More Than Any Other...

I love my baby more than other mothers love their babies. I must. It's a conclusion I have not easily reached. But if all mothers loved their children the way I love mine, it would be debilitating. I honestly love her more and more every day. And as I tell her, she sure is a lot of work but to say she is "worth it" doesn't do it, or her, justice. 

Sunday is our "family day" and it's also what I tell Juliette is "our best day." We wake up whenever she wakes up. Our morning is on her schedule and there is no rushing and no guilt. When she goes down for her nap, momma starts the cooking! Today was fairly simple as there were only twelve of us for dinner (typically we have up to double that!) so I made 8 pounds of fried chicken cutlet, pasta, homemade sauce. and stromboli. For dessert, I made a mouth-watering recipe that was floating around Facebook (COUSIN KIMMY'S CANDY SHOP TRIFFLE) which called for a chocolate cake, two boxes of instant chocolate pudding, Cool Whip, crushed mini Reeses peanut butter cups and Reeses pieces. It was disgustingly good and I can't wait until I wake up tomorrow and can sneak a bowlful for breakfast!

Seriously? I wanted to skip dinner and go
straight for this.

After we ate, I took Juliette for a half hour walk around the neighborhood in her carriage, along with my cousin and my aunt. Tomorrow she is 8 months old and one would think she would have outgrown a carriage and would want to be in a stroller by now, but not my smart girl. She gets laid down in there and she is like a little queen - she waits for her "pipey" (pacifier), her baby doll, her blanket, and my iPhone playing her favorite five songs (the same ones I played for her when she was in my belly!) and she is in all her glory. I could push her forever and she doesn't make a peep or move so much as a toe. She lays there and looks around and takes it all in until her eyes start rolling and she falls fast asleep. 

She then just played with my cousin and I so happily all evening. She's already been in bed for over an hour and I miss her. I know. That sounds ridiculous. Other mothers will likely roll their eyes at me. (Again, proving my point that I likely love my daughter more than they love their own ;)) But it really is true (me missing her, not me loving her more than any other mother). I think a lot of it has to do with my situation: the fact that I have to share her and be away from her at times despite not wanting to. It makes me want to use up every single minute I do have her. Plus, she makes me happy. Fairly simple, right? We typically enjoy things in life that make us happy and I have found the one thing that makes me happiest - my beautiful daughter. 

So I am ending this Sunday night missing my baby who is just up the stairs and waiting for me in bed - what a wonderful feeling. But I'm not a complete idiot - I am taking advantage of this time to do the bills, get some work done as a head start on tomorrow morning, and half-watch one of the twenty-seven shows I currently have on my DVR.

I love Sundays. Is the next one here yet?

Love,

Momeo and Juliette

XOXO

Bragging Time

So in addition to being the cutest baby in the world, my daughter is also the best behaved. Totally objective. I put this poor little girl in the car at 4:30 today. I stopped at a store 10 minutes away from home, ran her in and out in her carseat, and then buckled her back up for a one hour, ten minute ride. Once we arrived, I took her from the carseat and put her directly in the Ergo - she was in there for an hour without so much as a peep (just big smiles for momma every time I looked down at her). When we were finished, she went back into the carseat and along for the hour and fifteen minute ride home. She started fussing about 45 minutes away from home and so momma started singing. I actually ran out of baby songs to sing and started making up my own - thank goodness she's an easy audience. As long as I sang, she was a happy passenger. So sing, I did. I made words rhyme that have never rhymed before. We were both relieved by the time we pulled into our driveway four hours after leaving!

I nursed her for as long as she wanted and then we had some Momma and Juliette play time - the best! She loves blowing her lips and spitting right now so I let her do that in my lap for almost half hour straight. My cousin brought over her five-week old baby earlier today and it blew my mind - where does the time go? How did Juliette change from that little, tiny, helpless lump into her fun little self? When did she grow so much? Learn so much? 

I remember being worried when she was really tiny - will I love her as much when she's not so tiny and new? I even asked my sister! And the answer is no - I will not love her as much; I will love her one million times more. Every day that I am with her - every hour - more love sneaks in between us. Juliette and I have discussed this and we've come to the conclusion that it must sneak in at night when we don't see. Because I love this little girl even more than I did yesterday (but slightly less than I will tomorrow). I can't help it.

Somehow, I won the baby lottery and got the best baby there is. What a lucky, lucky gal.

The best baby in the world. Fact. 

Homemade Baby Food - You Can Do It!

So back in my days of Pinterest (pregnant/nesting days before I actually had the baby as opposed to the days now wherein I have no time for Pinterest) I came across a post of a woman and her mother who had just made a month's worth of baby food. Clicking through, the site gave a great shopping list for everything they had made and then step-by-step instructions on how to make it all within two hours. It inspired me and I said, that day, "I am going to make my own homemade baby food!" Fast forward months later when baby is here and I started to doubt it - just a little. Will it really be as easy as the post described? Will it really only take two hours? Will it be that inexpensive? And is it worth it?

I can now answer those questions: It really is as easy as they described; It took me longer than two hours the first few times (especially if you count the set-up/clean-up time which I do!); It can be inexpensive or you can buy all organic and mostly fancy-shmancy Whole Foods things like I have; and yes, yes, yes, it is worth it!

Apples to make (avocados are in the brown paper bag to ripen faster)

I started my baby with some of the basics: avocado, banana, apples. Avocado and bananas cannot be messed up - you smoosh them. Seriously. If you want, you can use the Baby Bullet (which is what I use for everything) to puree them and add a touch of water, but you really can't screw it up so they are the best to start with. WARNING: Your baby will most likely become constipated. My daughter never seemed uncomfortable, but I wasn't happy that her bowel movements changed so quickly which is what prompted me to make things besides just avocado and banana. 

Apples are easy too and once you master those, many fruits/veggies follow the same rules: (1) When in doubt, peel whatever it is (the skin is good for them but more difficult for their little tummies to digest); (2) Put the fruit/veggie in a pot of water so that the water is just covering it and bring to a boil; (3) when the fruit/veggie is soft, put it in the Baby Bullet and add the water it was cooked in as needed to adjust the consistency. I have cooked the following things following those three rules: apples, pears, eggplant, golden squash, zucchini, broccoli, peas, and carrots.

Sweet potatoes, bananas, broccoli medley, and
the Baby Bullet base.

I have also sauteed baby spinach and kale in virgin olive oil and then pureed it. Once I got these basics down pat, I started making other things such as sweet potatoes and butternut squash (bake on 425 degrees on cookie sheet until soft - depending on the size it may take 45 - 90 minutes, then scoop out and puree, adding water as necessary). I also made regular white potatoes this way but will not make them again - they were too thick and adding water and pureeing made them paste-like. It almost broke my Baby Bullet and they didn't taste good. 

I have given her mango (scooped right out of skin and pureed with water) and blueberries (popped into Baby Bullet and pureed with no water).

I regularly make oatmeal. I buy steel oats from Whole Foods (scoop them yourself  - really inexpensive). I grind them in the Baby Bullet into a fine powder. Then I boil 1 cup water and add 1/4 cup of ground oats and whisk constantly for 8-10 minutes. I sometimes add pureed apples (you can even add frozen chunks of this puree if you previously made it), bananas, cinnamon, brown sugar, etc... depending on what flavor I want as I whisk them. 

All of the above can then be frozen in ice cube trays or small Tupperwares (OXO brand makes great small 2 and 4 oz containers with tight snapping lids that I love - Babies r Us carries them). I keep it all in the freezer and every night before I go to bed, I take out a breakfast, lunch and dinner meal for the next day and move it to the refrigerator. Easy peasy. 

To serve it, I either give it to her cold (bananas, blueberries, mangoes, etc...), room temperature (avocado, spinach, etc...) or warmed (potatoes, oatmeal, etc...) At first, she would only eat things cold! But she transitioned out of that and now usually takes whatever I will give her so I serve it the way I would want to eat it!

Here is what I made in just under three hours (that includes set-up and clean-up)! What takes me the longest is peeling whatever needs to be peeled - the rest is smooth sailing! You can see the Baby Bullet storage containers on the bottom right, the OXO containers on the bottom left, the Baby Bullet rubber container on the top left and the ice cube trays I use (got them at the dollar store - three/four trays for one dollar!).








Below is my freezer door full of food I made last time (once I transferred it from the ice cube trays into Ziploc bags). After it freezes in the trays, I place 2-3 "cubes" into a Ziploc and label it with the food and the date I made it. Food lasts up to 3 days in the refrigerator (although I don't usually go more than two days to be safe) and up to 3 months in the freezer (although it's best when used within 1 month).

So try it! I love the fact that I can buy all organic produce and can make it easily at home - I know every single thing that has gone into my baby's mouth! If I can do it, anyone can and it is beyond worth it. Your baby will be happy, healthy and will be a great (read: not picky) eater! Have fun cooking! 

Drained...But Trying

I am mentally exhausted after today. Court was fine (in the sense that not much happened and we were out of there fairly quickly). The upside is that I didn't have to pay my attorney quite a million dollars for today and I got back to my baby very fast. Downside was that F tried to come over and talk to me as if he hadn't completely disrespected me yesterday by texting me a personal attack about me as a mother. So I calmly told him I was not speaking with him. He had an adult temper tantrum (if there is such a thing) in the middle of the courthouse - shaking his head, huffing and puffing. He even took out a pen, clicked it open angrily and wrote down, I am sure, our exchange. (Although I would bet my life he left out the first part of my response which was, "You attacked me as a mother and so I have nothing to say to you right now.") He then held up the notebook to show his attorney and, for all intents and purposes, tell on me. This is who I am dealing with. A thirty-one year old "man" who says disrespectful things, accepts no responsibility for them, and then has a temper tantrum when he doesn't like the repercussions. It's exhausting. But now we move on. 

We have until our next court date (approximately three weeks) to get an agreement signed. If we do, we don't even have to appear in court again. If we don't, we begin a trial. I am done negotiating with him, however. I am not giving in and so if he doesn't want to agree and sign, then we will go to trial. At least then I can sleep at night and know that I did everything in my power to do what I feel is best for my daughter. So that's that. For today.

He also has her tomorrow morning for two hours. He is supposed to have her tomorrow night for two and a half hours but he needed to change (for a football game, I am sure. Priorities, priorities). I still hate it every single time. And that explains why this post sucks. :( Today sucked and I am dreading those two hours tomorrow. But then I have the rest of the day and all day Friday with my little girl, uninterrupted. I suppose I need to get used to this but the thought of doing so overwhelms me and so I have to take it day by day. And I have to remind myself that there are parents with children who are not healthy and would likely sell their souls to trade spots with me and "only" have to share a perfectly healthy child. I try to think about that when I start losing it. 

Is it tomorrow at 11:30 am yet????

Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

Breastfeeding, Boogies and Bad News...

First (and I will likely follow this up with a more in-depth post at some point), I love breastfeeding. This has surprised me more, perhaps, than anything else about motherhood. I knew it was best for my baby. I knew I would do it.  But I didn't expect to like it. Love it, really. It sounds silly (especially, I am guessing, to those who have never done it) but I feel very proud of the fact that my daughter has been breastfed every day of her life thus far. Up until 6 months, she was exclusively breastfed - nothing else passed those lovely little lips. At six months, she started on fruits and vegetables and has since expanded into some grains and meats. But she is still breastfed like clockwork and I love it. I feel like I am doing right by her ever time I feed her. I love the bonding time; it's built-in, take-a-break-from-life-and-love-your-daughter. I don't even mind it at 11;15 p.m. right as I was on the brink of falling asleep. Or at 2 a.m. Or 4 a.m. Or 6 a.m. For some inexplicable reason, it never ever bothers me to feed her. So I just wanted to share that. Like I said, I have so much more I could say about it and so maybe another rainy day post will be dedicated solely to "the boob" as we call it around here. We shall see. But for any mothers-to-be, try it. You might fall in love with it as I have.

Secondly, boogies - oh my word, the boogies. My little angel is sicky. It's quite heartbreaking and she's not even that bad. God help me if she ever legitimately gets sick. Since yesterday, she has had rosy cheeks and a red bum. She has also been leaking from every single hole in her face. A lot. And yet another cliche is true: "it's amazing what doesn't bother you as a mother." I will wipe those boogers and those runny eyes and that drool with my hand and then immediately use it to wipe my own face. Or to finish my apple. Because those are my boogers and tears and drool. I made all of that. It's not gross, it's cute. The night before last, one of us had an accident in our bed. I won't say which one out of fear of embarrassing someone, but someone peed a bit too much and the sheets were wet at 2:34 a.m. Awesome. Out of bed we were. Changed baby. Cleaned baby. Threw down a blanket over the new definition of a "wet spot" in bed, stuck a boob in a mouth and back to sleep we went. So obviously the first thing I did yesterday morning was strip the bed, wash and dry the sheets, and re-make the bed. (Although, maybe that's not so obvious if you're still grossed out that all I did at 2:34 a.m. was throw a blanket down on top of it. Survival.) Well, I woke up this morning and it looks like all Juliette did the entire time I was sleeping was blow her nose on as many square inches of our sheets as she could possibly reach. So the washing machine and I reunite. It's quite a lot of work having a baby. (But shhh! I wouldn't trade it for the world!)

Lastly, the bad news. F and I were so close to coming to a visitation agreement over the past few days. We had been going back and forth over email with proposals and counter-proposals and counter-counter-proposals. Then today I explained  - again - that there were some things I am just not going to voluntarily agree to. Ever. He said he wouldn't either and so we were frozen. He then asked me to switch his visitation time this Thursday and a weekend date next month. I told him that I would be happy to do my best to accommodate him with that if he would agree to this. Well, that is all it took to set him off. I received some nasty text messages, one of which attacked me as a mother. (Really? Ugh. When do men grow up? He is 31 years old. I am the mother of his child. A damn good mother, which he knows, and it's the first place he goes when he's stomping his feet and crossing his arms. So disrespectful.) Anyway, I am fairly confident that the same person attacking me as a mother wants to cancel his regular time with his daughter because of a football game. I wish these men were forced to grow up as much as them women are when they become pregnant; their lives don't change. Yet they still want all the benefits, all the "pro"s of becoming a parent. It really frustrates me despite how much I try to blow it off. So - back to court we go tomorrow. It's our last conference (i.e., another opportunity for the judge to chastise us, tell us to grow up, talk it out, and come to an agreement because we don't belong in Family Court) before our set trial date. I am not giving in this time. I'm just not. I have to follow my gut and do what I think is best and if other people around me think that makes me "difficult" or "a bitch," I just cannot care. I am crossing everything that a miracle will occur and someone will grow up a bit tonight as he sleeps and be willing to agree with me tomorrow. If not, well...I am sure you will hear about it here.

Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

Baby Wearing! WARNING: It's Addictive!

...who 'da thought? I started wearing Juliette when she was about a week old. She started in the Moby - loved it. Comfy, stretchy, warm - perfect for a winter baby. I originally ordered a carrier because it was on a friend's "Suggested things to register for" list and I found one with a NY Yankee logo. The day I wrapped her to my body, I fell in love with it. I knew I would wear her until she graduated. College.

But then she got a bit heavier. And I got a bit tired of wrapping and unwrapping (and re-wrapping and unwrapping again) yards and yards of material. So I switched to the K'Tan. Also loved it! It was similar to the Moby but with speed and ease - it was already "wrapped" for me! I slipped the rings on, tucked her in and off we went. I cringe to admit that I even wore her facing out a few times until I researched all the different holds and carriers. It was then I realized that in wearing her "front facing", I had committed the cardinal sin of baby wearing! (You can research it yourself, but it really is the cardinal sin. It's just not good for baby's physical development or their mental/emotional security. Silly me.) The K'Tan was also much easier to bring with me - I could throw it in the diaper bag or over my arm on the way to the car. Much easier than rolling up the entire Moby (and never using the supposed-to-use pouch it comes with).

And then...she got a bit heavier. So I started researching structured carriers. I, of course, loved the Tula as I am sure any baby-wearing momma is apt to do. They are beautiful. They are expensive. They are virtually impossible to get your hands on. I started entering contests to win a Tula because once I find out there is something I cannot have, well, I must have it. It was weeks later when I realized that I was not entering drawings to win a Tula. Oh no, no, no. I was entering a drawing to win a chance to purchase an ultra-expensive Tula. Not kidding - they are in high demand. High. And mommas who set their minds on something are set. So Tulas will likely not be available until Juliette is wearing her baby. So I moved on.

I reached out to a friend who has worn no less than five kids. Sometimes, it seems, at the same time. She, not surprisingly, knew about every carrier I inquired about. She told me it was her Ergo that she was in love with. I ended up borrowing it from her for two days so that I could decide if it would pacify me after my daydreams about the elusive Tula - it did. Within one hour of wearing Juliette around the house and yard (with only two buckles to clip each time), I was online looking for the cutest Ergo at the best price. I found a purple one for $115 and committed; it was on its way.

Ah, I have never looked back. Juliette has been worn belly-to-belly, in the hip carry, and most recently on my back. (I still love the belly-to-belly as it makes me feel she is smaller and younger and cuter and not-growing-up-ever. I can also access the front pocket easiest this way and, most importantly, see her big blue eyes look up at me. She is starting to like the back carry better as she can see where we are going - shoot. I think she's going to be independent. Great. Just great.) I wear her so much that my father calls her his "little marsupial." I wear her in the house so that I can unload the dishwasher, fold laundry, work on my computer and pretty much do anything without yelling into another room, "mommy's almost done!" I wear her almost every time I step outside the house as well - for walks, down to the beach, and at every store. 

I might be addicted to wearing her. But I love it and she's only wear-able for such a short time. So I dismiss all the guilt (and strange looks from some of "those people") and I enjoy every single second of it. When she sees me grab it from our basket near the door, her little wrists start spinning so fast it seems she may just take off one day. I know she loves it too.

She's one week away from 8 months old and so I cherish every moment in which literally nothing separates momma from her daughter - she's attached to me, right where she belongs. 

Things I Loved Today...

• Being woken up by a good hair pull from my baby girl. I turn to her and get a HUGE smile.
• The fact that she cried for me every time I left the room. (Not the actual crying, but the fact that she does it)
• Her "mmmmm"ing every time I fed her a quarter of a blueberry (have I mentioned my maniacal fear of choking? My poor daughter gets bits and pieces so small that she probably doesn't even know it's a solid. I puree everything. Everything. So blueberries - even a quarter of one blueberry - is brave for me)
• The admiring looks and comments she got as I wore her through BJs (she is really cute, especially as a marsupial!)
• When she was crying because I put her down to carry in the groceries, I looked at her and said in a funny voice, "Momma is just getting the groceries from the car" and she started laughing. My funny voice isn't even that funny. But it is to her.
• Our impromptu photo shoot halfway through carrying said groceries into the house. She was too cute not to capture! 
  
  
  
  
• Sneaking her a small lil taste of my Mr. Softee and seeing her smacking her lips like I gave her an entire filet mignon
• Dancing with her in Michele and Jay's kitchen. She got so excited for our dance party that she turned into my squinty-eyed, thigh crushing, toe curling, awesome baby.
• Nursing her before bed as part of our nighttime routine: bath, boob, book, bed. Boob was my favorite tonight (probably hers too) ;)
• Checking on her in bed halfway through this post because this made me miss her. Smelling her. Kissing her. Loving her.

How did one girl get so lucky? "So somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I must have done something good..." 

Love,

Momeo and Juliette

XOXO

Visitation...

...Am I the only one that hates it every single time? I can't be. Can I? It's 7:50 and she is due home by 8:00. Every minute - especially the last twenty or so - feels like an hour. I know she will be a bit late tonight too because there is a terrible car accident blocking the way to my house. I can't wait to have her safely home with me, where she belongs, giving me kisses and hugs.

I know that, as with everything else in life, I will likely "get used to it" and some moms even tell me I will start to enjoy the time (or at least make the most of it). I want to believe them because they are being honest and they have been down my road, but part of me just can't. I will always hate having to let her go. And so I blog... :)

As things currently stand, Juliette's dad has her two weeknights from 5:30 - 8:00 p.m. I drop her off at his parents' house (I am not comfortable with him taking her where he lives since he has three roommates and cannot control who comes/goes at the house) and he brings her home. He also has her from 9:30 a.m. on Saturdays until 3:30 p.m. (soon to be 4:30). I dread Saturdays. It's just such a long time for me to worry about her. He picks her up in the morning and then I go to her at noon to nurse her. I then nurse her there at 3:30 before I put her in the car. It's all...less than ideal. 

I do not worry, necessarily, about F taking care of her. I believe that he does his absolute best. And besides last night, his parents are constantly with them as well which makes me feel better. At least there are three adults worth of judgment there with her when I cannot be. Yes, she comes home with baby food caked on her face. Last weekend, her pants were on backwards. These things drive me crazy, but I can live with them. 

Here are the thoughts I cannot live with:
(1) Will she wonder where I am and think I've left her?
(2) Will she get scared and want me?
(3) Will she be hungry and want to only nurse?
(4) Will she become anxious and not trust either F or me?
These are the thoughts that keep me up at night and make me sick with worry. I am her mother. I am supposed to protect her and ensure that she feels safe and secure and loved every minute of her life; I hate that my situation robs me of that. 

I sent my latest, bottom-line, proposal to F on Tuesday morning. It is Thursday night and I have heard nothing. We have a court conference scheduled for Wednesday - I am losing hope that it will be our last. I am done negotiating, done going back and forth. Some may say it's stubborn but I cannot and will not compromise what I feel is her best interest - unless and until a judge orders me to do so. Then, at least, I can sleep at night knowing I fought for her with everything I had.

But a small, tiny, optimistic piece of my heart is holding onto the hope that it may not come to that. I hope her father can understand that I love her more than I love anything else in the world and everything I am doing is motivated by that love. My heart fingers are crossed.

But my baby is home now - where she belongs and all is right with the world...

Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

Women for Women

I will start by saying I am exhausted. It's 11:04 p.m. and I don't know how that happened. I'm watching Juliette in the monitor right next to my laptop and, mentally, I am in bed right next to her. As soon as I finish writing this, I will join her. If I start undressing on my way up the stairs, it will take me less than 90 seconds until my head is on the pillow. Ahh..sweet, sweet sleep. (Ignoring the fact that my daughter thinks I am a cat and should just lay there all night with all my nipples available to her whenever she wants them. Good thing she's frigging adorable.)

Before bed, however, I just wanted to quickly say that women rule. We really do. When we band together over something and choose to support one another and help one another (instead of tearing one another down or judging each other), it is awesome. 

Since becoming pregnant, I have joined more "groups" than I have ever belonged to in all my 34 (I mean, 29) years. Some were 'pregnancy groups' with women due around the same time as me. Some are 'single momma' groups with women who obviously have something in common with me. And others are just 'mom' groups based on other common beliefs or traits. I love them all. Complete strangers have made me laugh, cry, and feel stronger than I ever imagined over the last 15 months. These women, most of whom I never have met, have been my go-to support system; whether I ask a quick question from the aisle of a grocery store about which vitamins to purchase, or if I pour my heart out about my world caving in around me before a day in family court, these women are there for me. No questions asked. No judgment. They just respond. They respond with opinions and stories and their experiences - their worlds and hearts and lives are open to me. It's pretty amazing. 

I have learned from these women, these fellow moms, in a risk-free environment. I have tried things I never would have tried and I have become, already, a better mother. Not necessarily because I learned how (and why) to make my own baby food, or because I know I wear my baby the right way, or because I deal better with F - but because they have built me up as a person. As a woman. As a mother. They have opened my eyes to things I didn't know. They have given me choices and research and experiences to back things up. They have built up my confidence so that I can easily handle the "other" people out there with their looks and questions and judgments. ("Oh, you're going to breastfeed right there? In public?" or "Formula and jarred baby food never killed anyone." Or another favorite, "Why don't you let her cry it out?! She'll never learn.")

I would suggest to those "other" people, by the way, to join their own groups. Maybe they'd be happier, more confident in their own ways and less inclined to tear down others. But to women everywhere, I encourage you all to remember that we are a group - we are females. And we must, must, must help one another and build each other up. Many women whom I have never met have made a lasting impact on my life and therefore on my daughter's life - I'm sending a big THANK YOU to all of them right now on both of our behalves. 

Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

My Birthing Story Part II

[*DISCLAIMER* I am very open and honest about MY birthing story. And that is all it is - mine. Every single person's story is different and I hear it is very different for each child as well. If you don't want to be...disturbed...by my opinion, read no further and just know that giving birth is "a miracle."]

So in went the Cervidil.... (That hurt) and out went the lights. As if I could sleep. My mom was with me, my father stopped up and both of my sister's were there. Eventually, everyone but my mother left to go home and get some sleep before all the action began. I finally tried to sleep as well and must have fallen off, expecting to wake up a few times during the night before the 10 a.m. check. 

But then 1 a.m. happened. My mom was sleeping in a chair in the room and I woke up uncomfortable. I was having some contractions (I guessed that's what they were) and so I woke her to tell her. She said "ok, try to sleep for a bit more" and went back to sleep. Great. The nurse checked me at 1 a.m. and said my cervix was completely thinned and I was contracting. Good news: she could remove the Cervidil. Bad news: that frigging hurt. Big time. She was literally in there digging around for it, saying things like, "I can feel it. I just can't...quite...get it." She said "sorry" a lot. I wanted to kick her in the face. Meanwhile, I am contracting through all of this removal. I swear the Cervidil was the size of a baby - it must have been. She hurt me. She was super nice, but she hurt me. 

From 1 a.m. until about 4 a.m., I kept having contractions and they were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I was doing the breathing I learned in my birthing class but my contractions weren't following the rules as nicely. They are supposed to come every few minutes with a break in between. Contraction comes - you breathe - contraction ends - all is wonderful and you prepare for the next cycle. But not so much. I would have a contraction, breathe through it, it would go down and then - immediately - another one would start. Sometimes it was two back-to-back, sometimes three. But it threw me off my game! How could I breathe, telling myself I'd get a break in just one minute, when I wasn't getting the damned break?! Damn rule-breaking contractions. At some point before 6 a.m. I was checked again (that hurts) and was at 3 cm. Progress. Good. I think.

At about 6 a.m. the labor and delivery nurse that I knew (Carolyn) came in and took over. She said, "I'm just going to check you." But that meant I had to move. So I said no. She said she had to. I said no. Her and my mom bullied me into trying. I got into position and then had a contractions. Carolyn said (watching the monitor), "It's coming down, Elizabeth and as soon as it ends, I am going to check." I informed her that no  - she was not going to because another one was going to come right away. I knew it. She tried, I refused. Sorry, Carolyn, nothing personal but when I was having contractions, I was actively trying not to die and that takes all my concentration. I can't also worry about cooperating with you. My negotiations was, "If you give me Demerol, then you can check me." She agreed and gave it to me intravenously. (Mind you, I went into labor saying I did not want any pain meds, besides the epidural. However, a woman has a right to change her mind!)

The Demerol helped in the sense that I then had an out-of-body experience. Don't laugh - it really happened. One minute, I was still actively trying not to die. The next minute, I snapped back into reality and felt the pain. But time had passed in between there and I knew it was "painless" time so the moment I came back, I was all, "Ugh - I want to go back to wherever the hell I just was!!" 

Well, turns out, when I was finally drugged up enough to allow Carolyn to check me, I was very far along. She didn't tell me the number but I think that was because it probably would have been past the point of getting me the epidural I had been asking for since I hit 30 weeks in my pregnancy and so she may have fudged my progress to the anesthesiologist. I love Carolyn. Then, it was all a rush. A frantic call to the anesthesiologist, everyone looking for the doctor - I knew things were happening around me. But I was in my own world, trying to breathe, trying not to die, trying to listen to what Carolyn said because I knew enough to know that I was no longer in control. She talked me through the epidural. That was one of the things I was most frightened of while being pregnant - getting the epi. But I tell you my lips to God's ears, if the doctor would have told me it had to be inserted into my retina, I would have held my eye open for him. I was in so much pain that it didn't faze me in the least. I laid back down, telling Carolyn that my body was pushing (I wasn't. My body was.) and waited for the sweet relief that is supposed to be an epidural.

Never came. I immediately started pushing. I told Carolyn that I still felt pain - a lot of it. I explained the triangle-of-hell on my lower left side right by my pelvis; I felt every contraction there. Every one. She explained that they "missed a spot" with the epi but they did not have time to re-do it as I was already pushing. Great. Just great. Who the EFF "misses a spot" with something so important? Seriously - remind me to thank him later.

I then pushed for about three hours. Or that's what they all tell me at least. I remember every contraction, every "take a breath in and PUSH, Elizabeth," every wave of nausea - but I had no sense of time. None. I used to hear stories of women who were in labor for 9 hours, or 12 or 24. But time wasn't really the issue for me - I didn't feel time. I felt the intense damn contractions and then the overwhelming NEED to push. It's a need, not a want. They told me "the head is right there" for what felt like 6 hours. Then they said, "the head is coming" for another 2. My mom and my sister took turns holding my hand or my leg or my whatever and watching "the show" down below. At that point, I didn't care who was in the room or what they saw. I was trying to not die - that takes up pretty much all of your concentration.

Finally, I felt the head. Or what I actually felt was a watermelon trapped inside my damned vagina, which would NOT just open and cooperate. I felt Carolyn "helping" my vagina, but to no avail. The watermelon was stuck. As it so happens, the watermelon was also on fire because it was BURNING down there. Burning. I asked how much longer and the doctor said, "that's really up to you." I took that as a challenge. I wanted that damned burning watermelon OUT. So I pushed like I no longer cared - didn't care if I pooped (also something I thought I would care about. Turns out? Not my problem in that moment), didn't care if I vomited (I didn't), didn't care if I passed out, I honestly didn't care if I died. As long as I beat the watermelon first. So I pushed and pushed and finally....I felt it. I also heard it. (They don't tell you that part anywhere - birth has sounds. They do not need to be described. I will let you discover your own sounds when you give birth.) I won. The watermelon broke through. The fire was out. I then felt (and heard!) a slimy alien being quickly slipped out - once the head is out, I will deliver a baby any day, by the way. So if you can get that far, I will gladly take over. Cake. 

My sister said, "They don't know what the baby is..." because, of course, the gender was a surprise. And here was my favorite part: My mother was standing to my left and I knew it was a girl by the look on her face. All I had to do was watch her watch the baby. Then she made eye contact with me and her face was the definition of "lit up." I started crying right away. "It's a girl...?" I asked, but I already knew. She mouthed, "it's a GIRL!" I could have died in that moment and been happy. I swear. It sounds so ridiculous, but after all of that - all of the pain and the work and the sweat and the sounds and the energy - and you did it? You actually did it? I could have died. 

I actually look like I labored. Not like some obnoxious people (my sister, my cousin). But this was our first kiss!

My sister holding my lil Aunt Jemima moments after I pushed her out.

My baby looked like Aunt Jemima when they handed her to me. Swear. I was like, "Where did this baby come from?" But God, I loved her. It wasn't "instantly" like some people say because that implies I hadn't loved her until that moment. I think it was more of a realization - I realized how much I already loved this little peanut chew the whole time. She was mine. I was hers. And so, that's how I became a momma. Worst damn experience of my life, but best damn day.

Love,
Momma and Juliette
XOXO

My Birthing Story Part I

...And so it's a rainy day which calls for a "rainy day" post. I tried to be so diligent throughout my pregnancy about recording everything and writing often. But then the baby came and we all see how that went! Now that she's here and we are 'settled' into our routines and life, I will occasionally write a "rainy day" post that is either rewinding, fast-forwarding or just going off the track of my daily life. Today, my labor story!

I had a scheduled doctor's appointment with my OB on my birthday (the 5th anniversary of my 29th birthday), which happened to be the day before my due date. My numbers for my cholistasis (liver enzymes) had been improved so I wasn't going to "have to" be induced. I was going for my "regular" check-up, sonogram, and NST (non-stress test or fetal testing). I had not been having a great day because I wasn't feeling well. (Are you ever feeling well 9 months pregnant? Debatable.) I asked my mom to come to the dr with me so that I had some company and a distraction. My doctor's office is about 16 minutes from my house, door-to-door, and I had to stop at my sister's to use her bathroom on the way! I was extremely frustrated with the fact that I couldn't even drive 16 minutes somewhere without a hassle.

I went in for the sono first, as always, and Roe, the same tech I had every single time, was reminded that the gender was a surprise (I was always nervous, and partially convinced, that she slips up somehow every time and gives me a hint. The problem was I would leave one sono convinced it was a boy and the next, that it was my girl). During the sono, she took the measurements and then stopped and was writing on my chart. I said immediately, "is everything alright?!" It's scary when they stop talking and start really focusing on something - patients assume that something is wrong (right, don't all patients do that? Well, this one does). She assured me everything was just fine. Then, I went and did the NST  - perfect as always. And then (gulp) had the doctor do my internal. She then left the room to let me get dressed and said she'd be back to speak with me. I assumed this was because my due date was the next day and she just needed to give me more information.. WRONG.

Enter doctor. "So...because we haven't seen any growth in the baby since last week, I'm going to send you to the hospital to have you induced." I sit there and stare at her. I think my mother said "Ok. When?" Doctor: "Tonight." I then chose to speak. "No." And I started crying. Face-in-hands crying. She explained that she couldn't, in good conscience, ignore my "numbers" and that she didn't want to let the baby go another week if it was no longer growing, blah, blah, blah. I continued crying. I am sure I apologized at least half a dozen times but I said "I'm just not ready."

I know, I know. When would I be ready? It was five hours before my due date. And I thought I was ready. After peeing at my sister's, I likely mumbled, as I did about ten times a day, "When am I going to have this baby already??!!" But then when I was told I had to go in that night - now - I was not ready. The doctor tried to calm me down and reassure me. I actually told her no, I was not going. She said her compromise would be to have me come back to her office the next day, measure again and then go to the hospital if nothing had changed (she said nothing will have changed). I agreed because it delayed everything - put it all on pause - so that I could take it in, absorb it, understand it, come to terms with it.

My mom drove to Michele's (it was her birthday too remember and we were supposed to have cake with her kids and all of my siblings after my appointment) and I cried. She was trying to convince me to just go in that night - it was already about 7:30 pm, I could just get in and get started! I was emphatic - no, no, no. I needed to just go home. Sleep in my bed. Think. Not think. I didn't really know what I needed but I knew it wasn't an induction.

When I walked into Michele's, she said, "Well? Any developments?" I started crying. (It's the hormones people!) and my mother explained. Michele was incredulous. Remember, this is a girl that enjoys giving birth. "Why aren't you going right now?! You NEED to go tonight! Oh my God, I would be so excited!! Please, please, please go tonight!! It's perfect!" She then went to her master-calendar on the wall and started rambling off things like, "My in-laws can watch the boys all day tomorrow, Jay is off, if you go tonight, you'll have the baby tomorrow and come home on Saturday..." All of the reasons I should do it. I started doubting my decision. She told me if I went home, I would never sleep anyway. And then I would have to go to the doctor in the morning and then be at the hospital all day. It was already going on 8 p.m., I could sleep there, etc... Then, the nail in the coffin - she called her best friend whose mother is a labor and delivery nurse. She taught my birthing class and I really wanted her to be on duty when I went into labor so she could be my nurse. She knew me and knew that I was a nervous wreck. Her mother would be working at 6 a.m. the next day but then she was off for three days. If I went that night, she would likely be my nurse when I delivered. If I waited, there was zero chance of it. I caved. I mumbled, "Fine" and I swear someone pushed me out into my car before I could change my mind. Next thing I knew, I was running into my house to grab my packed bag and my mother was driving me to the hospital. I called my doctor to make sure it was okay and she said she would meet me there to give me Cervidil. If I could have jumped out of the moving car without killing myself and the baby, I would have.

At about 9:00 p.m. I was checked into the hospital and in a bed on the Labor and Delivery floor.I was not a very happy or calm person. I was beyond scared. The plan was to put the Cervidil in around 10 p.m. and leave it until 10 a.m. I would then be checked and given Pitocin if necessary (that was the one thing I prayed for all pregnancy long - please, Lord, don't make me need Pitocin). So, at 10 p.m., my nurse inserted the Cervidil ("inserted" sounds so much better than jammed in with what I swear were red-hot metal rods) and I was told to close my eyes and get some sleep. Yeh, ok.

To be continued....

Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

Our "Best" Day and a Crying Baby

Today is Sunday. Ahhh... it has become my favorite day for so many reasons. Mainly, the obvious ones. But now that I have Juliette to share it with, there are even more reasons. We had a "family fun" day at a winery today. Typically, Sunday is a day that I shop and cook and everyone comes over for dinner. In the summer, we do a lot of bbq/grill/outdoor eating. All winter, I pretty much pretend I am Italian (which I am not - I've traced my family back as far as possible searching for that "1% Italian" part - not there) and make everything and anything with "gravy" that I can. But today was kind of in between day: it's not yet fall but summer has clearly departed. So the winery it was and SUCH a good choice. The weather was perfect and so was the afternoon. 

Well, except for the "crying baby." I heard her long before I saw her. She was doing a desperate cry for a long period of time. Finally, I saw a dad carrying her like a football and walking her down the rows of grapes (I think this was to muffle her cries from everyone else at the vineyard). When he emerged with her fifteen minutes later - STILL CRYING - and still wearing a wool hat in about 75 degree weather - I went over and said hello. I learned the baby was 5 months old and her name was McKayla (a pretty name, but not Juliette). I said to the baby, "I bet you want your momma." Dad informed me that they had separated and today was "his day" with the baby. It was then that my heart broke. This baby was clearly unhappy and uncomfortable and she was literally looking around hoping to see momma any second and she wasn't even there. I asked to hold her and he handed her right over. She stopped crying for a few moments when I was talking to her but then I think she realized that even though I was acknowledging that she was a tiny human and NOT a football, I was still not "mom." I asked if he had a stroller for the baby to put her to sleep and his answer was, "No, she took everything from me." Grrrr. He thought I would feel badly for him, I suppose, but of course I did not in the least bit. Maybe this is clearly biased and judgmental but here were a few of my thoughts:

- Why, why, why are you taking a 5 month old child away from her mother for so long? He clearly was not there for only an hour or so.
- If you had your sister's engagement party at a winery, don't you think you'd rather the baby be with mom so you can attend the party and not walk halfway down a mile-long row of grapes to muffle your babies cries instead?
- If you HAD thought it was a good idea, why are you NOW realizing that it was NOT and calling mom to come get the baby?
 - And if mom "took everything" from you but you still want to have time with your baby, why don't YOU go get a stroller? or anything else the baby may need?

Grrr. (Did I already growl?) It sort of ruined my mood for the next hour or so. Now, granted, I don't know their story, but I pictured a new mom at home somewhere, worried sick, picturing her baby exactly the way she was in reality, but hoping against hope that she was really fine. Well she wasn't. And it was so unfair to that poor little baby. She was crying every single time I saw her for the next three hours or so. Heartbreaking. 

I try to be a fair, unbiased person. I truly try to see both sides of situations the best that I can; I believe that is how you learn. But I don't understand why a man cannot understand that a baby needs its mother. Period. Yes, the baby should be able to see dad and spend time with dad. Of course. But not at the baby's expense. I think that is so clear. So simple. So right. How is there another side? It upsets me greatly - I'm getting upset again now as I picture that little girl. So I need to move on.

MY little girl is now upstairs sleeping soundly in my bed (we co-sleep which I am sure I will talk about more in the future). She adored today because she adores being outdoors. Don't know where she came from - I hate nature. But as long as she is outside, she needs no entertainment - she will stare at trees, play with grass, look into the sky, all for hours at a time. She is precious (if I do say so myself). 

Tomorrow we have a doctor's appointment where she will get more shots. I hate it. Hate it. She's a tough cookie but she still cries and it kills me every time. Then (drum roll please....) I am meeting F for a drink to "talk about things." We have our next court date on the 25th and he suggested that we speak before then. I am hoping it is because he is willing to stop fighting with me over every little thing (15 minutes here, an hour there overnights, etc...) Hoping. But I am scared because I don't want my hopes up. So we shall see what happens. Until then, I am going to watch one show on my overloaded DVR, go snuggle with my baby girl, and get some serious work done tomorrow! Can I do it? I think I can, I think I can...

A happy Sunday to all,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

The (Very) Bright Side

Reading back my introduction was a tad depressing...I certainly didn't highlight the bright side of my current situation and so, for my sanity and yours, I will do so now:

For starters, I actually survived a full-term pregnancy. This was questionable as I have religiously passed out at doctors' visits since around the age of 9. Literally - like lose-consciousness-pass out. And I didn't die in labor. This may sound dramatic, but for me it was quite the feat. My labor and delivery nurse said I had a "very classy" delivery. Thank God she couldn't hear inside my head. But I'll save that post for a rainy day...

The best thing about being a mother is...everything. Looking at this perfect, teeny tiny little human that YOU created. It's still surreal to me. I created every finger and every toe. That drool is MINE. I made it. I somehow made those gorgeous, ice blue eyes that already have stories to tell, those chubby cheeks that belong on a diaper commercial.

Before my daughter, I had three nephews and one niece (all from my twin sister who "loves" being pregnant and "enjoys" giving birth - again, another post for a rainy day...). And I thought I knew love. I mean, I LOVE those kids, especially the boys. (My niece came when I was 7 months pregnant and actively trying not to die every day). They were my life - I saw them almost every single day. When I lived in Manhattan, I came home every single weekend because I couldn't not see them. Everything they said was the cutest thing any child has ever said, every sneeze they sneezed was the most adorable sneeze I had ever heard. I would have given my life for them. And so when I found out I was pregnant, I thought, "Now I can love my own just like that."

Then, they laid her on my chest. My daughter. The girl I had willed into existence for 40 weeks. Her gender was a surprise at the birth (I needed some motivation to push that thing out!) but I "knew" (read: prayed, begged, willed, hoped) that it was a girl from the moment I knew I was pregnant. I called her "her" and Juliette throughout my entire pregnancy. I actually made a friend cry and beg me to "please stop saying that! what if it's a boy?!" But that prayer was answered. I just needed a girl - I can't explain it, but I needed her. And I got her. So that is when I started to really understand a mother's love for her child. And how it is different than loving your nephews or your niece. I'd still lay down in front of a train for those kids without blinking an eye. However, for Juliette, I would lay down in front of the train but then get back up, chase it down, and personally kill the conductor that almost hurt my daughter. Slight difference. 

Because now she is my world. Nothing else matters. Not my love life (ok, that insinuates I have one...sorry), not my highlights (got them done one time after she was born. I currently look homeless), not my collection of jeans or how they are organized in my walk-in closet. Just her. And I suppose that, generally speaking, is the bright side.

My life has changed in every, single possible way. I was happy before I had her. I was happy before I was pregnant. I've always been extremely blessed. But then Juliette came and now all of the good things in my life are a bit better and all of the sparkly things I had shine a bit brighter. Because she is my perfect. I will not be that parent that thinks their child is everyone's perfect; I am fully aware that others can easily refrain from biting her cheeks and wiping her drool and making her laugh just one more time. But she certainly is my perfect. So all the other nonsense that I wrote about in my introduction - it's really just nonsense. As a wise friend told me, it's like a mosquito buzzing around our perfect little world: it's there, it's annoying, I can't always ignore it. But it's just a mosquito.

So the bright side is extremely bright around here. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. And now...off to conquer my To-Do-While-Juliette-Is-With-Her-Father list so the time passes quickly. Remind yourself, today, of your bright side.

Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO

Introduction (Well, really a RE-introduction because it's been awhile...)

[For those of you that followed my pregnancy, I thank you and I apologize. For those of you who will now follow my single-momma journey, welcome. And I apologize.]

So here I am...exactly where I never thought I would be: 34 years old, single, and a proud momma of one beautiful, precious, delicious, 7 month old little baby girl. Sometimes life works in mysterious ways. I suppose I will have to back up before I can move forward - seems to be a theme in my life these days, but I hope, as I always do, it will be worth it.

6 years ago: A tenured elementary school teacher in a wonderful district, dating haphazardly, attending law school at night, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.

4 years ago:  A Big Law associate at a coveted NYC law firm, making more money than I had time to spend, dating haphazardly, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.

2 years ago: A contract attorney, working from home full-time, dating haphazardly, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.

18 months ago: Met my daughter's father (we'll call him "F" for father from this point on), closed on my house that I now own, thought I was "so stressed" about things in life.

16 months ago: Contract attorney, owning a new home, dating someone for two months....and peed on a stick. Everything changed. Thought I was seriously stressed about things in life.

Today: Now I know stress. Not "stress" in quotation marks, but actual real-life, serious stress. The kind of stress a momma bear feels when she thinks someone is approaching her young. So maybe it's really a combination of stress and anger and fear and resentment and defensiveness. But whatever it is, it no longer belongs in quotes and it's no longer the least bit dramatic to say, "I am stressed."

I am not stressed about having my daughter, or about caring for her by myself. I am not stressed about cleaning my house. I am not stressed about working full-time. Or about cooking. Or about the laundry. All that everyday nonsense is "stressful" in quotes. I wish for that stress. I'd trade you in a heartbeat.

The situation with the father of my baby has been stressful, to say the least. Difficult. Draining. Awful. Heartbreaking. Obviously, if you can follow a timeline, I got pregnant two months after meeting him (clearly an unplanned but, turns out, lovely surprise). I then stopped short his planned marriage proposal and decided that a romantic relationship between us was just not what the doctor ordered. And I’ve been to a lot of doctors. F was, obviously and justifiably, upset and shocked and all of the many other adjectives that I could use to underplay his reaction. That was months and months ago. I don't think he has gotten over it. 

We have been in court for months fighting over her. He wants what he wants, most of which I feel is not in my daughter's best interest. So what am I to do? Give in? Not this momma bear. Someone is approaching my young and, because I feel her best interests are not first and foremost, it is irrelevant that it is her father. So there has been fighting. And attorneys. And crying. And heartache - oh, the heartache. I am hoping we are on a path that is moving forward; we have been "playing nice" for the past few weeks. We have a meeting coming up where I will again beg him in tears, if need be, to please please please respect my wishes for her and to please please please have some patience and to please please please accept what I am offering - it is more than reasonable. So we shall see.

In the meantime, I will continue to look at my daughter and marvel that I (me!!!) made her. I created this tiny little dependent human being who could not be more perfect for me; those cheeks, that smile, those eyes, that drool - I am in love with everything about her.

I would love to share my story as I have scoured the internet peering into other people's lives during this trying time - searching, hoping, desperate for a ray of hope, for a similar story with a happy ending. I hope you will come along on my journey with me and with my daughter, Juliette.

For now, we will both say goodnight.

XOXO

Momeo and Juliette