Same Seat, Same Baby...8 weeks later...

As you can see, I'm busy feeding Little Miss Jenny Craig. Attached are side by side before and afters - the before is Ellie on 5/6, the after on 6/30. Miss Eleanor is happily ensconced in her car seat on her way to a cookout. She is exactly 2 months in this photo, and in the 50th percentile for height and weight for her age. Yep, the preemie thing apparently hasn't quashed her appetite. There's Mommy's girl...oink! (Yes, her head is in the 60th percentile but shhhhh, that came from Daddy's side...) Actually, she's perfect and we are looking forward to her first long smile, the second week of her learning to grab things (like Mommy's hair, glasses and necklace) and the discovery of her hands as actual appendages! There's a rumor, too, that we are a month away from sleeping through the night. Whee.

You'll notice that she doesn't need her bumpers any more :o( weep weep. She'll be off to college soon...

Happy Anniversary - Year Two, subtitled What Becomes of The Brokenhearted

We stopped and the couple in front of us looked at us. I think they thought "oh shit, a baby"...further "likely she's going to cry." The man moved his chair forward about a foot. He used the butt-scoot forward method and he did it with emphasis. The whole time his back was rigid and I knew it was directed at us.

I put the blanket down, then She in her seat, to the far left corner. Her bag in the lower right. I was reminded of the beach when I was little - where you anchored the blanket with your shoes. Doug tried to help and I was immediately on edge. I mentally hissed at him "You're making us look like newbies". Further I thought "I do this every day, you're not helping." I think there's an ease, an effortlessness in doing certain things that comes easier to me. Snap goes the release, the carriage unfolds gracefully. ZZZip goes the nylon bag, out comes the chair. It's one two three, easy for me. I think Doug gets lost. Mesmerized by the mechanics, he ends up looking much like the sweet befuddled old man next to my purse mouthed crone.

"What can I do" he hovers solicitously. He reaches out and fumbles in the spot where my hands are.
"I have it, I say, "Can you unfold the chairs?"
He sees my struggling with the release. He tries to help.
I wish he'd stop I think. I can get this and he's making it worse.
"Please," I say "Just get the chairs"

He fumbles with the drawstring on the bag.
He's so tall, I think with dismay. Everyone is watching.
"Do you need me to, do you want me to, is she ok..." he asks without waiting for a reply. Questions questions. I feel myself cringe. I'm stressed. There's no need, after all, to make a spectacle of ourselves.

I've been embarrassed in the past by Doug's solicitousness. Worried that he looked henpecked, afraid that someone will assume I bully.

Finally we are set. I sink into the blue back chair. I'm hiding. I want people to stop looking. I squinch low, trying to keep my head lower then the seat back. I reach down to unbuckle her.

"Is she ok? Does she need to be taken out?" he asks.
He's not yet clear on the concept that this is the best part.

And then she is in my arms. Snuggly in pink. Together we settle in. It was light when we got here, and it gets darker as the music starts in earnest. I'm wearing brown pants and a brown vneck. The closest thing I have, that fits, that mimics the original outfit. I can't remember what he wore, pants because it was cool for sure, and I think a brown crew neck sweater. Likely he was the most handsome man there.

"Do you need me to hold her" he asks.
"Nooo" I clutch her closer. He smiles. I smile.

The music continues. The songs are great, the sound fantastic.
We eat, we feed her, he gives me his shoes because its cold in just flip flops. It's Ellie's first concert. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64f4VfTNBD0

Oh my god, I think. We're "that" couple.
I lean over. "We're that couple." I whisper. "What? Who is?" he looks around. "No, no" I say "We are. We're THAT couple." "I don't get it, what couple?"

"You know," I said. "We're that couple that I always see where the husband handsome, and they have a baby, and they look really happy - like at the apple festival." He reaches to rest his hand over my leg. I continue. "I've always seen that couple and was sad. I've always wanted to be that couple."

Then he gave me a kiss on head.
"Yes, my dear. We are. We're that couple."

Finally.

Happy Anniversary - The First Year

picture taken 7/9/2006 - Tony's 40th

Originally Posted: Friday, June 30, 2006 Titled: Our First Anniversary

So a year ago yesterday, I went on a quasi blind date. I wanted to be adventurous, if not in application, certainly in spirit. Fortunately for me I had a cunning frock, or replica thereof, already on when the invite was extended. A vneck black shirt, black skirt, black shoes.

The last minute invite. That I accepted. And wanted to cancel. But forced myself to go.

I took the train, and got off at the wrong stop. The Ruggles orange line is nowhere near the MFA green line, contrary to what their website says. I flirted with the big dig worker as I walked towards my date, cell phone in hand. Twas muggy, overcast, and my feet hurt in my too tight black shoes that I left on so I looked cuter.

He had on a dark blue suit, with stripes, a red tie, white shirt, dorky shoes and bushy hair. After I said to friends "Have you ever seen the Simpsons? Think "Mr Burns." It was, and still is, in fact "His Worst Suit". He lost the umbrella on the date and I was certain that I had no romantic interest. Whatsoever.

By date two the hair was cut, and on we went. You all know where we ended up.

Yesterday was our one year anniversary. We left the house together with plans to meet in front of the MFA. "I'll take the train " I said as drove past the Ox Bow pet shop, "so it will be the same." Then further "Hey, you are wearing the blue suit". He smiled. "Different tie though" I said. (It was gray.) He smiled again.

I called at 6:25 from the bench outside. "I'm here"

He said "You looked pretty sitting there reading your book. I just drove by" He parked in the garage. "I'm walking along the building" "So am I" I said. I reached the corner and saw a man on a cell phone. I wondered if he too was waiting for a date. He was smiling into the phone and I wanted to stop and tell that that was us a year ago.

Instead I squinted and walked forward more. Walking towards me was a man. He looked shorter. Squiting, squinting. The walk looked familiar. But shorter? Closer still. I see a blue shirt, I see a white shirt, but I see a splash of color down the front. Is it red? Is that him? How can I not recognize him? Vanity, I'm cursed, where are my glasses. Then he's right in front of me.

"You changed your tie"
"I had it in my pocket this morning"

So there we were, a year later, he in the awful blue suit and the same red tie, me in my too small shoes, him needing a hair cut, me wondering if my vneck was too low, so much the same.

"Why do you seem shorter?" I wondered allowed as I reached out to hug him hello.
"Shorter?"
"The first time I met you you seemed taller."
"It's because you're used to me now" he said.

So much the same - but different as we linked fingers, mine with my ring, and his familiar in mine - and we walked into the building. I think now what a difference a year makes.

We had a great anniversary.

Competitive Parenting

The good thing about having a blog that you didn't send the link to anyone about is that you are free to say, virtually, anything you want. So having prequalified my situation, as follows:

I don't have the monopoly on quote unquote difficult pregnancies. In fact, if you ask me, I seldom say "I had a difficult pregnancy". I generally say some variant of "OMG, we had this ka-razy pregnancy" and gloss over it, or, if I truly want to be candid, I matter of factly say "It was interesting, we had a lot of challenges and it changed the way we think about things. It wasn't what we expected but in the end we were really lucky". Other then a minor meltdown post birth, I seldom, if ever bring up our pregnancy. BUT. It's not like it doesn't lurk in my mind. I mean, oh sure, I don't dwell on it, I mean - who has the time? But does it occur to me that sh*t happened? Yes, it does.

Why do I bring this up. Hmm, well, it has to do with Miss Eleanor's "Prematurity".

For those of you who don't know, sweet Ellie B was born at 34 weeks. Back in February, when the perinatologist said the ideal was 34 weeks, we were devastated. How in the world were we going to make it another 13 weeks. It seemed endless. Day by day I checked off the box on my excel spreadsheet. I ran columns up and down, forward and back. How many days on? How many left? I googled statistics, I read medical journals online, I babycenter'd and Parents.com'd my left-lying days away. I looked up just how likely she was to survive, and, if she survived, how "retarded" she'd be. Excuse me, handicapable and special needs she'd be.

So 34 weeks was the Holy Grail. At 34 weeks, she would be "normal". 34 weeks was almost as good as full term. Practically. 34 weeks was, and still is, a "big" girl.

Friday she was 34 weeks. Friday I went into early stages of Labor. Born Monday, she was - officially - 34 weeks plus 3. After 8 days in the NICU, home she came.

To some she was tiny, but we thought her simply baby sized. After all, they are all pretty small. But she was perfect, and NORMAL - and we treated her as such.

Wheel wheel wheel, out we'd go. "How old is your baby? How much does she weigh? She's so little." Frankly, it was nice. I didn't get a chance to be pregnant in public so it was fun to be out with my newborn. And I answered all the questions. "Oh she's 4 weeks, she's 6 weeks, she's almost 8 weeks." "She's little" they'd say. I'd look at her fondly "I know, but she's growing like a weed." "How much does she weigh?" they'd say. "5 pounds, 6.5 lbs, almost 7 pounds" I'd answer. I knew that people thought she was itty bitty. Eventually, if they continued to marvel at her "wee"-ness, I'd say "Oh, she was born early" and assume that would resolve it.

Whoa Nelly! Who knew?

See, here's what I've learned about her being "early". For some reason her "earliness" sends up a red flag to start the Competitive Baby Experience Discussion. People don't really want to talk about YOUR baby, they want to talk about THEIR baby. And for some reason, THEIR baby experience is like playing poker...

Them: quizzically "Oh she was early?!"
me: "Yes"
Them: aggressively "How early?
me: "She was born at 34 weeks"
Them: dismissively "Oh, my baby was early too. She was almost premature. She missed it by 3 days. She was just over 37 weeks."
me: pausing "Wow, she looks great"
Them: "Yes, she does. She was 7.1/2 lbs at birth and she's almost 12 now"
me: Terrific, she looks good.
Them: "Yes, we were completely surprised. We were due on the 26th but she came on the 8th. I mean, she was fine but she missed the preemie cutoff by days."

The PREEMIE cutoff?

What I really want to say is "I'll see your normal vaginal birth 37 plus week old and raise you a 124 day bedrest, 2 bleeding ER visits, a detaching placenta, 35 days in the hospital and a 30 hours of active labor."

For f*cks sake, as they say in the Irish bars. Your baby is not "ALMOST premature". Being premature isn't something you want, solicit or ask for. I don't even say premature because our baby, at 34 weeks, was BARELY premature herself. We were in the NICU and we saw babies at 2 and 3lbs plus. Now THAT my friend is premature. That is the mom to be prayed for, and to give compassion to. Don't talk to me in the CVS diaper aisle about your "almost premature" baby. Please. The fact that you had a normal pregnancy, that you went fairly close to term, that your fat ass healthy baby came home with you but that you weren't right at 40 weeks does not entitle you to some sort of attention. Your pregnancy is over. Your labor is over. It's not about you. And shut up about how you almost had a premature baby. You didn't. You don't. And you don't have the right to claim any attention as if you did.

Jackass.