Aftermath.

Pregnancy changes you, but it is the bundle of a person that you prepare for. You know you will change emotionally. You expect your schedule, finances and priorities to alter. Turns out it changes you physically much more than I expected. Nobody prepares you for the havoc that once was your body.


When I got home from the hospital after Haven was born, I would not think about what was going on under my gigantic t-shirts and sweat pants. I knew either everything would return to normal or I would have a marathon crying session at some point. My hand and arm were deeply bruised from the IV, my back was riddled with holes and bruises from the epidural, my still-bulging tummy was slashed and sewn where Haven made his own exit door, my face was a puffy marshmallow ... I won't get into the other things. If you've had a baby you know and if you haven't, trust me, you don't want to.

It is now four months later and I still barely recognize myself in photographs. Well, I do, but with a grimace. I don't say this to elicit "you look great!" comments. Really. And, PS, anyone who said I looked great while I was still in the hospital no longer has merit with me. Come to think of it ... I don't think anyone did say I looked great in the hospital. THANKS A LOT. You now feel sorry for Dave that he has to live with me through this.

In her blog, Christin mentioned feeling like aliens took over her body since she's had children (or something to that effect). I guess most Moms have felt this way. I imagine it's like looking in the mirror when you're old and thinking, "Where did that face come from?" It's gotta still be me under all this craziness.

One tiny glimmer of hope: these traumatic physical changes that we women undergo now make it easier for us to adjust psychologically as we age. Unlike men, we are used to our bodies changing and confounding us (it all starts around age 12!). If that is any hope at all, I'm not sure. I'm almost ready for that marathon crying session.

Takin' it Easy

Wednesdays I'm off from work (woohoo!) and Haven is off from daycare. We just meet with my internship supervisor in the morning for an hour, and then we are free to go for walks, hang out by our pool or otherwise enjoy our lives. As crazy as the rest of week is, I'm so thankful for this weekly oasis in the middle of it all.


Haven is napping now, after a long, hot walk to the library. He, of course, took a pampered ride in his travel system with toys dangling in front of him the whole time. It's I who sweat out my shirt. I took out a stack of children's books that he will not be able to understand, but I know he'll enjoy being cuddled and looking at the pictures. I also found a couple of books that might make it onto this blog eventually.


Dinner will be turkey enchilladas (sh, don't tell Dave it's turkey - hopefully he'll think it's beef) and maybe some leftover sangria from Memorial day. What a great day.

Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away.

Three days of nothing to do but be. Loved it.

After living in our apartment for two years, we decided this weekend was the time to make use of the yard. We supped up a little section of the grass with a grill, an awning and an old table hauled down from the attic. We also got (drum roll) a pool. It is a 1-foot deep plastic baby pool, but a pool is a pool.

After eight hundred trips up and down the stairs (and quite a few I-can't-wait-until-we-have-a-back-doors) we were set up an tasty spread. We had the regulars over - Danna, Manuel, Joey and Katie - and we ate like we always eat and talked like we never talk. I'm sure it helped that we didn't have distractions like the Wii or Tivo'd reruns of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but we jumped all over the map of hot topics.

One topic I'm particularly thoughtful about, which I will bring up at our next bbq, is immigration. Here are my thoughts: if you are willing to risk your life to come here and then you work your butt off once you're here, you are welcome in my neighborhood. Isn't that how most of us got here in the first place? That may mean an array of complicated situations. But here's the thing - when you have more than someone else, you share, and as a nation we have a lot. Well, I think that's the way it is supposed to be. I know I'm oversimplifying. I know there are more complex issues - I am aware of some of them. But this is the land of opportunity. This is the land where we can pursue happiness with total abandon. Sometimes people get stuck and sometimes it's so hard, but it's available. It's here. Maybe these aren't orthodox thoughts, aren't quite what you'd expect from a white, middle class republican girl. But I don't care. And I think I'm going to change my political party anyway. (I better stop talking politics - I don't know a lot, but I have these convictions when it comes to the people...)

So, we had a picnic. We had friends. Come over for the next one.

Morning Routine

My morning routine pre-Haven:

• Wake up at 7:00 AM.
• Shower
• Pull something from the closet that semi-matches
• Dry hair, apply make up
• Grab some food (leftovers, a can of soup)
• Kiss Dave, who is still sleeping
• Leave at 7:20 AM.
• Arrive at work with time to eat breakfast and check email at my desk.

Morning Routine with Haven:

• Wake up at 6:00 AM
• Sneak out of bed with the hope that Haven won't wake up (yes, he's still sleeping in our bed, leave me alone about it).
• Shower
• Pull something - anything - from the closet because by now Haven is awake and ready to eat.
• Set Haven and myself up on the couch with breakfast (thanks to the dear, sweet boppy).
• Grab a baby outfit and shake Dave until he wakes up and agrees to dress Haven.
• Comb my hair, apply mascara (haven't looked at the hair dryer in a while).
• Gather bottles, breast pump, any needed blankets or outfits and stuff them into their
  respective bags.
• Make myself lunch - it's gotta be semi-healthy if I'm ever going to lose these baby pounds!
• The Goodbye Show commences. Haven and Dave make faces at eachother, Dave and I both try to get Haven to laugh, I kiss Dave and the show ends.
• Carry Haven and our three bags out to the car.
• Arrive at day care, set Haven in a swing, kiss him all over his face until he smiles, tell him "I'll see you at noon" and tell Sandra when he last ate.
• Drive around the corner to work and go directly to the coffee in the break room.

Things change.

Me the therapist.

Today it starts. Today is the culmination of all of the books I've read, lectures I've heard, hours I've studied and mock sessions I've acted in puruit of my Master's degree in psychology. Today begins The Internship. It will last for a year. I met with my supervisor yesterday and we reviewed the clients with whom I will start today. This is exciting.

I hope it isn't painfully awkward to keep the session going.

I hope I'm not too young-looking (not the kind of thing I normally hope).

I hope I don't panic.

I hope I can get over my insecurities and empathize.

I hope I remember the stuff I've learned.

I hope I don't get beat up.

I hope I don't say "like" a lot.

I hope I look like both a professional and someone who cares.

I hope I keep good boundaries.

I hope.

Goodness.

Yesterday was Haven's dedication, the day that Dave and I, in front of our church, committed to raise him in a Christian home. I am a parent. This is finally hitting me. I will have a huge part to play in how this little four-month-old thinks about God, other people, the world, himself... This is profound, but beautiful.

We ate at the Famished Frog after church and I called menu recommendations across the table to anyone who would listen. Haven slept, took a bottle, got passed around. People laughed. Some days I'm overwhelmed by the goodness that is an everyday part of our life. How did we get here? How did we gain so many solid friendships? How did we acquire such intense reason to live? Life is such a responsibility, sometimes, but yesterday, it was simply a gift.

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord. 1 Samuel 1:27-28

I don't want to be one of THOSE moms

Each day that I work, I spend my lunch breaks with Haven at his daycare. I feed him and then we play. I use the word play loosely, as he can barely grab a rattle and is most content to sit in my lap and watch the other kids. It's the highlight of my day and I like to think it is the highlight of his as well.

I love to be able to spend time in the room with Haven since it affords me the chance to get a feel for the room and the teachers. I've gotten to know the teachers and most of the other baby's names. I know the teachers especially like Haven because he's adorable (what? he is.) and not a big cryer and I think I've discovered a reason for them to like me (what? i'm likable).

After I fed Haven yesterday, I returned to the infant room. Oh, premise: the daycare has cameras in each room and parents can go online to see what's going on with their kid. So, the head teacher asked me, "Do you watch Haven on the cameras?"

"I can't get it from work - our system is too slow." (One more joy of working for a nonprofit.) "But my husband sometimes looks."

"Well..." She rolled her eyes, "This one's Mom just called and told us to put a sock on his foot." She covertly motioned toward one of the babies who was getting pulled out of his walker by a caregiver, sock in hand. She went on to tell me about the parents who call to tell her what to do for their child as they watch their computer monitor from work. Virtual parenting, anyone?

I understand feeling some paranoia about leaving your child at daycare. I think it is my daily visits that make it bearable for me. But also, I'm just laid back, I guess. I wouldn't bring him to that daycare if I didn't think they could take excellent care of him. I returned to work with one thought: I want to be the parent those teachers are talking too, not about!

Random

This blog is so random. My only experience blogging was writing my preggo blog, which consisted exclusively of stories about pregnancy. This blog, vaguely named Walk with Me, leaves me with a much broader canvas. I'm concerned I may capture no audience because I have no target readers. A great writer once told me to always think, "Who are you writing for?" when creating a piece. I am writing for me, but I could do that in a journal and with fewer edits. I guess I am writing for anybody who feels that their whole life is random in a "how did I get to this point and how do I live it well?" way.

So ... is anybody reading (besides Karen)?