The most beautiful baby in the world…

Well, it’s been quite a journey since New Year’s day when I found out we were pregnant. Today, I am the blissfully happy mother of a 2 month old baby boy 🙂 🙂 🙂

I should have posted throughout the pregnancy to remember all of the wonderful feelings and such, but I was afraid to jinx the most awesome thing to ever happen to me ever.

After 2 positive pee sticks and a blood test, we decided to tell everyone. And I mean everyone. Hubby couldn’t WAIT to tell everyone. We had to rush out and tell our parents and family right away so that hubby could make his announcement to all his friends at his fire meeting that night.

The first trimester seemed to take foreverrrrrrrr. Every time I went to the bathroom I was afraid I would see blood. Every minor ache or twinge sent my brain into orbit wondering if that was normal, is there something wrong with the baby. I wore out google on my phone.

The second trimester I was cautiously optimistic. We started to buy things for the baby. The crib. The carseat. The stroller. One at a time. Each journey to the baby store getting us more excited. Hubby felt the baby kick for the first time on Father’s Day. I know, right?

The last trimester was exciting. Each doctor’s visit we would either see the baby or hear his heartbeat. The ultrasounds were amazing and magical. I could see the little guy, but it still wasn’t real to me. Even when I could feel him move around and kick, I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that there was a real baby in there, when we had wished for this for so long. Choosing a name is the single most difficult thing ever. It’s just so permanent. On a mini-vacation-family-event we chose a name for our son and made it facebook official.

In the final stretch of pregnancy, we finished the nursery. It was perfect. We painted it together (hubby HATES painting, so this was huge) and arranged the crib, dresser, and glider. I washed and put away all the little tiny clothes. I put away all his toys. Set up the diaper station. Washed bottles. I totally “nested”. Since my doctor was inducing labor, I could plan my last day at work and get all the things ready at home. I worked out in the yard trimming shrubs and weeding the gardens. Everything was READY. Everything was PERFECT. All in all, I really had a perfect pregnancy. No morning sickness. No headaches, nausea, or heartburn. I only gained 14 lbs, but the stretch marks on my tummy looked like an interstate map. My maternity clothes were even getting too small. My skin was clear. No mood swings, cravings or aversions. The doctor insisted I had gestational diabetes. I went along with it for the extra ultrasounds. 🙂

On a Sunday morning, we left very early in the morning to go to the hospital and start the induction. We were so excited. All day long the medicine dripped into my veins and the contractions gradually grew stronger and more frequent. Our family waited anxiously in the waiting room for news that it was finally time. We walked the halls, they cheered as we walked by. By dinner time, the doctor decided to break my water to help move things along. Of course, hubby had just left to grab a quick bite with his dad. After that, the contractions definitely became stronger and more intense. By 9/10:00, we pushed our family to go home and rest and we would call them with the news. The contractions were no longer fun. The epidural was glorious. My 3rd labor nurse of the day was also pregnant and went into labor that night. Small world, we had the same doctor. So by 2:00am Monday morning when the decision was made to proceed with a C-section, we had to wait for my doctor to finish delivering my nurse’s baby via C-section in the operating room we were headed to.

Baby boy was turned on his side and was just not moving down anymore. So, we had to deliver him via C-section. My whole life I have never been very sick, broke a bone, or even had stitches. I never imagined I would have a C-section. And if I did, I thought I would at least be anxious about it. To my surprise, I wasn’t upset at all. I was just ready to meet my baby boy. Once the decision was made, things moved very fast. Hubby was ordered to put on a hazmat looking suit, footies, cap, and face mask. Of course he had to do this while simultaneously packing us up to move to our recovery room, call our parents, and get the camera ready. 10 minutes later we were in the operating room. Everything moved so fast and in slow motion all at the same time. 10 minutes later my baby is pulled from my loins and screaming his lungs out. And THAT’S when it hit me. THAT’S when it finally became real to me. I was a mom. Hubby was a dad. WE WERE PARENTS. And I cried like a fool. Hubby was wonderful and took tons of pictures while updating me. He has 10 fingers and toes! He has blonde hair – and lots of it! His hands are huge! He’s definitely a boy! Between the swirl of emotions running through my head and all the pain meds running through my veins, I was speechless. In awe. In love.

The next day started very early. We only got a couple hours of sleep before the hurricane of visitors and well-wishers invaded. Fortunately, I had the best nurses in the world and helped me get up and cleaned up before it got too crazy. I expected to be in a lot of pain and feeling miserable, but I felt great and couldn’t wait to get out of bed. The wonderful nurses told me I had to wait until I could feel my legs again. Oh yeah. Ugh.

All day long we had a parade of family and friends who came to see our little miracle. It was great. Hubby was the proudest papa in all the land. We took hundreds of pictures. I tried to breastfeed. Totally not as easy as it seems like it should be, but we did it.

Tuesday everybody went back to work so we were able to relax more and enjoy our son. The wonderful nurses finally let me take a shower. And let me tell you. It was the most glorious shower ever. I was still feeling pretty good and put on regular clothes. Shorts and a tank top I think. Gawd the rooms are so hot. The hospital provided adorable mesh panties and pads that could sop up the great lakes. But I didn’t care. I was a mom. Getting to know our baby was fun. He cried everytime he was hungry and everytime he pooped. This made it pretty easy to know what to do and when. Otherwise, he just slept. And was cute. And was perfect. Late that night they came to do his circumcision. I cried and cried. I’ve never cried in front of hubby before. I did then. I was glad he was there.

After we went home, our new chapter began. Baby boy was awesome. He slept all night, except to eat. And I usually woke him up to eat. Once he reached 10 lbs, the doctor said to let him sleep and let him wake me up. He takes good naps during the day. After about 3 weeks, he started getting fussy at night. But now at 9 weeks that seems to be going away. He has just started smiling and turning to react to voices. He’s pretty much the cutest thing ever.

I expected the recovery from a C-section to be very painful and to be tired all the time. That wasn’t the case at all. I felt great! I felt so good that I took baby boy for walks everyday that the weather was nice. By the 2nd week we were home we were going on 2.5 mile walks. The more I moved, the better I felt. By 6 weeks postpartum, I had lost all the weight I gained during pregnancy plus another 25 lbs. Every time I got on the scale it moved down. I felt GREAT.

Nursing wasn’t working after the first week, but continued to pump. That lasted a few more weeks until I gave up. I really have a new respect for mothers who breastfeed/pump. It’s a lot of commitment. You are tethered to either a baby or a pump every 3-4 hours for 20 minutes at a time. And you can’t do anything. Especially if you’re pumping. Baby crying? Phone ringing? Unannounced visitors popping in? Too bad. If you move, you will spill/leak milk alloverthegoddamnplace. Cry over spilled milk? Hell yeah. I worked hard for that shit. Oh, and intimacy? Not so much. Leaking nipples is a total mood killer. So are breast pads poking out of your super-notsexy nursing bra. Even if you are rocking E’s. And yes, there is such a thing as too big. Even if hubby is a boob guy. And seriously? Why can’t they make sexy nursing bras? Come on Victoria! Where are you when I need you most???

The company I work for has been awesome and I enjoyed 9 glorious weeks at home with my baby. They told me to take all the time I wanted since I was also working from home a little bit. 9 weeks is all I felt I could afford. Hubby and I had serious conversations about me staying home for a few years. Arranging childcare is a nightmare/ emotional roller coaster. I’m torn. I want to stay home and be with my baby all day and take care of everything at home. I feel I need to contribute financially. Also, I carry the insurance since hubby is self-employed. Although, if we do the farming thing right, we can buy our own policy at a discount. If we work hard and pay off a few things, financially we can afford for me to stay home. But is it really best for us? Is daycare/preschool good for him developmentally and socially? What about the exposure to germs? Can I put more energy into hubby’s business and the farm to make up for the lost income? Lost income aside, how will I feel about not bringing home a paycheck every week? How does hubby feel about being the sole breadwinner? Even if I am working alongside him from home? Can we put all our eggs in one basket? I did, however, enjoy taking baby boy to ride with daddy in the combine. And being on top of everything at home. And if I was home all the time I would dive into it. Library time. Playdates. Daily exercise. Nailing down work for lawn/snow business. Parts runs. Become a frugalista. Ugh. So many question marks. My heart is torn. My brain is torn. I’ve waited so long for baby boy I want to be with him all the time. And yet, I need to do whatever is best for him. For our family. How does one know what is best?

 

 

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