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We made it home from a fantastic and exhausting trip to New York and Cape Cod. 3 days in New York City, 1 day in upstate New York and 3 days on Cape Cod. With a 6 week old baby. Some called us brave. Some called us crazy.

Overall, it went better than expected. Except for the very last couple of days when both Veronica and Greg suffered from severe allergy attacks on Cape Cod. They're both in bed recovering, as we speak. Greg is actually worse-off than Veronica.

And despite a mild sore throat from all the air-conditioning and airplanes, I'm feeling rejuvenated from our little jaunt out into the world. It was nice to find out that we can still go places and it was so much fun to introduce V to all my East Coast friends and family.

More soon...

Update

I'm typing this one-handed, with a sleeping Veronica on my lap, from my aunt & uncle's computer on Cape Cod. The three of us (still strange to say that) spent the last 4 days in New York. We dragged Miss V all over the city, visiting friends and touring my old haunts in the East Village. We also attended a beautiful wedding for one of Greg's oldest friends. We then spent a night in upstate NY, at the home of one of my cousins, and now we're on the Cape. Veronica has been a dream, hardly fussing or crying and charming everyone in sight.

I'll write much more about the trip upon our return later this week. And I'll also be doing some site redesign (what you see right now isn't permanent).

Mom Issues

My friend Jenny Hontz broke a story in Newsweek yesterday about a recent IRS ruling against tax breaks for women who are unable to breast-feed after double mastectomies. It's a really interesting issue and one worthy of debate and perhaps, reform.

I wrote a piece about it for The Huffington Post:

More Pressure to Breast-Feed? The IRS Rules Against Tax Relief for Formula Feeders

Letter

Dear Veronica,

Today you are 6 weeks old. Somehow that seems like quite an accomplishment on all our parts.

As I write this you are sitting next to me in your bouncer and I am sipping coffee and nursing a headache brought on by having two drinks last night (oh, the days when two drinks was just the beginning of an evening). Last night we left you with your grandparents (our first time going out alone!) and your Dad and I went downtown.

We had drinks on the rooftop of a sexy hotel bar and then shared a fantastic meal at a new restaurant. I wore a short skirt and a favorite top from my LA days and I sipped at a fancy cocktail while gazing past your father's handsome face at the downtown skyline. For just a moment, I felt like my old self. But it was fleeting.

I'm not the woman I used to be. When I looked into your father's eyes, searching for some reassurance of us being out like this in the world, I saw your eyes looking back and I could feel you out there, this third part of us. My milk came in then and I missed you, missed the top of your head and your smooth little cheeks, the heft of you in my arms.

This relationship we have, dear girl, is so different than any I've ever had. I love you and I like you, but it's more than that. You are indescribably part of me and I don't think I'll ever be able to go anywhere alone without the sense that you are out there somewhere, connected to me.

None of this stopped us from enjoying ourselves though. We ate our meal languidly and talked about writing and projects and travels and friends and, of course, you. And when we came home there you were, kicking around in your grandmother's arms, a little over-tired but just fine. After they left, we got in bed all three of us -- you on your father's chest and me curled up beside you both, and we fell asleep like that, the light left on, almost as if to prove that we are three.

Love,

Mom

Smiling at the midwife yesterday who delivered you:

New Baby

Veronica has seemed like a new baby this past week. Not new in the sense of her age, but new in the sense of different.

For starters, she's pretty much started sleeping through the night. This began about 5 nights ago, right about the time I had reached my wit's end. I went to bed last Wednesday night, feeling like it was pointless to do so because she was only going to wake up in 45 minutes, but then she didn't. She slept for almost 4 hours instead, woke up once to nurse, and went right back to sleep for another 4 hours. And it's been like that every night since. I feel like a new person as a result, both of us reinvented by sleep.

Also in this last week she's really discovered the world around her. She smiles at me and Greg constantly, lighting up her whole face with big grins that cause both of us to bend over her, cooing and opening our mouths wide with encouragement. She's even making new sounds -- little babbles and strange cries that seem to actually signal something other than a desire to nurse.

I can't tell you how fun it is to look down at her in the morning and have her look back at me and smile. It's such a different experience than the baby she's been the last month -- it's really nice to finally be recognized and acknowledged by this little creature who has taken over my life.

Greg and I marked our first year of marriage yesterday. In the morning we went to Lula for brunch, Veronica considerately sleeping through the entire experience, but then taking revenge by screaming the whole way home and through a stop at Trader Joe's. We spent the afternoon at home working on writing projects and napping. All of it, a far cry from our life a year ago when we recited vows to each other on Cape Cod with family and friends.

Greg and I talked at brunch about our favorite experiences from our first year of marriage. Costa Rica, canvassing for Obama and giving birth to our daughter coming in as the top three. As Greg and I settle into parenthood, something we are both still processing is the end of our time together as a couple. After such a whirlwind courtship, engagement and marriage, we really gave ourselves so little time before introducing such a huge change to our lives. Both of us can't help but mourn the passing of our quiet life together.

It's a confusing feeling though. Sometimes (like at 3AM when I'm up and in the nursery) I find myself thinking about what it would have been like to have waited another year before getting pregnant, what it would have been like to have had another whole year of having Greg all to myself. My mind starts to wander over the places we would have gone together, the things we could have done. But then I inevitably come back to the realization that if we had taken that year, we never would have had Veronica. We might have had some other baby, sure, but not Veronica. And I can't imagine not having her. 

Writing about all this brought tears to my eyes just now, but when I looked down at Veronica in my lap she gave me the biggest smile, her nose crinkling up and her eyes bright and happy and I couldn't help but laugh and smile back her, tears dripping off my cheeks and onto her onesie.

Life is huge and complicated and amazing. And I'm just beginning to learn that having a child will remind you of that every day.

--

Oh, and check out Greg's interview with author Stephen Elliott on The Nervous Breakdown.

New Parents, Indeed

Last night we had several of the couples from our birth class  (and their babies) over for a potluck dinner on the deck. Greg and I have really had fun going through this experience with other people. Sharing in all these stages right alongside these other couples -- the pregnancy, the birth and now these first weeks -- has been really enriching and bolstering.

It was really nice to get everyone together in a group last night. We sat out under the trees, talking about everything from first smiles to poop color. The end of the evening culminated in the following scene. (Veronica is the one swaddled in the striped blanket, alongside her friends Ellie, Ezra and Benjamin.)

Letter

Dear Veronica,

Today you are 5 weeks old.

You are no longer the tiny little infant we brought home all those weeks ago. You're, in fact, several pounds heavier and much more alert and oriented than those first few days. You're all limbs these days, stretching your sweet little legs and arms out in every direction whenever possible -- hard to imagine you ever kept them contained inside me for all those months.

In parenting news, I think your father and I are finally starting to get the hang of this thing. Well, it's not like we're awesome at it yet, but we're definitely getting better. And aside from all the spit up and pooping, which we know you can't help, you're a very good baby. You only cry when you're hungry, want to be picked up, need to be changed or are too tired because we dragged you all over town doing errands or to a loud, outdoor music festival (sorry about that one).

As I write this you're sitting in your bouncer staring furiously at a little dangling monkey and waving your arms about frantically. Well, you started to look like you thought the monkey was going to get you so now you're on my lap again nursing. You've been a lot more alert this last week, really looking at me and your father and giving us real smiles. It must be overwhelming I imagine, to suddenly be able to see this crazy world all around you.

I have to tell you, I went through a real mourning period these last few weeks. I just couldn't believe how much things had changed, how much you demanded of us, of me. The constant nursing, the hours spent pacing the house at 3AM (why is it always 3AM?), the sudden inability to do anything normal like go to the drugstore or take shower long enough to shave my legs. It was a lot to let go of all at once like that.

But I've turned a new leaf, or at least I'm trying to, and have been feeling better about just letting go of all of it. I've spent a lot more time this week just staring at you (at 3AM), or making funny faces for minutes on end just so you'll give me that weird half-smile, half-grimace you've been displaying so aptly. Yesterday I took two (count 'em) naps with you during the day. You were so sleepy and tiny and warm and you rested your little head in the crook of my arm and the scent of milk mingled with the sheets and we slept dreamlessly like that while the sun passed through the clouds outside the window.

The only thing I still really miss is your Dad. Sure, he and I have been spending more time than ever together these last weeks but it's not the kind of time I'm used to. All of our energy is focused on you, little one. Sometimes it seems we can go a whole evening together without even looking at one another. I know I'll get him back eventually, that you'll start sleeping through the night and that we'll be able to go on dates again one day, but for now I miss the way things used to be with him.

Last night you slept for three solid hours (for the first time ever) and perhaps would have slept longer, except I woke at 2AM with so much milk that it was painful. I tried going back to sleep but dreamed about pumping just to alleviate the pain, and so I finally kicked back the sheets and brought you in bed with me to nurse. You didn't want to wake up though so I left you to cuddle with your dad while I sat in the living room with the breast pump.

I'd only been out there for 5 minutes when the light went on in the bedroom and I heard your dad let out a loud expletive. I would have gotten up and run to see what was happening but I had a big, plastic pump attached to my boob. A beat went by and then your father appeared, shirtless in his boxers. He turned around to show me a giant river of spit up running straight down his back. He returned to the bedroom to retrieve you and start clean up duty, my sympathies going with him.

Hardly another beat had gone by though before I heard him utter another ferocious-sounding series of words. What now? Well, in addition to spitting up down your father's bare back, you also decided to take a huge dump, the kind that spooges straight out of your diaper and onto your father's stomach as he's carrying you into the nursery. 

While your dad changed your diaper and cleaned himself up I turned off the pump and put the milk in the fridge. After that I sat up with you in the nursery while your father went back to bed and we watched the cats jump in and out of the crib until you were sleepy again (just past 3AM, of course).

And now here we are, the next morning. You're nursing on my lap while I write this to you and when you're finished I'll do my newly-perfected bounce-and-sway around the house with you in my arms until you fall asleep.

5 weeks, gone by just like that, each day somehow harder and more beautiful than the one before it.

Love,

Mom

Perspective

Yesterday I hosted a little mommy get-together here at our house. 7 women and their newborn babies came over, lugging with them chicken salad, burp clothes, slings, car seats, diapers, lemonade and cookies. It was quite a scene.

I'd met half of the women in my prenatal yoga class this spring and knew the other half from my birth class. I've kept up with all of them individually but I realized last week that we all keep having remarkably similar conversations, so I thought it would be fun to get everyone together in a group. I was right -- close to four hours went by before any of us even thought to look at the clock.

We began by going around and telling our birth story. There were four baby boys and four baby girls and, except for one 3 month old, all the babies were under 6 weeks. I was the last to share Veronica's birth story, and as I listened to each of the other 7 stories I was struck over and over again by how fortunate we've been so far.

Two of the moms have had grueling experiences with their babies in the NICU (thankfully they're both healthy and home now) and four of the women had to undergo c-sections (all of us were hoping to achieve natural births). And I think only two of us (me and Sarah) got through the birth experience without having to use pitocin.

Conversation was rife through the afternoon, each story sparking more topics and frequently venturing off into discussions of how things are going now, the late-night feedings, how the husbands are coping and how things are different than we expected.

I have to say that, after listening to everyone, I really felt kind of bad that I've been having such a hard time. From tales of conception-difficulty to emergency c-sections, baby seizures and over-wrought mother-in-laws, I realized just how easy I've had it. And it really made me feel kind of terrible for complaining so much these last couple of weeks.

Which is great, right? That's the whole point of getting a bunch of new moms together. So that we can commiserate and find solace and learn from each other. Although I did talk about how I've been feeling -- the mourning of my old life and old relationship with Greg, the sleep deprivation and anxiety, and although they could all relate completely -- I came out of the afternoon really feeling quite grateful for how things are going.

So, this week's work is to continue working on letting go and staying in the present moment, soaking up these precious few weeks and months of Veronica being an infant.

Becoming Parents

I went for another run in the park yesterday. It wasn't as transcendent as my first run the other day -- it was more like a regular run. I had a cramp and it was really hot out and I pushed myself to run for about 30 minutes and it just all felt kind of normal. Which was good, too.

The biggest difference between this run and the first one though was that the other day as I pounded around the loop at the park, all I could think about was myself and what it felt like to be alone out the world. But yesterday all I could think about was Veronica. Her face kept swimming up in my mind, her big, bright eyes, her little rosebud lips and the smooth skin of her cheeks.

I missed her.

And as I ran, around and around the park, pushing myself farther than I expected, I couldn't stop staring at all the other parents. There were moms and dads everywhere, pushing their kids in strollers, helping them toddle across the grass, showing them how to throw a baseball, how to ride a bike, how to shoot a basketball...they were everywhere. And I couldn't stop looking at them all and thinking about how they've been through exactly what Greg and I have been through (and so much more): The long pregnancy, the waiting to give birth, the birth itself, the meeting of this tiny new person, the awe and fear of it all, the first few weeks of fumbling diaper changes, crazy sleep schedules and the inevitable falling in love.

It definitely feels like joining a new club. Having a baby has made me look at everyone differently, not just new parents. As I write this, there's a guy on a ladder painting a house a couple of doors down and I can't help but think about the fact that he was once a tiny baby like Veronica and that someone surely cared for him and all his early needs, just like we're doing for V.

I think a lot about what it will be like to look back on these early months with my daughter. What the experience will feel like once it's encapsulated into a little nugget of time. I wonder if I'll look back and realize how differently I could have done things or if I'll be pleasantly surprised by how I did. I imagine it will be a mixture of both.

In the last week I've discovered how to walk her around until she falls asleep. Previous to discovering this, I used to just wait (and hope) for her to fall asleep. But just in the last 5 days or so I've discovered the perfect hold and the perfect bounce/step combination that seems to lull her right to sleep. Now I just need to figure out how to perfectly place her in her bassinet so that she doesn't wake up after I've spent 15 minutes walking her around to sleep. Case in point: Me at 3am this morning on my 3rd attempt to put her down after I'd walked her to sleep.

And this morning I found that I can eek an early little smile out of her if I sing along to The Beatles. I don't even like to sing but those little smiles really do make it all worth it.  It's such a different experience when she actually notices us and responds. Thankfully, there's a lot more of that to come. And I guess a lot more singing too.

Veronica in her first dress this weekend:

Finding Balance

It's Friday morning and I'm hurriedly eating a bowl of cereal before Veronica needs to be picked up again. She's in her bouncer chair right now, something she only seems to enjoy for 15 minutes or so at a time.

I feel like my whole life right now is spent trying to figure out what will make her happy and comfortable. Does she need to nurse? Does she have a wet diaper? Will she stop fussing if I hold her in this position? Nope. How about this one? Okay, trying the bouncer now. Nope. Maybe the swing? Okay, picking her up again. And on and on.

Most of the time it's fine. Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's unbearably frustrating. I already look forward to the days when she can talk and walk or at least respond to me in some recognizable way. Does she even know I exist? I wonder this often.

My friend Liz was here this week with her 13 month old daughter and, while it was wonderful to see her, it also proved quite stressful for me. As the house got turned upside down by their presence, I quickly realized that keeping some semblance of order and normalcy around her has helped to keep me calm. I'm constantly straightening the house, still making the bed first thing in the morning, getting the dishes done and keeping the couch cushions facing in the right directions -- I think if I let it all go, I would too.

That's more or less what happened this week. And don't forget to throw in a little sleep-deprivation. Liz and I essentially spent the two days of her visit in separate rooms, tending to our little ones. Liz at the dining room table feeding her daughter and me in the living room nursing mine. Only in the rare quiet moments were we able to catch up on our lives  a bit. I'm still glad she came, but it just probably wasn't the best time for either of us.

Things have just been so different with Greg back at work these last couple of weeks. Obviously, I'm shouldering a lot more of the Veronica care-taking, which is no fault of his, but sometimes it really takes its toll on me. Lately, I've begun to grow really anxious at night before bedtime.

Most nights I'm able to get Veronica to fall asleep sometime between 9 and 10 and then I put her down in her bassinet. And then I experience an intense pressure to go to sleep myself because I know she'll be out for 2-3 hours and that I'll likely be up all night with her after that. Just that thought alone stresses me out so much that I can't fall asleep. All I can think about is how tired I am and how much I want to get a stretch of 2 or 3 hours and if I don't fall asleep right now, then I'm just losing that time.

It spirals from there. I start thinking about how it's going to feel to wake up again at 1AM, how tired I'll be and how she'll probably be wide awake for an hour or so at that time. Then I start thinking about how it will go on like that on and off for the rest of the night, which will only turn into another full day alone with her as Greg goes off to work. By this time, I've wasted 30 minutes of precious sleep, lying awake in the dark, thinking about all of this and I'm so stressed that I'm on the verge of tears.

It's not like this every night. Some nights I'm able to go to sleep when she does. But the rest of the nights, it goes like this. I'm not sure what the solution is. Maybe I'll just grow into it or get used to it. Maybe she'll start sleeping for longer stretches at night as well. I don't know. I do know it doesn't help for me to lie awake in bed stressing about it, but I can't seem to get a handle on that when it does happen.

Things seem to get better and worse at the same time these days. It all just gets harder and easier somehow.

Yesterday I went for a run in the park near our house. It was my first run since last September and it felt like the most amazing thing I'd ever done. I've been fantasizing about running for months now, about how good it would feel to stretch my legs and pound across the running path...and it was even better than I imagined. When Greg came home from work I left him with Veronica and a fresh bottle of milk and I set off for the park.

I was nervous about running, not being sure what shape I was in and how much my body could handle. But then I set off and it felt simply amazing. I ran two whole loops around the park, which was a lot more than I anticipated I'd be up for. Being out in the early summer evening air, running past kids gathered around baseball diamonds and playing catch, moms with strollers and couples walking their dogs felt so normal and nice. My body felt incredible too, muscle memories calling into action a lifetime of running. For the first time in months and months I felt like me. Just me, out for a summer evening run.

But now I'm home and it's Friday morning and I'm sitting un-showered in my desk chair. There's spit-up drying on my shoulder and Veronica long ago lost her patience and is back in my arms, causing me to type this one-handed at times. Her little hands play across my chest and arms as she leans up against me and I look down to catch her looking up at my face, her eyes wide, her mouth opened into a sort of smile. Does she see me? Does she know me? In this moment I think she does and the feeling I get from that feels even better than running through the park on a summer evening.