One of the things I liked most about pregnancy was that it was nine months cf ompletely without guilt (unusual for a people pleasing Catholic girl like me!). If I wanted dessert, I ordered it and no one judged me. If I wanted a nap, I took one - and people encouraged me to do so. If I didn't have the energy to cook supper for my husband, he completely understood. In every aspect of life, I put my needs first and was rewarded for doing so.
Life as a new mom is the exact opposite. I feel like the nine months of guilt has come crashing down all at once. Everyone seems to be experts on motherhood except me (although sometimes I wonder if these experts have forgotten the struggles they experienced in the first few weeks) and they are full of advice on how to make it work. While the advice helps, it makes me feel guilty if I don't follow it. People say not to hold a baby too much because she won't learn to sleep on her own. So when Emerson is keeping us up at night fussing in her sleeper, and I pick her up, I do so with guilt. Rarely do I sit and hold her without feeling like I shouldn't be. Then again, if I leave her crying, I feel guilty for deserting her and for keeping Jesse awake. After all, some books say that you can't spoil newborns - they just want to know that you are there for them. Now Emerson has developed colic and that's brought on different feelings of guilt. At first I wondered if it was something I ate. Or is it because I can't get her to burp? Or is she not latching on correctly? And because of her colic, the only way she can sleep comfortably is on our chests or in her swing. Guilt again.
My best friend, Emily, said something the other day that illuminated why I feel so much guilt and why I shouldn't be. She looked at me and said, "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be her mama." She knows me too well. I want to be perfect. I want the baby who is on a routine, who sleeps on her own in her sleeper, through the night. She is perfectly healthy, gaining weight regularly, and smiling through the day. I let those expectations get the best of me instead of just relaxing, doing the best I can, and remembering - all Emerson needs right now is to know that her Mama is here....
It's difficult being a new mom. And honestly, I feel guilty even saying that.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Labor - how it all begins
When I started this blog, I said one reason was to teach people about pregnancy. Strangely enough, very soon after I gave birth, I thought about this blog and knew I wanted to write a post teaching people about labor and delivery. The entire time I was pregnant, labor loomed over me like a bee that would not state its sting (shout out to Emily Dickinson there - anyone catch it?). And why was I so scared? Because I had no idea what to expect (except pain...lots of pain). And as humans, we fear the unknown. So maybe I can take away some of that fear for those of you out there who have yet to experience this miracle by telling you a little more about what to expect. Of course, just like pregnancy, every woman's experience is unique, but maybe it will help to hear one person's perspective.
One of my first questions was - how will I know I'm in labor? By the 9th month of pregnancy, I felt contractions frequently, so I didn't understand how I'd know when it was The Contractions. Moms told me, "You'll know." And they were right. You do know. And here's why - at that point, you have become so in tune with your body. Every ache and movement has captured your attention for months so when a new one arrives, you know immediately. I did. It was 1:30 a.m. and I woke up to go to the bathroom. Soon after, I told Jesse I thought I felt a contraction. About 10 minutes later, I felt another. And so it began.
So what next? You're not supposed to go to the hospital until your contractions are 5 minutes apart and mine were not regularly spaced out at all. So what do you do? Jesse and I went into go mode. We literally hopped out of bed and starting working. He emptied the litter box. I emailed lesson plans. He ran the dishwasher. I called my mom. The entire time, he was timing my contractions and we looked at each other in excitement and fear.
Sidenote - Around 3 am, we decided to go for a walk. On Spalding Ave. Yes, we're insane. But I'd been told that walking will push labor along...so, we started down the street. And ended up walking to my parents' house. They were wide awake, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their next grandchild.
So what do contractions feel like? In the beginning, they aren't totally painful, it's just like bad cramps. Of course, they intensify but it is manageable at first.
Around 7 am, we finally went to the hospital. 10 hours later, 16 hours after labor began, Emerson was born. I'll leave out the rest of the details. But I will say it wasn't near as bad as I expected it to be. And as all Mamas say - once they put the baby on your chest, you forget the rest of it anyway.
One of my first questions was - how will I know I'm in labor? By the 9th month of pregnancy, I felt contractions frequently, so I didn't understand how I'd know when it was The Contractions. Moms told me, "You'll know." And they were right. You do know. And here's why - at that point, you have become so in tune with your body. Every ache and movement has captured your attention for months so when a new one arrives, you know immediately. I did. It was 1:30 a.m. and I woke up to go to the bathroom. Soon after, I told Jesse I thought I felt a contraction. About 10 minutes later, I felt another. And so it began.
So what next? You're not supposed to go to the hospital until your contractions are 5 minutes apart and mine were not regularly spaced out at all. So what do you do? Jesse and I went into go mode. We literally hopped out of bed and starting working. He emptied the litter box. I emailed lesson plans. He ran the dishwasher. I called my mom. The entire time, he was timing my contractions and we looked at each other in excitement and fear.
Sidenote - Around 3 am, we decided to go for a walk. On Spalding Ave. Yes, we're insane. But I'd been told that walking will push labor along...so, we started down the street. And ended up walking to my parents' house. They were wide awake, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their next grandchild.
So what do contractions feel like? In the beginning, they aren't totally painful, it's just like bad cramps. Of course, they intensify but it is manageable at first.
Around 7 am, we finally went to the hospital. 10 hours later, 16 hours after labor began, Emerson was born. I'll leave out the rest of the details. But I will say it wasn't near as bad as I expected it to be. And as all Mamas say - once they put the baby on your chest, you forget the rest of it anyway.
It's a Girl!!
Emerson Jo Osbourne has arrived! Technically, she arrived two weeks ago but I'm just now rested enough to formulate a complete sentence, so here's the belated announcement. :)
Emerson was born on Friday, April 22nd, at 4:38 pm. She was 10 days early and weighed only 6 lbs 8.5 oz. She was born on Good Friday and Earth Day (Ralph Waldo would be proud). It had rained all day - and rained for days and days afterwards - but Emerson was born during the brief moment of sunshine that day.
We chose the middle name in the middle of labor. Drugged up on pain medication, I suddenly looked up at Jesse through half-opened eyes and said, "If she's a girl, we have to name her Jo..." He leaned down and said, "Okay..." with a question in his eyes. Then I explained: it's Easter weekend...a holiday very important to me and my grandmother, Mama Jo (explanation will follow)... it's a sign. As tears streamed down both of our faces - and my mother's, who was on my other side - he agreed. And, of course, she was a girl, as we both thought all along, and so we had our Emerson Jo.
You see, my grandmother was a child at heart, especially when it came to holidays. Every Easter, she would make the adults have an Easter egg hunt. One year, I hid easter eggs all over her house after our hunt. For a year later, I'd receive phone calls from her after she'd found yet another egg stashed away in a random tupperware bowl or suitcase. After that, we'd hide or gift Easter eggs to each other at random times, and when she passed away, I stashed an egg in her casket (I guess I got the last laugh).
All of this hit me in the middle of labor - that and the fact that I'd already covered Emerson's nursery in frogs, which she collected - and I realized this baby was being born with a ready made guardian angel. Who was I to fight it? It had to be Jo. And so, it is. Emerson Jo. It's perfect, just like her.
Stay tuned for details on labor... restless nights... and the rest that has happened in the past two weeks!
Emerson was born on Friday, April 22nd, at 4:38 pm. She was 10 days early and weighed only 6 lbs 8.5 oz. She was born on Good Friday and Earth Day (Ralph Waldo would be proud). It had rained all day - and rained for days and days afterwards - but Emerson was born during the brief moment of sunshine that day.
We chose the middle name in the middle of labor. Drugged up on pain medication, I suddenly looked up at Jesse through half-opened eyes and said, "If she's a girl, we have to name her Jo..." He leaned down and said, "Okay..." with a question in his eyes. Then I explained: it's Easter weekend...a holiday very important to me and my grandmother, Mama Jo (explanation will follow)... it's a sign. As tears streamed down both of our faces - and my mother's, who was on my other side - he agreed. And, of course, she was a girl, as we both thought all along, and so we had our Emerson Jo.
You see, my grandmother was a child at heart, especially when it came to holidays. Every Easter, she would make the adults have an Easter egg hunt. One year, I hid easter eggs all over her house after our hunt. For a year later, I'd receive phone calls from her after she'd found yet another egg stashed away in a random tupperware bowl or suitcase. After that, we'd hide or gift Easter eggs to each other at random times, and when she passed away, I stashed an egg in her casket (I guess I got the last laugh).
All of this hit me in the middle of labor - that and the fact that I'd already covered Emerson's nursery in frogs, which she collected - and I realized this baby was being born with a ready made guardian angel. Who was I to fight it? It had to be Jo. And so, it is. Emerson Jo. It's perfect, just like her.
Stay tuned for details on labor... restless nights... and the rest that has happened in the past two weeks!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Author to Her Book
I can still see it - this large yellow notebook with wide ruled paper and "PRIVATE" written in huge letters across the front. Inside, the scratchy handwriting of a sixth-grader on every other line and certain spots worn down from erasers. It was my masterpiece. My very first novel. However, it never got past four pages because the "friends" in my story changed as dramatically as a girl's friends will in middle school. I never got past who the main character's "bff's" would be.
The dream of writing a novel didn't die with the yellow notebook, however. For many years, I wanted to write a book of poetry about my life - the title of the book was going to be "Nutshell." It was going to have a blue cover with only a broken peanut shell and the title on the front. Then, several years ago, when I was spending quite a bit of time in airports, traveling to see Jesse as he followed internships and jobs across the country, my brainchild was a book of poetry about my experiences in airports. The titles of each poem would be the specific airport. I thought about the marketing available for that one and so, while waiting for flights, I wrote poetry about the people around me.
Last but not least, my dream of being a published author transformed genres yet again - my most recent dream was to write a book called "After the 3:00 Bell" in which I shared stories about my students whose home lives are far from ideal. The purpose of the book would be to remind teachers to consider the "baggage" students bring with them every day to their classroom.
Obviously, none of these publication dreams have come to fruition. The closest I've gotten to being published is, well, blogs. And my college newspaper. But I realized something today.
I am about to write my greatest masterpiece. Emerson.
Anne Bradstreet has a famous poem entitled "Author to Her Book" - the entire poem is a metaphor. It sounds like a poem about a mother talking to her new child, when in reality, it is Bradstreet's opinion about her book... which, to her, was the "offspring of (her) feeble brain."
I think that metaphor works both ways. At this stage in my life, I may never write a book that is read by someone other than me and my immediate family. However, I have written something greater.
I'm confident my first book will inspire others, will be creative, (and will spend lots of times in book stores!). I will constantly revise my first book, trying to do the absolute best I can do - revising it over and over as Whitman revised Leaves of Grass until his deathbed edition. And the best part? I cowrote this book with my husband, a man whose writing talents never fail to impress me. And our writing styles are so different - he is terse, matter-of-fact, and witty. I am emotional, elaborate, and metaphorical. But I can see our first book together being a beautiful blend of our talents and our strengths.
In a matter of days ... or I guess, even hours ... I will get to meet my first real work of art. And a lifetime goal will be met beyond my own expectations.
The dream of writing a novel didn't die with the yellow notebook, however. For many years, I wanted to write a book of poetry about my life - the title of the book was going to be "Nutshell." It was going to have a blue cover with only a broken peanut shell and the title on the front. Then, several years ago, when I was spending quite a bit of time in airports, traveling to see Jesse as he followed internships and jobs across the country, my brainchild was a book of poetry about my experiences in airports. The titles of each poem would be the specific airport. I thought about the marketing available for that one and so, while waiting for flights, I wrote poetry about the people around me.
Last but not least, my dream of being a published author transformed genres yet again - my most recent dream was to write a book called "After the 3:00 Bell" in which I shared stories about my students whose home lives are far from ideal. The purpose of the book would be to remind teachers to consider the "baggage" students bring with them every day to their classroom.
Obviously, none of these publication dreams have come to fruition. The closest I've gotten to being published is, well, blogs. And my college newspaper. But I realized something today.
I am about to write my greatest masterpiece. Emerson.
Anne Bradstreet has a famous poem entitled "Author to Her Book" - the entire poem is a metaphor. It sounds like a poem about a mother talking to her new child, when in reality, it is Bradstreet's opinion about her book... which, to her, was the "offspring of (her) feeble brain."
I think that metaphor works both ways. At this stage in my life, I may never write a book that is read by someone other than me and my immediate family. However, I have written something greater.
I'm confident my first book will inspire others, will be creative, (and will spend lots of times in book stores!). I will constantly revise my first book, trying to do the absolute best I can do - revising it over and over as Whitman revised Leaves of Grass until his deathbed edition. And the best part? I cowrote this book with my husband, a man whose writing talents never fail to impress me. And our writing styles are so different - he is terse, matter-of-fact, and witty. I am emotional, elaborate, and metaphorical. But I can see our first book together being a beautiful blend of our talents and our strengths.
In a matter of days ... or I guess, even hours ... I will get to meet my first real work of art. And a lifetime goal will be met beyond my own expectations.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Pregnancy Body Woes: A Poem
At nine months pregnant, I've started to see
The things taken for granted previously....
Like when I drop things on the floor,
I have to decide what's worth more:
That dollar, pen, or ketchup packet
Or avoiding the humiliation of trying to grab it.
Getting off of the couch when snuggled deep in the cushions
Takes a "heave" and a "ho"and lots of pushing
I have to rely on my students to tell me
When I've dropped food on my lower belly
Painting my toes pretty colors just isn't happenin'
Though wearing socks hurts my ankles as they are fattenin'
I lose my breath when I read aloud to my class
And carrying in groceries is an impossible task.
Turning from left to right feels like a chore,
I can't get out of a car without holding the door.
If I stand up, I think that I need to pee
(or when I laugh, or sleep, or all the time really)
Every morning I wake up in a sweat and in pain
From my body trying to hold up the extra weight gain.
Although they seem minor, these issues I've got
Make me excited for when, pregnant, I'm not!
The things taken for granted previously....
Like when I drop things on the floor,
I have to decide what's worth more:
That dollar, pen, or ketchup packet
Or avoiding the humiliation of trying to grab it.
Getting off of the couch when snuggled deep in the cushions
Takes a "heave" and a "ho"and lots of pushing
I have to rely on my students to tell me
When I've dropped food on my lower belly
Painting my toes pretty colors just isn't happenin'
Though wearing socks hurts my ankles as they are fattenin'
I lose my breath when I read aloud to my class
And carrying in groceries is an impossible task.
Turning from left to right feels like a chore,
I can't get out of a car without holding the door.
If I stand up, I think that I need to pee
(or when I laugh, or sleep, or all the time really)
Every morning I wake up in a sweat and in pain
From my body trying to hold up the extra weight gain.
Although they seem minor, these issues I've got
Make me excited for when, pregnant, I'm not!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Mom I Hope to Be
You know, before you have a baby, it is really easy to say "When I'm a mom, I'm going to..." or "When I have a kid, I will never ...". Now that we're just a couple weeks away from my due date, I've thought a lot about the statements I've made about the type of parent I want to be. I realize that it will be more difficult to actually put those statements into practice, so I want to publicly and permanently state, here and now, the type of mom I hope to be. And all of you in cyberworld can hold me accountable (and laugh at me when you see me realize that it is, indeed, much harder than it looks!).
I want to be a disciplinarian. From toddler to teenager days, I want to have high expectations for my child that I enforce without question. I want to be strict, like my parents were with me. I realize this may be one of the hardest to uphold, but it is also one of the goals most important to me. As an educator, I see what a difference it makes when a child is raised with rules and curfews and a no-nonsense attitude.
I want to have a home full of laughter and conversation. I want my family to actually talk to each other. Over dinner, while watching TV, on family game night (right, Jesse??), in a car... it doesn't matter. There is no doubt that I cherish quality time with the people I love, and I want to make sure that time happens with my little family. And I want a positive household where we laugh together...a lot.
I don't want my baby to sleep in my bed. Ever. I know it will take serious commitment from me and Jesse, but I think it will be worth it in the end. It's just a habit I don't want to start, because I hear it's nearly impossible to break.
I don't want to put work before my child/family. I think this will be an easier one to keep once I see the face of my baby, but I am a workaholic. When I first found out I was pregnant and due close to the AP exam, I told people I wanted to go a few days late so I could teach untili the day of the exam. Every told me I wouldn't be saying that at the time... but here I am, two weeks away, and I'm still saying that. I really want to teach my students as long as possible to prepare them. I'm passionate about my job. And really, I want to remain passionate about that too. I think it's important for my child to see how you can enjoy your profession. However, I don't want to grade papers all night instead of playing with my child. I don't want to go to a thousand conferences that take me out of town, away from my baby, all the time. I want to find a strong balance and always put my baby first.
Most of all, I just want to be a good mom. I want to live up to the expectations people seem to have for me, and for me and Jesse, as parents. We've had many people tell us they think we'll be great parents and it's incredibly humbling and flattering. I hope I don't let those people down.
I'm sure there are many, many more I could share, but these are the first ones that come to mind. And so now they're out there. I hope my actions can echo these words.
I want to be a disciplinarian. From toddler to teenager days, I want to have high expectations for my child that I enforce without question. I want to be strict, like my parents were with me. I realize this may be one of the hardest to uphold, but it is also one of the goals most important to me. As an educator, I see what a difference it makes when a child is raised with rules and curfews and a no-nonsense attitude.
I want to have a home full of laughter and conversation. I want my family to actually talk to each other. Over dinner, while watching TV, on family game night (right, Jesse??), in a car... it doesn't matter. There is no doubt that I cherish quality time with the people I love, and I want to make sure that time happens with my little family. And I want a positive household where we laugh together...a lot.
I don't want my baby to sleep in my bed. Ever. I know it will take serious commitment from me and Jesse, but I think it will be worth it in the end. It's just a habit I don't want to start, because I hear it's nearly impossible to break.
I don't want to put work before my child/family. I think this will be an easier one to keep once I see the face of my baby, but I am a workaholic. When I first found out I was pregnant and due close to the AP exam, I told people I wanted to go a few days late so I could teach untili the day of the exam. Every told me I wouldn't be saying that at the time... but here I am, two weeks away, and I'm still saying that. I really want to teach my students as long as possible to prepare them. I'm passionate about my job. And really, I want to remain passionate about that too. I think it's important for my child to see how you can enjoy your profession. However, I don't want to grade papers all night instead of playing with my child. I don't want to go to a thousand conferences that take me out of town, away from my baby, all the time. I want to find a strong balance and always put my baby first.
Most of all, I just want to be a good mom. I want to live up to the expectations people seem to have for me, and for me and Jesse, as parents. We've had many people tell us they think we'll be great parents and it's incredibly humbling and flattering. I hope I don't let those people down.
I'm sure there are many, many more I could share, but these are the first ones that come to mind. And so now they're out there. I hope my actions can echo these words.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Baby Talk
I don't know if I have had a single conversation with someone in the last 8 months where pregnancy was not mentioned at least once. I don't know if I'm to blame - after all, I confess that being pregnant does consume most of my thoughts - or if it is the people I'm talking to, or both, but it's like the minute I became pregnant, or at least the week I began showing, no one had anything to say to me that wasn't pregnancy-related. As if the moment a baby started growing in my belly, I no longer worked for a living, had hobbies, had a relationship... had anything significant to say about anything except the moving being in my stomach.
And I'm not really complaining, because like I said, it may be my fault, but it is an interesting observation. A young male student teacher that eats lunch with me even said the other day that he has learned more about pregnancy in his time at the high school than he ever thought he'd know. And it's true!
It's ironic that I still have the urge to talk pregnancy on this blog considering how much I talk about it during the day!
My students have also learned a great deal about pregnancy. One asked me why my stomach didn't "attack" my baby, since it is foreign to it. That led to a discussion about where the baby actually is, amniotic fluid, placenta, etc. I even drew him a mini diagram of my organs. Another student commented that she would've thought my stomach would freeze in the shirt I was wearing (that didn't hug the bottom of my belly). That led to a conversation about maternity pants and how the top of my pants almost reached my breasts, so she needn't worry about my stomach being cold. Another student told me today that she had never felt a pregnant belly so I let her touch mine (after all, some of my students act like it's a lucky Buddha belly and rub it every time they walk by). That led to a conversation about all the things a pregnancy belly feels like (a volleyball under a layer of skin, palming a basketball, and many other sports analogies).
The thing is, I can understand why my students want to talk about pregnancy - it gets me away from talking about AP exams and literary analysis. But for every one else, I'm not sure.
I think it's because, when you look at me right now, you see one thing: a big, round belly. And if I'm walking towards you, you notice one thing: me waddling slowly along.
That's probably the reason for all the baby talk. It's hard to see me as anything but a pregnant lady at this point!
Well, in a few weeks, I'll be lucky to get anyone to even speak to me if I'm carrying my baby with me. I guess I should enjoy any conversation I can get!
And I'm not really complaining, because like I said, it may be my fault, but it is an interesting observation. A young male student teacher that eats lunch with me even said the other day that he has learned more about pregnancy in his time at the high school than he ever thought he'd know. And it's true!
It's ironic that I still have the urge to talk pregnancy on this blog considering how much I talk about it during the day!
My students have also learned a great deal about pregnancy. One asked me why my stomach didn't "attack" my baby, since it is foreign to it. That led to a discussion about where the baby actually is, amniotic fluid, placenta, etc. I even drew him a mini diagram of my organs. Another student commented that she would've thought my stomach would freeze in the shirt I was wearing (that didn't hug the bottom of my belly). That led to a conversation about maternity pants and how the top of my pants almost reached my breasts, so she needn't worry about my stomach being cold. Another student told me today that she had never felt a pregnant belly so I let her touch mine (after all, some of my students act like it's a lucky Buddha belly and rub it every time they walk by). That led to a conversation about all the things a pregnancy belly feels like (a volleyball under a layer of skin, palming a basketball, and many other sports analogies).
The thing is, I can understand why my students want to talk about pregnancy - it gets me away from talking about AP exams and literary analysis. But for every one else, I'm not sure.
I think it's because, when you look at me right now, you see one thing: a big, round belly. And if I'm walking towards you, you notice one thing: me waddling slowly along.
That's probably the reason for all the baby talk. It's hard to see me as anything but a pregnant lady at this point!
Well, in a few weeks, I'll be lucky to get anyone to even speak to me if I'm carrying my baby with me. I guess I should enjoy any conversation I can get!
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