Growing Up.

Something is different here, in our house, our lives. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Maybe it's just that I've been sick the past few days, and often when you're sick and then suddenly not things look different, better, brighter. I said a couple of weeks ago that Adelyn has become much easier to handle. That's still true. But now she's not just easier. She's more adaptable. She's taken all three naps today in her crib. She's eaten a full bottle every three to four hours. She's been spitting up like there's no tomorrow but she's been completely content doing it.

I don't know if Adelyn's changing or if I am, if I've finally found some sort of stride as a mother, some way to define what my parenting is and isn't. I think I'm finally starting to let go and just be.

Yesterday I took Adelyn to her future babysitter's house. I majorly lucked out here--my best friend's sister, a woman I completely trust, love, and am in awe of--is going to watch Adelyn part-time when my job officially starts the week after next. I went to a meeting yesterday and took Adelyn over there for two hours, so we could "test the waters" and also make sure she wasn't completely crazy for agreeing to watch a baby in addition to her three other children.

Addy did great. When I walked in the door she was asleep on her babysitter's chest; the woman's own nine-month-old was happily scurrying across the floor. Her two-year-old and four-year-old were playing outside.

Before we left I asked her her tricks for getting the nine-month-old to nap--something I've been struggling with lately.

"I put her in her crib, kiss her, turn off the light and leave the room."

"Just like that?" I asked her. That's all it takes?

"When you have three kids, nap time is nap time."

Simple enough.

As far as mothers go, this is one that I would pay money to take advice from. She's just a natural. Not that she doesn't get irritated when her four year old son refuses to pick up after himself--because I don't idolize the sort of mothers who pretend to be immune to exasperation--but she just seems so comfortable in her role as nurturer and protector.

And it really got me thinking when I got home, about how much things must change when you've been there, done that. On your second child, third child, fourth child, are you still stressing about proper bedtime rituals and schedules or are you just doing what you know works, no frills, no incessant googling and reading up on the most mundane of topics?

So at Addy's next nap I gave it a shot. I took out the Nap Nanny. Casually kissed Addy's little cheek. Put her in her crib. Turned off the light and walked away.

The crying started within minutes, of course. I went back in, put my hand on her stomach, told her everything in her little world was just fine, and walked out.

After three rounds of this I gave in and brought back the Nap Nanny. Adelyn fell asleep in it almost instantaneously.

And since then she hasn't touched her swing. To me, this is a victory. Not that I've completely solved the Baby Sphinx, but still. And even more, I can't remember why I was so dead-set on getting rid of the Nap Nanny. I do these sort of things to myself all the time--as a mother and before--creating these complications that are all in my head. We bought the Nap Nanny because Addy likes the Nap Nanny. End of story.

Addy has gone from easier to borderline-easy, smiling all the time, napping when she needs to, crying when there's a definitive reason, entertaining herself long enough for me to do human, non-baby related tasks. A lot of it is her own growth, but a lot if it, I'm realizing, is mine, too.

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A Day in the Life.

Someone asked me a while ago what our daily routine was like since Adelyn (thank God) sleeps from eight until six. I've also gotten a few e-mails asking similar questions.
And to that I say, "Ha! What's a daily routine?"
I'm all for giving and getting advice, but let me be clear, whatever Adelyn does or does not do during the day has nothing to do with me. I think Jason and I might have had a little to do with her nighttime sleeping habits. Thanks to great advice I received in the beginning, we always, always, kept it bright and loud during the day. From the first day home from the hospital. We put her in her own room when she was about a month old and started a pretty strict bedtime routine from there (bath every other day, baby massage with lavender lotion, Jason plays guitar or we sing, put her down and feed her the last ounce of her last bottle). Her angelic nighttime sleeping could have everything to do with our actions or it could just be the kind of baby she is. Whatever. I'm not second guessing it.
But during the day, that's an entirely different story.
I'm not really the kind of person or mother to buy books about parenting techniques and to structure my entire life around an intended "schedule" for an infant. And this might make my life a lot harder, because for all I know buying and using The Baby Whisperer or Baby Wise could change everything. But I don't have the energy or the patience for any of that, so I'm stuck with figuring it out on my own.
I did read a lot about Baby Wise in the beginning, and though I don't think I'll ever buy the book I think some of its tenets make a lot of sense. From what I understand it suggests a stringent bottle, play, nap schedule throughout the day, in three-hour intervals. And if that's all it is I guess the rest of the hundred-odd pages are filled with various ways of saying this, and again it reiterates the fact that mothers will buy anything and buy into anything if they think it will make their lives easier, myself usually included.
That's always been the idea I have for Adelyn's daytime routine. When she wakes up between six or seven, she eats her biggest bottle of the day (five, sometimes six, ounces). Then we play for an hour or so. Around eight she's usually tired again, so I put her in the swing. She'll then sleep for anywhere from an hour to two hours. Then it's another bottle.
And then the rest of the day is a jumble of spit-up, poop explosions, trying to get her to laugh and me trying to squeeze in brushing my teeth, writing, working, eating and being a human.
The only constants are in the morning and right before bed. The rest changes daily. The past week she's been in a funk of only eating an ounce or two at a time, and then begging for more an hour later. I called her doctor about this yesterday and she suggested putting rice cereal in her bottles to satiate her for longer periods of time. And I am, of course, nervous about this because I google and go on Baby Center way too often.
The picture above sort of says it all. The trash desperately needs to be taken out in the background, which is a perfect depiction of our daily lives. I took that this morning, after her first big bottle and before her first nap. And now that she's napping, I'm writing. This is the only consistency I can look forward to during the day. This beginning.
And it's not so much of an issue right now since she is my sole responsibility, but soon I will be--hopefully--working from home full-time, and if that job doesn't work out I will be going back to school for my master's full-time or finding another compatible job. At the moment her infrequent napping is only a nuisance as far as my ability to clean myself up and spend an hour doing freelance work or writing. When I start working, it will become an actual issue. One that will need a solution.
So for those that asked about the daily routine, this is your answer. Adelyn eats, sleeps, poops, and plays, and I just try desperately to keep up.

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Emotional Roller-coaster. (Hers, not mine.)

After Saturday I thought there were about 15 undiagnosed things wrong with my child. We were around a lot of different people and she pretty much cried the entire time. And since everyone loves her so everyone was quick to try to figure out what was bugging the 12-pound screaming machine.

She's just been really fussy lately. She'll be three months (how did that happen?) on Wednesday, and even though she smiles now more than ever she also seems to be getting increasingly uncomfortable.

We went to the doctor today so I could rule out any thing I might be missing. And absolutely nothing is wrong with her. Her doctor said she might have very mild reflux, because she's thrown up a few times the last two weeks, but was hesitant to prescribe medicine unless it continued to get worse. (This is why I love that doctor.)

I think I'm starting to realize that Adelyn, like her mother, is just an emotional gal. When she's happy she's happier and cuter than any Gerber baby out there, and when she's not, well, she will do everything in her power to let you know. As my sister commented, this will probably make for some really fun years when she's a teenager. For now, I'm learning that Adelyn is happiest when she is constantly distracted. A few minutes on the floor, a few minutes walking around, a few minutes in her swing, a few minutes with her paci, a few minutes playing mimic-mommy's-face. Unless she's sleeping or eating, she just wants to move.

I will probably get some how-dare-you e-mails from this because some people put Bumbo Seats down there on the list with blowing smoke in your baby's face and not putting them in a car seat, but I have to post the following picture. I put Adelyn in her friend Kennedy's Bumbo last week just as an experiment and she loved it. So I had to buy one. We're only using it for a few minutes at a time (see above), but she can hold her head up and look around and wave her arms and if she likes it, than I do, too.

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Mommy Friends.

My mom told me a long, long time ago just how important it was to have mommy friends. See, I'm the only one from my close group of girl friends with a baby, or even with a baby on the nearby agenda. They've all been wonderful, really, letting me vent about spit-up and bedtime routines. My friend Morgan let me cry for, like, an hour on the phone one of the first nights home from the hospital, just because I was so overwhelmed with my new life. She also asked me about 2,000 questions about the brutal, honest truth of labor.

"I'm so happy you did it first, Sarah," she said to me. "Now we can know what to expect."

Like weeks of post-labor bleeding and pushing so hard you vomit and the fact that the nurses come SQUASH down on your belly--once the epidural is turned off--every thirty minutes for four hours after the baby's born. The things they don't tell you.

Anyway. As great as my friends have been, there's something about talking to other women who have been there that is sort of necessary when you're a mommy. That's why so many of us flock to BabyCenter and why we post countless comments on our friends' baby pictures on Facebook. There's strength in numbers.

Jason's sister, Erin, who's also one of my oldest friends, introduced me to Jaclyn, her best friend, a long time ago. Jaclyn gave birth to Ella three months before I had Adelyn, giving me ample time to inundate her with text messages and e-mails asking questions like "Did it hurt?"

A week after we'd been home, Jaclyn and her husband Joel brought us homemade chicken pot pie. I felt terrible, after that night, because we hadn't done that for them after Ella was born. The thing is, you don't realize how freaking incredible a homemade--not by you--dinner is with a newborn around until you've been there. Jaclyn and I haven't gotten to hang out as much as we'd planned post-babies, mostly because she works a full-time job and babies pretty much take over your schedule. But Jaclyn is incredibly close to Jason's family already. I have a feeling she'll grow up with Ella as a pseudo-cousin.

A few weeks before I delivered a friend of my family's introduced me to Candice, who was due about a month after me. So, that, plus the fact that we both live in Middle Tennessee, already means we have a lot in common. Add the fact that she's Jewish--one of only a handful around here--and I feel like we're sort of mommy-soulmates. Her daughter Kennedy is three weeks younger than Adelyn. We've been trying to get together at least once a week. Candice and I spend hours talking about everything from bottles to Bumpos to sleep habits--every so often we'll throw in something non-baby related--and Kennedy and Adelyn pretty much remain oblivious to each other's existence.

(One time a few weeks ago, Jason and I were sitting with Jaclyn and Joel when Adelyn started crying. Ella, who's the calmest baby, like, ever--starting mimicking Adelyn's whines. It was adorable. Kennedy and Adelyn, on the other hand, are still in the stage where the world only exists within a one-foot radius of their faces.)

I know these friendships will become infinitely more valuable as our children grow up. There's only so many times you can talk baby with your husband/boyfriend/partner before you need another voice, another opinion, to rest on.

Kennedy and Adelyn.

Ella, who is--I can't believe it!--already almost six months. It seems like yesterday I was getting a call from Erin at one in the morning telling me that Jaclyn was in the hospital.

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24.

So today I turn 24.

I feel old. I know saying that pisses people off who are older--especially Jason, who tops it with a "YOU feel old? I'm almost 30!" every time I bring it up. But, whatever, I can't help it. I was 17 a week ago, excited about my new boyfriend and moving to New York for college. I was 21, like, yesterday, going to Kroger with Jason at midnight to buy my first legal six-pack of beer. And out of nowhere I'm 24, graduated from college, about to be married, with a three-month old baby attached to my hip.

I've been saying all week that I don't want to make a big deal out of my birthday. I really don't. After 21 they're are all sort of downhill, less celebratory each time. And, oh, I lived up that 21st birthday. This one, though, is more about reflecting on how much monumental stuff has happened and how much everything has changed.

But still, a part of you always hopes that your birthday is the best day ever, even if you say you don't want to make a big deal out of it.

Jason woke me up at seven this morning--he'd already gotten up and went to get me breakfast. So I woke up to french toast and twenty uninterrupted minutes with him. Then Adelyn woke up, Jason went to work, and I fed her. An hour later one of my best friends Melissa came over and brought me coffee and a blueberry scone. I might not want to make a huge celebration out of the day but I'll certainly eat two multiple-hundred calorie breakfasts. Then she and I took Adelyn for a long walk, braving the Middle Tennessee heat-wave.

And now I just successfully put Adelyn down for a nap in her crib--a rare occurrence these days. It's been thirty minutes of quiet. I got myself ready, read the news and now have a chance to write.

Jason is taking off work early and we're going to Nashville to shop and go to dinner. Adelyn's great grandma is graciously babysitting.

I might feel old, but with age comes the ability to find peace in the little things. I don't need multiple wild nights out to feel like I did my birthday justice this year. I got Adelyn to take a nap in her crib without any crying--that's enough for 24.

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Newborn Time-Management.

I'm sort of obsessive compulsive when it comes to managing my time. I've known this about myself since high school, when I realized I was really the only one of my friends who worried about every little thing when it came to what we were doing. And I don't just try to plan everything out--I stress and obsess and over-analyze every part of it--where we're meeting, where we're going, who's driving, who's drinking, who's gonna be late, how much sleep am I gonna get.

When I was working in broadcast news every single one of my coworkers made a comment about how fast I did everything. I worked overnight the majority of my time there, writing scripts for the morning news (the show started at four a.m. and ran until seven). And I never took a moment to breathe the second I sat down. I got in around midnight and didn't stop writing until the task was finished. Everyone always seemed impressed that I was so efficient, and I guess I could just pat myself on the back and say I was good at my job, but mostly it was that I was completely terrified of not finishing in time. Terror really fuels your work ethic.

Add a baby into the mix, one who has no concept of time or work, and the whole scheduling obsession becomes infinitely more complicated. I find myself borderline-manically planning out the most boring activities. While I'm holding Adelyn in one hand and getting her bottle ready with the other, I'm trying to decide if it would be better to put the laundry in the dryer while the bottle heats up or if I should instead devote that thirty seconds to peeing. It's exhausting, and it's no one's fault but my own.

It sounds pathetic even writing it out but you have to work your ass off to maintain any sort of a structure with a newborn around. I have to fight for it.

I'm now the girl who's always late. And, god, I used to loathe constant lateness. I can't tell you how many arguments Jason and I have gotten in over being on time. And now, I'm the one my friends have to work around to schedule lunch, I'm the one struggling to get a project turned in on time.

I used to drive myself crazy with this stuff, pre-Adelyn. I'd always wonder why I couldn't just go with the flow, why I couldn't just do something instead of planning out every detail of it beforehand. Post-Adelyn, now that her needs come first, I want even more to learn to chill out.

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Day-time Drama.

I wasn't fooling myself into thinking I would wake up and suddenly this would all be easy, but I thought that, by now, I'd be getting the hang of it. Everyone tells you that you'll learn to recognize your baby's cries like her own little language, that parenting will become second nature, that you'll fall into a routine. Everyone also says that the unexplained fussiness will start to become less and less, that your baby will become more predictable.

Well, no, no, no, no and no. On all accounts.

I feel like I'm actually getting worse at anticipating Adelyn's needs. She just seems restless the past few days. She's hardly content for more than ten minutes at a time. Out of nowhere she's become one of those babies that refuses to be put down. (At first, I was struck by how independent she was--she was just fine falling asleep on her own and staring at her own fingers.) Now, the second--literally, the second--our hands leave her body she's screaming.

Jason and I have gotten better at coping. One of our favorite ways to deal is to make up songs. A lot of the time Adelyn will quiet down if you sing LOUDLY right in her face (sounds cruel--but I swear she loves it). We've created our own rendition of "'O Holy Night," that goes a little something like, "'O Addy Belle, your cries are driving us craaa-aazy." Jason has about a thousand little ditties he's made up to comfort her.

We've also discovered that Adelyn loves watching her dad dance. Last night, after twenty minutes of non-stop crying, we sat her down on the couch and Jason just started maniacally dancing. It was sort of out of desperation and sort of for our own exhausted amusement. And then, just like that, she was smiling. He danced until he was out of breath. And then we gave in and picked her back up.

Just this morning--she ate, she burped. We had about twenty minutes of play-time where she was all smiles and coos, and then, poof, happiness gone. Crying ensued. Eventually I walked outside with her pressed against my chest, and suddenly she was happy again. So I brought her bouncer out to our back deck, and for now she's content, staring at me. If she likes it outside, then here we will stay. All. Day. Long.

I'm not complaining, really I'm not. We are so lucky. Not only is Adelyn perfectly healthy and wonderful, but she sleeps through the night pretty much every night. I'm always surprised when I wake up at 7 a.m. after eight hours of interrupted sleep. And I always take a minute to thank the baby Gods for giving me one who likes to sleep in her crib, alone, for hours at a time.

The better she's been sleeping at night, though, the harder she's been to deal with during the day. I've been doing a lot of freelance work and I'm up for a wonderful job that would allow me to work from home most of the time (more on that later), but that's become increasingly difficult with a baby that won't nap, won't be set down, and won't be happy. I need to find some way to get her on a schedule during the day. I'm not asking for the schedule to be perfect, but it needs to be something. Anything.

I know it'll pass. Right? Someone tell me it'll pass. Please?

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Off the Mommy Clock.

This weekend I had my longest stretch of Adelyn-less time. My mom and I spent Saturday, almost the entire day, working on wedding stuff and shopping. We went to lunch. I got a facial. It was a much-needed break.

Jason watched Adelyn from nine in the morning 'til about three in the afternoon.

When I came home he was in the recliner, Adelyn snoozing on his chest. There was a half-eaten bottle on the table beside him. He had a burp-rag thrown over his shoulder, another draped across his knee. The sound of whining teenagers on "16 and Pregnant" played in the background--surely not his show of choice, but whatever happened to come on after what he was watching. The remote was across the room, on the couch. (You can't really run to fetch it when you're in the middle of feeding her, burping her, playing with her, comforting her.) He was in the same clothes as when I left, plaid pajama pants, Sonic Youth T-shirt. Whenever Jason gets time to himself he picks up his guitar, and I know he was hoping he'd get some playing time in that day, but it was still in its place in the corner of the room, untouched.

I walked over to him and pulled Adelyn off his chest. She immediately started crying, as she usually does when she's torn from a position she was comfortable in, and Jason got up, wiped a spot of spit-up off the front of his shirt and took a deep breath.

"I need a shower," he said. And he gave me a kiss and went upstairs.

It was the most validating moment of the past two months yet.

Later that day Jason told me what I needed to hear--what I didn't even know I needed to hear. He told me how hard the day had been, fun and rewarding, but hard. Adelyn had one of her needy days, as she does sometimes, when she's only satisfied attached to a human body. Those moments are sweet, those moments when you can tell she's only happy lying on your chest. But those are also the moments you have to continually forsake a shower, or answering the phone, or being productive. Doing the dishes or doing your work.

About a month after she was born I started working on my own business. I've been trying to establish a freelance career, focusing on writing grants for non-profits, and I've been luckier than I expected in finding projects to start with. But even if you can land that parenting holy grail--working from home--the battle doesn't end. You still have to find time to work, even if you are in your pajamas. And that's infinitely easier said than done when you're doing it on a newborn's time.

Does it make me a bad mom, or a bad fiance, that my most validating moment so far was seeing that frazzled-look on my partner's face? There are those women--those crazy strong women--who do it on their own, who don't even get a moment to see that look mirrored back at them. I think about them all the time, especially when I get a day to myself and come back home to my baby renewed, refreshed. Eager to change a dirty diaper because I got an afternoon away from it.

Seeing that look was like having your boss pat you on the back, saying that all those long hours are appreciated. That maybe you're up for a promotion.

I think we need to see that look in someone else, us mothers. Especially us mothers who are, either permanently or for the moment, treating motherhood like a job. It is work. Even when we're wearing spit-up stained PJ pants while we're on the clock.

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Small Victories.

It's easy to doubt yourself in the beginning but it also doesn't take a lot to feel content. Today has been a great day. Adelyn slept from eleven to five a.m., woke up for a quick bottle and then slept again from six to nine. We ate, got ready, and went to MTSU to see my old friends at Sidelines--the college newspaper where I was editor in chief--and then walked across campus to visit my dad, a professor there. Then we went to my parents' house for lunch. We came back home, she took a quick nap, and then we went to her other grandparents' house so I could work out in their home-gym.

By pre-Adelyn standards, today was nothing. I would've thought it was boring. I would've thought I got absolutely nothing accomplished. But with Adelyn, lugging around a car seat and scheduling feedings and managing to keep her from screaming in public, I feel victorious. Empowered.

Just finding some sense of normalcy, no matter how mundane it may be, feels so, so good.

I don't know if it's because I'm young or because I was totally not expecting to be a parent any time soon, but all I want as far as my own life right now is to feel like myself again. I know I'll always be different now, that's not up for debate. Just doing things, though, that I used to do everyday--like putting on makeup or visiting friends or reading the news--with a baby feels like more of an accomplishment than any A on a paper, any job opportunity or experience I had when I wasn't a mother.

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The Good and the Bad.

Yesterday was a rough day, the kind that had me running to BabyCenter every free moment to find solace in other women going through the same thing. Also the kind that had me crying over stressful wedding plans like overpriced DJs and the seemingly endless task of gathering addresses. I thought the postpartum hormones would have run their course by now, right? Guess not.

After an uneventful morning, Adelyn spent the entire afternoon keeping me on my toes and making me question my ability as a mother. That's so easy to do, that last thing. Doubting your mothering instinct. And apparently I'm not alone--the forums on BabyCenter are filled with women claiming they aren't cut out for this.

New moms--me, especially, included--spend so much time wondering if we're doing this right, if maybe we were mistakenly chosen for this whole parenting thing. When she eats a full meal and falls peacefully asleep or her mouth starts to creep into the first traces of a smile I feel content, momentarily successful. But never have I thought to myself, "Man, I am good at this." It's either, "I'm failing completely," or "maybe it'll be okay."

What is a good mother anyway? The ones who are gifted with non-crying babies? The ones who forsake a shower to clean more bottles? The ones who put their children first always, no matter the cost to them? I just don't know anymore. The line between good and bad becomes so blurred with lack of sleep and the blaring sound of crying in your ear.

I can't decide if the test of a good mother comes from instinct or the other mothers around us. Because we love to judge. The same women on BabyCenter who come to the rescue of those doubting themselves chastise those who question letting their babies cry-it-out or who switched to formula to make their lives easier.

Does anyone out there genuinely think they are good at this? Does it come with time, or does the guessing game never stop?

And, ah, finally. I hear (yes, hear) Adelyn pooping. Which must (I pray, I hope) have been the source of her inconsolable discomfort.

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The Patience Game.

There's a key to this whole beginning part that I think I've been missing. Or at least lacking.

Patience.

I don't have a lot of it. I never have. I'm an instant gratification sort of girl.

The hardest parts of my parenting day come at the very beginning and the very end of the day, when my patience is at its thinnest. In between, there's very little crying or mommy breakdowns. I feed her when she's hungry, play with her when she's awake, change her when she's wet, and put her down when she's sleepy. It's really not much more complicated than that.

First thing in the morning, though, I'm usually half-asleep. And since I've been sleeping until I hear her crying to eat, she's already hungry. So I have to listen to her crying for a good five to ten minutes while I make a bottle, warm the bottle, change her diaper, and try to slap myself out of exhaustion. (I know, especially by now, that crying is all she can do. I still haven't gotten used to the sound, though. I'm still not inured to it. It still makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. I thought that would've gone away by now.) By the time the bottle gets to her mouth she's frustrated and gulps it down. Which means she usually spits up midway through, and an hour later, once she's been fed and burped and calmed, I invariably have formula all over my shirt, my hair.

The hardest part is at night, right before bed. I always get nervous around eight, anticipating what this bedtime ritual will include. And the harder I try to figure out a solution, the more we struggle.

At night, I'm tired. I'm ready for a break. So I probably don't burp her long enough; I'm anxious to get her quiet and in the crib. And rushing makes it worse--if you put her down too soon, before all the air is out of her little, confused tummy or before she's had a chance to really get sleepy, she's crying again in five minutes. That's when Jason and I start to scramble, trying to figure out what's missing. Is she still hungry? Does she need to burp again? Are you going to go warm another bottle or should I? Can I go lie down? Are you sure you don't mind if I go lie down?

Every night, it's the same struggle.

On the nights that I go to bed early and Jason finishes the last feeding by himself, everything seems to run more smoothly. I've said it to Jason and to myself countless times but I feel like he's just so much more patient than me. He always take a lot longer at nighttime, feeding her, rocking her, comforting her. When we do it together, I get stressed because I'm tired. I try to follow a routine I've concocted in my head rather than what she's demanding because I'm so anxious for it to work.

I don't know how it is that you learn patience. I listen to Adelyn wailing for a bottle, and I want to teach her that the bottle is coming, to just hold on. But I'm smart enough to know that I'm the one that has to teach it to her--every survival mechanism she was born with is telling her to wail for that food and to wail louder the longer it takes to get there.

In most ways it's getting so much easier by the day, this whole parenting thing. As she stays awake longer during the day, though, there's more pressure to move beyond the eat, sleep, poop equation, to start teaching her things when her eyes are open. To establish rituals that let her know the bottle is coming, that it's time to play and time to sleep.

The more I try to follow advice (from my doctor, from stupid books and parents who have been there before), the more stressed I get. When Jason puts her to bed, he just does it.

I'm impatient. Anxious for the day I can rationalize with her, to tell her that a warm bottle takes just a little longer than a cold one.

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The Schlep.

Three days ago I finally got the hell out of my house. I think a lot of you were right--that six weeks thing was a little excessive, and now that I look back on it I don't even know if my doctor meant six weeks before we go into public, before we go into crowds, or before we go insane. I think the excessiveness might have had a little to do with post-H1N1 hysteria or something.

Even though I've had a few outings here and there since her birth--to her doctor's appointments and mine, for example, it took four weeks for me to work up the courage to start really incorporating my baby into my daily life and to take her with me alone, without help schleping the mass of stuff that comes along with a baby. Without backup on standby if she throws a fit. Making a four-week-old fit into a 23-year-old's life is easier said than done.

So. The schlep. I've found since having Adelyn that a lot of Yiddish words are suddenly becoming staples in my vocabulary. And since most of the people around me didn't grow up watching Seinfeld instead of Barney or with a stereotypical Jewish grandma around, I have to explain myself quite often.

Merriam-Webster's defines "schlep" as the process moving especially slowly, tediously, or awkwardly. Or--and these are my words, not Merriam's--living with a newborn.

It took me two hours to leave the house on that first outing. And our destination? Walgreen's. To pick-up a prescription for Vitamin D because my doctor just informed me I'm incredibly deficient since giving birth. My Jewish grandma would have been so proud.

Leaving the house alone with a newborn, it turns out, takes a great deal of patience and finesse, both of which I've been lacking the past four weeks.

By the time we got in the car, Adelyn was crying (after being fed, burped, changed, rocked, sang to, held, kissed and pleaded with). I was crying. But dear God we were going to go to Walgreen's to pick up my prescription by ourselves, without the help of her dad or any grandparents, if our lives depended on it.

Ten minutes into the car ride, Adelyn stopped crying. (I eventually did, too.) It's been freakishly cold in Tennessee this month, so I'd bundled her up more than her poor little body probably appreciated and put her into my Baby K'tan and walked into Walgreen's.

That first moment--stepping into public with my baby, alone--is one I'll never forget. I'm one of those people that is always acutely aware of everyone and everything around me. And I was just waiting for reaction. It felt a lot like walking into public wearing a wig. A pink one. With a bunch of brightly colored feathers adorning the top. I was just waiting for everyone to look as weirded out by me, with a baby, as I felt. I also have a tendency to over-think everything. And that reaction never came, as I'm sure you've guessed.

I felt so good by the time we got back into the car that we decided to make an impromptu visit to Adelyn's grandparents house. And since that first trip, we've been out every day.

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Happy.

Every night Jason lets me get a few hours to myself. The way he put it, he gets to go to work every day, and despite how hard he works it's a chance to live for a while without worrying about a baby crying or heating bottles or diaper rash. And so when he gets home, these things aren't a burden to him--I can see it in his face when he walks through the door after work.

And so at night, around 9 or 10, he takes over. I go upstairs. I think I'm supposed to sleep during this baby-respite, but I don't.

Last night I realized what I've been doing the past month (really, the past 10 months, throughout the whole pregnancy) whenever I get a minute to myself. I've been trying so hard to remember what it was that made me truly happy. Not to say that my life doesn't bring me joy. It does. I think I've just lost the ability to let myself forget all about the not-so-fun details of life (like my health or money or expectations or spit-up) and feel truly immersed in happy. I might pretend; in the back of my head, though, a list of the icky life-details is still ticking by.

Ever since I saw that positive sign on the pregnancy test all those months ago, I've been catapulted into this complete ether-world, one that I never really let myself gradually sink into. It was all "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit I'm pregnant," and then, suddenly, my life was filled with preparation for this new life and then, suddenly, the reality of this new life.

And that's why Jason gives me a few hours every night, so that I can try to let myself catch up. But it took me until last night to really do it. After I'd taken a long hot bath and gotten in bed with The Daily Show playing--my usual nighttime routine--and forced myself to try to remember the last time happy took over.

Whenever I think of that tricky, fickle word--"happy"--I'm taken back to a day in March about six years ago. I'd just had lunch with my best friend Meagan, and Jason and I were in the beginning of our relationship, right around the time I'd started realizing I was smack dab in the middle of an actual love. It was just starting to get warm outside, and I was driving around in my hand-me-down red Chevrolet Cavalier, the windows down to let the Spring in. I remember in that moment feeling just happy. So, so happy.

Last night I made a mental list of other moments since then that brought that same, pure feeling. Dancing with Morgan on our first night out after we moved to New York for college. Eating oysters with Jason during our trip to New Orleans. The night he proposed. Getting recognized for projects I'd worked hard on--at Sidelines, in school. Flying to Paris with my mom, and drinking my first legal alcoholic beverage at the airport in Switzerland when I was 19. Going into labor and seeing Adelyn for the first time.

But then I realized that most of the memories that came to mind weren't quite as exciting as proposals and travels and meeting your first child. I get that same kind of happy after I finish a really good book. After I get home from a busy day. After I've spent the day shopping with my mom. And then, finally, I understood that I'm still getting that happy. It just looks different, and I'm waiting for it to look the same. Like last night when Adelyn fell asleep on my chest, or at four that same morning when she smiled after I woke her up.

It's just a different kind of happy now, I guess. I've just spent so long waiting for the same aha! this-is-what-happy-feels-like-moment that I got six years ago that I ignored this new feeling, let it register as mundane.

So, last night, I picked up a book. (The first time I've read something non-baby related since Adelyn was born.)

I woke up feeling a little more like myself.

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Three weeks.

It's been a rough week, and it's had nothing to do with being a new parent. Just like I was warned, I've spent the past five days in what I can only assume is a fairly major flare-up of Crohn's. I've barely been able to eat (which makes breastfeeding sort of tricky) and barely able to perform the simplest of tasks (like getting off the couch, for example) without feeling instantly ill. Needless to say it's made taking care of a newborn even more of a challenge.

I've never been a religious girl or one to turn to spiritual ideals for guidance. But I can't help being reminded of the oft-heard around the Bible Belt saying that God doesn't give you more than you can handle at one time.

Because I think I can now definitively say that I've been gifted with a good baby. She's straightforward and calm. Increasingly predictable and always adorable. Her worst habit so far is a tendency to stay awake for a couple of hours at a time during the night. And I can't fault her for it, since the time is spent, usually, in her quiet-alert state. No matter how tired I might be, it's that quiet-alert time I cherish the most, when I can see her eyes reading my face, figuring me out, memorizing the smells and sights around her.

Let's hope it keeps up. At least until my health is in order. Then God can deal me another hand, and I'll have the energy to put up a fight.

I got some hopefully good news today at a meeting with my gastroenterologist. Jason's mom watched Adelyn so I could go. (It's funny how a doctor's appointment, after being stuck at home for three weeks, can seem exhilarating.) Turns out the IV-antibiotics I was given during labor since I tested positive for GBS can cause a postpartum infection in some women, and this is made exponentially worse for women with Crohn's or Colitis. I have to wait two days to know for sure if I have it, but every single symptom described how I've been feeling to a T. So I've been given a medicine to combat it and scheduled a colonoscopy and stricture dilation for this coming Monday.

Just figuring out the logistics for Monday have already been a headache (the solution: Jason will be home Sunday while I do the prep for the procedure--if you've ever had a colonoscopy you understand why I need help taking care of a baby that day--and my mom has taken off work on Monday to watch her while Jason and I go to the doctor.

Sometimes having Crohn's makes life feel so needlessly complicated. Add a baby into the mix and it's easy to fall prey to a mindset of worry, worry, worry. So even though it's been a tough week, I think I'm starting to find my place within the chaos. I'm finding a rhythm to taking care of her. A new philosophy to meeting her needs. Feeling so sick has forced me to kind of chill out, to take each cry one step at a time, meet each need without anticipating the next one. When she's hungry, she'll be fed. When she's gassy, she'll be held. When she's fussy, she'll be shushed and rocked. And if I guess the cause of her cries incorrectly, I'll take a moment to myself to calm my mind. It sounds like common sense, but I'm just starting to figure it out.

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Eat. Sleep. Poop.

I wish someone would have told me how little there actually is to this beginning phase. Not that it isn't ridiculously complicated, but there are really only three things I've had to work on mastering so far.

The eating phase, the sleeping phase, and the pooping phase.

My time now consists of trying to solve Adelyn's riddle of those three things, and it ebbs and flows with each passing day. Sometimes she wants to sleep for three hours after she eats. And then the next day, I go to put her down after a feeding, ready to have my three hours in the morning to get stuff done. But the second you think you're sensing some sort of pattern, she decides she now doesn't want to nap after that feeding. She wants to feed some more. And some more. And then she might poop. Then sleep for a while, but this time only thirty minutes, and then she wants to eat again. And then poop. Except this time that wasn't a poop, it just sounded like one. And now that you've changed her diaper--which she hates--there's no hope for sleep without at least twenty minutes of shushing and rocking. And the next day it's a brand new riddle. I spend every second trying to anticipate what's coming next.

I'm making it sound like Adelyn is a fussy baby--to be honest, I have it extremely lucky. For now. Knock on wood. I wish I hadn't written that sentence because now it will no longer be true, I know it. But I'm gonna take my chances and tell you all that I lucked out majorly so far.

Adelyn cries when she's hungry; she cries even harder when she's still hungry and you try to stop feeding her after an hour of nursing. She screams bloody murder when you change her diaper, but she doesn't even make a peep when she's sitting in a soiled one. In fact, if her bathroom habits weren't so audible I'd never have any idea when or if to change her diaper. Sometimes she gets sort of fussy when she needs to burp or fart. But most of the time--most of the time--she's content to stare at you and the world around her and look like the most adorable thing alive.

Being a mom is complicated. Because it's so simple--anticipating the very limited needs of this teeny, tiny person. And still it's a trickier equation than any math problem I've ever come across. Eat plus sleep plus poop equals one confused mother.

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Flirting with PPD.

So, newborns are hard. Let me be the first one to break the bad news.

Adelyn has spent the last two days in some sort of growth spurt. That or she's made an early decision to train as a champion eater. I've spent the last two days with something attached to my chest nearly 90 percent of the time. It feels like a celebration when I'm not hooked up to the pump or attached to a baby.

It's been sort of frustrating and trying, but I'm proud to say that Adelyn did gain 9 ounces since her last doctor's appointment, putting her at 7 pounds, .2 ounces. Still not up to her birth weight. Almost, though. So we'll continue with the extra supplement until she reaches her birth weight then I'll hope my body can keep up with her sometimes unbelievably insatiable stomach.

I can finally understand why postpartum depression is such an oft-talked about topic with pregnant women. After I had Adelyn, it seemed like every single nurse and doctor and pamphlet that crossed my path had some sort of warning about PPD. And for all of my health problems I have never, ever had actual problems with depression or anxiety. Thankfully. Because I think if it was something I'd even flirted with in the past, it'd be rearing its ugly head with full-force right about now.

The sound of this thing you love more than you could ever love anything crying--frantically crying--when you, the mother, can't stop it, combined with a lack of sleep, and the tenth month of not feeling like yourself, and overwhelming, uncontrollable hormones and a body that's still hanging somewhere in the purgatory of not-pregnant but still flabby and normal yet recovering with doctor-prescribed pain killers all add up to a general sense of delirium and way-too analytical introspection. I've had countless moments these past two weeks where I sit and doubt myself and my abilities, my body and my emotions, but no matter how potentially hopeless it might seem for a fleeting second I'm always lucky enough to be interrupted. For all the women who are not so lucky, who don't have an innate off-switch that keeps your mind from totally submerging into darkness, I truly feel for you. Simply teetering into depression is bad enough.

And now Adelyn has fallen back asleep, and so I must follow suit.

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Sleep.

Last night, my maniacal pumping regime finally paid off. I think it was somewhere around the tenth incoherent sentence and inexplicable crying fit that Jason told me to go upstairs and sleep. I had enough milk stored (plus the supplements we're using) for him to handle the feeding for the night, and since he didn't have to work the next morning and I hadn't gotten more than a two hour stretch in the past two weeks, I finally decided it was time to let go a little.

Maybe other mothers can commiserate. Especially, I think, at first--it's hard to believe your baby can be okay without you hovering over her.

Because Jason has a pretty physically demanding job and works his ass off, and I took time off specifically for this purpose, I've been taking on the bulk of the care-taking, especially at night. And while I might bitch and moan about not sleeping, a tiny part of me loves (or, loved, I guess, since we've already thrown the bottle into the mix) being the only one who can feed her.

So even though I desperately, DESPERATELY needed a night to sleep, I knew it was going to be a tiny battle letting go. And I woke up every two hours, still. I heard her crying once around 3 a.m. and it took every part of me to stay upstairs, to not intervene, to know that her father, the love of my life and most capable, caring man I've ever met, could handle it.

And I slept. This feeling of being rested makes all the hours spent hooked up to a sucking machine that makes me feel more like a cow than a mother worth it. I slept for seven (SEVEN!) hours. And now I feel so wonderful I swear I could clean the entire house and shower and straighten my hair and shave my legs and lift a building ten feet in the air.

Instead I think I'll just sit here and stare at Adelyn, who's sleeping in my lap, perfectly fed, cleaned, clothed, and changed even without my intervention.

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Only the beginning.

She's been here, what, a month? A decade? Forever? It's hard to believe it's only been a week and two days. I can't remember a life without her. Already. Without her coos and gas disguised as smiles and demands.

And it's only the beginning. In just a week I feel like I've been confronted with a deluge of parenting battles, but I know better than to think this is the hard part, or even the tiniest, tiniest glimmer of the battles to come.

At her first doctor's appointment Monday she got a clean bill of health. I put her report on the fridge--the first in what I'm sure will be many excuses to brag about my perfect little girl. The doctor wrote "100% healthy!" and circled it three times. I could cry I'm so proud (or so hormonal).

The only problem is that Adelyn has lost more weight than "normal." She was born 7 pounds, 5.2 ounces. We left the hospital at 7 pounds, 0.2 ounces. And a week later she was only 6 pounds, 8 ounces. The doctor wanted me to supplement with formula. I said no. She asked me to come back this afternoon to have her weighed again--if things hadn't improved, it would become more of an issue.

So yesterday, I fed her constantly. Every time she opened her mouth, even showed the smallest hint of hunger, I offered her milk. Usually she took it, but not for long. I called one of Jason's cousins, a lactation consultant, who told me to sit back on the couch with my shirt off and Adelyn dressed down to a diaper, and to lie skin-to-skin all day long. My sister was in town visiting, but I still gave it a try.

Two hours later, I had to pee. I am, after all, human. I handed her off to my sister for just a second. A little while after that, I was hungry. And after dropping too many crumbs on Adelyn's poor little naked back I realized that this 24/7 skin-to-skin thing just wasn't for me.

It's only the beginning of the guilt. She's genuinely not getting enough to eat. And I am trying with all my might to give it to her. I feed her every single time she cries, and if she doesn't, every two hours religiously. I set alarms in the middle of the night. I let her eat until she falls asleep. Even more, I actually love breastfeeding. I wasn't sure if I would. The first time, though, the nurse brought her into my hospital room to practice, I fell in love with her all over again. I don't want to stop breastfeeding.

And still, she's losing weight. She never seems to want to eat for more than 10 minutes.

And on top of all that, I can't eat. I'm not hungry. I went from a ravenously hungry pregnant woman to forcing myself to eat a small meal. I don't know if it's Crohn's or lack of sleep or anxiety, but I honestly am having trouble sustaining myself. I heard about the after-birth contractions, and mine are either still going strong or I'm on the verge of a flare-up. They double me over in pain. I keep asking other mothers--and my doctor--if they remember this pain. They all say yes, but not for this long. Mine are getting worse.

So, tonight, we'll supplement with formula. Even writing that sentence makes me want to cry. She's lying in her swing right now, finally--finally!--asleep.

And I'm sure other mothers can understand when I say that looking at her face and feeling like I'm somehow letting her down is almost too much for a one-week postpartum woman to digest.

Look at her.

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Life A.B. (After Baby)

I knew it was going to be hard.

We brought her home Wednesday morning, after just two short days in the hospital. The entire way home, she slept peacefully. I sat with her in the backseat, letting her hold on to my finger, staring in bewilderment at this person we created. And I couldn't help wonder how, or why, they let us go home with a baby. The hospital made us take a 15 minute class on childcare, and I learned how to clean her umbilical cord stump and to not lift anything heavier than the baby for a few weeks. That's where the lesson ended.

The first day home was filled with visitors. Adelyn has no shortage of fans and family members and friends who genuinely love her. So even though the first day back from the hospital I barely held my baby, I was also able to take a much needed break, a moment to catch my breath and let reality sink in.

Then the visitors all went home, the sun went down, and reality really sank in.

The only plan I had for our sleeping arrangement was that Adelyn would sleep in the pack-n-play in our bedroom until we felt comfortable putting her in her room. No plan B. No thought given to the fact that she might not want to sleep in the pack-n-play, or at all when we want her to. Have I mentioned I have no experience with babies?

In the hospital, we got back to our post-partum room around midnight, a few hours after she was born. Adelyn was still in the nursery. They told me they'd bring her by around 4 a.m. to try breastfeeding for the first time, and that the pediatrician would be in at 7.

Jason and I stayed up talking, replaying every moment of the whirlwind day, until 3. The hour between that and breastfeeding practice was not spent sleeping, but simply trying to settle my racing mind.

The second night in the hospital, even under the influence of painkillers, I slept only 3 hours. I wanted to feed Adelyn exclusively, so they brought her into the room every two hours to practice. Ten minutes before she was due to come in I'd wake up with a start, excited to see her again.

So by the time we got home after enduring the most exhausting ordeal of my life, I was running on five hours of sleep throughout the past three days (the night before I went into labor I didn't sleep thanks to contractions every 20 minutes). Jason had fared a little better, but not by much.

The first night at home I slept in--literally--five minute intervals. I couldn't help myself from checking on her every second. And she woke up every 20 minutes. As it turns out, Adelyn refuses to stay asleep laying flat on her back. We spent the first three nights home taking turns coming downstairs to sleep so she could snooze in her bouncer, which she loves. It took three days of sleep deprivation before we had the genius idea to bring the bouncer upstairs to the bedroom (because common sense hadn't yet prevailed). Now we've had two nights of relatively decent rest. She'll pass out for a good two and half hours before she's ready to eat again (I've been feeding her every two hours during the day, two to three at night). And I'm slowly, slowly learning to trust that she's okay and doesn't need my constant poking and proding and breath-monitoring.

I guess, for right now, it's just a matter of survival. We'll figure out the more permanent stuff later.

And just for the record--I love advice. Any words of wisdom on how you dealt with the first few tumultuous weeks are definitely appreciated.

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Introducing Adelyn Belle.

I so badly want to write about what happened, about the most intense, wonderful, terrifying, beautiful, exhausting experience of my life--but I literally do not yet have the wherewithal or energy to give it justice. As it turns out, having a newborn at home makes it really tricky to get enough rest. Who would have thought??

But, for now, let me introduce Adelyn Belle, the most beautiful and amazing creature I've ever seen. Born January 25, 2010 at 9:48 PM. 7 pounds and 5.2 ounces. She arrived after just 45 minutes of pushing and a freakishly fast labor (or, at least, it seemed), once I found out at my 1 PM doctor's appointment that same day that I was, in fact, experiencing contractions (I was in denial). No Pitocin needed, only the smallest tear endured, and the most miraculous human as the result.

Welcome to the world, Adelyn Belle.

Stay tuned for the labor story. For now, Adelyn has decided to sleep. And so I must follow suit.

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