pregnant postpartum purchasing and prep
with 10 weeks to go in this pregnancy (HOLY SHIT!) i’ve moved well beyond the realm of maternity purchases and in to the lovely land of postpartum purchases. i never wore a lot of maternity clothes during my pregnancy with jackson, and the same holds true of my pregnancy with pickle. i invested in a 2 pairs of good (expensive) maternity jeans, and the remainder of the time, i’m either in maxi dresses, high waisted leggings with tunics, or elastic waisted loungewear a la target.
(ok fine, there are plenty of times i just go sans pants, but that’s behind closed doors and usually involves a dance party with my almost 4 year old who also prefers to go pantless at times.)
“the pickle cave” (since we’re not doing a nursery in this house with us moving back into our old house this fall… see big long ridiculous story here) consists of a bassinet on wheels, a changing table/chest of drawers, and a diaper cart contraption, all of which are currently housed in our poor excuse for a third bedroom, which is really more like a “bonus room” because it includes our washer/dryer. oh yeah, and a queen bed is back there for guests.
you totally want to come stay at my house now, i can tell. take a number.
in addition to establishing pickle’s mobile nursery, the baby gear is all out and washed, onesies and booties and these killer baby leg warmers have all been drefted and delicately placed in drawers. i even purchased a headband, people. A HEADBAND. me. i purchased one. it has a pink flower on it, if you must know. and yes, i am proud of myself, thankyouverymuch.
case in point, we’re ready… as ready as we can be, all things considered. so, i’ve continued to move forward, as one does, and look towards postpartum prepping. i’m scoping out diaper bags, though i am not a fan of diaper bags AT ALL. i’ve purchased some nursing tanks as i hope to be a breast feeding champion this go-round. given the climate that we now live in and the fact that it’s 72 degrees in mid february, i’m assuming that come april, i will be living in nursing tanks sans pants and stretchy bottoms. all things considered, i think i’m due for a break when it comes to nursing and if i’m buying clippy nursing tank tops, you best be ready to get your boob feedings on. (you listening pickle? let’s rock this!)
and speaking of nursing, let’s talk more about boobs for a minute. in month number 7 of this here pregnancy, it seems as though everything is getting LARGER around here. in fact my mailman commented to me just the other day, “you get bigger and bigger each time i see you.” and aside from the eye roll i gave him, i genuinely asked, “well, isn’t that the idea?”
(people are strange when it comes to talking to pregnant women. we don’t try to make you feel uncomfortable around us. come to think of it, our pregnancy has NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. so it’s perfectly ok if you feel so awkward around us that you simply don’t say anything. in fact, it’s welcomed.)
in addition to my kid growing by the millisecond and my ever-expanding uterus that knows no bounds, my boobs have hopped on this gravy train, which i suppose is fantastic not only for my husband’s current viewing pleasure but also because i plan on putting them to good use in the near future.
jackson is very interested in boobs lately because we have enlightened him to the ways of breast feeding. ah yes, that wide eyed, “MILK COMES OUT OF YOUR BOOPS, MOM?” moment when you realize you have done permanent damage on your child’s brain has happened. it’s worked out quite nicely though. jackson has been sharing with us all of the things he wants to help out with when pickle comes (none of these things includes diaper changing which is bullshit). naturally, when he told paul and i that he wants to feed pickle when he holds her, paul and i shared an “oh shit” moment and then down the rabbit hole we went with the breast feeding explanation.
“jackson and daddy can feed her from bottles…”
“ALL THE TIME! ALL THE MILK! SHE WILL BE HUNGRY!”
“yes, babies are very hungry. but she will also be drinking from mommy too because mommy’s boobs will have milk for your baby sister.”
“AND THEN I CAN FEED HER WITH MY BOOPS TOO!”
“no. boys don’t…”
“GIRLS HAVE BIG BOOPS!”
“yes, girls have bigger boops boobs than boys do so that they can one day feed their babies.”
“I CAN FEED HER BOTTLES OF MILK WITH DAD?”
“yes. you can feed her bottle of milk with dad. and i will feed her from my boops boobs.”
while he seemed to grasp the concept at the time, he showed me just how much he truly understood as we shopped through target the other night. i was stocking up on elastic waist lounge pants in the pajama section of target when i heard “MOM, I FOUND YOU SOME NEW BIGGER BOOPS!” from my son, and then saw him barreling at me, holding two of the largest bras my eyes have ever seen.
“no bud. those aren’t boobs. and see? no milk either.”
all bag
my brother is a terrific golfer, and my dad… is a terrific sport. he may not be the greatest at the game, but he is the greatest at genuinely enjoying playing with his son who is great at the game. the two of them have been walking 18 together for years, taking in different courses, swinging clubs in the fresh air. it’s a sport that bonds the two of them.
years back, the guys came home from a day of golfing and taught me a term that i have yet to forget. and these days, i am finding that term to be an accurate description of myself.
i remember dad and b coming home, setting their clubs in the garage alongside their shoes, smelling of sunshine and sweat, laughing about nothing and everything. they updated mom and i about their day, how they each played… a bogey here. a birdie there. and then my dad said something about one of the gentlemen he happened to notice while on the course. this man was not playing in their foursome, but he was certainly someone who captured the attention of my dad.
and in the words of my dad, this man was “all bag.”
my brother laughed as my dad described in detail the amount of gear this particular golfer had. from head to toe, he was decked out as though he were a walking sponsorship. the golf bag itself was pristine, clubs were not only top-notch, but immaculate as well. dad even described the golf towels this gentleman used. ball markers and golf tees that cost more than your average pair of sneakers.
but this guy’s golf game? SUCKED. he had all of the equipment he could possibly need to look like a pro/semi-pro athlete. unfortunately for him, he lacked all skill and natural ability to hit the ball.
he was “all bag.”
as the years have come and gone, i’ve listened to my dad and brother occasionally use this term to describe various people in different circumstances, not all sports-related. i’ve come to use the term myself, and eventually taught paul its meaning. everyone in my family gets a small chuckle out of referring to someone as being “all bag.”
and now it’s hit me that over the past 2 weeks particularly, i am the one who is “all bag.”
i am prepping for this baby’s arrival with gusto, purchasing what items we need, storing away things we don’t need, ridding our home of clutter. i have scheduled and started swim lessons for jackson to keep him busy during paul’s deployment, kept our lovely babysitter/nanny no further away than an arms length just in case. paul and i are laminating a world map for jackson to have in his room with a family picture over the state of florida and then a picture of his dad where he will be deployed to. the two of us are indulging in a weekend away soon, with mom watching jackson, so that we can have time alone.
i am doing all of the things i am “supposed to be” doing in preparation for my husband’s deployment and the arrival of our second child. there is no part of this preparation that has not already been considered. no rock will go unturned.
and with all of this effort, all of this STUFF, i am turning more and more into a basket case with each passing day. i’m keeping my emotions at bay as i continue to prep and make lists. some days i can distract myself easily, stay busy, get out of my house and engage. and other days, even when i do those things, i find myself needed an extra few minutes hiding in a public restroom while i fight off one of multiple panic attacks.
the tears are always RIGHT THERE, with their release being caused by the simplest of things… a smile from jackson, a kiss on the forehead from paul, a stranger holding a door open for me.
it doesn’t matter how many times before i have said goodbye to paul and watched him go. this time, i’m saying goodbye to him with children… one holding my hand and the other kicking my insides.
HOW DO THESE MEN AND WOMEN IN UNIFORM DO IT?
all the logic in the world that we are using to keep ourselves grounded can’t seem to fight off my current emotional state. all the preparation, planning, and check lists can’t get me truly ready for this spring.
i am all bag. putting on a good show for most, and being true to a select few and trusted folks… paul… my parents… my brother… and now, the internet.
it’s funny, some people can’t seem to understand WHY people blog. what would possess someone to share, at times, some very intimate details of their lives with a bunch of strangers? and i don’t know how to answer those questions. i don’t know the correct way to respond to that. all i know is that it feels right for me, and in times of desperation and heartache, sometimes i need to reach out and simply trust that someone, anyone, will be on the receiving end and hold my hand for a while. and then i promise to return the favor.
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as always, a continued THANK YOU to those of you sending your love and support during this time. also, a note about my anxiety for those concerned… my OBGYN is aware of our unique situation with this baby being born while her daddy is deployed and what that does to my brain. i am being well taken care of.
a place of calm
when we were young(er), grossly in love, swoony high school kids on spring break or summer vacation, paul and i referred to mornings spent sans shower, in the sand, splashing amongst waves, slathered in sunscreen and sunkissed with doses of vitamin D as being ‘beachy fresh.’
one thing he and i have always shared is a true love for all things beach related. if we could, he and i would spend our days raising kids in a smallish beach bungalow, windows always open, drunk on salty air and sunshine. bob marley in the background and the squawk of seagulls. sand would litter the kitchen floor.
i took 397 photographs last weekend, while at gigi’s (my gramma) beach house. three hundred and ninety seven (i know, there should be a hyphen somewhere but i can’t remember where because i’m too focused on the enormity of that number). for those of you who are photographers and much more savvy when it comes to picture taking than i, this probably sounds menial to you. for me, it’s like HOW MANY SHOTS OF MY SON’S SANDY SHADOW CAN I TAKE? oh, i can take 397 thankyouverymuch.
yesterday, in an attempt to upload these photos and tinker with them, i nearly crashed my laptop (yes, i have an external hard drive, and no, i’m not totally certain on how to use it but i’m learning). it dawned on me as i was chatting with gigi on the phone last night, telling her the number of photos she can expect in the mail in the coming weeks, that our family of (almost 4) three really NEEDED that weekend.
we needed a sanctuary. we needed to be somewhere that held deep meaning to both paul and i. somewhere jackson had been to once before and will return to many more times in his future…
one of these next times, of course, with his little sister. he will have the opportunity to show her the beach and teach her about our love of all things slow, quiet, and relaxing. the sand. the waves. the sounds. the sun. he will be able to do this in the same ways that we have passed it along to him.
monday would have been my grandfather’s 80th birthday. he and jackson share a middle name, ray. being with gigi this weekend brought up a lot of fond memories, delicious cheesecake, a few tears but mostly laughter. as jackson approaches the age of 4, his understanding of his family members, both living and deceased, amazes me. children are so smart and open.
we were blessed with glorious weather and jackson treated the end of january as though it were the fourth of july. when it was time to say ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ to his gigi, this little one rested in the only way that a child worn out from a love affair with the beach can… with reckless abandon and an abundance of drool.
more photos to come, i promise. first, i need to shake the sand out of my clothes.
also, to those of you who have left sweet messages, comments, and emails to let us know that you’re thinking of us as we prepare to say goodbye to paul, THANK YOU. truly. your kindness does not go unnoticed.
savoring the sweet
for some reason, it seems to be universally understood that when a ‘goodbye’ is approaching, people start to cling to what’s familiar and to one another. we should do that more. regardless of whether or not we’re preparing to say goodbye to someone, we should do that more. more family walks by the river. more snuggles and snacks. more making time for each other. for what’s important.
because when it comes time to say those goodbyes, the time you had is never enough.
we are heading to my gramma’s house at the beach this weekend for our last getaway as a family of three. our last getaway as a family before paul leaves. driving a few hours south to rest and relax oceanside is just what we need right now. sand and surf await us. and naps. plenty of naps.
amidst the urine leakage there is denial
no one told me that subsequent pregnancies meant an increase of urine in your pants. which, when you’re pregnant, can be kinda freaky because it causes you to be all “OMG IS THAT AMNIOTIC FLUID IN MY PANTS?” and then you’re supposed to smell it to make sure it’s not amniotic fluid, but no one is entirely clear about what you should be smelling for… rancidness? sweet smelling flowers? the odor of piss?
WHO KNOWS? just know that you need to smell your pants. for something.
operation baby prep/deployment planning/support system establishment is going surprisingly well. part of me can’t help but feel a bit guilty about the prep, since most of it consists of phone conversations and skype chats about spring time plans. can i count on you for this, that, or the other diaper changing duties, make sure i have food in my house that has not passed its expiration date, possibly coming over to do a load of baby burp cloth laundry? type of stuff.
there’s not a lot of shopping and oogling over ruffles and lace. no registries to sign up for. no shower will be had (THANK GOD). there’s no nursery that we’re in the throes of painting. no crib we are beating each other over the head with the legs of. we’ll just pull a drawer out of our dresser for pickle to sleep in and hold off on cribbing and decorating until we’re in the other house. we have every bottle system under the sun thanks to jackson’s allergy issues to my boob juice, so we’re in good shape there too. basically pickle could arrive tomorrow and we’d find a way to make it work.
(this could also be my next stage of denial typing to you.)
both paul and i were saying this afternoon that while we feel like we’re in a great place in terms of our planning, the reality of the calendar is a constant in our minds. jackson’s clinging to paul for dear life, which is both endearing and heartbreaking. the kid can’t seem to get his days of the week to go in consecutive order, but he fools me with his little almost-4-year-old sense of time. with the holidays over, he has moved on to talking about his birthday. his birthday which will be mere days apart from his baby sister’s. he has no concept of time and yet he tells me that he should’ve been at school today, “because it’s monday, mom.”
time makes absolutely no sense to me these days. one of my best friend’s came by last week with her brand new bundle. i say ‘brand new’ but she’s actually not. she’s 10 weeks. a full 2 and a half months old. she’s basically ready for prom. when i held her, she told me that lea michele’s golden globe dress would be a monstrosity. she knew! because babies are made of magic and the ability to tell the future. i could swear that my friend just told me that she was pregnant yesterday, but no, she has a 10 week old baby. no more newborn even. full on baby.
jackson is going to be 4 in a couple of months. i am going to have a 4 year old. WHAT?!?! we’re registering him for school for NEXT year. because it’s january, and apparently at the start of a new year you are supposed to plan and prep for the following fall. he’s fighting a cold right now, and so last night, when paul checked on him before we turned in for the night, we decided to change his jammies to something cooler. our weather is so bizarre here, which is probably why all of us are fighting the snots, but we changed his jammies while he was half asleep. i took it upon myself to then stay a few extra minutes and rock him. with his sweaty head against my chest, we rocked and for a split second, jackson went from being almost 4 years old to almost 4 months old. i felt like i had my wee little magoo in my arms again. exhausted. sweaty. helpless.
and right now, jackson is rocking his baby doll in what was once his swing. he’s also telling me that it’s time for dinner, because apparently time makes more sense to him than it does me. i guess he is prepping for this baby too, in his own way, and thankfully not wetting his pants. unlike his mother. at least i’ve done something right with this parenting gig.
Have a Sip
