME jarred baby foods, specifically those foods in which high levels of nitrates are likely to appear, and the nitrate levels are screened in commercial baby foods: carrots, spinach, etc. But if I can save by making my own squash, apples, pear, sweet potatoes (which I have already), and other awesome foods, then BY GOLLY I WILL.

Anyway, here's my sweet pumpkin, whose first Halloween is TOMORROW!

Halloween pics forthcoming. Once Halloween actually happens.

Make me a liar

When I was pregnant, I had all these glorious plans for when Peyton was finally here. I'm pretty sure every future mother does: I'm going to do this, and I'm going to do it this way, and NO ONE CAN CHANGE MY MIND AND NOTHING IS GOING TO STOP MEEEE.

It's funny what having such a tiny little person around will do to all those perfectly laid-out plans.

Let's see:

"I will not co-sleep/bedshare."
When I was pregnant, I swore up and down that Peyton would sleep in her crib from DAY ONE. After all, she had this beauuuutiful nursery that we spent a lot of time and money on, so why not put it to good use right away?

Once I brought her home, that went right out the window. We didn't have the monitor we wanted yet, and the thought of shuffling back and forth with such a tiny, hungry baby in the middle of the night while nursing seemed so exhausting. So I slept on the couch in the living room while Peyton slept in the Pack and Play about five feet from me. Did I miss sleeping in bed? Sure did. Denny's parents gave us a gorgeous bassinet that I put in our bedroom at the foot of the bed in hopes I could sleep on a normal mattress again. Unfortunately, Denny never slept well while she was in our room, and since he was the one working I just manned up and camped out on the couch all night. When she was a month old we got the monitor, and I told Denny I would start putting her in the crib. But I just liked having her near me. So for three months, I slept on our couch every night.

Peyton is finally in her crib, but there are some very early mornings when I will bring her to bed with me. Sometimes you just need to sleep; Peyton's Great Sleep Strike of Fall 2011 is the perfect example.

Besides, morning sleepy cuddles are the best.

"I will not become a crazy Facebook mom."
I am, without a doubt, a HUGE offender. It started during pregnancy. No offense to my mommy friends with older children, but baby-related Facebook statuses drove me up a wall before I was pregnant. Plus Facebook raises such insane privacy issues that I promised myself that no, not everyone needs to see my kid's face every day, and no, not everyone cares that Peyton finally rolled over.

Now that I have a baby of my own to show off, it's like crack. There is a post, a photo, something baby-centric at least once a day. I can't really help it, though; this child is my life and I am consumed with love and adoration for her AND I JUST WANT TO SHARE IT WITH ALLLLLL 600 OF YOU.

To my non-parent Facebook friends: sorry. You'll get it one day.

"I will not talk about Peyton/kids 24/7."
I think this would be different if I was working, but it goes hand-in-hand with the Facebook thing. I spend 10-11 hours a day with my peanut, five days a week, just me and her. Truth be told, you forget how to talk to other adults and you forget what the hell you're supposed to talk about. Current events? The weather? What's going on in other people's lives? Yo, my kid is starting to sit up on her own, isn't that exciting? No? Not to you? Oh, alright then. I guess you don't care. JERK.

Case in point, a scene from this past weekend. A conversation between me and Heather (more or less summarized):

Heather (holding Peyton): Wow, she's got a huge boogie in her nose.

Me: I know. I've been trying to pick it all day, but it just won't come out.

Heather: You know what works? Try squeezing her nose and it should just come out on its own.

Me: I will have to give that a try, because that boogie is driving me insane.

Heather: Did you ever think our conversations would ever sound like this?

Me: Ha, nope.

End scene.

You see what I mean here? Booger talk runs my life. I'm okay with it, though.

"I will never leave the house looking like a hot mess."
HAHAHAHAHAHA. I thought I'd be the cute mom with the cute hair and make-up magically done. Seriously though, I look homeless ALL. THE. TIME. Sometimes I totally forget to brush my hair before I walk out the door. I NEVER left the house in sweatpants (yoga pants were acceptable). Now I leave the house in sweatpants and a huge spit-up stain on my shirt. No joke, I went out the other day wearing: Uggs, gray cropped sweatpants that left a six-inch gap between the top of my boot and the hem of the pant leg, a navy blue nursing tank top, and an orange cardigan. What the hell?

You better believe Peyton is dressed to the hilt. Even if mommy is a hot mess.

Which leads me to...

"I will not buy a ton of baby clothes because she will not even wear half of them."
Oh God. The baby clothes. Do you even KNOW how cute little girl clothes are? They're so cute it should be a crime, that's how cute. I have not bought a single item of clothing for myself in almost a year. But you know I have baby jeggings with SEQUIN HEARTS ON THE BACK POCKET. 

I wish this photo was closer to truly get that there are A LOT of clothes there, and that's just 0-3 months.

It's really a cute little problem I have. To the point that Denny will give me money because he knows I enjoy shopping for baby clothes. Sheesh.

"I will not give Peyton a pacifier because I don't want it to be something I have to take away eventually."

Well, part of this went according to plan, but by no fault of my own. Peyton, until about two days ago, HATED pacifiers. When she was born I was terrified to give one to her because breastfeeding started out so shakily for us, but we got the hang of it so well she eventually started using ME as a pacifier. Then I started to wish she took a binkie. I tried every day for her to take one and she is just now coming around to it. I'm torn about this because before, since she didn't take one, it was something I didn't have to worry about taking away from her down the road. But if it gives my boobs a break, I'm just going to go with it for now. We'll worry about being a mean mommy later.

See that? There's a binkie there!

All in all, I had plans. Most of them crumbled the second I brought that sweet little girl home, and that's okay. If anything, becoming a mother taught me that things aren't always going to go the way you want them to, but it's how you adapt that makes it okay. Besides, Peyton probably isn't going to remember the sleepy cuddles, the bedazzled baby jeggings (and if she does she'll probably want to kill me when she's a teenager), or mommy obsessing over boogers, but I will. So I'm making the most of this time, plans or not.

After all, my baby won't be a baby forever. 



Still here!

Still kicking!

Peyton and I suffered our first shared cold experience together, you know, since we're both home all day, breathing into each others' faces and whatnot. 'Twas not fun. She's a little better, I'm almost back to 100%. Now that I can see through the cold-induced fog in my brain, I'm looking forward to writing a bunch more.

In the past few weeks, I've:

• Made my own baby food. I will share my recipes, not that they're terribly difficult, but I will share because I know you care (or don't, but I don't care):

Not the most visually appealing sweet potatoes I've ever seen, but Peyton sure likes them. Also made apples, pears, and squash. Peyton approves of apples, turns her nose up at pears. Makes faces with squash--faces the likes of which I have never seen.

• Ordered Sophie the Giraffe, AKA "The World's-Most-Overpriced-Dog/Kid-Squeaky-Chew-Toy-That-My-Kid-Loves-So-That-Justifies-the-Price":

Om nom nom.

If she hadn't taken to it, I probably would have wept openly about how much that damn thing cost me.

• Gotten her ears pierced. This is a lie. I didn't go because I am a chicken. Denny took her, since he is all brave and manly and can stand to see our child cry. For photographic evidence of my daughter's cute little ears, please direct your attention to the giraffe photo. Baby got bling!

• Gotten three nights of 5+ uninterrupted hours of sleep (!!!)

• Done lots and lots of laundry:

Hello there!

For the record, my kid ALWAYS wears pants. This is the exception, apparently.

• Applied to eleventy million jobs and not heard back from a SINGLE ONE. (RAGE.)

• Gotten Peyton's Halloween photos done. Photos that involved wailing at the top of her baby lungs and leaving me with two useable photos: a.) a black outfit on a black background that makes her looking like a floating baby head, and b.) a photo of her with her eyes shut because she was crying but her mouth looks like she's smiling.

Even with the cold from hell, we've been quite busy. With the holidays coming up, I'm really excited. REALLY. EFFING. EXCITED. I'll be sharing all that fun stuff, and I'm sure you're all brimming with anticipation over it all.

Coming up soon: Things I said I'd never do, but do now. Every mother's got 'em, and she does 'em. If you don't, YOU'RE A DIRTY LIAR.







You can't always get what you want

Hello again.

If you missed me, my bad. Posting has been delayed because I've been chewing on an idea for a post that's pretty personal to me and I've been internally debating about whether or not I would want to share something about which I feel so deeply.

However, I've received a few comments (some in jest and some not) in the past few months from multiple individuals that really struck a nerve, so here I go. I'm laying it all out on the table, so everyone put your serious faces on for just a few minutes:

Just because I had a c-section does not make me less of a woman, nor does it make me less of a mother.

There, I said it. I feel better already.

I'd like to preface this post by saying that I am horrified at the high rate of ceasarean sections in the United States. Most of them are so unneccessary, but some cases just can't be avoided and in emergencies is the only way to actually have your baby. Such is my case.

If you've spoken with me personally since the birth of my sweet little girl, you'd know that I am not exactly thrilled with the way things went on the big day. Quite frankly, it bothers me quite a bit.

Maybe I sound selfish. I'm allowed to be selfish for 10 minutes.

During pregnancy, you have all these awesome rose-colored ideas--- on how it's supposed to go. Yeah, yeah...labor and delivery is a scary thought, but only because it's an unknown. You can ask all the mothers in the world how it was for them, but it's something you really won't know about until you've done it. What do contractions feel like? People can tell you, but you'll never really know until you're in the middle of one.

They suck, by the way. That's all the detail I'll provide.

Aaaaanyway, the last few months of my pregnancy I thought constantly about how it would go. I didn't really focus on the labor part, because we all know that it sucks, but I thought about the end...finally getting that baby out and laying her on my chest and we would look into each others' eyes and we would be inseparable from then on.

As luck would have it, my pregnancy wasn't easy. The last three months I dealt with major swelling and blood pressure issues. I had one pair of flip flops that were lose enough on my feet to wear since any of the shoes I owned were completely out of the question. My blood pressure sent me to the hospital so many times all the visits blur together in my head. Do you know what's it like to save your pee for 24 hours, keep it on ice, and then bring a huge jug of it back to the hospital? Do you know what it's like to do that three times?

I always thought I'd be the glowing empowered female during pregnancy that it never occurred to me that I'd be practically bedridden and helpless during the last few weeks. I also thought that I would be able to go into labor on my own, try to go for as long as possible without medical intervention, and have my baby the way women have been doing it for centuries (well, for centuries minus the cushy hospital surroundings). I never wrote out a birth plan because I figured I'd be able to go with the flow and make my decisions when I needed to. I had no idea someone else would wind up making those decisions for me.

When I was 38 weeks, my doctor finally said enough was enough. My blood pressure was at the highest it had been and we were worried. He scheduled an induction for the next day, a Friday, and told me I'd have my baby at some point over the weekend. I woke up the next morning, packed my bags, and sat around waiting for the call to go to the hospital. At noon I got the call. They told me there was no room at the hospital for me and unless I was the Virgin Mary and had no problem giving birth in a stable I had to wait until the next week (no lie, I was told this). I understand they were trying to make light of the situation, but that was heartbreaking. I cried all day. There comes a point when you are just so mentally and physically exhausted that all you can do is cry.

I finally went in for the real induction on Monday afternoon, June 13. My midwife started me on Cervadil (the start of my many interventions). By Tuesday morning, I was started on Pitocin.  Pitocin sucks. I'll also provide that detail. My contractions were happening so quickly and so forcefully that everyone thought that baby would be out in no time.

Everything pretty much snowballed after that: Nubain and an epidural for pain management and an eventual stall in my labor. After eight hours of the absolute worst pain of my life (with all my focus, of course, on the finish line), I stopped dialating.  My doctor eventually made the call that perhaps I should consider a c-section once he felt the swelling on Peyton's head. She was dropping, but my body wasn't letting her go. I was devastated.

The midwife asked my doctor to let me labor longer. He gave me an hour to make progress. A half an hour in, Peyton's heart rate dropped into the 50s (should have been at least three times that) and my blood pressure spiked. It was like a scene right out of Grey's Anatomy, with my doctor and nurses running in. At that point I gave up; "Just take her," I told them. And then I cried a little more.

I wholeheartedly believe that one of women's greatest gifts is the ability to carry life within and then bring it into the world (me, the girl who swore she'd never reproduce). I did the first part pretty okay, but the second part eluded me completely. I felt like my body had failed me.

Long story short: I was in an OR by 7:15 PM. Peyton was born at 7:36 PM. My face was not the first she saw; instead, she saw my doctor, the nurses, and an anesthesiologist first. There was no immediate skin-to-skin time that they say is so crucial in those first few moments of a baby's life. Instead, I got to rub her little hand and touch her cheek before they whisked her away so I could get stitched up. Everyone else even had the chance to hold her before I did. I got her last.

Really though, all that doesn't matter because she is happy, healthy, and most importantly: she is here. And my scar is proof.

So in the words of the Rolling Stones: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might just find you get what you need." Never truer words sung, Mr. Jagger. Actually, there probably are truer words that have been sung, but this particular song has been stuck in my head.

Enough with the seriousness. Here are reasons why my c-section wasn't all that bad anyway:

• No egghead. This is actually a lie since Peyton had a glorious egghead. Behold:

Not the best angle, but holy moly was that thing elongated.

• Bladder control...I don't pee when I sneeze. Snissing, I don't do it. Hallelujah.
• Things, ahem, pardon me, remained intact. No stitches here!
• If or when I decide to have another baby, I can always try a VBAC.
• My scar, forgetting the few minor complications I had with it, will heal beautifully and in no time.

In other news, my baby is four months today!

Mind=blown.



Good things about the fall

I am really bummed that summer is over. Like, I'm finding myself kind of depressed about it. So to make myself feel a little bit better about the change of seasons, here is a list of things I think are awesome about fall:

Better sleeping weather (not that I'm sleeping since Peyton still thinks it's cool to be awake every two hours all night...hello, four month wakeful period!)

No air conditioning and open windows

Pumpkin spice EVERYTHING (seriously, if there is a hint of pumpkin I'm in)

PLAYOFFS! Boston was eliminated last minute, so Denny is sad. The Phillies made it, so I am beyond stoked. Tonight's game almost stopped my heart and introduced Peyton to a whole new bunch of expletives I hope she'll never hear again. Buuuut we won so I suppose inadvertently and temporarily subjecting my child to various forms of the F-bomb was worth it.

Just for good measure.

Hoodies (not that any of my cute ones fit anymore...yayyy, baby weight!)

Uggs

Campfires

Football (I guess. Even though I don't care about football until the Phillies are out and/or win the World Series.) 

Fun fall outdoor activities (I am beyond excited to take Peyton to a pumpkin patch. Even though she'll have no clue what is going on, it should still be a blast and a half.)

Thanksgiving (my new fat kid self is reeeeally pumped about this one.)

And even though I haaaaaate to think about it, winter will be here soon enough, but that means Christmas too! I'm such a geek for Christmas it's unreal. And again, even though Peyton will probably be all "WTF?" I'm going to go BATSHIT insane with Christmas this year.

That's really all I got. It made me feel a smidge better.

Anyway, all is well on the home front. Peyton loves screaming her head off, but now that the tummy issues are in check it's more like happy screams. I'll gladly take the happy screams over tummy issue screams any day.



"People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one"

I don't know to whom exactly I should credit that quote, but it is TRUTH.

Sleep has suddenly become elusive in this household (except for Denny; since he brings home the bacon I let him sleep). I am exhausted to the max. I'm talking, like, uber-zombie exhausted. Like, I-want-to-feast-on-brains zombie. Boo, hiss, it sucks. It's just a phase, but OH MY GOD I JUST WANT TO SLEEEEP.

Peyton was a great sleeper. Everyone always says the lack of sleep is the hardest part of having a newborn, but I heartily disagreed. She only woke once a night from the get-go, and that was totally tolerable for me. By two months, she was getting anywhere from five to six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. 

Her pediatrician told me at her two-month well visit that five or six hours a night for a breastfed baby was great. Awesome! There is nothing like being validated and praised (in my mind it was praise for having an awesome baby that sleeps) by your child's pediatrician. I walked out of there thinking, 'I AM SO GOOD AT THIS MOMMY BUSINESS. I AM DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT. I COULD SCHOOL ALL OF YOU ON HOW TO MAKE YOUR BABY SLEEEEP!'

Now all I want is to be schooled myself, because I foresee an epic conundrum.

But first! My view from the baby monitor, at 4:46 this morning:

(Yes, Peyton sleeps on her belly. And with a blanket. 

No lectures here, plz&thx)



A series of wiggles, followed by some sort of howling coming from the monitor and her room. SHE WILL NOT SLEEP FOR MORE THAN TWO HOURS AT A TIME. Is it a growth spurt? Is it the dreaded four-month wakeful period? Is it...both (pleaaaase dear God NO!)? WHAT THE EFF IS GOING ON?

So, here is the aforementioned condundrum. It is multi-faceted. Here we go:

Alright, she's waking up every two hours. I know I have to deal with it, so I get up (duh). But...how do I get her back to sleep? If she's waking up every one and a half to two hours (ALL NIGHT LONG), then is she really that hungry? If it's a growth spurt, then probably. Whatever, I feed her. No big deal.

But...what if she's not hungry? I attempt to pat her little bottom and shush her until I'm winded from all the shushing, but she is wiiiide awake. On all fours, looking around, and babbling at her Sleep Sheep or cryyying away. In my opinion, she is way too young to cry it out, so that's not an option here (don't tell me otherwise, because I will rip your head off).

I am so jealous of moms that can pop a binkie/paci/whatever the hell you call it into a baby's mouth and it's instant calm and wonderfulness (I'm looking at you, HEATHER). I have Tupperware containers full of different brands of pacifier that the diva has rejected, one by one. I refuse to throw them out because I'm convinced that one day the angels will sing and the sun will shine down on me and she will take them. All of them. Behold:

Oho, there's more where this came from.

Anyway. Patting and shushing don't work, and binkies/pacis/whatever don't work, so I nurse her, hungry or not. Big freaking deal, right? For now I guess not.

But there will come a day when she's five years old and won't sleep and it'll just be weird to nurse once she can ask for it.

Kiddinggg.

Am I setting myself up for failure here? Will I honestly have to nurse her every single night, at every single wake-up, since it's now a crutch for both of us? I think she's still too young to grasp a habit like that, but I don't want to wait much longer. It'll happen, sooner or later, and then I'll be royally screwed.

Am I destined to be one of those crazy moms that nurse their kids until they're five? Ugh, please no.

And on top of that, on the glorious day she finally accepts a bottle from me (oh sweet day, I am waiting for you), HOW THE EFF WILL I GET HER TO SLEEP THEN? I tried this whole "putting her down drowsy" ordeal, but no dice. She will only sleep if she is out cold--I am talking dead weight, sack of potatoes (cutest potatoes EVER) asleep. What is the one way I know of that will get her to sleep, every time? Nursing. Bah.

Babies thrive on routine, I guess that's common sense, sure. I am finding that baths before bed seem to help with the situation. Every time I give her a bath, she sleeps for eight hours straight. Nightime routine is snuggle, bath, lotion and baby massage, snuggle, nurse, sleep. Sleep for eight wonderous hours. Minor problem here: I can only bathe her every three nights (thanks, ECZEMA). Now we only sleep really well every third night. WTF.

Sup, mommadukes. I'm never sleeping AGAIN.

I also never sit correctly in my Bumbo seat. Stupid thing.

Big milestones have a lot to do with sleep regression, but we are coming up on the motherload of milestones (solids, grasping, crawling, etc., etc., etc.). So my question is this:

When am I going to sleep again?

On another note, we've had two of my freezer meals and both were DELISH. Loving it so far.

On another another note, I gave Peyton some super watered down rice cereal tonight and she TOOK IT. FROM. A. SPOON. I suck at life, though, and I didn't take any pictures. Pardon me while I go sob uncontrollably because my baby is getting so big and I'm failing to chronicle every single beautiful second.

Things I wish people told me

As every expecting mother or a mother of an infant will tell you, once you spill the beans that you are expecting/have a young child, others immediately become baby-having experts. Unsolicited advice falls upon you like a hammer and there is NOTHING you can do about it:

• "To induce labor, try castor oil/spicy food/sex/walking/standing on your head/breakdancing/squats/eat eggplant/etc., etc., etc. By the way, NONE of those things worked for me.
• "Give your baby cereal right away and they will sleep through the night!" (actually, research proves that there is no correlation between babies that are given cereal earlier and sleeping through the night, SO THERE. The established recommendation for introducing solids is 4-6 months so THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING AND KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE CEREAL NONSENSE.) ...Can you tell this is one of my pet peeves?
• "You can't tell how much the baby is getting to eat while you're nursing. If you gave her a bottle you'd know." Every time I heard this one I thought my head would explode.
• "Just let her cry it out. She's manipulating you and just wants to be held." Um, no. Just no. I HAAAAATE this advice.
• "That baby looks cold. Put some socks on those feet." SHUT UP. IT'S JULY.
• "Letting your baby stand on her feet too soon will cause her to go bowlegged." (pshhh.)
• The list goes on and on.

Don't get me wrong, I will take unsolicited advice from people who are well-meaning and provide FACTS. Don't give me old wives tales. Don't give me "well it worked for my kid so it should DEFINITELY work for yours." Let's not forget: I have the diva baby. What worked for your kid and 1,000 other kids will probably make my kid's head spin off. Figuratively speaking.

Instead, these are the things I wish people told me:

• If you are lucky enough to induce labor on your own, you are just lucky. And that's it. In all likelihood, your body just went into labor on its own and you had nothing to do with it.
• There are no medals for going "med-free." I, personally, had a hard time with this one because I wound up on narcotics, anesthetics, all kinds of fun stuff and wanted so desperately to have as little medical intervention as possible.
• Breasfeeding doesn't come naturally to everyone and not every baby "nurses like a champ. (gah!)" The recommended one year of nursing is a long shot for a lot of mothers.
• If your baby sleeps better on his or her tummy, let them sleep there. But be vigilant. SIDS is a serious risk.
• Sleeping when the baby sleeps is IMPOSSIBLE. I will never give this advice to anyone. There will always be something better to do. Just get used to being a zombie creature.
• No stain remover, laundry detergent, or gift from God will remove certain poop stains (gross, I know, but there will be poop on her clothes. And most likely on you). Put those soiled clothes out in the sun after a good wash and 99% of the time those stains will disappear. Okay, maybe the sun does count as a gift from God.
• That nursery you spent all that time and money on? If your baby isn't sleeping in there from the get-go you won't spend any significant time in there for WEEKS.
• It is okay to go out once in a while and have someone you trust watch the baby. It will save your sanity, and in the end a happy mommy is a happy baby.

There are plenty more, but princess just woke up from her nap and is demanding my presence.

So to my mommy friends out there...what kind of unsolicited advice did you get? What kind of advice would you give an expecting/new mom, since you've been "in the trenches?"

Brittany 1, Kitchen 0

I win.

It took two days, a total of 12 hours of blood, sweat, but no tears. I might have dirtied every pot, pan, spatula, spoon, and fork we own. Diva baby might have flipped her little baby lid 18 times, but I did it.

There are now enough frozen meals in my freezer for every weekday for the next four weeks.

(!!!!)

I would have kept going, but I ran out of room in the freezer. I learned the hard way this morning about cramming too much crap into your freezer. Have you ever had two pounds of frozen chicken and soup fall onto your bare foot from three and half feet up? It really effing hurts.

Now that I have my first victory at freezer cooking under my belt, I feel much more confident that I can pull it off in less time next month. Maybe even in ONE DAY.

One important lesson learned and retained for next time: it's all about logistics. Chop, measure, label, and store as many ingredients as you can beforehand so you know what's going into what dish and how much is supposed to go in. I chopped a lot of my veggies, measured them, and threw them in labeled bags the night before, but measuring out my dry pasta and sauces would have been super beneficial, too.

I wish I had taken pictures of all this. I am just so damn proud of myself.

Seriously, $250.00 in groceries (and not all of it for these dinners!) made enough food for us to eat Monday through Friday, for four weeks.  FOUR WEEKS. I can hardly wrap my brain around it. I say screw the weekends; most of the time we eat out, order take-out, or have dinner with friends and family on Saturdays and Sundays anyway.

This means I only have to go grocery shopping once a month. I used to go twice a month and spend at least $200 each time. That's at least $400 a month. This is monumental for me.

If anyone is interested, I highly suggest you check out Once a Month Mom. It's my new go-to site. This blog provides you with recipes, shopping lists, and a conversion spreadsheet to tweak your recipes to fit how many people you'll be cooking for (I'm swooning just writing this). Whole foods recipes, vegetarian recipes, it even has recipes for homemade baby food, which I am so stoked to try out since I'll be starting Peyton on solids soon enough (MY BABY IS SO OLLLLD SHE'LL BE WALKING SOOOOON). Seriously, LOVE.

Princess Peyton decided that she was up for the day at 6:00 AM and would not nap and just wanted to eat and be fussypants (Three-month growth spurt? When do these things stop happening? When she's 27?) all day long, so this mama is tired. I cannot wait to faceplant on my bed.

The three-month "switch"

Peyton is three months old today.

Three months.

I won't lie. I have been blessed with a high-maintenance baby. People say every baby is different, has his or her own personality. My baby is full of personality. She is the boss lady. I affectionately refer to her as the "diva baby" because she knows what she wants, when she wants it.

Diapers can't be even a tiny bit dirty or wet or all hell breaks loose. Car seat? Stroller? Bouncy seat? Foooorget about it. People are STUNNED when I tell them Peyton screams and cries bloody murder in the car and doesn't fall asleep immediately like Baby A, Baby B, and Baby C did. Binkies, pacis, whatever you call them? Nope, not welcome here. How DARE I think I can sit down while I'm holding her. Think again, mom; you better be moving if you're holding me, and by "moving" I mean walking around the house at a brisk pace since I can't get around by myself. We also don't like to be held like a baby. Now that she has stellar neck control, she needs to be sitting up on your lap AT ALL TIMES. If you tilt her back even slightly she will wiggle and struggle and fuss until you make her upright again. You know, so she can eavesdrop on your conversation. If a sock falls off her teeny little foot, you will hear about it, damnit, because the boss hates one cold foot and one toasty foot (I don't blame her on this one).

We all know baby socks are a joke anyway, but that's another story.

Denny makes me laugh because he can't fathom how she could still cry if she's fed, changed, clean, burped, etc., etc., etc. But she still cries.

I think we're heading in the right direction with the non-dairy issue; her skin has already cleared up considerably and she is much happier during and after feedings. But still, she cries. Denny is baffled by all this. I try to explain that babies cry, it's what they do. Our baby just happens to do it a lot.

I just say she's high maintenance. There is nothing wrong with that. There are plenty of grown women who are high maintenance. I know she won't be this way forever.

I've been hearing it since she was born: "Oh, just wait until she's three months. She'll be like a whole new baby."

Well, she's three months today.

For the first time since she was born, I took her food shopping with me today. I figured I had to get over the irrational fear that she would have a public meltdown, and today was the day. I knew the car seat was totally out of the question since she thinks it's a torture device meant for tiny people (Straps! Clips! Buckle! NOOOOOO!), so I strapped her into her little Chicco carrier and off we went (do you see a trend here? I love that damn carrier). It was glorious. It took me three hours, but only because I had to dodge all the sweet old ladies.

I didn't expect a magical switch to flip on to "24/7 happy baby" at 7:36 this evening. I'm just fine with the way she is now. The smiles and happy gurgles I get from her are worth a million dollars. Some days they're rare, and that's why they're so precious.

Do I want a whole new baby? No thank you. If she does calm her little baby self down in the next few weeks, great. If not...who cares? I'll deal just fine, like I have for the last three months (Denny would agree to disagree, though).

She is so loved, no matter what.

Am I jealous of other moms who have happy babies that rarely fuss and never make a peep?

Nope.

Because I got this:

Happy 1/4 birthday, you beautiful thing.

Tomorrow I am continuing my transformation into super-homemaker and making my first attempt at freezer meals. The thought of doing all my cooking for a month in one day is so appealing, but we all know I'm a terror in the kitchen. So in order to keep myself from going into shock at the sheer undertaking of such a feat, I'm spreading out my cooking over two days instead.

I'll keep everyone posted on how it goes. If you don't hear from me in 48 hours, check the cabinet under the kitchen sink. You might find me in the fetal position there.

PS: Did anyone see that show, Up All Night, on NBC tonight? Not that impressed. Christina Applegate, YOU CAN DO BETTER!

Screw you, dairy.

I'm cutting out all dairy from my diet because the baby has a milk allergy. Initially I thought it would be awesome, because I would have a legitimate excuse not to drink milk, consume cheese, and pass on the ice cream without looking like a lunatic. 

"OH MY GODDDD WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T LIKE ICE CREAM?!?!??!?1111"

I get that a lot.

I never enjoyed dairy like everyone else. Milk makes me gag, I think cheese is foul, and I'm really not a huge fan of ice cream. I am a freak of nature.

I thought a transition to a dairy-free lifestyle would be a walk in the park.

Sooo easy!

I never eat that crap anyway!

Not even 24 hours in I encountered the following:

• My homemade spinach dip (sour cream)
• Macaroni and cheese (even though there's cheese, I still love it. I'm picky about where is cheese is introduced in a meal and it doesn't help that I eat like a five year old)
• And the worst offender: I baked a banana cake with cream cheese frosting

Cue the sad faces.

When you think about it, milk and dairy are EVERYWHERE. Lurking around every corner in almost every food dish. Such a bummer. Such a slimy bastard ingredient.

Get out of here, dairy, no one wants you anymore!

The worst part is the fact that I made these things myself, like I was setting myself up for failure. I'm realizing that this is going to take time and a lot of attention to what makes up my meals from this point forward.

The easy way out would just be to quit nursing and rely solely on the soy formula the baby is currently on. But now that I have the chance to be home with her, why wouldn't I make the push to nurse her at least until the six-month mark? I know the suggested timespan is a year, but I figure six months is a healthy goal.

Long story short: I'm doing it for her, and dairy be damned because I will weed it out of EVERYTHING.

On another note, my foray into ultimate domesticity is going swimmingly. The house has never been so clean.

Now, who wants a sandwich?

I WILL NOM ON SO MANY SAMMICHES.

PS: Can you tell my kid is a ginger?

Always remember, never forget

On the 10 year anniversary of the September 11 attacks on our country, I find myself completely drawn into all this media coverage, moreso than I have in years past.

Maybe because it's been 10 years when it seems like just yesterday the attacks occurred.

But I think mostly, it's because I remember where I was, what I was doing, how I felt when those things happened that are really coming to the forefront with the anniversary of these sad events.

I look at my daughter and I am glad she wasn't around to witness the collective sigh of grief from our nation in the days following the tragedy. I'm glad she was spared from experiencing such evil. I know she'll learn about it in school one day, and she will probably ask me about it. I'll tell her an evil man hated our country, our way of life, what we stand for and wanted to ruin it, to break our spirits.

I'll tell her we finally got him; he was killed the day of her baby shower, but I'll also explain that to revel in the death of another is by no means healthy catharsis. If anything, it shows that we should be proud to be a part of a country that keeps its promise to find those that commit such heinous crimes. No matter how long it takes.

No matter the political, economic, or social climate we are currently facing in 2010, we should all be proud to be a part of such a country. A country that keeps its promises and stays united in the face of great adversity.

So when my daughter asks, that's what I'll tell her.

God bless America



Adventures in Stay at Home Mom-ness

Being a stay at home mom is so radically different than being on maternity leave. I'm a week in and I have definitely learned the difference, but I am loving every second of it.

Maternity leave: spending all day cuddling with your baby and leaving those dirty dishes and piles of laundry unattended because, hey, you have to go back to work in 6-8 weeks and you have to get all this baby bonding in while you can. Dust bunnies the size of chihuahuas are the norm. Couches are lined with burp cloths and receiving blankets. The baby is clean and well-dressed, but what's that? I haven't brushed my hair in two days? That's okay, BECAUSE I NEED ALL THE TIME I CAN GET WITH MY SWEET PRECIOUS BABY BEFORE I HAVE TO LEAVE HER SO THE DAMN BRUSH CAN WAIT, wahhh.  Aww, the baby is fussy, so I can't possibly get to the vacuum because my baby NEEDS ME. Etc.

Stay at home mom: you mean now there's no excuse for not running the dishwasher? And keeping the house relatively presentable? Hmm, I just now noticed I am completely out of clean clothes.  I guess it's time to reacquaint myself with el washing machine. And maybe with the shower. Don't want that spit-up smell to sink in or anything. Eau de baby barf is not cute (it really wasn't cute during maternity leave, either). The baby won't stop crying and acts like it's the end of the world if I put her down, but I need to create ideal living conditions in this house and I can't very well do that if she's freaking out.

If anyone knows me, then you'll know I was the anti-domestic prior to having a baby.  Cleaning only had to be done because living in grossness is unacceptable and I burned toast on a regular basis. I hated the vacuum. I openly boasted that children were not for me and I would hire "help" one day.

Funny how things work out, huh? 

Peyton decided that she was up for the day at 7:30 this morning.  This makes for a very long day, because I am blessed with the baby that doesn't nap. I mean, never, ever, ever naps. Peyton's definition of a nap is closing her eyes on my shoulder for five minutes and then snapping her little eyes open the second I put her in the crib, all "WTF, j/k, mom." She is the best sleep-faker ever. She only naps well if I lay down with her. The dilemma, at first: if I'm napping with the diva baby, how will I ever get things done? I have EXPECTATIONS I have to live up to now! Clean home! Dinner made! Laundry done!

Today I took advantage of the early start and put the munckin in her carrier and strapped that bad boy to my chest.  I managed to get my own and her laundry finished, the kitchen mopped, and the living room swept. I even (gasp) dusted. Then I got bored, so I baked a cake. Everything was done before 10:00 AM, leaving plenty of time for baby cuddling.

As for the whole cooking thing, I'm about to make the leap into cooking once a month and preparing freezer meals. I'm sure I'll be sharing my experiences with that.

Ultimately, my house is clean, I baked (!!!), Peyton is dressed and fed, but I slightly resemble a homeless person. I'm totally cool with that, though. Baby steps, you know?

I am the goddess of domesticity, nice to meet you.

Also:

Naps are for PUNKS, mom.

Addendum

I have the most awful time with putting only one space after a period.

The end.

Ruminations on Unemployment

I've recently had the (mis...? nahhh)fortune of becoming unemployed; fault--my own. I am strangely at peace with this abrupt change to my life. Tomorrow will mark my first full week of being a stay at home mom, and I couldn't be happier with it. 

My previous occupation was not at all where I expected to be after graduation. I have a Bachelors degree in Political Science (social sciences are the equivalent of occupational death, I know this now). Law school was not my cup of tea, so out into the workforce I went, resume handy.

My biggest problem? I had the disadvantage of graduating in 2008. Helloooo, recession, nice to meet you!

I took a job because it was a job. Never in a million years did I believe I would still be there, three years later. Talk about a nasty case of disillusionment. Accompanying disillusionment comes its good friend, apathy. Apathy blows. I don't appreciate you, apathy.

Then I had Peyton. That sense of apathy regarding work was replaced with a sense of total and utter dread. How was I supposed to leave my baby for eight hours a day, five days a week, an hour away from home, and be okay with it? The weeks leading up to the end of my maternity leave were filled with such anxiety it almost made me physically ill.

I understand people have to work; I'll openly admit that I am one of those people. I think my problem isn't working in general, it was where I was working. I have resumes out everywhere, and I am praying I can get unemployment insurance for at least a few months. But the old gig just wasn't for me. It would have ultimately destroyed me.

Am I worried? Yes. Do I know everything happens for a reason? Yes. This knowledge is what keeps me sane.

Sometimes I grapple with the fact that I took such a hefty investment in my education to have it wasted by not working. But then I remind myself that it isn't "wasted". I will find work eventually, something that I want to do that fits me and my interests, but my new job is to be responsible for the health and happiness of my little girl. I can instill in her some of the things I've learned with that fancy degree. I want her to think critically for herself. I want her to look at the world objectively and make her own decisions about how she wants to be a part of it.

But if she comes to me one day talking about partisan politics and the flaws of a two-party system, I'll have to rescind that statement.

Up next: Adventures of Stay at Home Mom-ness and the realism of the fabled "trophy wife".

Better late than never, that's what they say.

So.

I signed up for this account in March of 2011, when I was six months pregnant and full of blogger ambition. 

I thought I'd use this space as a way to chronicle my pregnancy, my daughter's birth, and the happily ever after. I did get my happily ever after (and it RULES, by the way), but not without some bumps in the road first.

I will not say that my pregnancy was sunshine and daisies. By the time I was full-term, I had already been hospitalized five times. FIVE. Each time forecasting induction and the early arrival of my little girl, only to be sent home babyless and still very, uncomfortably pregnant. By the third visit, it was pretty much guaranteed I would leave the hospital in tears. If my baby was coming early, then I wanted her, damnit.

But finally, I had my outside baby. A failed induction and a c-section. Not according to my plan. I am somewhat resentful of my birth experience, but am nevertheless overwhelmed with happiness by the end result. A stressful means to a blissful end. 

My beautiful daughter is my world. She was so worth the nine months, numerous hospital visits, and general panic. When I look at her, I am still struck by awe and disbelief that she is mine. I created her. I guess Daddy helped, but she got to hang out with me for nine months first, so I win. She looks nothing like me and is all her Daddy, but I don't care. She is me and I am her. Is that cliche? Probably.

Peyton is now 12 weeks old. She smiles, laughs, "talks", and rolls over when she feels like it. I'm getting ready to pack up her 0-3 month clothes when it was just yesterday she was in newborn sizes.

This blog was supposed to have started months ago, but better late than never.