Please forgive me, Sweet P

By now I've heard every reason why breast is best: 

Bonding for mama and babe, postpartum weight loss, little one will be less likely to have allergies, asthma or drive a two-door hatchback and more likely to host her own HGTV show. There are literally endless reasons. And so far it has been the most fulfilling experience of my life. The one thing, however, it can NOT do, is give your child fingertips made of steel. Sweet P had her rapid growing talons trimmed by yours truly and she suffered an atrocity that no 11 week old should ever know. She sustained the most itty bitty teeny tiny knick to the tip of her finger. That bled as if her entire hand had been severed. But she did not make a peep. Girly wails the minute her bare bum hits the the air but not when mommy nearly cuts off the tip of a digit?! Go figure. In fact, it wasn't until I thought she was hemorrhaging from the face (from her little flailing arms) that I realized a nail trimming injury occurred. And because I could not get the bleeding to stop I had to apply a bandaid- proof of what happened. Proof that, despite prior assumptions, I am not a perfect momma. (Gasp!)

So the next time you see us, you may notice P has the nails of a Jersey Shore cast member and I have the battle wounds from her sharp claws. Wounds to match my wounded, injury-inflicting spirit. 

Humor me for a minute

Today we ventured into the city- with a screaming baby in the back of the car, on a day they were repainting the lines on the freeway. Go figure. The only thing keeping me from pulling out every hair on my head were my noise canceling headphones........kidding. Sadly.
I was able to maintain my good mood because the point of our city trip was shopping! For jewelry! Mmmm.
We went to visit the fabulous Ellie at SFE Jewelry to look at wedding bands. (Two for me. One for Mark. And a wishlist of about 15 other items for me.) Last time we went to visit Ellie I was so newly pregnant that we didn't mention anything to her, though she may have had a suspicion after I emptied the candy bowl on the jewelry counter. (I damn near did the same thing today but only because I was comfort snacking when Mark told me I couldn't have the $20,000 necklace calling my name. Rude.) When we arrived today to see her it took her a minute to realize it was us, because she certainly was not expecting we would roll in with a new crew member. She was stunned and excited and a tad bit mad it took us a whole 11 weeks to bring P out to meet her! I knew right away exactly what bands I wanted to best compliment my engagement ring, but that didn't keep me from trying on every other ring in the store- just to be sure I was making the right decision. But true to form, P requested the spotlight be returned to her and demanded to try on loads of bling. She was such a trooper as we took 297 photos of her posed with $80,000 worth of jewels on. What can I say, this girl is a diva. (See prior post for additional details on this.) What a fun time we had with Ellie and her adorable girl, Nikki.
"Please explain the title of this blog post, Katie"
"Right away, sister."
Shortly before we made it to Ellie's shop we were lured by sparkle and shine into another jewelry store. While there about three different women came up to give compliments on "how adorable" and "what a cutie" Sweet P is. And then...then there was Ragdoll Weirdo. One of the sales people came up and put both her fingers out for P to hold on to. And while she is looking at P and using her best fingers-on-a-chalkboard baby voice, she says "I don't care much for children. I know a lot of people love babies but I was never one of them. I'm a cat lady. Have you ever heard of a Ragdoll?" She proceeded to tell us all about her Ragdoll cat at home- the "dog of the cat world"- who "goes limp when you hold him and lays on the keyboard when I'm trying to type, that silly kitty." (I wonder: if I go limp will you stop talking and go away, Ragdoll Weirdo?) True I have never worked retail (Quizno's cashier does NOT count) but I would be willing to guess that to make a sale you shouldn't lead with how much you dislike children. In fact, for the next five minutes you should humor me and assume the identity of a talent agent who thinks my kid has what it takes to be the next Olsen Twins. One baby the equivalent of TWO?! How impressive! Humor me! Much like our pediatrician told me "better start saving for Harvard" when I proudly noted my 8 week old had a completely average head circumference AND could hold her head up for a split second. Humor me! While Ragdoll Weirdo was never going to get our sale (that is saved for Ellie!) she also was never going to have a blog post dedicated to her until our fortuitous encounter. Something tells me she would still be pleased with the outcome of the day- seeing as how she can't type her own blog with Ragdoll hogging the keyboard.

(Ellie, if you are reading this, I completely understand if this ring shows up in my jewelry box in the near future. You know, for plugging your store on my blog that gets 8 views a day.)

Doesn't it just blow your mind?

Are you forever amazed...

...by your ability to love someone you've only just met?
...by how sweet a baby's breath smells? Nearly three months on this earth and she still hasn't gotten around to using a toothbrush. Yet, her breath still takes mine away. In a good way.
...at how much you can do on so little sleep? So long as it doesn't require cooking, cleaning or changing out of my pajamas. Or using half my brain. More precisely, the left half. You know, the part that is responsible for logic. And thinking.
...by the amount of laundry an 11 pound member of a family can produce?
...by how invested you are in someone's bowel habits? And how excited you can become when a long awaited poop finally makes an appearance?
...by the fact that you were chosen to be the one to raise this little person? And somewhere along the line you've proven yourself worthy enough to turn out a productive, compassionate member of society?
...at the volume of bodily fluids a newborn creates?
...by how one quick grin from your child can make you forget about the two dozen frowns you've encountered throughout your day?
...by the huge amount of lint that accumulates in between a newborns fingers? I'm pretty sure she has been asleep next to me for the past four hours, but I guess it is possible that while I had my eyes closed she went to the garage and cleaned out the dryers lint collection tray. And evenly distributed it between each of her ten fingers. Then curled her hands tight. And became sweaty. So that when I finally am able to uncurl her tightly curled fingers the lint is damp and just stinky enough to make my toes curl. And speaking of toes, there is an overwhelming amount of lint there as well. 

Diva

Not knowing the gender of our baby was so much fun. Just when the allure of pregnancy was getting on my last nerve, I was reminded of the great big surprise awaiting us. I still get giddy thinking about the hours leading up to her birth and feeling high on the excitement and anticipation of learning all about who this little person would be. The caveat to that is I hate gender neutral clothing. Not knowing if we would have a girl or boy meant not being able to explore the vast world of online childrens boutiques. I have made up for nine months of lost time by shopping on a regular (make that daily) basis. And of course many of these purchases can be justified- it is considered highly inappropriate to parade around a naked baby unless A) they are three minutes old or B) you are shopping at Walmart. So clothing purchases are necessary. And if I'm buying clothes anyway, they may as well have lace, ruffles, or animal print and matching bloomers, matching hats, matching headbands, matching shoes...you see my problem? But it doesn't end there. Matching sunglasses? Yup. We've got those, too. And some other not necessary but totally darling purchases made for this gal include earrings, an anklet and most recently an itty bitty bracelet. Why am I telling you this? As a precursor to my point of this blog entry. (Mark tells me 1,824 times per day that I take too long to tell a story. He may be right.)
During one of my nursing sessions I was cruising the information super highway (that means Internet, right?) because I was interested in learning about Sweet P's astrological sign and Chinese zodiac. I am not normally a huge believer in horoscopes but I do think that the Chinese zodiac is interesting in that it only repeats every 60 years. (12 animals and each animal has one of 5 elements attached to it. This is the year of the snake. More specifically 2013 is the water snake. 1953 was the last year of the water snake. Cool, right?) Well there are many qualities that I will be thrilled for P to have- "motivated, insightful and highly intellectual". Score! But then--- then there is this: very materialistic even if it means they have to scheme or plot to get what they want. Yikes! And then it donned on me that I was turning my girl into the snake the Internet warned me about! She is a high maintenance diva and it is partially my fault. (Only partially because some blame must fall on her father for buying her the anklet, her Gigi for all the headbands, and the Chinese zodiac for putting ideas in my head.)
Certainly our intentions are to raise P with an awareness for how fortunate she is with an appreciation for all she has. But at 11 weeks old does she need really 12 pairs of shoes? Of course not. But then again, I have been told you can't spoil a baby. And won't she be my baby forever?

Six weeks later

For my push present, I got a full kit from The Art of Shaving. Let me back up one step...for being such a champion during my labor and delivery, I got Mark a push present. As if Peyton, newly slimmed ankles and largely swollen breasts weren't enough. Oh what's that you say? Most women don't get push presents, let alone men. Right. Well, I am a rockstar of a partner. Plus, he asked for a gift in exchange for getting me one, so I was obligated.
Anyhow, Mark has had a shave or two with a straight blade at the barber and has been interested in learning the technique himself. Perfect gift idea! I headed to The Art of Shaving, spent an arm and a leg on a boxed gift set, and eagerly headed home to give it to him. Before leaving the store I made sure that I could return or exchange if he was not happy with it. "Sure, just don't forget your receipt." He loved it. Well, he loved the idea of it but wanted to make some minor adjustments by getting a new blade handle and a new stand to hold his goodies. (I got the most basic model- the compact commuter model. He needed the mid-size sedan model. The luxury coupe is still at the store awaiting its new home.) The very next day we went to make our exchange and the store was CLOSED and COMPLETELY cleared out. It looked like a ghost town! And the sales clerk did not make any mention of it! The next nearest store is in San Francisco- looks like that would be another trip, another day. Grrr! Well two weeks later we were in Walnut Creek for an entirely different reason and saw that The Art of Shaving had undergone a massive remodel and was resurrected in the vacant space we visited several weeks earlier. Score! Only, this time we hadn't brought the shaving kit with us. Are you kidding me?! We stopped in anyway to look at the products and we were encouraged to come back to exchange the items he wasn't happy with. "Just don't forget your receipt." Fast forward another four weeks and we finally headed down to Walnut Creek today to do some shopping. Between seven birthdays, a wedding and two baby showers this month, all I seem to do these days is shop for gifts. No complaints here! Well, after our hunt for a parking space (3rd floor) was a success, we loaded Peyton into her stroller and grabbed our bag for the exchange. And you will absolutely not believe what I am about tell you...the moment Mark pulled the bag from the car a huge gust of wind came AND TOOK THE RECEIPT WITH IT! Yes- we watched in horror as the receipt blew over the edge of the parking garage and off into the distance. Six weeks of tending to that receipt and in an instant it was gone. Still, this story is not a tragedy. Rather, it is one of kindness and triumph. Luckily for us the same woman who helped us both times before was there and gladly made the exchange for us, but can you believe it? Seriously, I barely escaped the day with my life- I was seconds away from throwing myself over the ledge of that parking garage. But then I remembered, Mark was taking me to gelato later so the timing would have been awful to do something as heroic as rescuing a silly receipt.

My hopes for this new adventure of blogging

Hello and welcome to my blog, sister. Am I forgetting anyone? Perhaps mom and dad? 

I'm feeling excited about this new adventure of blogging. Lately I've felt that with raising a newborn, planning a wedding, and dreaming up a get-rich idea so I never have to return to work, I have entirely too much time on my hands. (As evidenced by the fact it has taken me three days of interruptions to finish one post.) There are about four hours in any given day that are unaccounted for- though not consecutively. Surely they can be better spent jotting down run-on sentences and intermixing past and present tenses. Oh, and my sister won't stop harping me until I have a blog to call my own.

As is usually the case, my sisters encouragement to begin a blog already seems to be sound advice.  For starters, I could stand to have a means of killing time while feeding a child who inherited her fathers ferocious appetite. Second, it could prove to be helpful to have a way of keeping track of our everyday musings. As it is, I can't recall what I wore yesterday. (Kidding, I never got out of my pajamas!) It is amazing how time has a way of clouding recent memories. Perhaps it is the sleep deprivation, or maybe it is a protective mechanism to ensure the existence of future generations. After all, this family would stop at three if everyday I was reminded of the horrors of all 9 minutes of my delivery.

As I sit down to recount the events of March 12, 2013, I am realizing that my recollection of that morning is morphing as the date becomes more distant. Today, as I picture the early morning I welcomed my slippery Sweet Pea into the world, I remember with fondness arriving to check in to labor and delivery after a leisurely car ride and an enjoyable elevator ride up to Kaiser's 2nd floor. In fact, I think I brought a freshly baked pie to the staff. If only I could remember- cherry or apple? Of course this was followed by my first exam by the physician who informed me that I was only one centimeter dilated. Oh rats. Good thing this pain is still quite manageable. Now would be a good time to walk through the maternity ward and admire the well appointed hospital furniture and the artwork that is surely from the 21st century. So glad my legs are shaved and not one hair on my perfectly coiffed 'do is out of place. This hospital really has a way of making me feel relaxed and excited about the prospect of meeting my child very soon. When is this supposed to be painful? ... 

Wait, as Mark reads over my shoulder I am told this isn't exactly accurate. In fact, I may be full of shit! Apparently my behavior that morning  was slightly less appealing. I fell somewhere on the spectrum of Ozzy Osborn, on stage, biting the head off a live bird and Linda Blair in The Exorcist- head spinning and all. I admittedly was not prepared for what a savage act delivering a baby could be. But now that I am well aware, I think when we are ready for baby #2, Mark will begin sedating me two weeks before my due date. 

So now that I've shared my hope for this blog, I'm ready to get started with sharing our day to day  experiences with you, my adoring audience. Until next time. (Next time being sometime next week or the week after, I'm sure.)