Mamas need their mamas

I wrote about how tough those initial few weeks after having Hartley were. I found them to be very challenging. And there's only one way I was able to make it through - with the help of my mom. 

When I was pregnant, I thought Brian and I would be the only two people in the delivery room, other than the doctor and a couple nurses. And it was going to be this beautiful, romantic, idyllic moment when Hartley entered the world. We would notify family, and they'd come the next day to meet her. Because we'd be the parents, and it would be our new family time. 

Let me tell you, when you labor from sun up well past sun down, and during the process your epidural falls out while they have pumped you full of more pitocin than any normal person should ever need, you throw "romantic" out the window. And I needed all the help I could get.

My mom joined the process early, before noon. In her usual style, bearing gifts a plenty. From adorable valentine cupcakes for after the birth to heart string lights, a bouquet of flowers and a puppy stuffed animal covered in hearts. She also brought the stuff only a mom can bring - the lady stuff. And that was when my mom showed exactly the kind of grandma she was going to be. Present. Generous. Thrilled. Enthusiastic. 

And when my epidural fell out, I will never ever forget I was laying on my left side, while my mom sat in a chair right beside me, and I clung to her for dear life. I know I cried... a lot. The pain was unbearable, and she talked me through it. And I knew from that moment that there was no way I would let her leave me. I needed her. She stayed until the wee hours of the morning to greet her granddaughter. And it was far more special than the vision I had during pregnancy. 

I've gone so far as to tell Brian I don't think I could have a second kid because my mom can't watch Hartley and coach me through labor at the same time. I'd need to clone her!

She was there every day we were in the hospital. Bringing food. Comforting me during my bouts of crying.

After we were discharged, she and my dad were waiting for us to come home from the hospital. They ordered a stork for our front yard, and just as if it were our first day of school, my mom had us stand in the front yard for pictures. My dad videotaped. Such proud grandparents. My mom cooked us dinner. They both watched Hartley so Brian and I could nap. 

I'll never forget how I used to cry after my mom would leave our house after helping me with Hartley all day. Mamas need their mamas. 

She has baby sat Hartley a dozen times already - so I could run errands or have a date night with Brian. She's brought over countless lunches and dinners. She's gone grocery shopping for us. She's cleaned our house, done our laundry and made our bed. She's changed diapers and done feedings. Her chats with Hartley are the funniest. 

She's gifting Hartley books each month. And good lord, the last time she went shopping for Hartley was like Christmas in our house... so many bags.

And I think two things.

How lucky I am that I get all this help from my mom. How lucky that my mom is still the source of comfort to me now that she was to me when I was a kid. 

And even more so, how lucky my daughter is. She gets to really know her grandmother as if she were a second mom. Her grandma lives close enough where she sees her so often. And she has such young, vibrant, energetic grandma that she'll have fun making memories with her for decades to come.

Mamas need their mamas. And Hartley and I (Brian and Winnie, too) are so lucky to have my mama. 

Life is good. A mushy Friday entry.

Last night I sat in the bath tub. A beachy scented candle lit. A bath bomb had dyed the water pink. I sipped a glass of wine and listened to pandora on my phone. I didn't read a magazine or text or think of all the productive things I should probably be doing instead. I sat there and closed my eyes and listened past my music to hear Brian reading to Hartley downstairs. Of course, she was out of sorts yesterday so I heard some cries here and there. And I just thought to myself, life is good. This is my version of perfect. 

Sure, every day I carry around some extra pounds I'd love to magically have disappear. I'd like 5 extra minutes in my shower to shave my legs. And I tell myself all the time, one of these days I'm going to do some deep cleaning, not to mention organization overhaul to my house. But those, I'm learning, are the teeny little details in this life that just don't matter as much these days.

I let my email and text response time slide so I don't have to stop holding my daughter to answer a question that can wait. At first I thought, I'm so bad for not responding earlier. And the truth is, these moments of Hartley clinging on to me in her sleep won't last forever. I brainstorm blogs but never feel like sitting down to write them. I'd rather watch her discover herself in a mirror and swat like a mad woman at some silly plastic toys. The minute I think of taking time out to tweeze my eyebrows or maybe even paint my nails, I always think I'd really rather spend that time talking to Brian on the couch instead. And when he sends me upstairs for my me time (bath time) while he spends daddy daughter time with Hartley, I sometimes "forget" things downstairs so I can come back down and watch their snuggles. Or even their crazy "Hartley loves to cry right now" moments.

I was doing laundry yesterday, and I saw baby throw up all over Brian's Georgetown shirt. And I thought, what did we do to deserve this life, to be so lucky. What did we do to deserve to find true love and make a beautiful, healthy baby? And I thought about how life finally seems complete. There will be dirty diapers, baby throw up, jeans that just won't fit, dirt and laundry that regenerate at an unreal speed, days where crying is the soundtrack of our lives, and yet, I know that this is what matters most to me in life. This little person who is going to grow up, and I get the privilege to be her one and only mom through all of it. I am and will always be her biggest fan.

And we start our foundation now. Snuggled in a chair, I'm writing this with her in my lap. And she sleeps on me like it truly is her favorite place to sleep. 

Hartley,

You complete my life. I can't wait for all the beautiful, wonderful things life has in store for you. And I hope to be one of the first people you share all of them with. I probably will be a helicopter mom. If that's what it means to watch you so closely and overload you with an unmeasurable amount of love. You and I already break the rules. I let you get messier than I should. On one of your crib training nights, you cried too much and I scooped you up and had you sleep in my room. Your bedtime is super late but this way we have family time. I'm taking in all of your baby time. Remembering it's going to go by too fast. Knowing I'll blink and be walking you to the school bus and blink again and dad will be walking you down the aisle. 

I love you. And our good life. And you make that good life the best.

Love,

Your mama

Everything hurts.

I don't know if this is ever going to be my first postpartum period or not. It doesn't seem to want to get fully there. But can I just say - I am in so much pain. Everything, and I mean everything, hurts. My back is killing me, my front is killing me, and somehow even my shoulders ache. I feel nauseous and exhausted. And I'm spending every 30 minutes in the bathroom. If this is a postpartum period, they weren't lying. It is God awful. And I am terrified for how today is going to go. Taking care of Hartley on a good day is hard work. As I've said, the kid doesn't nap for more than 5-10 minutes. Please, please let today be a fluke and let her magically sleep all day.

Being a stay at home mom: only job where you can't take a sick day. 

Only 10 more hours until Brian can relieve me from baby duty.

These are the days I wish my husband could work from home or get off at a normal hour. But no point in daydreaming of that luxury today. 

Well if I thought about having another kid yesterday, today is going to be the best form of birth control ever...

I am crazy.

So Hartley is not in to napping these days. Kind of a bummer but oh well. So I have a handful of things I want to blog about but haven't gotten the time. I can already tell I'm going to be writing this over the course of a few 5 minute chunks of "me time" she gives me. Strict boss I have!

Let me just start by saying, I'm writing this entry for myself. Free therapy. Lord knows retail therapy and   real "me time" just aren't on the menu these days. And I have other entries about my sweet baby and our lives lately that I do plan on getting to but I need to get this out of my head. 

So a week ago I went to the bathroom and thought my period was starting. It made so much sense. The cravings for chocolate, the odd clinginess to Hartley, and the insomnia - total Page PMS right there. And now a teeny bit of spotting. Had to be a period. 

And before I could even wait to watch it progress in to a full period, I began mentally noting that day as "cycle day one". I began counting out my fertile window as if pregnancy had "fixed" me. And I began to think about when we needed to get busy and figuring out if I could manage sneakily taking Hartley to Giant to buy a bottle of champagne to surprise Brian when the first day of the fertile window arrived. I thought about when I'd be due and how my old maternity clothes would fit and coordinate the same with seasons so I wouldn't need new pieces. And I thought, "Irish twins are going to be tough but totally adorable."

Then I thought, "what the hell am I thinking? Do I even want a second child?! Why am I thinking about getting pregnant? I hated pregnancy!" I wanted to extract my brain, scrub it clean of these thoughts, pop it back in, and continue life as a mom of one, who has always said, "one and done." But that beautiful idea of spontaneous pregnancy was too hard to shake. That amazing surprise of peeing on a stick and learning about Hartley's sibling without the help of science was just too idyllic. And I couldn't help falling in love with it. 

A few hours later, the spotting was gone, and I realized a period wasn't coming. My left ovary began to throb and ache, and it's feeling I know well. My old friends - cysts. One that would likely rupture, hurt like a bitch, and I'd pray it was ovulation pain. And I remembered that just because I had Hartley doesn't mean I'm now a baby making machine. 

Well, today I think my period is actually starting. I'm not 100% sure yet but I'm thinking it is. Same chocolate cravings and moodiness and insomnia but this time a little heavier spotting. And I'm starting to count out cycle days again. I was snuggling Hartley and daydreaming, would it be a brother or a sister I'd give her. Then I just started crying, and my tears rolled off my cheek into her wispy baby hair. I breathed in her smell and kissed the top of her head and wondered what was wrong with me.

I feel like a crazy person. I don't understand why I'm thinking the things I'm thinking. I don't know why I'm thinking about my fertility. I have her. I don't need anything else. I just don't remember living my life without always knowing what cycle day it was. And I don't know why having a baby makes me think I'm fertile. I don't know why I think I'm going to be magically fixed. I have no idea why I'm thinking about the logistics of the second baby in this house, and how we're going to make our space work. I have no idea why I wonder what her "twins" are like - the leftover embryos from her litter. 

I want to see her have a sibling. I wish she could have a sister so she could grow up how Laura and I did. Matching outfits, telling secrets, dying each other's hair, fighting, shopping and being best friends. I wish she could have a brother so she could have what I had with Andrew - not only a buddy but a protector. I don't even think I'm strong enough to be a mother of 3 to give her all that. I don't think I'm fertile enough for that. And lord knows, we're not exactly living in a house equipped for this giant Crane clan I'm daydreaming of.

So I sit here, in my pajamas, slightly overwhelmed by the one baby I have now and wonder if I'm crazy. What's wrong with me for thinking like this. If these are hormones, can they settle down? Or have I officially gone off the reservation and become a crazy person? 

Whew, feels good to get it off my chest though. 

Colic or troubleshoot? That is the question.

So we've had two days in a row in our house of little crying. I keep wondering when the next meltdown is coming. Or are we out of the woods? Have we turned a corner? Crying peaks for most babies at 6 weeks then falls in to decline until 4 months when it holds at it's lowest. Hartley is a few days shy of 6 weeks, and I feel like we might be on the upswing. I know, I probably just jinxed myself.

But this has been my work since day two of her life when the crying really began. 

Her early cries were partially due to just adjusting to a whole new world, so completely foreign to her. But there were also hunger cries as she wasn't getting enough to eat. Enter formula supplementation. This helped and soothed crying for a bit.

Then there were meltdowns of frustration while breastfeeding. We switched to exclusively bottle feeding and the meltdowns exited. 

We were told to start vitamin d supplements. I gave them to her in the evening, and both nights she cried for several hours straight. We decided to stop them, and those crying bouts stopped.

My mom, aka baby genius, noticed Hartley seemed to have GI issues: straining herself a lot, being gassy, tummy gurgling. It was pretty funny when my mother in law was holding Hartley and insisted, "yep, she's pooping. I know. I can just tell. Brian, go ahead and change her." Both Brian and I were thinking, nope, it's just the usual "fake out". We called them fake outs, unknowing it was actually an issue. Lo and behold, there was no poop in that diaper. My mom suggested it could be a milk allergy. We switched to soy, and the trouble vanished.

She then got a diaper rash so bad it bled. Finally found a cream that worked, no more crying when pooping. That is until adjusting to soy made her stools hard to pass, then crying came back. And I learned an ounce of apple juice unstops things. 

Whew, that was a lot of troubleshooting over 5 weeks time. 

In the beginning we'd say she was a fussy baby, and anyone who spent substantial time with her concurred. There are those people who visit an hour or two, hold a sleeping baby, and they'd say she was an easy baby. Oh if only they knew. And I felt so justified when my mom, who raised 3 babies, would point out the fussiness so I knew it wasn't just Brian and I being helpless first timers. 

But I'll say this, I'm glad I didn't settle of labeling my baby as "having colic". I looked for patterns. My mom looked for patterns. And I'm sure the trouble shooting will continue. The crying that remains I don't call "colic". I chalk it up to her mood or personality. Sometimes she doesn't mind being held, and  sometimes she likes being held if you walk her around and show her things or wear her. But sometimes she likes to play independently on a mat so she can stretch and flail. And sometimes she's overly tired and needs to be soothed in her swing or left to wind down in her rock n play. And I'm guessing half of the time but I'm learning as I guess. 

And babies cry. They do. And you can try to soothe them but the tears will flow. Ugh, the overly tired tears flow, and it's a vicious cycle. When that happens, I sing to her. Not sweet songs. More like funny songs to calm and soothe myself - ones I just make up. "Oh my god, why are you crying? I need a glass of wine. Let's ask dad if he wants to be a stay at home dad." *Think Buddy the Elf singing what he is doing* And I laugh. And it gets better. 

But in our house - trouble shooting vs. colic? We choose trouble shooting. And the tears we can't solve? Babies cry. It's not colic. It's my baby being a crier. And during the long stints when Brian is home, we take turns. Because it can drive a sane person nuts. 

And side note: alert/difficult babies (Hartley, I don't really think you're difficult - dad says "finicky") are supposed to be very intelligent. From the research I've done, when babies don't cry or fuss, it's often a sign of issues. Babies who are always awake and looking around and can be picky = earliest sign of genius. So if you have a tough cookie, do what I do. Remind yourself you could have the next Bill Gates on your hands and play your cards right so she buys you a bad ass mansion someday. 

I'm the Easter bunny

Yep, I'm the Easter bunny, and I'm already working on Hartley's basket. I'll probably add a couple more things; I already have some ideas. And I get that she's not going to understand the whole Easter bunny thing. When I got home from Target, Brian's response was, "what does she do with it?" But it's her first Easter, and the traditions start now. I'm already excited to scoop her up in her Easter pajamas and carry her downstairs to show her what the bunny brought! Festive pancakes for mom and dad - but next year Miss H will partake. 

Drumroll please... I also ordered her Easter dress. Assuming she can wear a 6 month dress in a month. Even if it's a little big I think she'll rock it anyway. I'm not all about the heavy, formal dresses for babies so it's a light weight, flutter sleeve dress in a pastel pink butterfly print, with a matching diaper cover. I ordered it with her white eyelet baptism dress. Since baptismal gowns are so expensive, I ordered something marketed as a baby Easter dress instead. I rounded up a size to 3-6 month. She's currently wearing 0-3 month clothes, and both dresses are warm weather dresses so I wanted to make sure they get a solid wear out of them. 

I'm really jazzed because I feel like it's the first time she'll be showing off some cute outfits as opposed to being stuck at home just photographed in a cute outfit. 

Though I must admit, I'm almost thinking of passing on Easter mass. She hasn't been to church yet, and I wasn't planning on going until her baptism. The whole germ thing is too much. I know lots of "carefree parents" take their kids out to crowded public places when they are newborns but I generally think of these people as idiots more than "carefree". Still a month to make that decision but this might be the year where Brian and Hartley get the "get out of jail free" card on that one.

And Brian bought Hartley her Easter jams. We already broke 'em out. Because they are too cute not to.

I mean, baby feet dressed as bunnies? Uh, yes please.

The Mama.

So I plan on getting back on here and writing a lot more as I master "my new normal". And there's so much I want to say about the last 5+ weeks. But I thought about something I wanted to share with the world that I don't see on baby blogs:"mama" entries. Babies are amazing. I am so in love with mine. But I think women have the tendency to put themselves on the back burner - and that goes for life in general. We don't always talk about new motherhood as much as we talk about adorable babies and all the things they do.

I want to share what I've learned about your body after childbirth, your marriage after baby, and what to do to keep yourself sane.

Obviously, I'm no expert. BUT I'm 5 weeks in so I remember all this better than most. Though props to my own mom for remembering the crap that comes after childbirth (and that can be taken quite literally). 

So here's the deal.

Childbirth: a lot of women go through it and come out the other side and will do it again... And again. And they will tell you about how lovely their baby's birth was and how magical the newborn stage is. These women usually fall into these categories:

A. Has had decades to forget

B. Wants to sound like a trooper/super mom

C. All of the above

Childbirth is not God awful to the point you to only be willing to do it once. So let's be clear on that. Future mamas: you will be awesome. You will be a beast. And you will be proud of yourself and love the reward. 

Now, here is where I tell you the other stuff. And this is stuff following my experience: roughly 19 hours of labor that concluded in a vaginal birth where I had a 2nd degree tear. I am phrasing the entry as if you will experience what I did but obviously, this is not entirely the case as this varies from person to person. 

First off, when your baby is born she is not beautifully clean and placed right in your arms. You don't have that new mother glow instantly. And the "you beam at your baby and it's the world greatest photo op" moment? That is a myth (at least after 19 hours of labor it wasn't my truth). It seems to be better staged for mothers  who have had c sections though. After Hartley was born, they placed her on my chest... for 5 seconds, and I hardly saw her. They took her quickly to warm her, suction out her nose and things, and clean her off. Brian followed the baby (wouldn't have had that any other way). I called across the room to him to ask what she looked like and how big she was. I also called over to my mom (who was in the room when I delivered, helping coach me) to come hold my hand. She held my hand while I delivered the placenta and when they pushed down on my abdomen to squeeze out "extra stuff/blood". She also held my hand as they sewed up my tear. I felt and saw the thread. It was disgusting and uncomfortable. 

They wedge a giant maxi pad in between your legs and a nurse will walk you to go to the bathroom. Ok, there's lots and lots of blood. It will be upsetting for you to see how much blood is coming out of you. Just expect that and know there's a nurse right there with you. And get used to nurses helping you with some gross stuff. Another nurse had me sit on the toilet while she taught me how to build a "hiney hoagie". This is a giant maxi pad with an ice pack on top, then a layer of tucks pads topped with vaginal numbing spray. We added some very special cream to the mix for my horrible hemorrhoids that everyone in the delivery room noticed because you couldn't avoid noticing them.

Ok, that's all immediately after. Here's a random list of stuff about the first few weeks.

- Expect blood. They say you can bleed for 6-8 weeks. I got lucky. I only bled for 4 weeks, and this is because Hartley is formula fed. There is a huge difference between women who formula feed and women who breastfeed. Breastfeeding causes contractions which pushes blood out. It's why after breastfeeding you often notice blood gushes out. Totally normal. Also, getting up from sitting will cause blood to gush. I dripped blood all over the hospital floor walking to the bathroom, and I couldn't bend over to clean it up. Husbands, this is why you'll want to get used to blood, too.

- You will be terrified of your first shit post birth. Ok, this may be because I tore but almost all women I've asked, even c section mamas, agree. My mom made me a batch of bran muffins and put them in my freezer. This is an amazing gift for a new mom. Pair it will a bottle of cranberry juice and a bottle of prune juice, and you are nominated for sainthood in my book. The first several weeks I lived on this and raisin bran. You are recovering so you are relatively sedentary, which is not kind to bowels, so load up on fiber; you do not want to strain. My mom also brought me fiber one cereal and prunes.

- You will cry. And often you'll cry for no reason. I tried watching a lot of funny movies, and it helped as much as it could. Husbands, family and friends can help by listening and being reassuring. And if there are people who aren't helpful to have around when you're emotional, it's ok to say "no" to visits. Have your husband deal with this. Because let's get real, we all have those people.

- There is a reason sleep deprivation is a torture tactic. You will be exhausted. It will fuck with your head. It will make you dizzy, cranky and forgetful. Brian and I both got about 2-3 hours of sleep per night for at least the first week. If someone asks you how sleep is, try not to punch them in the face. Stupidest question ever. It took us a few weeks to come up with a good schedule so now we sleep. Try to come up with a way of taking turns IF possible. Because we formula feed we are able to do this, and it has saved me from spiraling into depression.

- Limit using the stairs. It will help you heal. Stairs and walking about killed my vagina for a few weeks. 

- What no one ever tells you is recovery is tough. See, if you have surgery, you get to be a bump on a log and recover, right? After childbirth, you don't get that luxury as you are caring for a new baby. Try your hardest (and it is hard) to rest and relax. One night I asked Brian to take Hartley for a six hour stint so I could rest. It was too hard for me to let him take her so I took a Benadryl to knock myself out so no emotions could keep me up. It was a lifesaver. After a long day with her, he still does this for me.

- It hurts to pee. I called my doctor when Hartley was 12 days old, crying about how it hurt to pee. Went in, got examined, and they said everything looked great. They said the catheter I had for 20 hours was going to make it hurt to pee... For several weeks. Uh, they will right. 3 weeks - it hurt.

- Night sweats. Chills. Take your temperature to make sure you don't have an infection, otherwise, I was told these were relatively normal.

- I breastfed for 3 weeks. That was sore nipples, to the point it hurt when water in the shower hit them. Lanolin oil works. Also, you will leak. Have nursing pads ready. And watch for signs of becoming engorged. Because engorgement hurts like a bitch. 

Fun fact: my doctor told me the longer a woman's labor, the worse her recovery is. She told me I would take a long time to heal. In my case, my body felt 90% at 3 weeks. And somewhere in the last week, I started to feel wonderful. It is different for all women but if I choose to have another baby, I would expect to feel awful for 3 weeks and "unwell" up to 5 weeks. You just don't know this as a first time mom.

And so concludes the first installment of my "mama series". The others won't be nearly as gross, and they will be more upbeat. But this was the physical aftermath of delivering little H. So future mamas, my advice:

1. Buy lots of huge cotton undies that you don't mind tossing out. Hanes at target, 2 sizes above what you normally wear.

2. Have stocks of maxi pads and nursing pads at home waiting or you.

3. Must have prune juice and bran muffins ready!

4. Have your husband read about postpartum hormones. Communicate to him what you need. 

And when everything seems awful, because there will be days that feel awful, remember its temporary. Weeks will go by, and everything will hurt less. Sleep will get better. Just do whatever you can to make it through each day, and it's another one under your belt! 

The perfect mom.

On Friday I felt like I was unraveling. You know those days where you think, "I'm shitty at everything." Ok, maybe you don't have those days but I tell myself they're normal.

I felt like my house was a wreck. Hartley woke up pissed off about something, and she decided she didn't feel like wasting time napping. Way more fun being awake. Way more fun getting snuggled by mom, accidentally head butting her, then screaming. I texted Brian about how miserable my day was going. I just completely made my texts sound not nearly as horrible as they actually were.

I put my grumpy baby down and did laundry. Folded it. Put it all away. Took a shower. Hartley sat in a clean diaper, well fed, just mean mugging. I love her but if she was more content in her swing than in my arms, who was I to fuck with that. At least I was getting stuff done. I eventually got her to nap around 3. Yeah, my newborn stayed awake for over 7 hours straight.

Brian knew I wasn't happy so he surprised me by coming home early from work. He walked through the door at 4. That's seriously a record. And here Hartley and I looked like we had our shit together all day. The house was tidy. I was showered. She was sleeping. But my mental state said different.

We actually ordered food. I had a corona. And I passed the baby off to her dad for a few hours.

And I felt so bad at being a mom. Didn't matter that she was alive - and clean, well feed and relatively content to boot. Didn't matter that I had read to her, snuggled her or sung to her. Didn't matter that I dangled toy after toy in front of her face talking in silly voices to her. In my eyes, I still sucked.

Why do we do that to ourselves?!

On Sunday, Hartley cried for an hour straight, and I called the doctor to talk to them about her tummy troubles. The advice nurse gave me good advice - all of which I had already tried myself, so nothing new. And I broke down crying saying to Brian what a bad mom I am. Broken record much?

The truth is I cried about being a bad mom on day two.

I had built up years of mentally preparing for her and decided when I could finally have a baby I'd be perfect. And it doesn't matter that I made a beautiful nursery for her or that I manage to always keep up with her laundry. It doesn't matter that I had newborn photos done of her or ordered gorgeous announcements. It doesn't matter that I am managing two baby books for her or documenting every moment. It doesn't matter that I wake up in the middle of the night with her, change nasty diapers or bathe a baby who hates baths. It doesn't matter that when she falls asleep on me and I'm in an uncomfortable position, I'll stay in that god awful position for an hour if it makes her happy.

I somehow get stuck on whatever I can't do or don't do we'll enough. Ugh.

I need to let to of "perfect". No one is perfect. My mother is the closest thing. Damn her placing that bar so high.

Luckily my husband brings me back down to earth. He reminded me yesterday that Easter is over a month away, and I'm already working on her basket. He told me how amazing it is that I already bought a little spring decor for her nursery. How it's so special that I'm always on a mission to make things magical for her even though she has no fucking clue what's going on these first holidays. So what if she cries from time to time. Babies cry. He even told me our house looks great - it just has more stuff because our daughter has lots of stuff.

I've heard this is a mom's plight for life. But I'm going to work hard to shake it. I need to accept that I'm not perfect. And Hartley wouldn't want a perfect robot for a mom anyway. And I need to start celebrating the little victories. Today's are updating the baby books and "dancing" with Hartley without her crying :)

One month.

Dear Hartley,

Today you are one month old. Your dad says how you cheated in a sense because February was a short month. Yep, you're 28 days but we're giving it to you - one month today!

I can't believe we welcomed you 4 weeks ago. Somehow it feels like a blink yet it's hard to imagine that you haven't always been here. 

I'm seeing so much of your personality already. You are an extremely inquisitive baby. I've never seen anything quite like it. You are extremely alert. You have been since day one. Doctors and nurses said it in the hospital, and everyone who meets you when you're awake says it too. You stay awake for longer stretches than most babies and have amazing control over your eyes. You focus well on faces, those are your favorite to look at.

You love your activity gym and looking in the mirror. You love to stare at lights. You love your swing. Holy moly, you freaking love that swing. You like car rides. You love strolls. You love your bear suit (a snow suit with bear ears). 

You hate baths, burping (you'd rather not take a break from eating) and being wiped. Kid, you'd rather sit in a dirty diaper than let us wipe you clean.

Did I mention you love eating? Uh, you are a beast with eating. A doctor quipped that you "live to eat", and you do. You are growing like a weed. You were 10 pounds, 3 ounces a couple days ago, and you're long. The doctor said, "well, no growth issues here!" Yeah, I'm thinking you might be tall like your dad because you don't get it from mama.

You can hold your head up and move it from side to side. You can roll from your back to your side. You are doing these very early. Again, the doctors have made comments on your strength. You now grab and pull on things... Shirts... Hair. And I'm teaching you how to pet Winnie. 

You are read to every day. I love to read your mood book to you and dad loves to read Fall Ball to you, a book about football. Nana reads to you often, and is always bringing you new books. Kid, you've got a library like no other.

I think every day how blessed we are that you are so extremely healthy. And not that beauty is what matters, but you are an incredibly gorgeous baby. I'm bias but even strangers say you are "stunning". Your great grandpa says you should be a model on a baby food jar. 

You look like your mama ;) A friend told us that if you could get your dad's height, we'll have a supermodel on our hands! 

We love you more than words could ever say. You have exceeded every dream we've ever had. We are so lucky to be your parents. 

Now you're stirring, which means soon you'll be ready to eat and play. Yay!

Love you, sweet Hartley Glenn.

Xoxo, Mama

The sweetest sound in the world.

So I'm learning that after giving birth, you are basically on this wild roller coaster. You're healing and learning. You're recovering from something huge while taking on something even bigger. And most days, especially those very early days, you're trying desperately to keep your head above water. 

You're happy, of course. You made this sweet new life. And you look down at her sweet face and watch her eyes explore yours for the first time, and nothing is more magical. There is no joy that rivals her clinging on to you with her teeny fingers for the first time. And good lord, that smell, that amazing new baby smell they have that melts you. It's a complete sensory experience of pure bliss.

But it's tough. The red faced crying when you just don't know what's wrong. You'll try a thousand things but holy shit, why don't any of them work? That delicious baby smell gets masked by giant baby shit smell. And you find yourself pulling apart "delicious baby rolls" to clean slime out of them. You'll stare at her sleeping and think, "Please God, let her stay that way. I'm too tired to calm that scary little demon."

The good news is - that scary baby is only here a few hours a day. But sometimes we have the tendency in life to focus on the tough parts. The not so nice ones. We get bogged down in the details because we're human. 

But a couple days ago my grandparents came to visit. Can I just brag for a second? Holy love fest, I have never seen anything more beautiful in all my life. Literally 4 generations. Watching my grandma snuggle Hartley was too precious for words to describe. 

But I digress. My grandpa said something that, at first, made me think he was losing his marbles. 

Hartley began to cry, as babies do. And he said, "there's no sweeter sound in the world." I looked over at my uncle and noticed he had a puzzled look on his face. I masked my puzzled look but was wondering if he was in fact hearing the cry I was hearing. Later that day I thought more about what my grandpa had said, and it clicked for me.

Here he is, with 84 amazing years under his belt, and while Hartley's life is just starting, his is winding down. I'm sure in 84 years, you learn what is truly important, and one of them is growing a family. Welcoming new life and soaking in a time so fleeting and special. 

And I thought about it, someday, if I play my cards right and God is good to me, I will have 84 amazing years under my belt. And there will be a part of me that longs to see my baby as a baby again - even if it means hearing that cry. It's a sound that let's us know God is good and life is beautiful. How amazing it is that we create life and watch time go on and our family continue. 

I will still be overwhelming frazzled sometimes when the crying just won't stop. I'll feel like a little less of a mom for a few minutes because I don't know the answer. But my goal is to try to remember what a sweet sound that cry is, what it really means. 

I often think I'll be so much better at the tears over a skinned knee, a bad break up or a college rejection letter. But I need to savor my baby as a baby. I need to learn to find the good in what a very wise man calls "the sweetest sound". I'm trying to shake my "survival mode" for "soak in it mode" because I know I'll blink, this cry will be gone, and I'll long for it.