Things I Know About My Baby

Ela is just over one week old. I don't know anything about her at all. And yet, I know everything about her. I made her and carried her and brought her into the world. She's oddly familiar and strangely foreign.

She likes to sleep with her hands up by her ears.

She's going to be strong and smart. She's trying desperately (and nearly succeeding) to hold up her head. She's found her thumb to suck.

Those dimples come from her daddy.

 
She's fairly easy-going (hopefully that sticks!).

When she wakes up she's content to look around, waggle her arms and flail her legs. 

Her smile is crooked--just like her mama's and her great-great grandpa's.

Miss Elanor, I'm looking forward to learning all about you over the next days, weeks, months, and years. You will be a lifetime of discovery. 

Introducing Elanor Grace

One week old, today.

Another Post About My Boobs

Because it's a little depressing that we're still here waiting, I'll share another story about my pregnant boobs. So far they've been a great source of entertainment for others throughout the pregnancy (hopefully, they're as good of a source of food for the baby!).

At last week's appointment I saw my midwife's partner. They trade off a visit near the end of term for each patient, just in case you end up being delivered by the other. This midwife was very nice, very focused on educating her patients, and very very midwify. I've heard that she's an excellent breastfeeding educator so I asked a few questions to take advantage of her knowledge. The rest of the visit then went like this:

Her: "Well, how are your nipples?"

Me: "Uh, fine, thank you."

Her: "Do they work?"

Me: "Uh, yes...?"

Her: "Have you tried expressing breastmilk?"

Me: Look of horror and shock

Her: "Want me to try?"

Me: Much bigger look of horror. "Uh, no, that's ok."

Her: "C'mon..."

Me: "No!"

Her: "Well, at least let me see them."

Me: "uhhhhhhh. What?"

Her: "Lemme see." Reaching for my boobs.

Me: Look of terror. Glance helplessly at Husband, who is snickering loudly in the corner. 

Me: "What do you want to do? What are you wanting me to do?" Protecting my boobs with my hand. 

Me: "No, it's ok. Really. I'm good."

Her: Moving my hand aside and uncovering a boob. Then, poking, prodding and moving around my nipple. For why, I have no idea!

Her: "Ok, well you look like you'll be fine."

Me: "Uhhhhhhh."

Husband, later, after she left the room: "Wow. You really didn't want to show that woman your boob!"

The Great Wait

Here I sit. Bouncing on my exercise ball because it's the most comfy place to rest. Sitting. Bouncing. Waiting.

At my last midwife appointment half a week ago she predicted that the baby would be here any day. For those who care, at that point I was 80% effaced and 4 cm dilated. As a point of reference for those of you who haven't had kids... many (most?) people get to the hospital in active labor when they're about 4 cm dilated. I've been this way for a week. And 2 cm for a week before that.

I'm ready. But I wasn't. Up until the last day or so I had so many things still to do. Work was crazy busy and I just couldn't get caught up--much less get ahead. My house was a mess. The baby room wasn't done. I still had to pack a bag for the hospital and finish washing clothes.

Now I'm ready. Some of those things are done. Some aren't. But none seem important anymore. The things that must be ready are. The rest don't matter.

Here I sit. Time sits too. Still and hot, like it should in the middle of summer. Except this year, when day could be the day. I expected to spend these last nine months full of joy and excitement. Full of plans and dreams. And I have... kinda. It's been different than I expected. More apprehension. Fewer dreams. Perhaps I'm just not that sentimental, but I tend to live more in the now and less in the future. And NOW is when the future and the now should meet and become the perfect time to greet this little person for real.

Blueberries

 

 After picking nearly 12 pounds of blueberries at 7 a.m. yesterday morning, we turned a few of them into a summer berry tart. 

 As of 7 a.m. this morning, only a few slices remain. 

Flying By

I keep half-composing blog posts in my head. Sometimes I even jot down a few lines on a piece of paper or on the ipad. And then life moves on and the half-finished thoughts get stuck somewhere in limbo.

I want to talk about all the work we've been doing on the house and how it's finally coming together.

I want to ask about the things I need for this baby that I don't know about yet, or haven't realized I should get ready in advance.

I want to show all of the things we've made for the baby and the baby's room. Things that are pretty. Things that are useful. Things that we hope will be treasured and enjoyed--at least by us, even if she doesn't care.

I want to talk about The Fear. And the strange lack thereof.

I want to complain a bit about the heat and the pains and the fact that I thought when everyone warned me that the last month was hell that they were just exaggerating. For the record, they were most definitely not.

But there is work. So very, very much work. And projects at home. And laundry. And puppies and husbands to care for. Gardens to weed and admire. And occasionally, just a few moments to sit down and put up my feet.

Happy Biiiiiirrrrrthday, Dear Husband...

My husband is quite the accomplished chef. He used to do a majority of the cooking at our home until I got knocked up, and now for some reason I seem to do all of it. (That is most definitely the topic of another post, however.) I've been the baker in the family--except for cake which is back under his expertise.

This year, for his birthday, I decided to surprise him by making a cake. I made this one, but with blackberry flavoring and using blackberries for most of the coloring and using the blackberry mint jam we made last summer for the filling. I also made a whipped cream frosting, which turned the whole thing into a kind of blackberry shortcake.Quite delicious and amazingly successful for my first layered cake ever.

We devoured it over the weekend when my family was in town visiting. My dad's birthday was also this weekend so we had plenty to celebrate.

Happy birthday, husband! I love you bunches and you're worth every minute of the many, many hours I spent on your cake.