Life in Chicago

Bittersweet

This week I was supposed to be traveling to Los Angeles for Zora's wedding. Instead I am headed out shortly to pick up Liz who is flying in from Baltimore with her 1 year old daughter.

Liz was supposed to visit Chicago in May but had to cancel her trip. When she found out that I wasn't going to LA this week she decided to take advantage of my free time and fly up for a quick visit. While I'm really excited to see her and Reilly, I'm still quite sad about not being at Zora's wedding this week.

I've known Zora since my days of working at 826LA and I'm so thrilled that she is getting married this week. For months I've been looking forward to standing next to her as she recites her vows and I'm really disappointed that I won't be. But it was just too much to go to LA this week. Our pediatrician advised against traveling with Veronica before 6 weeks and I just can't really imagine it anyway. Not when just making it to the post office yesterday was a major accomplishment.

But I'll be thinking about Zora this week and wishing her a magical experience. I still love thinking about my own wedding and can hardly believe it was almost a year ago.

I'm really quite excited to see Liz today. We've been friends since kindergarten and I can't even begin to list all the things we've been through together, both wonderful and horrific. The funny thing though is that, because of various events over the last couple of years, she's never met Greg. So strange that my oldest friend in the world has never met my husband. I really can't wait to introduce them and for Liz to meet Veronica. I love that we both have girls.

For those who inquired, here's a photo of V on my lap while I type:

Monday at Home

Greg and I spent the weekend in Indiana at our brother-in-law's family lake house. It was  a relaxing couple of days, with lots of family around to help us take care of Veronica. Extra hands are more than appreciated these days. We took lots of naps, ate great meals and watched the fireworks from a boat out on the lake. Veronica's first little trip away from home.

Things are getting better by the day. I'm finally beginning to understand her sleeping/feeding schedule and we're becoming more and more successful at putting her down in the bassinet, freeing us up for short bursts of time. I'm late in blogging today because I took advantage of her morning nap to shower, sort laundry and clean up around the house. (It's easier to blog when she's on my lap like right now.)

One thing I've been grateful for this last month is that as much as I miss Greg in an abstract way, this experience hasn't pulled us apart at all. No matter how stressful or frustrating things have been we haven't bickered with each other at all. I think I was worried that we'd end up yelling or snapping at each other under the duress of caring for the baby, but I underestimated how Greg and I work. We've hardly ever been like that with each other and, in recognizing that, I don't know why we'd start now.

We were all in the car the other day, Greg driving, V in her car seat in the back, me riding shotgun, and I asked him if he feels like we're a little family yet. Not just yet, was his answer , and I have to agree. I guess it's not an instant thing. She hasn't even been here for a month yet. I imagine it will take a bit more time before we all feel like a proper little family unit, but I know that one day we will.

Letting Go

It's around 6am and I'm bleary-eyed at my computer, nursing Veronica. It's quiet and cool outside, the silvery-blue sky like an umbrella over our little neighborhood. Greg is asleep in the bed and the cats are milling around on the deck.

Veronica has been going through a bit of a transition the last few days -- just spending more time awake and alert and less time, obviously, sleeping. It's taken its toll on both me and Greg, driving me in particular to a teary frustration on more than once occasion. But even as we move through this new phase we continue to improve in our infant care-taking skills.

Last night, as I gave up a trip to Walgreens, literally setting down my half-full basket in the middle of an aisle so that I could walk out of the store with my crying daughter, I realized that the only thing I can do is just let go. So I don't get the things I need at Walgreens, even after I crammed myself into their bathroom with the stoller so that I could change her poopy-diaper. So I have to sit on a bench in the square to nurse her for 45 minutes. So I have to walk down Lincoln Avenue with her shrieking inside the Moby wrap. I just have to let go.

Greg talked to his mom last night who is concerned that he and I are so stressed out right now. She said that she doesn't remember crying when she had her first son. I thought about this while I made dinner last night. It didn't make me feel bad to hear those things. I think we're justified in feeling stressed out and I also recognize that I hang a little higher on the crying scale than some women.

But I was thinking about how different my generation is than our parent's. Greg and I are coming off of a decade of self-indulgence. We're coming off of 10 years of selfishly doing anything we want for ourselves and now, with Veronica in our lives, we're suddenly finding ourselves forced to let go of fancy media dinners, cocktail parties, trips to exotic locales, and even simpler things like going to the movies or buying an expensive pair of shoes -- all things that our parent's generation weren't used to doing in the first place.

It makes sense to me that this will be an adjustment period. Last night as I set down my basket at Walgreens, that quick teary-frustration rising up through me, I paused for a second, and instead of letting myself dissolve along with Veronica, I just let go. Oh well, I thought, no Walgreens tonight. And no sense crying over it. And once I let go, it was an immediate relief. And a reminder that it's something I need to get better at in general...letting go.

Besides, once you let go, all the things you stop expecting become so much sweeter when you actually get them. We were able to put a very asleep Veronica into her bassinet last night (for the first time ever) and for an hour, Greg and I got to sleep in each other's arms. It was blissful and even better than I remember.

Letter

Dear Veronica,

You were born three weeks ago today.

As I write this you are asleep on my lap. You're holding one of your hands in a little fist by your partially open mouth and just now, as I reached down to run my fingers across your soft, downy hair you curled tighter upon yourself, making a little squeaking sound. My little pterodactyl.

This week your father went back to work and you and I have spent the last two days together. I was nervous to be alone with you at first but it's gone quite well and I haven't felt overwhelmed once. You're really quite easy to love. And if you weren't, there's no way we'd be able to do this.

Last night I sat up with you from 1:45 to 3:15 in the nursery. I changed your diaper and nursed you. I rocked you gently back and forth as you stared wide-eyed over my shoulder. I was so tired, my head nodding forward too easily with the motion of the chair. There's no one else I'd do this for, I'll tell you that.

In the last three weeks we've come to know you quite well. Your father and I both had trouble figuring out just what it was you needed in those first couple of weeks, but I think we've all seen a shift as of late. In the last three weeks we've taken you on long walks by the river and to the shore of lake Michigan. We've kissed the top of your head a thousand times over and changed your diaper even more.

You've received dozens of beautiful little gifts from all the people who love us and you've had just as many visitors. Everyone wants to meet Miss V. You've been declared to look like both of us, but mostly like me. You've already met most of your aunts and uncles and all of your first cousins. And your grandparents have proven that they're better at handling babies than your fumbling new parents are.

I'm still getting used to saying "your grandparents." Each time I do, it gives me pause because I'm only talking about half of your grandparents and it still breaks my heart to think that you'll never know the other half.

I can tell you that in the last three weeks I've become a different person. I can hardly imagine what it would be like to go about my days not thinking about you. All of my time and energy goes into your care-taking and I can't forsee an immediate future wherein this is not true. In a way, it's nice not to think about myself. Truthfully, I think was getting a little bored with my usual existential wonderings.

 Your father has been wonderful with you. Last night he was able to give you a bottle of breast milk for the first time and it was so sweet to see. He already wants to give you the world, but so far has been limited to diaper changes, baths and back-patting. I know he can't wait to read you books, twirl you around and curl up with you during scary thunderstorms.

You're stirring now, as I type this, and I just watched you smile in your sleep. Just this week you've begun really looking at our faces and giving us hints of real smiles. We can't wait to see more.

Love,
Mom

Tuesday

Yesterday went much better than I expected. After the inital surge of emotions surrounding Greg's departure V and I settled in for a pretty nice day at home together.

I worked on freelance writing projects in the morning while she slept in my arms and I even managed to get a shower in while she napped in her swing. At noon a pregnant friend came by and brought lunch and we sat out on the deck while V continued to nap in her swing, and spoke about all things pregnancy and baby, each of us on a different side of the experience.

In the afternoon I went to the grocery store and wore V in the Moby wrap while I browsed through the aisles. She slept, blissfully unaware, as I loaded my cart, but it took all of my focus to get the task done.

I feel like half of my brain is gone these days. All I can think about is her -- what she's doing, what she might need, if she's going to wake up, if she's cold or hot, when she'll want to nurse again. It's virtually impossible to think about anything else...things like current events, phone calls I need to return, if the dishwasher is clean or dirty -- those all require enormous amounts of concentration in order to break through the cloud of V in my head. I must have looked at my grocery list a dozen times yesterday while I was in the store, and I still forgot things.

She is changing so much every day. All of a sudden she is beginning to smile a little bit. It started off just in her sleep but yesterday and this morning she gave both me and Greg little smiles. She's also much more alert when she's awake, looking around wide-eyed and staring for long minutes at our faces. And we are definitely getting better at meeting her needs, ensuring that she hardly ever fusses these days.

I can't believe that she'll be 3 weeks old tomorrow. I can't wait to see what the next 3 weeks bring.

Maternity

Greg went back to work today. He's been at home with me and Veronica for almost three weeks now and it's been so lovely. I was crying before he even walked out the door this morning, giving him a tear-soaked kiss and an attempt at a brave smile.

Ever since she was born I haven't been alone with her for more than an hour and a half and it's been so helpful to share all the parenting responsibilities. He's so good with her, even when she's inconsolable. I don't know how people do this alone. I have so much respect now for single parents.

I'm definitely scared about how this first week will go taking care of V by myself. But more than that, I'm sad that these first few weeks of discovering parenthood together have come to an end for me and Greg. It's been such a special time, incubating and bonding and laughing and crying, all of us getting to know each other in a million new ways.

It's kind of lonely too. Last night was the first night that I got up with her each time she fussed. Greg usually takes on half of the calls, changing her diaper and rocking her back to sleep. But last night I dutifully (and quietly) got up every 1.5-2 hours, taking her into the nursery to change her, feed her and rock her back to sleep by myself. Each time I slipped back into bed with a mournful glance at Greg's sleeping silhouette, missing him somehow, even though he was right there.

This morning after he left I sat in the bed, holding V in my arms, and let myself cry for five minutes. I tried to think about why I was crying -- because I love him so much and have loved this time together -- and that's a good thing, right? That kind of love is so special. I'm grateful for it and for our marriage and this child we've created together. 

I think I'm a little sad too about how more much time I'll spend with our daughter than Greg will. She and I already have such a special relationship because of my ability to nurse her and it makes me sad to think that Greg will only spend time with her in the evenings and on the weekends now. He's already an amazing dad and I want her to have the fullest experience of that possible.

Lastly, as I wiped away the last of my tears before getting out of bed, I thought about all the countless women who have gone before me, each of them pioneering their own roles of motherhood. I thought about my mother then, who surely had this same day, holding me in her arms as my father backed the car out of the driveway.

A rite of passage, I suppose. A true coming into my own as a woman and a mother.

Almost Home

It's Friday morning and I'm sitting at my desk, drinking a cup of coffee, and watching Greg try to figure out what Veronica wants. I nursed her half an hour ago so we don't think it's that. He's been holding her on his lap while he checks his email but she continues to squirm and fuss. He checked her diaper. It was wet. He changed it. She's still squirmy and fussy (albeit adorably so). He holds her up against his shoulder. It works for a minute. Then she coughs and lets out a cry, squirms some more. He props her up against his knees. Still no good. He puts her in the bouncer chair. She lasts about 3 minutes. He's trying the swing now.

This is how we spend our mornings.

And soon (come Monday when he goes back to work) I'll be doing this alone. Gone are the days of languid coffee drinking and Internet scouring. Gone are long showers and meditation on the deck. There's hardly time to wash the dishes and tidy up the house. I keep missing phone calls because I'm busy with V and then when I finally get around to returning them I only get friend's voicemails. It's summer time finally and all I want to do is sit outside on a patio somewhere with friends, drinking cocktails. All I want to do is spend a day at the lake, lying in the sun, swimming in the cool water.

I keep reminding myself that things won't always be this way, that this is the hardest part -- these first few weeks, these first few months. There will be other summers and besides, I've already spent every summer my whole life drinking cocktails and going swimming.

And make no mistake, I'm still enchanted with Veronica. I'm still soaking up the minutes and hours I get to spend with her. I still spend inordinate amounts of time just gazing at her, running my fingers across her downy, little neck. 

There is this very real sense of a newly emerging self. Every day I feel that I say goodbye to more parts of myself and embrace my new role as a mother.

Last night I finally got out of the house for a bit and took a walk. It's either been too hot (heat indexes in the 100s this week) or too rainy or I've been too sore (no one quite tells you about the physical ramifications of giving birth) to do much. But last night Greg and I put V in the stroller and walked to the square. I saw Greg off to his martial arts class and then V and I continued to stroll down Lincoln Ave.

It was only my second time taking her out in the stroller. She seems to prefer the wrap to the stroller but I thought it might be too hot to strap her to me. When we took her out in the stroller for the first time the other day she lasted about 7 minutes before she started wailing so this time I packed the wrap as a back up. 

It was so nice to be out of the house, to be walking, to feel like I was part of the city, part of summer. We walked around Welles Park, watching kids playing baseball and eating ice cream. It was early evening and the heat had begun to lift. V woke up on and off and I maneuvered the stroller carefully over the cracks in the sidewalk, keeping a constant watch on her mood. 

I would have done another loop around Welles or headed over to Horner Park but I could tell that she was beginning to stir so I headed back up Western and into the neighborhood. Just as I crossed onto Wilson she began wailing and suddenly there I was: New mom of a crying 2 week old. I think hearing my daughter cry makes me more uncomfortable than anything I've ever experienced in life. I hurriedly  put on the wrap and gently lifted V out of the stroller, tucking her in against my chest.

We walked home that way. V still crying (but a little less), me holding her securely against me with one hand and pushing the stroller with the other, both of us sweating, and me murmuring over and over to her that we were almost home, almost home, almost home.

As we walked I thought about the millions of women who have been in my exact place before. And I think that was the only thing that kept me from crying myself.

Fortnight

Yesterday our doula Holly came over for our two-week postpartum visit. I can hardly believe it's been two weeks. It, at once, feels like 2 days and 2 months since V arrived in our lives.

Holly came over at 4pm yesterday -- the same exact time she arrived 2 weeks ago to see us through my active labor. Yesterday we talked about the birth, how we all felt it went, what was surprising about it and if there was anything any of us would have done differently.

While there were some surprising aspects of it for me (finding out that I was already 8cm when we arrived at the hospital), there is nothing I would have done differently. I continue to feel incredibly grateful that it went the way it did. There are few things in life that I'll admit to being proud of myself about, but giving birth to my daughter naturally is easily one of them. 

Natural childbirth has been something that I've been interested in for a long time. It's something that several of my good friends have done and it's something I already knew a fair amount about, even before I got pregnant. I don't know that there was ever a time when I considered giving birth any other way.

After I became pregnant though I truly delved into the world of natural childbirth, reading books, watching dvds, taking classes and workshops and talking to other moms who had chosen this route. The more I learned, the more resolute I felt about this approach.

And while it was wonderful to immerse myself in a community of such like-minded people, I still met a lot of resistance to my decision. It's partly why I didn't write much about it here -- I wanted to keep any criticism of it out of my head. Throughout my pregnancy, when I would mention my natural childbirth plan to certain people -- coworkers, family members, other moms -- I would often get responses along the lines of, "Oh, you just wait until those contractions really start. You'll be screaming for an epidural."

I learned to just smile quietly in return and not press the issue further, hoping that my actions down the road would prove them wrong. And as I've gone along in this process, I've become deeply saddened by the way American culture approaches childbirth -- the extreme medicalization of it all lends itself to intense fear and a lot of unnecessary procedures and interventions.

(I also want to point out that childbirth is a tricky thing and no matter how much you plan for it, all sorts of things can happen. There are plenty of women who do as much work and research as I did and still end up having c-sections and getting induced, for one reason or another. Again, why I'm so grateful that things went the way they did for me.)

I think in some ways I'm still processing the whole birth experience, but as each day goes by, I feel prouder and more grateful to have had the experience I did. I have a new appreciation for my body and for what I'm capable of working through. And I know that Greg has a new respect for me as well -- I can tell just by the way he looks at me when he tells people about the birth experience and about how amazed he was by the way I handled it. (Our friends Sandy & Sarah also had a wonderful natural birth experience recently and Sandy writes eloquently about his awe of his wife in this post.)

When I'm asked about why I chose a natural birth it's easy to cite all the facts about c-section rates in the country and the effects that epidurals have on mother's and babies, but the real reason is that I just wanted to be as absolutely present for the experience as possible. I've been through a lot of hard things in my life -- things that I was forced to breathe through no matter what -- so having a baby, while hard, was something I wanted to face as consciously as possible.

And I did. And sometimes I still can't believe she's here.

Just to Say

This post is just to say that things haven't been all roses and sighs and baby coos around here. I haven't had time to write the usual kinds of introspective posts I'm prone to lately but I do want to express that as wonderful as things are right now, they're also really hard.

I think I've had a small meltdown every other day or so. There's just so much to get used to. So much has changed. My life is definitely no longer mine. I miss Greg, even though we're spending more time together than ever. I miss quality time with my cats -- and I know they miss me too, which breaks my heart regularly.

But most of all, I just get frustrated and overwhelmed when Veronica does. When she starts crying and for one reason or another, nothing I do seems to soothe her, I'm quick to begin crying myself. It's heart-breaking and humbling to feel that there is nothing you can do for this little person that you love so much. But then eventually she stops fussing or I figure out what it is that she needs and the two of us sit there together, our faces red from crying, tears drying on our cheeks as our breathing finally returns to a regular pace.

I'm trying to keep in mind that these first few weeks are some of the hardest, that we're both still getting to know each other and that, eventually, all of us -- me, Greg, the cats and Miss V -- will all settle in to this new life we've created together.

The New Me

Ever since V was born everyone has been saying that she looks like a "little Claire." I have to look at her in some kind of M.C. Escher way to really see it. Mostly she just looks like Veronica to me, but if I squint in the right way I can suddenly see how she really does look like me.

Yesterday while Greg's parents were over we looked at an old album of my baby photos. Turns out she really does look like me. It's strange to see this miniature version of myself (with less hair) but really amazing too.

(Below I've alternated photos of me and V, beginning with one of me.)