Boy Oh Boyers

Tom and I went for my 38 week checkup today at the doctor. All is well! Rowan's heartbeat was great, he's in the perfect head-down position, and is growing well according to my tummy measurements. The doctor says any day now I have his permission to go into labor, so we'll work on that. I'm suffering from a mild case of work-nesting: trying to finish up every possible thing I can at the office before I become totally preoccupied by our wonderful new arrival. This bothers Tom slightly, as it probably would any husband, because it's surely normal to want your very pregnant wife safely at home doing domestic things as the arrival of your new baby looms. I'm not fitting that role too well right now. But, I AM about to go make dinner.

I guess "out of control" is usually used in a negative way. But this morning, from my spot in the loft overlooking the trees in the backyard, I'm appreciating a different perspective.

Life is always full of things we can't control. For someone like myself who likes to plan ahead, make lists, and know what to expect, the uncertainty present in the everyday is often a bitter pill to take. Now as we're in the final days before Rowan's birth, uncertainty is swirling around like...well, my normal way to describe it would be like a whirlwind. But this morning, for a precious time that I hope is longer than it is short, uncertainty is swirling around me like a warm, comforting blanket.

Embracing the lack of control is surely what we're meant to do. Thinking we have too much power gets us into trouble all the time, and expecting too much order in the universe causes people pain on a regular basis. There's the simple thing like: I ordered something recently from online, carefully measured to be sure I ordered the right size, and then when it got here it didn't fit. Why? Did I look at the chart wrong? No. Did the company send me the wrong size by mistake? No. The item was clearly marked with a size, but after calling a lady at the company who asked that I physically measure with a measuring tape, we found a manufacturing error. This particular item came to my door from across the globe via a small internet seller in Texas, was ripped open by me in eager anticipation, only to disappoint with its inadequacy. There was no controlling it, at least not by me.

There are other life-changing events over which we have no control -- in fact, over which the entire human race has no control. Things like catastrophic earthquakes come to mind, but so does something much closer to home. When I first got a positive home pregnancy test, we made a doctor's appointment. We went in for the initial visit and got an ultrasound which indicated I was about 5 weeks along. There was obviously an egg sack, with something on it that would become a baby, in my uterus. Its size was only a few millimeters. Two weeks later, we went back and got another ultrasound in which we heard, and saw, Rowan's heart beating. His size was still only millimeters. In human pregnancy, somewhere between 5 and 7 weeks gestation is when a tiny group of cells get together and somehow, miraculously and without explanation, decide to start beating. My doctor says medical science has no idea how this happens.

Finally, there's the lack of control that is affecting my life the very most right now: when will Rowan be born? Depending on how you view the world, you'd say "when he's ready", or "when God is ready", or maybe "when your body produces the right chemicals that cause you to go into labor". But regardless of how any of us sees it, there's one thing certain: nobody knows when it's going to happen. Just yesterday my doctor said we really have no idea why women go into labor when they do. It's a mystery, and another thing we can't control.

Happy Independence Day! Growing up means few things are as simple as they used to be, and the celebration of our country's independence is a big example of that for me. With Rowan on the way, I think about how Tom and I will get to explain complicated things in life to a child. Tom will be especially good at it. If I had to tell a child what the 4th of July holiday is about, and why we have fireworks, what would I say? I think it's an interesting test of our fundamental beliefs to formulate such an answer.

Tom and I have friends from many different countries, and from many different cultures within our own country. It's usually wonderfully fun and eye-opening to discuss even mundane things with these diverse friends. One of the most thought-provoking discussions I've had with someone from a different culture was with Merlin, one of our friends from Tom's work. At first glance, he's from exactly the same culture as myself: he's an American from the deep South. But more specifically, he's from Louisiana -- maybe New Orleans proper, but I don't quite remember. And his wife is British. Somehow we started talking about the Olympics, and in the course of discussion Merlin pointed out that many people in the US root wholeheartedly and exclusively for Olympic athletes from the US. I thought: do I, almost without exception, hope to see the US flag raised in the highest position during those three-flag medal ceremonies? You bet I do. Doesn't every American, I would have thought? Nope, and I'm beginning to understand a little bit about why.

There's a Jason Upton song called "Road to Emmaus":

(verse 1)
Have you ever said goodbye to a hero?
Have you ever had to lay away your dreams?
Have you ever been so lonely that a stranger is your best friend?
Then you’ll know what I mean.

(chorus)
This is our Highway to Heaven
Our American dream
The two fools on the road to Emmaus,
well they might as well be you and me.

(verse 2)
Have you ever been angry at your country?
Have you ever been angry at your God?
Have you ever been so angry that you can’t see what you’ve got
Right in front of you?

Well, what a difference a day makes. Yesterday morning (the 4th of July) we woke up with plans for chores at home, a movie, some shopping, and then grilling out. Just after I got done soaking in a bath and chatting on the phone with Grammies (yes, same time...it's a favorite pasttime of mine), I noticed some leakage. Not the dramatic gush from the movies that got me and the neighbor's cat soaking wet, but just a little gush that could've been mistaken for something else. These little gushes didn't concern me (for the "something else" had been a part of life for months now, and I simply dealth with it), but in the afternoon I realized there is a chance my water broke. I called the doctor as a precaution; he said to come to the hospital and get it checked right away. We almost decided not to even bring my suitcase at all, since I was having no contractions and was sure we'd be sent home for another week or two of waiting. But when we got here, these cool little pH strips confirmed it was amniotic fluid. We aren't leaving here without a baby, baby!

Tom and I are doing fine here in the hospital. Last check said I was dilated to 8cm, and with the epidural in place since about 3cm my discomfort has been minimal. It's tough to sleep with all the little beeps and lights of the monitors, so after about an hour and a half cat-nap I'm wide awake again. Tom is still determined to go back to sleep over on his fold-out chair bed thingie.

It is at the same time beautiful and terrifying, both expected and absurd, and while long awaited, surprising that we're here. Now. Wow!

Rowan arrived at 9:00am today. He weighed 7 pounds and 1 ounce. He's healthy and beautiful. I'm doing fairly well, too. I have to recommend against going into labor late in the day: it's a recipe for disastrous sleep! I did rest comfortably with an epidural all night, but the beeping, pumping, chattering, and all sorts of other noises from the hospital equipment in our room kept Tom and me from getting pretty much any sleep at all.

Rowan is lying here on the bed next to me, all bundled up, while Tom has gone to get our dinner, including a Subway turkey sandwich I don't think I could have lived without. Okay, this typing has taken all my mental energy -- here's a picture of Rowan. Enjoy!

I took this photo of Tom beaming over our new son from my hospital bed just a few minutes after Rowan was born. Apparently I was in a shutter-happy mood because I even photographed my doctor while he was stitching me up! That one is a little creepy, but this one is great. :-)

Leah drove all the way from her vacation in Hilton Head, South Carolina to be there to support us through the labor and delivery. Her tiring journey was much appreciated by all of us.

For the first part of his first night, Rowan slept in a bassinet between my hospital bed and Tom's pull-out futon. I had gotten a helpful dose of pain medication which apparently kept me from waking up when Rowan did, so Tom and Rowan dozed together until it was time for a feeding.

The nursing thing is an interesting adventure! This picture is after one quite successful feeding and a good loud burp. Rowan then dozed off very soundly.

We got home from the hospital this morning. I was utterly amazed at how much more comfortable even the simplest things were: for instance, walking on our own carpet! It's amazing to see Rowan in his room, in his crib, to sit in the glider and feed him. He was just an abstract idea -- and now he's this beautiful living being. He sleeps most of the time right now, of course. He likes to be swaddled tightly and usually cries during diaper changes because he doesn't like to be undressed. During the moments when he's content and awake and just looking around at the world, I especially can't take my eyes off him.

It's so nice to have my mom here. I was able to take a nice nap earlier this afternoon, and now Tom is having a rest. We're looking forward to a relaxing rest of the day. We'll take some pictures here at home and get them up soon, but for now we're just really basking in the beginning of this new life.

Well, I should have suspected I've have more time to write blog posts when I was in the hospital than when I got home. It's been a busy couple of days at home with Rowan! Diaper changes and feedings alone take many hours out of the day. We do get lots of quiet time because he's a peaceful baby who sleeps soundly between feedings and doesn't mind being surrounded by sounds and motion. So he hangs out with us a lot during the day, and sleeps quite well in his crib or the pack 'n' play next to our bed at night. Of course he has to wake up regularly to eat, so "sleeping through the night" isn't an option now. (Hint: don't ask us this question!) So far he does not cry without a good cause (yesterday was a little rough because thanks to the miracle of lactation his belly was getting filled for the first time with ounces of milk rather than teaspoons of colostrum...and I don't think he was too sure about whether he liked the rumblings that accompany digestion). Plus, we had our first pediatrician appointment.

The pediatrician visit was an unnerving ordeal. There's something about taking our soft tiny one into an office with grimy children everywhere that really bothered me (those of you who have children shouldn't be offended because I fully embrace Rowan's impending griminess). Plus, we chose a practice whose cleanliness and maintenance was FAR from impressive because I ran out of time to visit practices before he arrived. So, for our second visit tomorrow we're making the move to a different pediatrician, quite an unorthodox thing to do, but we're absolutely sure we'll be happier there. We have to return tomorrow because Rowan has some jaundice, but there is such a thing as "normal" jaundice in newborns, and yesterday's lab result seems to indicate he's in that category. They just have to check tomorrow and make sure the jaundice is still decreasing now that he's getting milk, which we're confident it will be.

Well, our little bundle is starting to wake up and kick around, so we'll be off for a diaper change and feeding soon! No time to proof-read like I normally would, so off I go. Please ignore any mistakes in my posts for the next...oh...10 years or so. :-)

We went for our follow-up to the pediatrician yesterday. Rowan's jaundice has decreased as expected, so he avoided the dreaded heel-prick. He is gaining weight now, which is a great sign. (Babies lose weight during the first week after birth, then are expected to be back up to their initial birth weight after two weeks.) He's healthy and such a blessing!

Let me start by saying Rowan is truly a wonderful infant. He's a delight at every turn! Now, I will lament something.

About five of our neighbors decided to get their roofs replaced a few weeks ago. They've had signs in their yard for the company who would do the work, but no roof work had commenced for quite a while. Wouldn't you know that the day we bring Rowan home from the hospital, the roof work began. It started three houses down from us, then two houses down, then it skipped us and our immediate neighbor to the west and now they're working on our immediate neighbor to the east. They begin about 7am and end about 9pm. They are nailing, banging, yelling, using a gas-powered blower all the time (I don't get that). It kind of sounds like they're in my living room. Thankfully Rowan is completely un-bothered by the racket, but I'll tell you the truth: it's starting to raise my blood pressure.

It probably doesn't help that my mom left this morning, so our constant conversation back and forth isn't here any more to distract me from the outside noises. She has been such a great help, just cooking and cleaning and taking some night-time shifts in Rowan's room so Tom and I could sleep soundly without his little squeaking and squirming noises to keep us half-awake. I don't know if she cried after she left in her car, but I certainly did. I've realized that watching someone else adore my child makes me adore him even more.

We usually finish up the last daytime feeding about 8:30pm. I am quite happy to go to bed at that time (or earlier!), but Rowan seems to have always a little bit of awake time stored up just for this early nighttime hour. He doesn't need to be held or rocked -- he just wants to be someplace where something is going on so he can look around. The last two nights, it's been Tom who has provided the evening entertainment, but with tomorrow being Monday it is I who will postpone my blissful slumber. Rowan's as content to watch me type as he is to watch anything else, so I will squeeze in this post today after all, when I had thought it was a lost cause.

This morning the three of us went to church. Whether to go was a question, since my motherly paranoia thinks of all the germs on all the people and cringes at the thought of taking such a tiny one into the midst! Of course these overprotective tendencies will be overcome or fade away, and I'm glad we didn't let them stop us from going today. Rowan didn't mind the music. The only small challenge was when it came time for a feeding, Rowan was so interested in the other babies in the nursery, it was tough to keep his mind on the meal he had moments before insisted upon quite strongly! But again we succeeded.

Today was Rowan's due date. I can't find words to express how glad I am that he came early. The love that I knew I'd feel is different than I thought it would be. I knew it'd be strong. I knew it'd be new. But I wasn't prepared for this: his arm, his leg, his hand -- each beautiful, soft part individually -- evokes in me feelings probably stronger than any I'd ever felt before. These are feelings of awe. Of joy. Responsibility. And wonder.

Today Rowan and I went for our first shopping trip. It was a highly efficient, targeted trip -- to Target. We finished a feeding, loaded into the car, drove to Target, checked off almost everything on my list, got home with only about 20 seconds of whimpering at the very end of the ride (from Rowan, not me), and had the next feeding. Near flawless execution, if I do say so myself. There were a couple of small casualties on the shopping list; I had flashbacks to war movies I'd seen where an injured member of the platoon shouts, "Leave me!" to his comrades, who are forced to do so lest they all perish. So it was with my shopping list; we missed the aisles for dishwashing soap and over-the-door clothes hooks, but we couldn't afford to go back. The few had to be sacrificed for the greater good!

Rowan's as fit as a fiddle! The pediatrician's visit today yielded the following statistics: our little bundle is now 7 pounds and 3 ounces, a hearty 2 ounces above his birth weight. This was quite pleasing to the doctor since getting back to birth weight by two weeks is generally the big goal. I wasn't surprised to see the numbers on the scale, since I had little doubt Rowan is a hearty eater. And thanks to the miracles of electric breastpumps, I've seen my milk volume with my own eyes. (This might sound silly, but I felt incredulous that milk could come from my body. Seeing it for myself made me a believer. Of course now that Rowan's eating more I get to see the milk secondhand all too often). On another aside, my father apparently calls electric breast pumps (not having seen one for himself, I'm quite certain) "milking machines". Dad (or "Papa", to Rowan) ran a dairy farm for several decades, and you can imagine the thought of his daughter hooked up to the kind of contraption he used to place on the cows might just be enough to send him. Don't worry, Dad -- I"ll hide it when you come to visit. :-)

Thanks to the great milking machine, Rowan was able to enjoy his first bottle of pumped breastmilk last evening around 8pm. The delicious meal was served warm and gently swirled by his loving father. Rowan was hesitant at first, probably thinking the bottle nipple was just a pacifier. He let his protest be known, since he was in no mood for fruitless sucking. But apparently Tom was able to convince him with a couple of drops of milk from the bottle, and Rowan took to it straight away. I watched through the cracked door since our pediatrician suggested it would be easier if I were not in Rowan's sight, or earshot, while he tried the bottle for the first time (less confusion, she suggested). Well, confusion wasn't really an issue. He drank a full three ounces of the milk. In fact, the only confusion surrounding the whole thing was us, Rowan's fearless parents, trying to figure out how to use the darned bottle warmer! Sheesh.

It took some emotional preparation for me to fill a bottle and hand it over to Tom to do the feeding. Even though I am eager to have a little flexibility (especially in the middle of the night) for someone else to do a feeding, I couldn't help feeling I was somehow betraying the trust Rowan has put in me as his source of nourishment. I'm glad we got over the hurdle of the first bottle, and I'm especially glad that the subsequent feeding was not accompanied by any protests (apparently this can happen since a bottle is easier to drink from, so some babies after getting a bottle are not too happy at the breast for a while). Rowan didn't have any such difficulty, so tonight Dad will be doing a midnight feeding! Oh, sweet sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep.

Having Rowan around brings about all sorts of day to day challenges. For instance: for such a tiny baby, he sure does generate a lot of laundry. Every time we get his diaper off, he feels the need to pee. This generates a dirty outfit, a dirty washcloth (which we use pre-emptively to prevent the pee from reaching great heights), a dirty changing pad cover, sometimes a dirty shirt for whoever is actually changing the diaper...the list could go on. One load of laundry a day is what we're averaging, and that's just for our 7 pound family member! Yikes.

Anyway, I say all this to say help is truly appreciated. We're so thrilled that my mom decided she had been away from Rowan for far too long already, so she and Dad made a trip up here Saturday. It was Papa's first time meeting Rowan. Aren't they a handsome group?

And then there was the Great Skylight Problem. See, our great room has two skylights. These are certainly a nice feature of the home, but frankly the blinding light and intense heat that come through the skylights in midday render the living room useless for someone like myself whose eyes are quite sensitive to light. While this problem had been a nuisance for me, it became more of a huge problem once Rowan arrived. His eyes are so sensitive, there were hours in the day when I couldn't even walk with him through the great room without him crying and wincing from the bright light. It was awful, and yesterday afternoon I hit a breaking point about it. I had devised a way to cover the skylights, but in the middle of attempting to apply this covering we realized our ladder wasn't tall enough for the job. I subjected Tom to a mild meltdown on my part, at which point he suggested I call Don and Mary, our dear friends who own a roofing business. They came to our rescue with a plenty tall ladder, and today I basked in the great room at 2:00pm when normally it would have been so bright that I would have needed sunglasses to be there. Thank God for help!

Wow, our little one is so surrounded by love! Meemaw (a.k.a. Tom's mom; a.k.a. Jill) came to visit this past weekend. Tom and I aren't sure whether Rowan is more spoiled by all this grandmotherly attention, or whether in fact WE are the spoiled ones because of the increased sleep we get whenever a grandmother is in the house. Whichever way it is, we'll take the spoiling!