Annual Review

Memories are starting to pop up on Facebook from this time last year. I look at how small my son was, and I think about how big he is now: a year, the blink of an eye—and still so far yet to go. 

My little 7lb 8oz 21in long baby is now a 19 lb 14.5oz 30inch long toddler. In a year we have watched him grow from a tiny baby blob who would just stay in one place when you put him down, to this little bit of a boy who can walk, crawl, climb the stairs, and explore the world around him at will. I thought I had so much to teach him, but so far, he’s been the one teaching me. 

This year I have loved more deeply than ever before. I’ve loved to tears and loved into a panic. I’ve loved loudly, laughing and clapping and blowing raspberries, and I’ve loved softly, in the dark of his room in the middle of the night, whispering against the crown of his precious little head. I’ve loved with three words (I love you) and sometimes with one (no). I’ve loved against and through my own fears and anxieties (am I doing enough; what if, what if, what if). I’ve loved with the sun shining and the moon up high. I’ve loved when it’s brought us closer and when it has tested us as a family (screaming infant at 2 in the morning, am I right?). I’ve loved through the pleasures and the pains that being a mama brings. 

We have celebrated 12 months worth of milestones with him: first bath at home, first blowout, learning to hold up his head, rolling, sleeping through the night,  sitting independently, first solid food, crawling, walking, and million more little things along the way. 

We are celebrating ourselves as parents, as well. For making it to my goal of breastfeeding for an entire year. For providing a safe place for him to learn and grow. For keeping him happy and healthy. For keeping him alive. 

There are a lot of applicable cliches that come to mind at this point as well:

He’s not a baby anymore, but he will always be my baby. 

The days are long, but the years are short. 

Growing like a weed. 

In the blink of an eye. 

I am loving every bit of who he is becoming right before our eyes. Right now one of my favorite things is when he grabs my finger and leads me somewhere—to help him with something or to show me where he wants to go. He loves to play outside, and I love to watch him explore and learn how the world works. He has started signing “please” when he wants something (usually food) and likes to wake up Chelsey in the morning by snuggling her.

He will shake his head “no” if he doesn’t want something and loves to clap and wave. He still loves his cats and is delighted by everything they do, but he is unsure (even apathetic) about other animals. He really loves emergency vehicles, especially fire trucks. He stops playing when he hears one go by outside, which happens pretty frequently where we are located. He likes toys that make noise, especially things he can shake and rattle, and also things with wheels that he can push and roll across the floor. He still loves taking baths and will play with water wherever he can find it. We hit 100 foods just before he turned one—edamame was 100. Now that he’s a year, he can have pretty much anything. He tried milk for the first time, and seemed to like it like the Wisconsin boy he is!

He is not especially enthralled with books, but we have plenty for when he’s ready. He still doesn’t like long car rides, so we try to line them up with naps as often as we can. He immediately takes off accessories like sunglasses and hats, and also turns into an alligator when it’s time to get dressed or have his diaper changed. 

In the next couple of months we will be working on mastering the sippy cup as we transition off of bottles. In September I successfully weaned off of pumping at school and have been nursing him just in the morning and at night. By the end of the year, we will be working on weaning off of those feeds completely—I honestly think it will be harder on me than on him. We will work on a new bedtime routine during that transition, as he currently nurses to sleep. 

I recently read somewhere a phrase that has really stuck with me. To paraphrase: “He will never be this young again; neither will you.” Knowing how fast time goes makes those words hit different. In the next year we will focus on making the most out of every single moment we have as we continue to grow together and constantly redefine our roles within our little family ❤️

9, 10, Begin Again

August is here, which means summer is nearly over. I go back to work in two weeks and I am devastated. I knew it was coming, that summer couldn’t last forever. But I have never felt quite like this as I have stared down the barrel another school year. I knew having a baby would change my life, and that I’ve always felt things pretty strongly. But holy cannoli--I didn’t expect to feel this, like this. It’s not about the school or the kids or the people I work with or even the district itself. The biggest part of it is that I want to be with my son. This summer--with few obligations or interruptions, just following my mama instincts--has been nothing short of incredible. Little mister has grown so much, and I got to be here to watch. With Chelsey working from home, we both got to be here. In a few weeks our entire schedule changes; I got back to work and babe starts at a new sitter. There is so much anxiety in all of that, that I can’t begin to unpack it. It’s paralyzing. I’ve learned that a certain level of compartmentalizing is helpful for dealing with things; mentally I can only handle one big thing at a time. Not always the most productive, but emotionally efficient. 

I missed writing a 9 month post, and wasn’t ready to go with a 10 month one, either. In the vein of compartmentalizing, I’ve been taking time to do some other writing the last two months. Some for myself, to process through some things, and some for another purpose, and part two of why I don't want to go back to work--other aspirations. Many people have suggested (at various points in my life, actually) that I write a book. In fact, I have started several. In middle school I would write bad poetry to deal with big feelings, as well as stories to entertain my friends. I journaled on and off for years. And in my twenties I started many stories as ideas came to me, one that was even quite long. But the story I’m going to write--the one I’ve started writing--isn’t one I ever thought I’d write. I am excited to see where the journey of writing takes me...stay tuned :) 

In the meantime, I will tell you that spending the summer with my son has been incredible. Watching him grow right before my eyes--nothing short of amazing. I’ve watched him go from bear-crawling to taking a few steps, to now full-on walking. He had his first overnight (a whole weekend!) by Grandma and Grandpa Wolff and did an awesome job! Although he hasn’t said any words yet, he is communicating in his own way. And he is so darn smart, it just blows me away. He is learning a lot of cause and effect relationships as he plays. He is starting to mimic things we do, like sweeping and washing. He loves his pop-up farm book. He is learning to pet his cats gently. He has learned to play fetch with his mamas--and by that I mean he has figured out that if he throws something, we will pick it up and hand it back to him, so he can throw it again. He will take off my head band and then try to put it back on me, Chels, or himself. Yesterday, he brought me his shoe and tapped his foot with it. He is so curious, exploring everywhere, opening cabinets to see what’s inside, and just generally trying to figure out how his world works. I’m going to miss all of these little moments when I go back to work.

Going for Gold

My son turned eight months old, and I too have leveled up: today I changed his diaper in the back of our car. 

This past month hasn’t brought a boat load of change developmentally. It has been fun watching him learn to control his movements as he grows more comfortable standing and taking steps. Where he was once unsteady on his little baby legs, he is now sure and strong. He can and will crawl, but he is the happiest little boy when you offer him your hand so he can walk around. Although chasing him around is tiring (and brought on the building of the baby gate!) it is really neat to watch him problem solve his way over or around objects. He has taught himself how to get up and down the single step between the living room and the mud room after only two tumbles down it. He is also learning how to climb our stairs—we are trying to get him to ask if his spotters are ready, but he apparently thinks it’s more of a trust fall exercise 🤷🏼‍♀️A little Camp humor there, for you :) 

With the advent of his increased mobility, and his ever-growing curiosity, (and did I mention that literally everything goes in his mouth?!) we’ve had a lot of funny moments, a lot of oopses, and a fair amount of close calls. My favorite conversations with my mama friends lately go something like this:

I'll keep on waiting for that award. Today at the zoo, I put Rett too close to the glass separating us from the animals and he bonked his head on it. Then, during his bath, I was trying to use his washcloth to protect his eyes when I rinsed his hair, and I think I waterboarded him instead. Parenting is wild, ya’ll. Just wild.

The Heartbreak of Motherhood

I’ll be honest: the newborn stage wasn’t my favorite. I think a lot factored into that. We had a gassy, fussy baby. We were first time moms and had no idea what we were doing. There wasn’t a lot of sleep happening. Breastfeeding was tricky. Everything felt really hard—but apparently that means you’re doing it right?!

He's a pretty neat little dude at this point. But here's the thing: I spend all day cheering him on and celebrating him as he cruises toward new milestones. But at night, after we’ve read books and said prayers, and it’s just me holding him and singing to him, I find myself absolutely torn to pieces knowing that he is growing up so fast. I slow down our goodnight songs so I can hold him just a little bit longer. I stare at his little face in the dark and appreciate the weight of him in my arms, and think about the fact that one day he will be a surly teenager who is eating more in one week then I’ve eaten in the whole month. One day he’ll pull away from my kisses and choose hanging out with his friends over us. One day he’ll make a bad choice and need help fixing it. One day he will feel the pang of a broken heart. One day he will get his first job. Move out of the house. Maybe move away. Maybe come over for Sunday dinners, or maybe just on holidays.

One day, one day, one day.

He will always be my baby, but one day he won’t be a baby. And so today I’ll let him climb all over me and pull himself up and fall down. Today, I’ll hunch over and hold his little hands while he takes tentative steps. Today I’ll clap and encourage him as he learns to make his arms and legs work together to crawl. Today and today and today I will feel simultaneously filled and empty all at once, as I watch my heart go walking outside my body.

Where We Are, Where We're Going

I never get too attached to the feeling of, “Alright, I’ve got this,” because it is fleeting. But man, I am LOVING this stage. He is growing and learning so much so quickly. In the last month he has gone from sitting up with a Boppy behind him, to being able to transition himself from sitting to laying and back again. I’ll never forget watching him do it in his crib and being very excited, and then realizing, oh shit, it’s time to lower the crib! And about a week or so after that, I watched him pull himself up in his crib. The boy loves to stand! He has started crawling, but I don't think he will linger there long. It’s fun to watch him put the pieces of his world together. I see my students learning everyday, but so much of what he does is intrinsically motivated and self-directed (the way learning should be, but that’s a tangent for another time).

I have always been an avid reader, but my time for reading is almost nonexistent between work and taking care of babe. However, I do have 50 minutes in the car each day to listen to books. This has been helpful because I have listened to two great books regarding mister mister’s next steps in life, correlated to two of my biggest anxieties when it comes to him: eating and sleeping. 

Baby Led Weaning

In the last month he has been working on eating. We have started baby led weaning, which is a giant mindset shift for many people, including us, but I am so excited about the way it helps him grow and the skills it allows him to develop as an eater. He eats what we eat—starting with whole foods (think single ingredient) so he can explore different textures and flavors, with the added benefit of all the nutrient goodness in fruits, vegetables, meats, etc. He is learning to self feed, not only physically as he learns how to grasp and grab food and get it to his mouth, but also listening to his body (I want more, I’m full). I always imagined feeding babies as sitting there with a spoon and a jar of baby food begging them to take one more bite. This feels so much more natural, and he is learning so much. In BLW, you let baby put things in his mouth (even a preloaded spoon, with some guidance in the beginning.) The way food is cut is very important—most things are cut into strips of food that he can easily grab. Large strawberries are give to him whole. As he learns how to eat, he occasionally gags, and we are supposed to let him work it out—another part of the learning.  He is no more likely to choke doing BLW than spoon feeding. I will tell you that during an early gag, he ended up puking. But he picked up more food and kept eating right after, which made me feel much better.

Doing this with him has really made me think differently about food and what we eat. Don’t get me wrong, I put a lot of junk into my body, but also, I’m  more conscious of trying to create a better balance. Suddenly I’m thinking about things like shelf life—what exactly is in foods that can sit on the shelf for longer than it takes me to finish a book? And why would I want so much of those things in my body? It has been equal parts terrifying and exciting to go through this process with him. I’ve never watched someone eat so intensely! But he is doing so well with it. Here are some pictures of the fun we’ve been having:

Of course our child's first meal would be steak.

Big fan of broccoli!

And avocado.

Sweet potato fries were a hit.

Kiwi is not such a favorite.

Loved him some watermelon.

He had more fun playing in the yogurt than eating it.

Like asparagus a whole lot, too!

Again, loved to play in it.

Beans spread across toast.

Spinach omelette. 

Kiwi went a little better the second time.

BIG fan of steak and potatoes!

He thought turkey burger was okay, too :)

Goodnight, Sleep Tight

The other book I’ve listened to is called The Happy Sleeper, and ya’ll, I have learned SO MUCH from it! Everything about our bedtime routine felt really good. I would end it by rocking him to sleep and setting him down in his crib...then see his sweet little face anywhere from 1-3 times overnight. Around 5 months, he began waking up as I went to set him down in his crib. I’d pick him back up, rock him again, and repeat this process until finally we gave in and took shifts sleeping in the recliner with him. This was hard because it took away all of our mama time together and was super frustrating--why won't you just sleep, child?! Not to mention really draining. While listening to The Happy Sleeper one morning, the author said that around 5-6 months, babies have the ability to put themselves to sleep. But they need a chance to practice those skills. This part really got me: "At this point, bedtime and nighttime sleep should no longer feel like a lot of work for you. If you're still hushing everyone within a one mile radius, feeding or rocking until your child is in a deep sleep, or tiptoeing out of the room like a ninja-parent praying that she doesn't peep, you don't have to do this anymore." It almost had me in tears--really? We didn't have to do this anymore?! How, Happy Sleeper--TELL ME YOUR SECRETS!

I knew I didn't want to formally sleep train. There is no tear-free sleep training, but cry it out was definitely not an option my mama heart could handle. The Happy Sleeper introduced me to a method called the Sleep Wave--"wave" describing the way the parent flows in and out of the room at set intervals until baby is asleep. After 3 nights in the recliner, I was willing to try anything. The first night he cried for 15 minutes; the next night, 10. The night after, less than five. We had some ups and downs, but he started sleeping through the night and we are so grateful. Now we just need to iron out naps!

Chelsey keeps reminding me that he is now closer to a year than to being a little tiny baby blob. Oh, my heart. I worry about him more in some ways and less in others. I realized that this is how it will be now for the rest of my life. I was warned about this. Feeling it is a different story. But I also know that the joy I feel when I look at him and watch him learn in grow is something I get for the rest of my life. 

Just like everything else, it's about balance. 

Half Year, Full Awesome

I got my first piece of unsolicited advice from a stranger regarding how to take care of my child. After a long day of fussing and not being able to get him to nap, I threw Everett in the carrier and we went for a walk. It was a beautiful day. I knew the walk would put him to sleep in short order, and would also be
great for me. I walked and walked, and then I got tired, so I sat on a bench. A few older ladies strolled by, and one felt compelled to tell me that I needed to put something on him so he didn't get sunburned. Looking back, I really wish I would have said,  "No thank you, I like him extra crispy." But instead I said the truth, "Yep, it's on my list." But getting him to sleep was higher on my list. And he didn't get sunburned. 

Benefits of a global health crisis: it took 6 months to be told by a stranger how I should be taking care of my child!

6 months. I have a 6 month old in my house. I am unsure about how this happened. How has it been half a year? He is 15lbs 2 oz and 26 3/4 inches tall. He has two teeth and a whole lot of personality! Being home with him over Spring Break for 10 days was an absolute gift. It also gave me lots of time to reflect on the past 6 months. Here are some thoughts to share.

Being a parent changes you. It changes everything. 

Before he was born, I thought I would only breastfeed for 6 months. I mean, I was really sure about it. I knew breastfeeding was something I wanted to do for my boy, but was still feeling a little weird about it. It seemed okay for when he was little--I mean, really little. But as he got older and became "aware"--nah, I was out. Or so I thought. If you've been following along, you know that breastfeeding has not been an easy journey. The beginning was especially tricky. Frustrating, even, at times. But somewhere along the way, something changed. I think it started when I went back to work. He was 14 weeks old, and it was really hard. Coming home to him became the best part of my day. As we continued to settle into life and figure him out, we began to move his bedtime earlier, so he could get enough sleep. This meant that my time with him in the evenings slowly decreased. I began to look forward to his night time feeds. I missed him while he was asleep. Even now that he's sleeping for much longer stretches, I miss him.

We recently found out that part of our path to having another baby requires me to be done breastfeeding for a few months. And even though I started out thinking that this was a 6 month journey, I am really sad thinking about a time when it will come to an end. 

Before he was born, I thought I couldn't be there when he got his vaccines. I distinctly remember going with my mom to an appointment with my twin brothers when they were small. They got vaccines that day, and their little cries broke my heart. And I knew--I just knew--there was no way I could be the one to be there when my son got his. I also didn't ever imagine I would be parenting in a pandemic. Only one parent has been allowed at his check ups since he was two months old. Since I'm always the one with a list of questions, I'm the one who goes. Rotovirus, DTaP/Hep B/IPV, PCV13...one oral, and one shot in each thigh. 2, 4, 6 months. And it's the saddest thing in the world to watch his little face go from content to panicked, as he turns red and soundlessly amps up for a big cry.  The first time, I think I cried more than he did. And this last time, I think he still recovered before I did. It still breaks my heart, but in that moment, I am his person. As soon as he is done, I nurse him and he calms down and stops crying, and everything is right in the world again. 

Before he was born, I knew I would be parenting in a pandemic. I mean, I had certainly hoped it would be over by the time he got here, but the closer we got, the clearer it became that that was not in the cards. But it was alright. I had become accustomed to not going anywhere. Masks for visitors were a standard.
Grocery delivery was a godsend. What I did not anticipate was having to make the decision about whether or not to get a vaccine that had little to no research for pregnant and breastfeeding women. I had done everything I could to protect my baby while he grew inside of me. And was doing everything I could to keep him safe, happy, and healthy now that he was here. I consulted several doctors. I spent weeks and weeks thinking about it. I agonized over it. And finally, I decided to get it.  

A 6 month funny:

Most days I feel like I have it pretty together. During Spring Break, Everett and I got into a nice routine. He would wake up and eat, then we'd go downstairs and I'd plop him on his play mat while I made my breakfast. Well on this particular morning I was making breakfast and I happened to drop my yogurt, which of course splattered everywhere. I quickly wiped down the floor, cabinets, and counter, and realized I also had to ditch the shirt I was wearing. Does yogurt stain? Not sure, but I put a little cold water on it anyway. Everett was still playing, making sweet little baby sounds, including a sweet little baby toot. Those of you who have taken care of babies know there is a difference between sweet little baby toots and slick, wet baby farts that make you afraid to check their diaper. This was the former. A few more minutes of play and I realized that I have to go to the bathroom. This is trickier now that he's mobile, and also tippy. But we have a system. So I scooped him up with the Boppy and a toy and trucked him upstairs and set him up on the bathroom floor. I sit down, glance down, and notice a large yellow ish smear on my bare tummy. It took me a second to reason out what it was. I looked over at my son and see the same yellow stain on the Boppy. And the floor beneath him was also smeared with the same stain. Poop. Poop everywhere. I nearly had to throw out the whole baby and start over. Instead, I ran a bath--which he now really enjoys. He played, my breakfast grew cold on the table downstairs, and we call that parenting.

A 6 month serious:

I have started seeing a therapist for my anxiety. I didn't realize that's what I needed until I was talking with one of my besties one day, and the words came out of my mouth: "I think I need to talk to someone about my anxiety." In my head I was thinking about a doctor--my general physician? OBGYN? I had thought about it prior to that moment, but talked myself out of it by self-diagnosing: the symptoms of postpartum depression and anxiety didn't seem to fit what I was feeling. My friend responded to my statement by reminding me that therapy/counselling had been helpful in the past, and it sounded like a great idea. Why hadn't I thought of that! A conversation with Chelsey validated my feelings--she said my anxiety was the worst she had seen it. I'll say it again: Being a parent changes you. It changes everything. 

I know that I am doing the absolute best I can as a mom. My son is safe and happy and healthy. He's growing at what seems like warp speed. And I know I'm going to miss these days. But the anxiety that comes with keeping him safe and happy and healthy is overwhelming. And some times, paralyzing. On days when he is fussy and I can't figure out what he wants, I can't make simple decisions. When we leave him with a sitter--whether it's family or friends--I don't miss him, because I'm just worried about him. I worry about if he'll sleep, if he'll eat. And the thoughts just spiral. So I'm working on it. Because I need to. In order for babe to keep being safe and happy and healthy, mama has to be those things, too. 

Mom-ing on the Real

A colleague asked me how I was doing last week, and I said, "Tired." She responded, "Well, you never look it! So good job!" We laughed. I went on to clarify that I'm fine, but I just really want to be home with my baby, rather than at work. And that makes me tired. And taking care of him makes me tired, too, but it feels like a more productive tired: I'm keeping a human alive! She's a mom, too; she understands. I have so many thoughts and so many feelings after another month of raising my son. For once, though, I don't have a long update, with a lot of words--I'm not ready, yet. I have been ever grateful for our village in little mister's fifth month of life, but am really struggling with feeling like the village is raising him more than I am. All I want to be is his mom. I also realized that I share a lot of adorable pictures of my son--because he is adorable--but that those are highlights, and our days aren't all highlights. So this month, I decided to share some pictures of what being a mom looks like in real life.

Here's a classic. Had to shower, Chels wasn't home. 

My 40 minute napper blessed me with a mere 

*20 minute* nap. 

Working on finding balance and making sure

 to find time to do the things I love. 

I ran for the first time in over a year last weekend.

Just casually pumping in my car, in a parking structure,
as it dawned on me that even though grandma was
watching mister mister, the milk still had to go somewhere!

Little mister is very curious about how the grown ups
eat and drink! It reminds me of this scene in Friends:

Except I'm a mom now, so I'm pretty sure I share everything, always, for the rest of my life.

Being parents in a pandemic is also challenging.
Here we are at his 4 month check up--still only one parent allowed.

At first glance, this seems to be a sweet picture
of us going for a walk. But actually it was an hour and a half
past his nap time. And he wouldn't. go. down. So we tried
some fresh air. Thankfully, it worked!

This is just a picture of little mister being serious.
Because while he is a pretty happy baby,
sometimes, he's just...not. 

Leakage. It's a thing.

This. What?

Ooh I felt like I had it so together, here.
I clipped his toy to the fridge so he could
play while I ate breakfast. It lasted about
30 seconds.

And this. If this isn't the picture of what motherhood is really like, I'm not sure what is.

The Circle of Life: A Birth Story

9 years ago today, we lost my dad to mesothelioma. It was the worst day of my life. It feels like these nine years have both flown by and simultaneously dragged on. This day is always hard to get through, but this year it feels especially heavy. My dad loved babies, and oh how he would have simply adored mine. Everett was born 8 years and 8 days too late to meet his Grandpa Tom. And that will never really feel okay. 

So because this day is extra hard, I want to talk about the best day of my life, to bring it a little sunshine. One year and two days ago we found out we were pregnant. 245 days later, on September 29th, we welcomed our baby boy into the world at 9:58am. 

From about 35 weeks on, we knew he was breech. About 3% of babies are breech at that point, and throughout our whole pregnancy journey we seemed to hit the statistically improbable—so this was no different. We prayed that he would turn on his own, but our little boy was stubborn. We could have opted for an ECV (external cephalic version) which would have been a manual turning of baby, involving some drugs and pushing on mama’s tummy. It had a 50/50 shot at being successful—in which case I would have been induced right away. If not successful, a possible outcome was that it would put baby in distress and I’d be rushed into an emergency c-section. The odds weren’t convincing enough, so at 37 weeks we gave in and scheduled a c-section—still hoping baby would turn.  

We chose our c-section date carefully. The doctor said any time in week 39, which was Sept 28-Oct 4th. Initially I was very set on the idea of having an October baby, so I thought perhaps the 1st or 2nd would be nice. But then we realized something: our health insurance started a new year on October 1st. In my last post I talked about healthcare in the US, and didn’t elaborate on how ridiculously expensive it is here. Sadly, an October baby didn’t make sense financially. Read that again. Financially. That should never be a factor in determining any kind of health care for yourself or your family. You want to talk about privilege, let’s discuss how having access to affordable and quality healthcare is strongly linked to employment. Anyhow, I digress. We chose the 29th because the 28th was a professional development day for me--too easy of a day to waste leave time on--and the 30th is Chelsey's brother Kiel’s birthday. So it was settled. Almost.

In the final weeks of pregnancy, I started experiencing gestational hypertension--high blood pressure. This resulted in close monitoring by my care team--several extra appointments, and even one 4 hour monitoring session that had a 50% chance of ending in baby being delivered early. We watched for other signs that, coupled with the high BP, would indicate preeclampsia, but they never followed. At my appointment just 8 days before our c-section was scheduled, the doctor explained that essentially there was a formula that said that since I had had so many high BP readings during my visits, he should take me downstairs to have the c-section right now. He agreed to let me wait it out, since 1) I was well and healthy otherwise and 2) I had another appointment Thursday. Thursday’s appointment was fine--BP still a little high. Friday night my BP was higher than it had ever been--so into the hospital we went. After an hour of monitoring, my BP had gone down, and they sent us home. Honestly, had they offered to take him just then, we would have said yes. We also agreed that if we ended up back at the hospital over the weekend, we would just ask them to go in and get him.

Our last night as a 
family of two.

But we made it through the next few days without incident. On Monday, I had my last ultrasound, confirming that baby was still breech. After work, we finished packing the hospital bag and talked about the fact that we couldn’t believe that tomorrow, we would be parents. As directed, that night I showered with a special presurgical soap, put on clean PJs, and climbed into fresh clean sheets, for what would be my last night of uninterrupted sleep to date. Chelsey recalls being nervous “because our lives were changing and there was a lot of unknown”, but also excited “because we waited for a long time for him”. We took the classes. We read the books. But nothing could have prepared us for the next day.

The sun rose on Tuesday morning, September 29th. As the rest of the world ate breakfast and prepared for a day of work as usual, we gathered our things, took one last look around at our old life, and headed off to the hospital. We checked in at 7:30AM for our 9:30AM surgery. I remember a feeling of calm settling in as we waited and talked with the L&D nurses. They explained how the day would go, answered our questions, and introduced us to other staff we would be working with. Our nurse’s name was Sarah, which is always kind of cool :) I changed into the gown and got hooked up to all the familiar monitors. Chelsey remembers that the nurses had trouble getting my IV in--after months of drinking a ridiculous amount of

water all day long, 8 hours of NPO had made my little veins tricky critters. Aside from that, everything else was going smoothly.

Although we had spent a good deal of time coming up with a detailed birth plan, most of it was for a vaginal birth. Coming into a scheduled surgery was a much different feeling--a familiar one, if you know my history with sports injuries. It turned out that much of what was on the birth plan was done as the standard of care, but there were two things that I wanted to make sure we were clear on: I wanted a double layer stitch to close my uterus; barring the need for immediate emergency care, Chelsey was to be the one to cut the cord. Although this surgery was to be a much different surgery--never had I been awake on the table--I was confident that it would go just as well as every other one had--and with a much more fun end result. Quite honestly, the only thing I was feeling anxious about was the spinal block, which I knew would be very uncomfortable. 

All of a sudden, it was time. I walked across the hall to the OR, leaving Chelsey behind to get changed into what she called her “Covid suit”, while I was prepped. The OR was bright and bustling with activity, as our care team got things ready for baby boy’s grand entrance into the world. As the anesthesiologist began my spinal, my nurse held my hand and talked to me. She was impressed with my grit as I winced, but kept talking upon feeling the needle go in--and honestly, so was I, because uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe what that’s like. Before long, my legs started to feel warm and tingly. Having the lower ⅔ of your body go numb is the oddest feeling. I was promptly arranged into position on the table, and from there, things moved very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that the surgery started before Chelsey was even in the room! Luckily I had only a brief moment to start panicking before she was ushered in and directed to the stool near my head. Where had she been? I’ll let her tell it…

They took Sarah out of the room and I was told to wait 15 minutes to put on my “Covid suit”--a plasticy paper zip up jumper with elastic around the ankles and wrists. I had booties that I had to tie on. And then a different facemask--a surgical one. And a hairnet. I paced nervously. A couple of nurses came to check on me. They asked if I needed anything. I said no, I’m okay, but thank you (because I'm polite). I waited another 15 minutes before starting to suit up. As I went to zip up the jumper, the zipper split at the top! I was able to get it back down, but saw that the zipper parts had detached from each other. So I waited for what seemed like forever for the nurses to come back and check on me. Finally, Rett’s nurse came in and said, “Ready to go mama?”

“My suit won’t zip.” She searched frantically around the room for another one.

“Take it off,” she instructed, and left to get another suit. This was a whole process, since I was in a walking boot at the time, and the booties were tied over the jumper. “Just rip it,” said his nurse finally. So we did. She helped me into the new suit, but when I went to go zip it, the zipper was stuck at the bottom. I looked at her in panic, and she asked if she could help. She tried to dislodge the jammed zipper with no success, until she finally said, “We have to go!” We walked quickly down the hall to the operating room. As we pushed through the door, she ushered me to the seat by Sarah’s head, blocking my view of her since they had already started. I tried to peek but I couldn’t see anything.

It wasn’t long after Chelsey sat down that the surgeon said, “His butt is out.” Well yes, friend, we knew he was coming into this world butt first--will we be seeing the rest of him soon? And then-- “He’s out.” And I remember Chelsey saying, “Babe he looks just like you.” And me repeating, “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.” And both of us crying. And this moment:

And then his little cry. Well, his big cry. They took him over to get him cleaned up, measured up, and tied up, and Chelsey went with him. This was the hardest part for me. I could hear him crying. I could hear Chelsey talking and laughing with the nurses. But I was stuck on that table while they put me back together. So again, I must defer to Chelsey to tell about this part.

“Do you want to cut the cord?” they asked. “Yes,” I said. The cord was pretty squishy and when I cut it; blood squirted out all over the baby. As the nurses cleaned him up and got him ready for us, all I could think was, “Holy crap, I have a baby!” They weighed and measured him, gave him a shot of Vitamin K, put some drops in his eyes, and did his footprints. His nurse encouraged me to take pictures as they worked. He cried the whole time.

Eventually my nurse came over to update me: Everett Thomas was 7lbs 8ozs and 21 inches of squishy goodness, with a head in the 86%ile (a moment during which I silently celebrated his breech position having necessitated a c-section!) 

Finally, Chelsey brought him over in her arms, with the biggest smile on her face. My whole world--my family--was right there next to me. I had never felt such joy as I did in that moment. I hope to never forget that feeling as long as I live .

I could go into more detail about everything that happened over the next hours and days, but suffice it to say we were well-taken care of in the hospital by an awesome team until we left Thursday afternoon. I do want to point out one of my favorite moments that happened as we were being moved from L&D to postpartum. Some of you may remember that in my past life, I worked at this hospital (Aurora West Allis Medical Center, formerly known as West Allis Memorial). One of my very favorite things while I worked there was when I would hear “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” over the PA system. That, I was told, meant that a baby had been born. So as it turns out, there’s a button that makes that happen, and as the mama who borned the baby you get to push the button! It is on a wall on your way from L&D to Postpartum. Pushing that button and hearing the sweet tune made my heart oh so happy!

A long story, as all of mine tend to be. But if you've made it this far, congratulations--here are some bonus pictures from my very favorite day ever : )