EDEN JOYE NEWCOTT is a joy

Eden Joye Newcott was born early in the morning on Wednesday, June 4th (her auntie's birthday) with a headful of dark brown, softer-than-flower-petals hair.  Oh how we love her!

 

Here she is right after she was born 

a few pictures from the hospital

and with Aunt KJ, her birthday twin and namesake

She's a little dish of pudding -- delicious.

Slight Madness

So, here I am in the  w   a   i   t    i   n   g .  Somehow I arrived here much earlier this time around.  And somehow I arrived here with great restlessness.  It's hard to relax when perched at the top of a free-fall ride waiting for the bouncing teases to be THE bounce that will plummet us toward the ground with exhilarating speed. . . But seeing as that's where I am, I would like to relax and, as I always tell myself to do on those rides when my hands are sweating, my heart is about to bust through my chest, and I am literally praying for my life, to look at out at the horizon and take in the view. 

But, the view from up here is a little scary (and doused with hormones).  It involves a new baby + a toddler and lots of change.  And change-- unlike moving or chopping off all my hair, or taking a new job -- that I can't quite plan or control.  

Thinking about all of this -- which includes waking up every hour during the night to think about it some more and scratch down details and tidbits in the dark beside my bed -- has become some kind of drug that I can't extract myself from.  So today is about detox.  Slowing.  Re-seeing.  At least I hope it is.

In the meantime, here are a few observations and recommendations I've gathered:

-run don't walk to "Sex & the City"

-run don't walk to "Baby Mama" 

(in fact, I'd really like to spend all my days from now until labor watching extended versions of both of those films).

-Buy some wheat germ to put on your yogurt and cut up cantaloupe

-Buy cantaloupe, oranges and strawberries -- they are peaking!  (is that true in the east too?)

-Eggs from the farmers' market have yolks that are shades brighter and richer than grocery store eggs.  I have no idea what this means, but now I only want the bright ones.

-Hooks on the back of public bathroom doors = great inventions.  The lack of a hook =  my bag swinging off my back as I lean down to perch Silas on the toilet and, without fail, whacking him on the head

-Pee everywhere.  Not something I recommend as much as something I'm experiencing.  Turns out that two things are difficult: one, running fast enough with a 2 year old to a bathroom, especially in a large store, to avoid any wet clothes, and two, making sure all boy equipment is pointed down while being used to avoid fountains and floor-puddles.  Yesterday there was even pee in Silas's CROCs, and I had to sit him in a sink in a public bathroom and wash his feet and shoes... yes, I was pretty sure that violated some kind of health standards.

-Jasmine in gardens = heavenly smelling breezes

And WHO is responsible for sticking warning labels on items?  Here are two:

-I ordered some "green" Simple. shoes recently.  And as I was trying them on -- yellow burlap-like mary janes with recycled tire rubber soles -- I noticed a sticker inside: Not meant to be used as a flotation device. 

...

-I also just bought a plastic step stool for Silas.  The sticker adhered to the side:  Not intended for children under 3 years of age - choking hazard.  

...

Nesting --- with a vengeance

What can I say?  Ben is out of town, Jen (who may soon be caped and given superhero powers) offered to take Silas once again, the baby is due in only four weeks, and I am doing weird things like waking up at 2AM to scribble down reminders about scheduling a haircut, asking Sara about her breast pump, and finding a rocket ship at a toy store for Silas...

Nesting, for me, first and foremost means aggressively going through everything -- closets, drawers, towels, clothing, glove compartments -- and throwing things away.   There are a few areas of the house (which may or may not belong to Ben) that I pretend I can't see -- like certain nests of wires or heaps of half opened mail or bags of plaster or jumbles of power tools -- because I don't even know where to begin there, but the rest I have tackled.  

Apparently, the next stage of nesting involves washing loads of teeny clothing (and then rewashing them because I forgot to use sensitive detergent and dryer sheets), folding them into little pink and white squares, piling them neatly on new shelves, hanging mini dresses on mini hangers, laying blankets in a cradle, and putting little shoes at the foot of the bed.  Oh goodness...

Stage three is about finishing every possible unfinished house project and involves heavily shopping: buying the missing living room carpet, something for the newly bare mantle, rugs for the hall bathroom that will join the baby's "room" and become her "nursing suite," buying a picture for the wall of our room, picture frames, a cheese grater to replace the one that broke-- on and on.

Stage four, closely tied to three, is anticipating future needs and buying more things: cleaning products, nursing bras, comfy pajamas, something to wear in the hospital, presents for Silas, shoes from Zappos (which mostly didn't fit, though the experience of discovering a large box of shoes on my doorstep was quite pleasant), milk.

And stage five, which is ongoing and  seems to create lots of mess in the meantime, is bringing all the new things into the house and putting them in their places (which today involved a lot of heavy lifting, which I'm pretty sure is forbidden when one is this pregnant).

Today, mid-nest-hurricane, I did hit a low when Silas asked for milk (for the zillionth time), and I made him a cup of water with a splash of heavy cream in it.  Apparently, though I have been running tons of errands, I haven't been to the grocery store recently...  

And then there was a second low this evening.   After I picked Silas up from Jen's, though it was only 30 minutes until his bedtime (which means it was bath, story and milk time), I took him to Target "to buy milk" -- and a long list of unspoken other things.  As we shopped, I could feel my blood sugar level plummeting, but being on a mission as I was, many missions, really, I pushed ahead.  I knew I had overdone it, though, when I suddenly passed into frantic-ravenous-pregnant-starvation-mode -- a mode in which I should not be allowed to have any conversations or interactions with other living people, nor drive a car really -- and tried to eat Silas's cheese stick like my life depended on it.  He's not one for sharing food, so we paid and hurried out.  As I was loading bags into the car, I couldn't help but rip open the bag of english muffins and package of turkey (I'd somehow bought mayo and mustard too!) and smear together a sandwich as I stood at the trunk and Silas sat barefoot, still in the red cart facing on-coming traffic, asking to go potty.

And that was today.

Man Night

Ben is at "Man Night" tonight, an event held in a friend's backyard (yard= pre-landscaped, dirt rectangle behind his house complete with a metal trash can for a "fire pit") every few weeks that involves sitting around with red wine and cigars (or pipes) and feeling . . . manly?  

So, while he is out this evening, I am holding "Woman Night" over here, which, yes, does involve only me and consisted of watching "27 Dresses" (which despite myself, the bad acting of the younger sister, and the undesirable swooned over boss-man, I really did enjoy), eating a bag of cheetos (small bag...) and many chocolate chips.  Ok, a little gross, I must admit, but sometimes a night sprinkled with indulgences and a mindless movie starring beautiful people about instantaneous forgiveness and sappy love hit the spot...

And now I will treat myself to sleep... sleep that will be, I should clarify, pregnant/potty learning sleep: a sleep that takes a good many minutes to settle into because it involves wedging pillows all the way around my body until I'm in a perfectly supporting nest, that is laced with hours of tumultuous hormone-induced dreaming, that is then interrupted at some point (or points) by a small voice crying with great urgency "potty mommy!" from the other room, that involves getting up, running with a heavy child to bathroom, squatting in the dark next to him whispering encouragement, carrying the now-almost-asleep jumbo baby back to bed, and wedging myself, once again, among the pillows, only to find that 6 1/2 weeks away from delivery my mind is racing and it, in fact, takes a full hour to fall back to sleep, and that this sleep becomes deep and delicious only as, in the wee light of very early morning, a little voice calls "it moe-ning mommy, I wake up" from across the hall and the new day begins.

And so, to maximize the hours, goodnight.

Pics from Potty Week so far...

Here are a few pictures from our adventuresome week -- be sure to check out the self-selected outfits, especially the shoes (a shower gift for the babe on the way and Silas's new favorites):

Potty Learning

We have just finished day 2 . WHEW.  The experience is like being on a plane all day long with a 2 year old -- being ON, full of energy, alert, attuned, suggesting, encouraging, cheering, producing prizes and beverages, making sure no upholstered surfaces or carpets are in danger, urging the wearing of socks and t-shirt in the 60 degree morning despite the demands for nakedness, sitting for so many long stretches with my 33 week pregnant belly on the slate bathroom floor reading and re-reading and re-reading his beloved "potty learning" book to him (and it really is learning not training).  This afternoon, after Silas burned out on drinking and hadn't gone to the bathroom for a while, I even resorted to drinking games: clinking glasses with him (a favorite past-time) over and over and making him take a sip after each cheers!  

Tomorrow will be day 3, and we will be camped out, carpet pulled up from the living room floor, blue bulldozer potty seat in full effect, Lightning McQueen underpants, and the prize bowl of boats, cars, and candy waiting on the kitchen counter...

On the Brink

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,

she had so many children she didn't know what to do...

I can't remember any other lines of that rhyme, but pray tell, what did she do???  I am finding that "too many children" is one 2 year old.  What do you do when 1 is the limit and child #2 will be taking up residence in your house in a matter of weeks with or without your consent?

It is 10:30 AM and I am done for the day, ready to tuck Silas into some safe padded space with his blankie and some snacks and head out alone somewhere far far away.  To be fair, we started the day with a few strikes against us: jetlag, being 2 years old, no diapers in the house, an unshowered, frizzy-haired mother.  

And so, at 8, after coffee with Ben, we headed to Target.  The soundtrack of our trip sounded something like this:

"I want go to da park, mama."

"what you do?"

"what he do?" (random shopper)

"what he say?"

"I want thomas toothpaste"

"i need dose goldfish"

"I want go beach, mama"

"what you doin?"

"I want cereal now"

"I throw dis"

"I throw dis on floor"

"I want dat"

"I don't want diapers!"

"I DON'T WANT DIAPERS!"

"I throw this?"

"Where she go?" (child shopper)

"I WANT GO TO DA BEACH!" (crying)

"I kick dis"

"I kick cart"

"I kick car" (referencing kicking front seat of car, which I'd said all morning not to do)

"ready go, mama"

"I NEED CHOC-LATE!" 

"I NEED CHOCOLATE!  I NEED CHOCOLATE!" (huge melt down with tears -- down the check out line and all the way out of the store). 

You know it is been a bad trip when you have ducked into a nearby aisle (again) to escape the Small Madness dominating your cart and are gone long enough to overhear a stranger say, "Well where IS your mommy?  Let's go find her," at which point you have to gallantly step out of hiding with a confident smile and reclaim your child.  And you know you've probably crossed a line and should remove yourself from people when your impulse is not only to throttle your age-appropriate-mannerless son but also the nearby shopper who asks you if you've seen swim diapers anywhere.

When I got home, I did the only thing I know to do these days when I am on the brink, which is to retreat not to a shoe, but to a hot shower, in hopes that the impatience will burn off and the tension will melt down the drain.  Silas, all of the sudden oh-some-complying, asked to take a nap right when we got back, and though it was 10AM, an hour of napping that puts the rest of the day at risk, I did not hesitate. 

Now I am clean, I have vented, I have eaten my 3rd meal of the day, I am dying for a soda -- the only can of anything in my fridge is a V8 that is literally 3 years old -- and the small voice in my head is telling me it's time to wake him up so the rest of the hour isn't shot... So off I go.  Wish me luck.