7 Quick Takes: Newborn Edition

No, I don't have one yet....but I did have brunch with the deliciously cuddly baby Max and his sweet mama this morning, and holding the little dude made me think of all the newborn-y phenoms I'm looking forward to...and so I give you, in no particular order:

1. Fresh baby/baptized smell. Whether it's sweet milky babyness or the persistent odor of sanctity (aka chrism oil), there's nothing sweeter than baby scalp. Love!

2. Immobility. Set baby on couch. Line couch with pillows. Proceed with intended activity...genius! (Though I suppose only with exterior baby safely asleep or highly supervised.) When Joey was wee, he lounged on his boppy while I Jillian Michael'sd 6 inches from his indifferent face. Those were the days...

3. Onesie and donesie. Sufficient to say, unless this baby is a little lady, he will be sporting a solid 'classic' white onesie and not.much.else. all summer long. I consider that a perfectly acceptable ensemble for 0-6 months, though my mother has been heard to remark that babies without socks look a little 'white trash.' Classy, Glam ma.

4. Teeny little odorless diapers. Well, almost odorless...

5. Senseless smiles and/or chin wiggles during sleep. Melt....

6. Portable to the max - Joey must have slept under a dozen restaurant tables in his first few months ex-utero. And perhaps double that number of coffee shops.

7. Ergo wear-go: I love wearing my babies...it's the most hippie thing about my mothering style, except for perhaps the henna incident and the copious amounts of homeopathic crack I'm ingesting morning, noon and night these days.

Thanks, Jen!

P.s. this is ridiculously filled with profanity, utterly unrelated, but holy hell is it funny. (Don't judge if you click, and I won't tell you that my saintly husband sent it to me via messenger...and do skip ahead to like minute 3)

Waiting in Joyful Hope

At some point today, in between a pitiful nap and bouts of feverish cabin cleaning, I looked down at my phone and saw a little email icon dinging away. What I read took my breath away, and slapped some sense into my puffy self:

'Please pray for Jonathan and Gina and their family who lost their lil baby boy today who was full term.'

That's it. One sentence. And a family's life is shattered.

For a few minutes I couldn't think of anything else except how incredibly selfish and complaining I've been these past few weeks, months, etc. All my pregnancy complaints, discomforts and inconveniences were cast into harsh relief against the reality of what must be the world's greatest grief; the loss of a child.

My breath catching in my throat, all I could do was pull exterior baby into my lap and sit quietly stroking his soft blonde hair for the 4.5 seconds he would tolerate it, all the while feeling waves of shame for the very weak way I've been facing the burdens and blessings of motherhood lately.

I don't know this family, but they'll be in my heart for the duration of this pregnancy, and surely for the suffering that is to come in the delivery room and beyond.

Thank God it's still Lent. I can still start over.

St. Joseph, patron of departing souls, pray for them.

The Best Laid Plans

Trotted off to a nearby mountain town yesterday to re-enact the infamous induction and birth of exterior baby, hoping for a similarly dramatic (but perhaps less lengthy) outcome for interior bebe.

What an idiot I was.

Proof of idiocy abounded in the idiot-flavored pudding, which included: letting a toddler fall asleep in the car for a 20 minute rejuvenating 'catnap' en route to our apparently detestable destination, hauling a laptop and a Dora dvd into the nail salon and somehow thinking it would magically transfix him for 30 + minutes while mommy got pampered, not bringing a drop of alcohol/tylenol/orajel/vicodin/etc. to ease his teething pain.

Idiot.

20 painful/humiliating minutes later, my darling friend Jenny had a moment of lucidity and volunteered to stroll the little master around in his carriage whilst I finished up in peace.

Don't worry, she still got her pedi too.

Moral of the story: little boys hate salons as much as - or more than - big boys. And the number one most disturbing thing you can say to your far-from-fluent in English aesthetician is "oh yes, we plan on having more than two children."

We didn't connect on much, conversationally, but she somehow read that one loud and clear. And proceeded to pat my belly many, many times for the remainder of out appointment, feverishly uttering 'you have girl...girl...please have girl...be done!'

Still here, still pregnant, but my toes look amazing.

Thanks, OPI.

37 Weeks and Change

Officially more pregnant than I've ever been...but who is keeping score, really?

Highly unnatural and oh-so-flattering pose

Please excuse the eye bags, make-up free palate and gym clothes. It was 7 pm people, waaaaay past our bedtime.

But come on, I'm obviously carrying two. Most of the time. Joey recently confessed to me he'd like to keep his 'shelf.'

Just might.

Public Mortification

At the risk of regretting this already, the much sought-after evidence from last Friday's hippie dippy henna session. Ask me how much fun my Lutheran doula had tracing the back of a miraculous medal on my 9 month pregnant belly...the answer is: lots.

(note: henna is black when applied in paste form, but after the 'crust' - for lack of a better term - peels off, the result is a lovely rich reddish brown stain that lasts for 1-3 weeks. So, here's hoping my medical team has something even more interesting to feast their eyes on in the delivery room than the status quo)