Monthly Archives: September 2010

We are on our way to August being a month old. It feels like he has been here forever, like there was always this place for him.

We were just waiting for him.

And now that he is here that niche in my heart, the one shaped like his tiny body, has been filled.

My heart has stretched and healed around it.

I think it’s funny when people say they can’t remember their lives before having kids.

Oh, I remember mine. I could take long showers- by myself. I could stay up late and sleep in even later. I could hop in the car and spend the day driving around the state in search of new yarn shops. I didn’t have baby puke in my hair. I won’t even go into what my body looked like before the trials of pregnancy.

But I didn’t have giant blue eyes waiting in a crib for me every morning with a smile just for me. Just because I’m Mama and for no other reason. I didn’t have a small piece of me, with my cleft chin but my husband’s mouth and probably his smart-ass ways but with chubbier cheeks to kiss.

I didn’t have these living, breathing drops of goodness that light up my life. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been happy without them but knowing what I know I would never want to go back. I would give it all up again just to feel their breath on my face.

My kids are the best things that are mine.

And they are only that for a such a short time.

So I really wanted to take pictures of August while he is in that super squishy newborn stage. How often do you have the opportunity as a photographer to have a newborn baby available for your every picture-taking whim? Things have just not worked out and I think I may have missed my window.

I tried hard today but without much luck. I had just gotten back from the doctor’s office not feeling the greatest, Evelyn was a little crazy and trying to help me out, and Gus was not cooperating. The little squirt sleeps all day- we have to wake him up to feed him- and he wanted nothing to do with this photo stuff. First he was squirmy, then he had the hiccups, then he was just plain angry. He just isn’t putty in your hands anymore.

That and my lighting was crappy. I’ll try again this weekend and see what I get.

Hopefully more smiles like this.

With the cooler weather comes the urge to bake. It might have started when my friend, Lindsey, brought me a cheesecake after giving birth at 9:00 at night. Not just any cheesecake- a caramel pecan cheesecake that weighed ten pounds and had two bags of caramels in it. She makes amazing cheesecakes and I think there is no better gift you can bring a woman who just had a baby. Thanks for that, Lindsey.

So I haven’t let my oven cool down the past few days. I pulled out some frozen pies, apple and pear, from the freezer and baked them up. They had been in there for more than a couple years but were still delicious. Then on to muffins.

The year we moved into our house I planted a peach tree. It had three tiny peaches on it that year. Nothing since, not even a blossom, but this year it was covered with blooms and the peaches started to grow. There were so many the branches of the tree were on the verge of snapping. We gave bags of them away. I saved enough that my mom made us some jam this week and my Aunt Janet made us a pie for the freezer. I pulled out a few this morning and used them to make Peach Praline Muffins. Really , really good.

Peach Praline Muffins

• 1 2/3 c flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1/2 c packed brown sugar
• 1/2 c milk
• 1/3 c vegetable oil
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 cup chopped peaches
• 1/2 c chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 400. In a large bowl combine flour, baking powder, and salt. In another bowl combined brown sugar, milk, oil, egg, and vanilla. Stir this into the dry ingredients just until moistened. Fold in pecans and peaches and fill lined muffin cups 2/3 full.

Topping:

• 1/4 c packed brown sugar
• 1/4 cup chopped pecans
• 1 Tbls cold butter

Combine topping ingredients until crumbly and sprinkle on top of batter. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 15-18 minutes. Makes 1 dozen.

I made a double batch and, true to form, I burned half of them. But I have an excuse this time- chubby cheeks don’t just kiss themselves, you know.

Evelyn has been really good to her brother. As much as an eighteen month old can be. (Do they make newborn goggles to prevent their eyes from being poked out by toddler aged siblings?) She always wants to see him and touch him.

But we are starting to see the stress come through in other areas. Like bedtime. Two weeks ago she was going to bed between 7:30 and 8:00. Now we are lucky if she is asleep by 10:00. She cries. She runs around laughing and screaming. She stalls, asking to eat or for a drink. She doesn’t want to do anything that is part of the bedtime routine. She says no to a bath, no to brushing teeth, no to reading books, no to snuggling. If she does want to do one of these things, I am the only one who can do it. Daddy is second fiddle. It breaks my heart.

Scott read that the most common reason for not wanting to go to bed at this age is fear of the dark. I’m going to get a nightlight today and see if that helps any. I don’t know. Maybe it will make things worse. I just don’t know.

Be patient, I guess. And dole out kisses and hugs with abandon.

I know not everyone wants to hear a birth story but I like them so I’m going to tell August’s. You can skip it if you don’t want to know.

Today is August’s due date. When I had my 38 week appointment a couple weeks ago I had a horrible itchy rash all over my large belly. I had PUPPP -pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy. The only way to get rid of the rash is to have the baby. My doctor asked how done I was. I think he felt bad for me because Evelyn had to come along to the appointment and was whipping legos around the exam room. I didn’t really have to answer him. He scheduled me for an induction the following week.

Relief and panic. I could now see the end but I went into overdrive trying to finish the projects I needed to get done. Cleaning, painting, decorating, list making, washing tiny laundry. I even managed to paint my toenails.

We showed up to the hospital early on Wednesday morning to get things rolling. IV placed, pitocin started. Hurry up and wait. And wait. Water broken and contractions start. More waiting. Epidural placed as contractions start getting too intense. Again with the waiting but this time I could nap. There is a lot of boring television during the day. I’m thankful for Cash Cab.

A whole day of slow progression then things got a little crazy. At 6:00 I was at seven centimeters, nine centimeters at 6:30. The nurse says she better call the doctor to come to the hospital. Maybe, I say. At 6:45 I want to push but no doctor yet. I breathe it out as he comes in at ten to seven. He says he is just going to change out of his shorts and t-shirt into scrubs. I don’t care, I say. I start pushing at 6:58. August is born at 7:02. I love that my doctor sings Happy Birthday to my babies as they come out.

The poor little guy was stuck before the last few pushes. He had his shoulder jammed in there pretty good so he sat with his head out and the cord around his neck once. As a result, a lot of blood was stuck in his face with nowhere to go. He ended up pretty bruised and had lots of broken blood vessels in his face and eyes. That’s why he looks so blue.

August is doing fine now and is coming out of his newborn stupor. He is already his own little person. He doesn’t like to be swaddled, preferring to sleep with his hands above his head and oh, how he loves to snuggle. Evelyn was never like that. I woke this morning after a particularly long nursing session with his warm little body fitting like a puzzle piece against mine.

I am so enjoying all the things you quickly forget about newborns. The way they smell, the soft downy covering their faces and shoulders, the contented grunts they make while eating, their breath.

I know the next few weeks will be hard for everyone in our house (the dog is already depressed), but we will make it through. Sink or swim, right?

August Grey Olson

Born September eighth at 7:02 PM. Eight pounds, ten ounces. Twenty-one and a half inches long.

Already smitten.

Things are changing.

The season has shifted and Autumn is well on its way. I am certainly welcoming it. It was a long, uncomfortable summer and I am looking forward to jeans, moccasins, flannel shirts, and caramel apples.

My girl is changing. She seems so big now, repeating everything that’s said and doing so many things by herself.

But yet she is still so little. I feel guilty for having another baby. I know her life before he came along will quickly be a distant, hazy memory but I can’t help thinking about the times we could have had together if it was just the two of us. When I didn’t have to share myself. I worry I will miss something that I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t taking care of another little life.

I found this somewhere shortly after I found out I was pregnant and it is exactly how I feel, all the worries as well as all of the hope.

Loving Two

I walk along holding your 2-year-old hand, basking in the glow of our magical relationship. Suddenly I feel a kick from within, as if to remind me that our time alone is limited. And I wonder: how could I ever love another child as I love you? Then he is born, and I watch you. I watch the pain you feel at having to share me as you’ve never shared me before. I hear you telling me in your own way, “Please love only me”. And I hear myself telling you in mine, “I can’t”, knowing, in fact, that I never can again. You cry. I cry with you. I almost see our new baby as an intruder on the precious relationship we once shared. A relationship we can never quite have again. But then, barely noticing, I find myself attached to that new being, and feeling almost guilty. I’m afraid to let you see me enjoying him, as though I am betraying you. But then I notice your resentment change, first to curiosity, then to protectiveness, finally to genuine affection. More days pass, and we are settling into a new routine. The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast. But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two. There are new times – only now, we are three. I watch the love between you grow, the way you look at each other, touch each other. I watch how he adores you – as I have for so long. I see how excited you are by each of his new accomplishments. And I begin to realize that I haven’t taken something from you, I’ve given something to you. I notice that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you. I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong. And my question is finally answered, to my amazement. Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you – only differently. And although I realize that you may have to share my time, I now know you’ll never share my love. There’s enough of that for both of you – you each have your own supply. I love you – both. And I thank you both for blessing my life. – Author Unknown

The time we have as a family of three has been short but it has been amazing. I am ready for life as four.

He even has a place to sleep.

More to come…