Glad that didn't happen the first time

I had my second eye vision-correction surgery today. Aaaannd...it was worse than the first time. I asked for more drugs, but it still didn't do much for me. When they taped my head down, it was at a really weird angle and it was making me freak out. So I asked them to fix it, and they did, but I was still a little frantic from then on. Then when he said my vision was going to fade out, it did--but only really briefly. This time I could kinda see everything happening. I saw the doctor's hand coming toward my face holding an instrument, and saw the lens slide across my eye, and it was all too clear and way too disconcerting. When it was over, I was crying. Might have been crying during the whole thing, but I'm really not sure. It was just sort of awful.

*Warning: there are some squeamish parts coming up.*

I went home and got a little rest, but all too soon it was time to go back for my follow-up check. As soon as we walked out the door to get in the car, I started feeling really sick. Very nauseous and hot. I couldn't get enough air. I was pretty sure I was going to throw up, but I really didn't want to do that because they had told me before that vomiting was bad right after surgery because of the pressure it puts on your eye. I tried very hard to stay calm.

We got there, I felt extremely shaky and sick for the five or so minutes we were in the waiting room. I made Andrew go back with me to the exam room. They did a pressure check, and within a minute the surgeon was there in the room, poking me in the eye with a sharp thingy. Basically, fluid was building up in my eye, the pressure was way too high, and it was making me sick. Must get fluid out and pressure down.

Let me just say, the eye poking was not fun. They had given me a numbing drop, but it did not seem very effective. So I tried not to throw up while also trying not to freak out about the sharp thing poking my eyeball. The sharp thing turned out not to be enough, so the doc actually hustled me upstairs to shoot a little laser in my eye to relieve the pressure. That also was not fun. I think in the end he told the nurse it took six laser holes, or something.

(Apparently they normally give people some pills to keep the pressure down, but I am allergic to those pills. Fantastic.)

My eye was clearly leaking fluid from someplace that wasn't my tear duct and it was hard to keep it open. But I was feeling less nauseous. The doctor kept asking if I felt better, because the fluid release should make me instantly feel less sick. And I kept saying no, not really, because I am freaking out here and still feeling vaguely sick and now my eye hurts like crazy. But eventually I calmed down a bit.

I got the all-clear to go home and didn't really feel a ton better until after dinner. Milo's birthday dinner, because oh hey, did you remember that it is my oldest child's birthday? More on that later. It is now time for me to go to bed.

Happy Birthday, Milo

My baby is three years old. This is the part where I say something about how time flies, and I can't believe he's already three, wasn't he just born yesterday? But somehow, it seems to me like he's been three for awhile now. A month back, I was reserving time for him and Olive at my gym's childcare room, and the front desk guy asked me if the kids were over two. I said that one was over two and one was under. It didn't even occur to me until hours later that in fact neither of my children were over two. Huh.

Lately Milo just seems big to me. He's tall and so thin I sometimes wonder if he's actually eating enough. He has the face and haircut of a little boy. His cheeks and hands have lost their roundness. Milo is all little boy; there's not a trace of baby left.

He is almost entirely potty trained. He has had maybe one accident in the last two or three weeks, and that was a case of not quite getting there in time. He wears underwear during the day, and only wears a diaper at night against his will. He does wake up dry most mornings, but he hasn't yet completely mastered the pants down/pants up skill, and I'm not convinced he could get up out of bed, go into the bathroom, pull his pants down, use the toilet, get his pants up, and get back in bed by himself in the middle of the night. And so while we work on those things, he wears a diaper at night. I can't say for sure, but I bet he might be ready to wear underwear overnight around the time the pack of diapers we bought runs out. Just saying.

Milo is so funny, so sweet, so tenderhearted, and so stubborn. He can make me absolutely want to throw him across the room one minute, then make my  heart burst with love for him the next minute. He's up, he's down, he's hot, he's cold. I guess all kids his age are like that.

He has a funny little saying when he falls or bonks into something. He says, "That didn't hurt. It just tickled me." Sometimes followed up with more detail: "The table just tickled me, Mommy. It didn't hurt, it just tickled me." (He's also very into repetition of his sentences. I'm guessing he isn't feeling heard or acknowledged until we essentially repeat what he said. So sometimes he repeats things many, many times.)

He's such a boy. One of his favorite phrases is, "I tooted!"

He also spreads the news of things he sees. Example: In the car (with all of us present), I point out the window and say, "Look, Milo, a digger!" And he says, "I see it! A digger! Daddy, Mommy and I just saw a digger!" And Andrew has to then say something like, "Yeah, buddy, a digger, so cool!" or Milo continues to repeat the part about seeing a digger. And by then, the digger is long gone. His pure excitement about these things is contagious, and Andrew and I often exchange smiling glances when we hear Milo lose his shit over a construction site or a trash truck or OMG a TRAAAAAIN!!

Milo continues to learn new things all the time. He can pretty much brush his own teeth, by which I mean I've seen him get some good brushing in. He mostly doesn't want to do any real brushing after he has eaten all the toothpaste off the brush, so of course we always brush his teeth too. He is starting to learn to spit out the toothpaste instead of swallow it. He can blow his nose, put on his own shoes, put on his own hat, drink from a cup without a lid, put on his own pajamas, use scissors, say the whole alphabet, count up to 20 (though kind of inconsistently), help in the kitchen (he washes dishes with Andrew and can start the dishwasher entirely on his own), spoon-feed Olive, and memorize books like a maniac.

Seriously, the kid must know at least 10 books in their entirety completely by memory. He can finish a line if I start it, he randomly quotes books, and he reads them to Olive. Milo loves reading and loves story time. He is just as happy to sit down with a book as he is to play with his trains. It all depends on his mood. He also has gotten into listening to audio books in the car. ("No, Mommy, the vaaaannnnn," Milo would be quick to point out.) It's pretty awesome; he is distracted by the audio books, and Daddy and I can occasionally carry on a conversation.

Milo is a wonderful big brother. He likes to play with Olive and he likes holding her hand, giving her kisses, or hugging her. He also gets extremely frustrated with her, and lately those two can't spend three minutes together before I hear Milo's sad whine: "Olive took my car. Olive won't let me have the book.Olive says she won't share with me." Milo is always putting words in Olive's mouth, which can be hilarious. "Olive says I don't have to take a bath right now." Oh really? Olive said that? Well, okay then, no bath tonight! Right. Good try, Milo.

Speaking of whining, Milo is very good at that, too. When he is mad about something, he grunts. "Please eat your carrots, Milo." "Uhhnn." "What Milo? I can't understand you when you grunt." "Uhn! BuhIdonwahneeemycarrottttsssss." Many conversations go something like that.

Milo demands things a lot or makes declarative statements. We are working with him on asking for things instead. So we have had literally hundreds of conversations exactly like this:
Milo: I want some more [blank].
Andrew or Megan: Is that how we ask for things?
Milo: Please!
Andrew or Megan: Please what?
Milo: Please may I have some more [blank]?
Andrew or Megan: Oh, sure, I will get you some more [blank].

He also loves to call things silly. He can't really tell a joke yet, but he tries (Knock, knock boo hoo! ha ha ha etc.). Watch what you say, because he will take the tiniest phrase and repeat it. He adores anything silly. I tuck him in most nights, and I have taken to saying, "Sleep tight, Milo, hope you're snug as a bug in a rug," (which is something my dad said to me) and Milo loves it. Thinks it is the silliest.

Milo has dark blond hair, getting darker all the time, and gorgeous blue eyes. Sometimes I think he looks a bit like my nephew, Austin. Usually the Austin resemblance comes out when he's being playful and silly, like throwing a toy up in the air. It's a certain facial expression more than anything, sort of a clenched-teeth grin. In Milo's case, he accompanies the grin with "Eee-eee-eeee" in a sing-songy way.

He's not so big on eating dinner. Sometimes he doesn't take a single bite. We do request/require that he sit with us at the table until we're all finished, which often doesn't go over well. But come on, kid, quit wasting food. I worked hard to find a meal that I thought you would like. Sigh.

I am so stinking proud of this kid. He is so smart and kind and so thoroughly excited by the world. He gives me amazing hugs and sometimes even kisses. He says, "I love you, too." Sometimes he even says it first. There is nothing better than hearing your little man tell you that he loves you, and when he follows it up with a kiss? Well, you can just get a mop because you will have melted all over the floor.

In short, I love this kid with my whole entire heart. Happy 3rd Birthday, Milo.

Happy Birthday, Olive

Olive's regularly scheduled monthly stats will come soon. Until then, enjoy this video of my girl's first year.

Three weeks ago...

...Milo had his 2nd birthday party. And despite the unexpected heat, it was a great success.

When I started planning an outdoor party, I worried that it would be too cold. The weather in late March is incredibly unpredictable around here. (To demonstrate this point: my wedding anniversary is April 14, and it SNOWED the day before we got married.) However, it turned out to be almost too hot. The temperature pushed 90 degrees, and since few trees had any leaves, the shade was minimal. Thankfully, the guests were all good-natured and got friendly under the shade of the single umbrella without complaint. And aside from the frosting melting off the cupcakes, the party was just as I hoped it would be.

Milo had a trucks/construction theme, complete with orange traffic cones, a couple traffic signs, and a construction site cake. The tables were covered with brown paper; hand-drawn roads were dotted with toy cars. The kids played with bubbles and a couple of Milo's ride-on toys. Presents were abundant, and in the weeks since the party, Milo has really enjoyed playing with his new toys.

Perhaps the highlight of the party for me was the expression on Milo's face as everybody sang to him. We had tried to tell him about the singing/candle tradition so he wouldn't be startled by the attention. I don't know if the prep helped, but he seemed to love having everyone sing to him. He even tried to blow out his candles, with help from Daddy of course.

I imagine this is the last year that Milo won't know his birthday was coming up. The last year he wouldn't want a say in the theme or flavor of the dessert. The time really flies, doesn't it?

My baby is not a baby anymore

My little man is two years old today. Part of me wonders where the time has gone; how could these last two years have flown by so quickly? But a bigger part of me thinks, how can Milo only be two? He's been part of my life forever, hasn't he?

I'm so lucky to have this guy. He's amazing, so sweet, so funny, so cute. Let me tell you what he's been up to lately.

He has started quoting lines from the books we read, when we're not actually reading them. "Ohhh, call captain," he says (which translates to "'Hello,' calls the captain." from 10 Little Rubber Ducks.) "One Fish (pause) Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, Dr. Seuss!" he says. "Stuck in mud!" refers to the dump truck from Little Blue Truck. "Stan back, everybody," he quotes from a fire engine pop-up book. And he knows immediately when I start quoting a book. "What's this?" I say to him as I hold up a strawberry. "Sawberry," he replies. "Is it a red, ripe strawberry?" I ask him, and he begins to smile slyly, like he knows he's in on the secret. "Better watch out," I say, "or the big, hungry bear will get it!" (From The Little Mouse, the Red, Ripe Strawberry, and the Big, Hungry Bear)

Milo also has been singing more songs lately. He adores "Wheels on the Bus" and the Hot dog song from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. He's into "Itsy Bitsy Spider," always starting with the line "wash sider out."

Milo is getting really good with his letters and numbers. He can almost spell his name, though he typically leaves off M and starts with I-L-O. He "writes" the letters as he spells them, though they're really just marks on the paper. He can recognize nearly all the letters, but doesn't know them in order. He can count to ten and beyond (we've heard him go as high as thirteen, I think), but often gets the numbers in the wrong order. He is convinced he has eleven fingers, so thank you, Dr. Seuss, for that.

He has finally figured out most of his colors. Occasionally he still calls red things orange, and sometimes gets in a funk where everything is black. But mostly you can ask him what color something is and he gets it right, or, even more awesome, he just names things with a color descriptor. Like, "Thassa my yellow screwdriver." or "Essa blue hammer."

He's pretty good with pronouns, except when it comes to "you" and "me" when referring to Milo. We point at a picture of him and say "That's you!" and he points at the picture and says, "That's you!" And there's just no good way to correct him to say no, "that's me" because that is like telling him the picture is not of Milo but of Mommy. Sometimes he also says "my" when he means "I," like "My brush my teef!" or "My eat it!" Frankly, it's adorable.

Milo loves to do things by himself, but he gives up pretty easily on some tasks. Taking his socks off or pulling his pants up and down, for instance. We encourage him to try, and he does, but very quickly cries "Help me!" and gets frustrated. He can pull his shirt off over his head and he's getting better at brushing his own teeth. All in good time, I suppose.

Milo can be very polite and very impolite. "Hi, Oliff, how are you?" he asks. Then at dinner: "My need more water!" he demands. He fairly readily gives hugs and kisses, though he's quick to tell you no if he's not in the mood. When he burps, he says "Buuurrrp!" Charming, no?

Milo adores bathtime and would stay in the tub all night if we let him. Andrew taught him how to blow bubbles in the water, so Milo is always sticking his face in the water and blowing bubbles. Makes me kind of nervous, but I guess it's a good thing for him not to be afraid of getting his face wet. Milo does not like getting lotioned up after a bath, and his only motivation for holding still for lotion is that he will get a paci when it's all over.

Yes, Milo still loves his paci. He only gets it at bedtime, naptime, and diaper changes. Now that Olive is here and has her own set of pacis, Milo is extra tempted. But so far he's been great about giving Olive her paci and not sticking it in his own mouth. I've only seen him do that a couple times.

Other skills: he is learning to drink from a cup, has pretty much mastered the straw, is learning to walk on a balance beam, is getting faster at running and better at climbing stairs, is excellent at identifying animals and animal sounds and learns new words after only hearing them once or twice, and he has excellent dance moves.

Words can't describe my love for this child. Truly, he has my heart forever.

The Birthday Party!

As I may have mentioned once or twice or a hundred times, Milo turned one last week. And we celebrated by throwing him a birthday party. I spent a LOT of time planning and preparing for this party, and I have to say, it was all worth it. Milo had a great time, and everything turned out just right. All in all, it was a success.

To read my commentary and see a few select photos, continue reading. For a slide show of all the party pics, scroll to the bottom of this post or view my web album here.

Happy Birthday, Milo. You're the best.

It was a robot theme. Since I wrote the copy for her website, Janice of RSVParty made this robot for me. She also helped me come up with tons of great ideas for the party. If you want a great wedding/party planner, hire this woman. Thanks, Janice! Anyway, robot theme. Lots of robot things, like these robot snacks:

There were robot placemats.

I even made a robot cake! Can you believe it? Isn't he cute? I love his little donut legs. It was my very special funfetti recipe. Been in the family for years.

Milo wasn't sure what to think of all the party fun.

But he warmed up by present-opening time. Note his adorable "one" onesie, courtesy of my friend Erica. So sweet! He's worn it three times in the last week, and I'm not even kidding.

Milo was not too eager to dig into his cake at first. He was all, WTF? What is this? Why is it not cut into tiny bites like I am used to? And why were all those people singing and staring at me a second ago?

But Daddy gave him a taste and he was all, meh. Cake is okay, I guess. Perhaps I eat some more.

Milo was pretty cute with cake smeared all over his face. Until he rubbed his eye and got a frosting shiner. I swear no one punched him.

Milo loves balloons. I am tempted to keep some balloons on hand just to entertain him. They never failed to produce a smile, even in the most dire of circumstances, like when Milo felt a smidge hungry or preferred to be carried.

So I have a toddler now. It's true what they say about time flying when you're having fun etc. etc. Nobody's more fun than this little man.

*A big THANK YOU to JiaoJiao for taking all these photos!

One Entire Year: the 12-Month Stats

Wow. Milo is one year old. Twelve months. 365 days. And—sing it with me—525,600 minutes. Here are his official statistics.

• Weight: 21 lbs., 10 oz. (30th percentile)
• Length: 28 3/4 in. (20th percentile)
• Head Circumference: 18 1/4 in. (50th percentile)

At one year, Milo can walk.

At one year, Milo likes to be carried.

At one year, Milo can climb our entire staircase without ever pausing to rest.

At one year, Milo has said his first word: kitty. He had said it at eleven months, but I wasn't sure if he knew what he was saying. But now it's pretty clear that whenever he sees Zadie, he says the same noise, "kheekhee," which is obviously "kitty."

At one year, Milo began to get ear infections again. Thank you, tubes. He's been on antibiotics twice in the last month, and at his check-up today, I learned that his other ear got an infection WHILE HE WAS ON THE ANTIBIOTICS. Did not know that was possible.

At one year, I, too, have an ear infection. I now feel a whole lot more sympathy for Milo—this really freaking hurts. My head may explode at any minute.

At one year, Milo is a super snuggler. When he isn't feeling well especially, he likes to cuddle and cuddle. He lays his head down on your shoulder and rests his hand on your arm. Nothing in the world feels better than this.

At one year, Milo likes to be close. If he's feeling the need, he'll just reach out and touch me on the leg or arm as he plays on the floor, just to be sure I haven't gone anywhere.

At one year, Milo is a pretty good eater, unless he's sick. He likes cheese a lot right now.

At one year, Milo has been teething for much of the last month, and yet...

At one year, Milo still has just two teeth. I swear the top two are *thisclose* to coming in. In another month, I'll likely be saying the same thing, though.

At one year, Milo loves balloons.

At one year, Milo loves to be outside. Thank god it's warming up outside.

At one year, Milo is a waving fool. He waves at anything and anybody. Occasionally he waves in the opposite direction of the person he's waving at. Pretty funny.

At one year, Milo doesn't like to put his sippy cup down on his tray. It almost always ends up on the floor.

At one year, Milo is already quite good at throwing tantrums. If he wants to be picked up and I'm not quite able or ready to pick him up right that instant, he cries and cries, and throws himself prostrate on the floor. Can't wait for the terrible twos...

At one year, Milo no longer gets breast milk during the day. I am done pumping during the work day, and it is glorious. In place of the breast milk, Milo drinks whole milk, but some days he likes it and some days he doesn't. I'm not concerned about that, as long as he gets enough fluids and eats his green veggies.

At one year, Milo likes to be tickled and likes to tickle. If he can see a bit of tummy poking out when Mama or Daddy is lying on the floor, he pokes it and we laugh. And the tickling game goes on.

At one year, Milo loves hiding behind the curtain in the office while we say "Wherrrrrrrre's Milo?" Then he flings it aside and giggles and giggles when we shriek with surprise and delight to see him. This is one of my favorite games.

At one year, Milo is entertained by his toys and can play independently for quite some time. That is, when he isn't sick.

At one year, Milo has deep blue eyes, brownish reddish blondish hair, dark brown eyelashes, and gorgeous pink-red lips.

At one year, Milo's thighs are exceedingly chompable, as are his toes, elbows, and neck.

At one year, Milo is so cute, so sweet, so lovable, so wonderful, so everything.

At one year, I don't know how we got so lucky. I love Milo more than I ever thought I could love someone. I feel so privileged to be his mommy.

Happy Birthday, Milo

A few thoughts

• Milo’s birthday party is on Sunday, and I still have SO MUCH to do to get ready. Crossing my fingers that it will all come together in the end…
• I’m down another few pounds (!!!) and it seems my weight-loss plateau has finally come to an end. I’m now twelve pounds below my starting pregnancy weight and only five pounds from my goal.
• Milo has been sick again, and we’re all dragging in the Langford household. For whatever reason (teething, difficulty breathing, generally not-feeling-well), Milo has been waking up every day for the last week or so at 5am. Or earlier, if we’re lucky. And I am TIRED.
• I am no longer pumping at work. So nice not to be doing that anymore. And Milo is doing just fine (other than the aforementioned issues, that is).
• This morning Milo was in the bathroom with me while I, um, used the facilities. He opened the cabinet, pulled out a large box of pantyliners, and grabbed them by the fistful, surrounding himself with little piles of feminine hygiene items. Time for more babyproofing!
  
• As you know, today is St. Patrick’s Day and I would like a shamrock shake. Can someone please make that happen for me?

Less than two weeks to go

One year ago, I was hugely pregnant and sure I'd go into labor any minute. I had no idea what I was about to get into. Even if the me of today told the me of last year what this year would be like, I wouldn't have understood. There's honestly no way to explain what it's like to figure out how to be a mom. (You never really figure it out, by the way. There are always new challenges and new things to learn. Thankfully, Milo doesn't seem to have a clue that his dad and I are novices.)

Milo will be one year old in a little less than two weeks. In the most cliche way possible, this year has truly flown by. I watch Milo every day learning something new and figuring things out. And he amazes me. Just a few short months ago he couldn't even control his arm movements or lift his head. Now he can point, wave, bounce, climb, walk. And the list goes on.

I think Milo might be starting to say his first words. Like many things, his "first word" is fairly ambiguous. I think he has started saying something like a guttural "keekee" when he sees the kitty. I definitely hear "mamamama" when he wants to nurse. And this morning he may have pointed at the bookshelf and said "ehh-sit?" which sounded a lot like "what's this?" (Surely he can't be saying two-word phrases, right?) But the very first word to go in the old proverbial baby book? Not sure at all.

I'm thrilled that Milo is getting older and I'm sad that he's not staying small. More happy than sad. I can't wait to run around outside with him this summer or sing songs with him or take him to the petting zoo at Deanna Rose. He's just going to love that stuff.

A Bullet-Point Post

• Pureed carrots are messy. They are particularly messy when your baby doesn't want to eat them and instead opens his mouth and lets the contents spill out, then grabs at the saliva-soaked mess as it drips down his chin and into the gap between his neck and his bib.
• For Milo's first Halloween, I had a plan to dress him up as an '80s aerobics instructor. It might have been sort of awesome, but it wasn't cuddly or adorable. I was feeling guilty about not having a proper, cute Halloween costume for him, so last night we went to a used kids' stuff store and bought the classic baby's-first-Halloween costume: a jack-o-lantern. I feel much better. He will be super adorable in this thing.
• Lately Milo has been sort of clingy. He likes to be held and fusses when you set him down or begin strapping him into his car seat. In a way, this is charming. I like that he wants me. But it's also quite frustrating. Getting dinner fixed, drying my hair, brushing my teeth, feeding the cats: everything is more difficult/impossible to do with a baby on your hip.
• Today is Andrew's birthday. I'm taking him out Saturday night for a big celebration, but for dinner tonight he requested portobello burgers. I thought, no way can I pull that off. I'd need to go to the store, Andrew would have to pick Milo up from daycare, and I'm not sure I'd have time to prepare a big meal. So I checked out menus online and tried to find a place that had portobello burgers that I could pick up on my way home. No luck. So I thought, maybe I can pull this off. I called Andrew and asked him to pick up Milo, then I snuck out of work 15 minutes early. I stopped at the grocery store and grabbed the things I needed. And in about 20 minutes, I made spinach and goat cheese-stuffed portobello burgers on toasted buns with a side of roasted sweet potato fries and a goat cheese-dried cranberry-pecan-spinach salad. (We really like goat cheese.) It was all quite good, if I do say so myself. (And even with all that meal preparation going on, Milo still got his carrots and got to bed on time. Success!)
• Milo might be starting to learn to fall asleep on his own at daycare. For the last two or three days, he has fallen asleep by himself for every nap, though he hasn't always stayed asleep for very long. Oh well, he's got to start somewhere, right?

Milo's Birth Story

Here it is, two months after his birth, and I'm just getting around to writing Milo's birth story. I suppose I feel like this story deserves my full attention, instead of my usual type-with-one-hand-and-try-to-blog-while-breastfeeding-in-the-middle-of-the-night. But here it is, the middle of the afternoon, and Milo is napping. By himself, in his own room. And I don't have a good excuse not to get started on this story. This is probably way more detail than you're interested in reading, but this is more for me than you. This blog is essentially Milo's baby book, after all. And with no more caveats, here we go.

My due date was March 23, but I was absolutely convinced I would have Milo early, probably at least a week or two early. I didn't really have a good reason to think this. Courtney had Austin 20 days before his due date, and my mom said that both Courtney and I were born five days before our due dates. So I figured I was going to follow suit. Andrew and I were sort of hoping that Milo would be born on 3/14, because that would give him a Pi birthday, and we're sort of nerdy like that. I was also hoping that I would go into labor during the day and avoid that middle of the night, stumbling out of bed to get to the hospital scenario. We were also hoping Milo would be born on a weekend, simply because it would be more convenient in terms of contacting our workplaces. And for one final wish, I was hoping that I would have already had my last official day at work before going on maternity leave, which was scheduled for Friday, March 19.

All in all, we managed to get practically every wish. The only one we missed was Pi, but we ended up with an even cooler date and time of birth. And when it was all over, we had Milo, and that was the most amazing thing of all.

On Sunday, March 21, I woke up around 6:00am. I was pretty uncomfortable, but that was nothing new. My back hurt, and I felt sort of crampy. After tossing and turning for a few minutes, I figured I wasn't getting back to sleep. Frustrated, I got out of bed and went downstairs to watch a little TV before Andrew woke up. For the next hour, I sat on the couch, zoning out to HGTV, and began to notice that the crampy feeling was sort of coming and going. Upon realizing this, I immediately suspected labor. It's not that I knew that this was what I was feeling, but rather that every strange twinge or cramp I felt for the last couple of weeks I had attributed to the potential start of labor. So I started paying more attention. And by 7:30 or so, I was fairly convinced that this was different, that these cramps were contractions and they were in fact coming about ten minutes apart.

My doctor had said that once I was in labor, I shouldn't eat or drink anything besides clear fluids. This appetizing menu included such delicacies as chicken broth, apple juice, Jell-o, and Popsicles. Since I wasn't TOTALLY sure I was in labor, I went ahead and ate a bowl of Quaker oatmeal squares with sliced banana. I thought it was best to eat something and keep my energy up. After all, my friend Emily had just spent 42 hours in labor, and I figured that if this had any chance of taking that long, I needed food.

After breakfast, I went upstairs to wake up Andrew. It was around 8:00 by this time, and my contractions were coming and going, still about ten minutes apart. I sat on the edge of the bed next to him and shook him awake. "I'm pretty sure I'm in labor," I said, and explained what had been going on with me. He was pretty excited, and wanted to start timing contractions right away. I wanted to take a shower and get everything ready to go to the hospital. At my last doctor's appointment, just five days earlier, I had been dilated to three centimeters. I didn't think my labor was going to be a super long one (also going with family history there; Courtney's labor was about four hours start to finish), so I wanted to clean up and get ready.

I took a shower. The hot water felt really good on my back and made the contractions less noticeable. At this point, the contractions weren't especially painful, but felt mostly like bad menstrual cramps. This wasn't a nice feeling, but it was manageable for sure. After the shower, Andrew and I packed the rest of the things we needed into the hospital bag. We were already mostly ready to go, just needed to add the camera, our cell phone chargers, and other electronic stuff to the bag.

From about 9:00 to about 1:00 I labored at home. Andrew had his clipboard and stopwatch, and was dutifully timing every contraction. I tried to eat some red Jell-o and drink some apple juice, but it wasn't tasting very good. The contractions were getting closer and closer together, and definitely more intense. During the contractions, I would pace around the living room or sway my hips back and forth. HGTV was still on, but I wasn't paying much attention. Andrew reminded me to keep breathing and try to relax. As the contractions got stronger, I needed Andrew to apply pressure to my lower back with each one. Sometimes I got frustrated with him, because I would start moaning, and he would ask (several times), "Is one starting? Is that another one?" And it was honestly sort of hard to tell exactly when it would start, but before long there would be no denying that yes, it was another one, and I would nod. And instead of applying pressure to my back like a good husband, Andrew raced to his clipboard to record the start time. I know he was trying to do the right thing and wanted to have a record for the doctor, but dammit, Andrew, I needed my back rubbed!

Being in labor was a strange thing to me. I knew that these were contractions, but they weren't quite like what I was expecting. The books and our childbirth class instructor told us that contractions increase in intensity over time and get closer together over time, and that in between contractions, the pain went away. For me, the pain never fully went away. It was less intense, but I still felt tightness and cramps in my abdomen and lower back the whole time. Also, I would have contractions that were about six minutes apart for awhile, then there would be a break and the next contraction wouldn't come for eleven minutes and it wouldn't be as intense. Then the next would be just three minutes later and would hurt like hell. This inconsistency made me question whether this was true labor or false labor. Also, it was really hard to tell exactly when a contraction started and when it ended, so timing them at all was a very inexact science.

By 1:00, the contractions were right about five minutes apart and had been for an hour. We were supposed to follow the 5-1-1 rule and not call the doctor until the contractions were five minutes apart for one hour and lasted for one minute each. When we thought we were there, Andrew called the doctor and told her where I was with the contractions and all that. She apparently didn't take his word for it and made him give the phone to me. This was sort of irritating because she asked me questions that I had just heard Andrew give her the answers to, and I had to talk to her while the quite-strong-and-painful-at-this-point contractions were happening. She said it sounded like I was in labor and that I should head to the hospital for a labor check.

So we got in the car and headed to the hospital. On the ride there, we noted the remains of the previous day's snowstorm and were thankful that we hadn't had to drive to the hospital in the bad weather. (Side note: it seems to snow out of season just before major events in our lives. It snowed the day before our April wedding, and it snowed the day before Milo's birthday.) It was about a 15-minute drive, and I had three contractions on the way. These were the worst yet. My swaying and back-rub tricks were no good in the car. But we finally made it there, and Andrew dropped me off at the door and went to park the car.

We went up to the maternity floor and they took me to room 308, which would become my home for the next two days. The nurse gave me a robe and instructed me to get undressed so they could do a labor check. I was five centimeters dilated and 100 percent effaced. By 1:30pm I was officially checked in. The next hour or so was the most uncomfortable part of the entire labor. I was stuck in bed because the nurses needed to monitor all kinds of stuff. I was given an IV (which took several stabs before they got it, leaving the backs of both my hands black and blue for several days), a tight blood-pressure cuff, two bands around my belly to monitor contractions and the baby's heart rate, and a finger cuff to monitor my heart rate. I was unable to get up from the bed, and the next several contractions were torture. It just really, really, hurt, and I don't quite know how to explain it. At some point Andrew had called our parents, and my mom was now in the hospital room with us. While Andrew went to the car to get our bags (I wanted the vibrating massager we had brought), my mom fed me ice chips. It was less than an hour that I was stuck in bed, but it felt like an eternity. They did let me sit on a birth ball right next to the bed, but I didn't find it very helpful. It was slightly better than being in the bed, but it didn't do much to help me deal with the pain, so I gave up on that pretty quick. I wanted to listen to my "relaxation" playlist, but found most of the songs terrible—until a Carla Bruni song came on. Then I asked Andrew to just play the Carla Bruni album. That was nice.

I really wanted to get in the shower for a little hydrotherapy, but it wasn't until 2:30 that they unhooked me (reluctantly) from the machines to head into the bathroom. Andrew came with me and sprayed my back with the hot water while I swayed through the next few contractions. At this point, I was six centimeters dilated and the nurse thought I was moving pretty quickly. She warned me that if I wanted an epidural, I shouldn't wait too long to start it or it would be too late. By then, I knew I wanted the epidural. The pain was really intense, and I wanted it to go away. While the hot water felt so good, I only spent about three contractions in the shower before getting out in order to start the epidural process.

Before they could start the epidural, I had to get a bunch of IV fluids. Again, I was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, and again, had to just lay there and try to breathe through the contractions. By 3:00, the anesthesiologist was there, and I was getting the epidural. I had to sit on the edge of the bed and hunch over as much as I could, then between contractions, she first gave me a numbing shot, then inserted the epidural catheter and taped it in place. It wasn't too bad. Having all that tape on my back was the most uncomfortable part of the epidural. It took about twenty or thirty minutes before it really took effect. Around 3:30 my water broke, which was a very weird sensation. I was a little bit numb then, but could still feel my legs. I just felt this release of pressure and a bunch of warm fluid between my legs. "Um," I said. "I think my water broke." The nurse took a peek, and yes, it sure had. She was kind enough to change out the bedding and give me a fresh gown. I was relieved that my water had broken on its own—I think they were planning to break it, but I would much rather have everything just proceed at its own pace.

By 3:45, the epidural had taken hold and I felt pretty great. I couldn't feel my abdomen or my legs. No more pain from contractions. At one point, my hand was resting in my lap and I felt something odd, something unrecognizable. I looked down, and saw that it was just my leg. Weird. I didn't know I had been touching it at all. The nurses checked me again at 3:50, and I was 8 centimeters. My mom went back out to the waiting area. The next time she'd see me she'd have a new grandchild. Andrew and I just hung out in the room and enjoyed ourselves. We watched the first two episodes of Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog, which is awesome. We shot a couple of videos of us talking about how we couldn't believe we were about to be parents. I saw Andrew sneak a granola bar, and I was jealous. I was getting pretty hungry by then. Ice chips just weren't cutting it.

We weren't sure how much longer it would be, but we figured we only had a couple more hours before pushing would start. I was nervous about pushing, but not because of the pain. I'm not sure why. Tearing, maybe? Or just fear because I had no idea how to do it? There's no good way to practice that, I think.

At 5:05, the nurse came in for another check. I was 9+, and she said I was AC, for Almost Complete. She said I'd start pushing at 5:30. And so we waited. There is really nothing like the feeling of knowing that you have less than half an hour until your life is going to change forever. (Of course, it turned out that I had nearly two hours before my life changed forever, but there was no way of knowing that at the beginning.) Just after 5:30, my doctor came in and they began to get everything ready for pushing. The foot of the bed dropped away, the stirrups were put in place along with handles for me to grip. The bright overhead light was turned on, and a large mirror was rolled in (so I could watch).

And then it was time. Because I couldn't feel the contractions, the nurses told me when to push. For each contraction, I was to hold my breath and push for ten seconds, three times. I had imagined that the pushing part of labor would be really intense, with constant action. Instead, it was pretty calm. There was actually a lot of waiting. Between contractions, I would try to catch my breath, and my doctor and the nurses chatted about their families and the weather and whatnot. This was clearly a more momentous occasion for me than it was for them. Anyway, lots of pushing. The mirror helped me see when I was doing it the right way because I could see his head move (which is totally weird; there's really nothing like it). Ten to fifteen contractions and about an hour and forty-five minutes later, Milo was born. I will never forget the way he looked, all slippery and purplish-gray, with swollen lips and eyes and only a slight cone head. Milo weighed 8 pounds, 4.9 ounces. He was 20.5 inches long. He was born at 6:54pm (And with a birth date of 3/21, that gives you 6-5-4-3-2-1. Pretty cool, no? Much cooler than being born on Pi.).

Describing the way I felt in those first few moments is a whole other entry. Maybe I'll get to that one by the time Milo is three months old. But for now, there you have it. The story of the birth of Milo Jones Langford.

Noteworthy Thursday #31/One month (and a few hours) already? No way.

Happy one-month birthday, Milo!

Dear Milo,

So much has changed since you were born. For instance, I thought I'd get this entry written and posted before midnight when you woke up to be fed. But then you surprised us and slept nearly eight hours in a row. And don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about that. Every day is a little different.

You are more alert and seem to recognize us more. We swear, you are *this close* to smiling. I thought you hated baths, due to the screaming and whatnot, but last night you were actually calm the entire duration you were in the tub. You had this look on your face, like, "I'm not sure what's going on, but, eh, this isn't so bad, I guess. Yes, Dad, keep on scrubbing. I shall tolerate it like a man." And you looked about as cute as you ever have (and as your mother, I can verify that you have looked VERY cute many times).

You continue to amaze me. Every. Single. Day. And I love you more and more. Every. Single. Day. Happy one-month, Milo.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Birthday to Me

Last Friday was my birthday, and it was lovely. I received some fantastic gifts, including a fancypants camera and lens from Andrew (I’ve been talking about taking a photography class forever, and now I have no more excuses), a gift certificate for a prenatal massage, some lovely notepaper, some tasty goodies, an adorable brooch, and lots of cards. Oh, and with some birthday money from my parents (and a hefty discount for being a Hallmark employee) I bought this lovely bag for myself.

The gifts weren’t the only good part. Two of my best work friends took me to lunch (which included a stop at Sheridan’s!) and talked me into buying the fabulous bag. That’s what friends are for—getting a girl frozen custard on her birthday and helping her make good shopping decisions.

We also went to dinner at Potpie, my fave restaurant, with two fantastic people whose names easily become one (one of whom will be mad about the fact that I am about to call them this) (and on the INTERNET, no less), Jeffanie. Since I am expecting/knocked up/have a bun in the oven/pregnant, I refrained from having wine with dinner, which has always been one of my favorite parts of going to Potpie—sitting for a long time, sipping the wine, and talking. But Andrew—my lovely, amazing husband—somehow snuck in a bottle of sparkling grape juice just for me. He gave it to the server and everything, who brought it to me as if it were any other beverage. (Of course, Andrew got lucky that I went to the restroom first thing upon entering the restaurant, so he didn’t have to be THAT sneaky.) I was confused at first, because the grape juice looked just like wine. But only two people at the table ordered wine, and there were three glasses, so… Confused. It was a wonderful birthday surprise and a wonderful 28th birthday.

Noteworthy Thursday #6

Today is my 27th birthday. And in honor of that, I thought I’d try to find a note for Noteworthy Thursday that was received on my birthday. But because I forgot to get this written and scanned last night, I must hurry through it this morning.

The Birthday Goddesses must be smiling on me, because the first note I saw mentioned my birthday. No, it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but the hilarious content of this note makes it worth the change in plans. The best part of this one? It actually only embarrasses me, because I wrote it. Yes, this one is from a shared notebook that “Judy” and I had. We’d write a note, pass it to the other, she’d write, pass it back. You get the idea. We thought we were being all sneaky, you know, so the teachers wouldn’t find out that we were passing notes. I’m sure the stickers and doodles all over the cover and the crazy folded pages inside didn’t give it away.

So about this note. I was apparently working up the nerve to sit by a boy. (A boy who later was my boyfriend for three entire days, I might add.) And I used his real name, too. Ryan, if you’re out there—sorry about that. But a few lines later I express love for another boy. No real name printed here. And I’m not telling. Finally, we get to the part that is the reason I chose this note. I lamely offer some trivia about birthdays. Ta da!

(Was that not the big finish you were hoping for?) (click below for the larger, easier-to-read, in-your-face edition of the note.)

Happy Birthday to Me

Today I am 26. I suppose I could think of something philosophical to talk about, getting older and all that. But really, I don't have that much to say about it. I like being 26. My life is pretty good. I don't know if you know, but Britney Spears is only 9 days older than me, and you might disagree with me, but she and I are practically the same person (I sure was embarrassed when my performance at the Video Music Awards was such a flop).

Anyway.... So far, it's been quite an excellent day. My wonderful husband woke me up with breakfast in bed. Eggs, bacon, toast—even chocolate milk, which is probably my favorite form of milk, unless you count ice cream. All delicious, and much nicer than waking up to an alarm clock.


And, if the breakfast wasn't enough, I also got some presents. Wrapped super nicely.


I got a really fun T-shirt, an ornament, and the mascara I asked for. And the perfect card. And that was my birthday morning.