4 and 5 Months (Must. Hit. Publish. Before. 6 Months.)

Gwendolyn, you’re growing faster than I can write! We’ll have to lump months four and five together…

By the numbers:

at 4 months old… 14 lb 12 oz. 26 inches long. 17 inch head circumference. (70th–80th percentile for all.) 6-7 feedings per day. 1-2 night wakings. 2-3 naps per day. size 2 diapers. size 3-6 month clothes.

and now at 5 months old… 6-7 feedings per day. 1 night waking. 2 naps per day. size 2 diapers during the day, size 3 overnight. size 6-9 month clothes.

I need to record all these things more frequently, because I already forget so much of the last couple months. Here are some memories in a few categories of baby life.

Sleep (always important to the mommies and daddies, even if the babies themselves don’t care)

For the first three months of your life, you slept swaddled–in the swing during the day, and on your back in your bassinet (or our bed) at night. At four months you literally broke your bonds and changed every habit. During your daytime sleep, you kicked your swaddle blanket off, so you started sleeping–in the swing still–simply snuggled with your swaddle blanket instead. Nighttime swaddles held on a little longer, until you started waking up with every appendage free and your blanket belting your middle. Then you’d sleep on your back with your arms and legs splayed like a frog.

At five months, things changed again, when you outgrew your bassinet and started rolling over. You wanted to sleep on your tummy so badly that you’d try to roll over even in your swing, straining against the straps. At that point, we moved you to a pack-n-play with a bassinet-style insert. Now you do all your sleeping there on your tummy,  day and night. You join us in bed after your early morning feeding and spend the last couple hours of the night there. I love how you greet me in the morning with freshly awakened smiles!

Once you no longer had the motion of the swing to lull you to sleep, you needed some more, um, aggressive tactics. Plenty of babies need bouncing, pacing, or rocking to encourage sleep. You? You need running or speed-walking. Anything slower, and you want to keep looking around or interacting with us. But a faster pace temporarily overrides your curiosity, making your eyes roll back and droop closed. This quirk seems in keeping with what we see of your busy little personality so far.

Milestones

As mentioned above, you began rolling over in earnest these last couple of months. You went from the occasional unintentional flip to quick and regular rolls–mostly from back to front as you try to reach toys. You often get yourself into pickles now, rolling until you’re face-to-face with a radiator or until a limb gets caught on a chair leg. Then you complain loudly until someone rescues you.

You’re not only somewhat mobile now; you’re verbal, too. Right when you hit four months, you started cooing constantly. Then you learned how to blow raspberries. And you laugh frequently–when we tickle you, when we play peek-a-boo, and most of all, when your brother goofs off for you. The other day, we were in the car, and Brandt started banging his sippy cup against his car seat buckle. You cracked up again and again, and I thought how blessed my back seat is.

Odds and Ends

You love your toes. You grab them and suck on them whenever you can–in bed, on the floor, in your bouncy seat, in your car seat. You love when others play with your toes, too. If I blow raspberries on your feet, you invariably giggle. And you’re delighted when your Papa lays you on his lap, grabs your feet, and says, “Whose toes are those?”

You’re a hot-blooded little girl. You sweat when you cry (taking after your mama). You sweat in your car seat if it’s even marginally hot, so with the summer we’ve had, car rides and walks would often leave your fuzzy hair dripping with perspiration. I try to dress you in cool, lightweight outfits, but I can only do so much to combat your inner hot water bottle.

And in keeping with your zealous spirit, you eat ferociously. You took to nursing easily as a newborn, but then we had a couple iffy months. Your dwindling but fierce eating times left me sore and worried that you weren’t getting enough. But then I added my observations of your equally rapid draining of bottles and your increasingly chubby thighs to my observations of your generally eager nature, and I decided there was no need to fret and force you to nurse for more than a few minutes every few hours. You’re just fast, and now we’re doing just fine.

However, your mama’s heart wouldn’t mind if you slowed down the rush through babyhood, Gwendolyn-do-lindo.

Love, Mama

{embrace the camera} august 30

How Gwenny and I do the forest preserve:

How Gwenny and I do the park:

How Gwenny and I do the beach:

How Gwenny and I do the fair:

Catching a theme? Girl loves her some carrier.

{embrace the camera} july 26

Today is my mom’s birthday. Today is also my half-birthday. Tomorrow, Gwendolyn will be 4 months old. If we had gone ahead with the scheduled C-section, three generations of women would have shared a “26” birthdate. (I think Gwenny’s birth was more than worth having her birthdate miss the pattern by a day.)

Here are a few favorite pictures of my mom and her granddaughter, back when Gwenny was still brand new.

And here are a few recent self-portraits of me and Gwenny, taken at arm’s length in the lovely light on our front porch.

Not quite in the frame…

In the frame, but now Gwendolyn’s out of focus…

Smooch!

So there you have it, the “26” birthday ladies with the “27” birthday baby.

Pretense

Recently, Brandt’s imagination has burst forth, and I’ve had so much fun watching it. He engages in all sorts of pretend play these days. His games run along three themes: music, baseball, and transportation.

He uses anything stick-like as a bow for imaginary violins and cellos. Items he’s turned into bows include thermometers, measuring tapes, and curtain rods. Sometimes he does air violin, and sometimes he pretends his toy guitar is a violin or cello. Here, he told me he was holding his instrument on his neck (close, son), and he’s using a still-packaged curtain rod to bow:

We live across the street from a small community baseball field. During the first half of summer, Brandt constantly wanted to walk over to watch the games. His enthusiasm for the baseball players generated his first foray into dress-up. He of course needs his baseball hat, which he’s decided must be worn forward for throwing and hitting but backward for catching. Sometimes, though, a plastic firefighter hat makes a superb baseball helmet. Then he adds whatever accessories he deems necessary for the game: sunglasses, Daddy’s work glove, even an airplane held between the teeth. Once attired for the game, his play is punctuated with shouts of, “Run!”, ” Safe!”, “Field!”, “Home run!”, and “Going, going, gone!”

If frequency gives any indication, his favorite imaginary realm is filled with things that go. We build construction machines out of any sort of blocks – bristle blocks, Mega blocks, wooden blocks. Brandt tells me what we should build (“tuck dum,” “excalalaler,” “mint kicker,” and so forth*). I devise a sturdy base suitable to his truck of choice. After that, Brandt overrides my attempts at realism with abundant towers and arms, getting ever more precarious. But in his eyes, the original truck is still there (usually with a seat for a doggie or a guy).

Brandt also likes to create trucks out of pillows. When he first started doing this, I thought Aaron must have shown him the idea, but Brandt actually came up with it on his own. He clambers onto our bed and starts to arrange our four pillows. He declares the vehicle he wants (“Loader!” “Fire engine!”) and solicits assistance (“Mama help”). I prop the four pillows into a square, and he gets in and out until it collapses. Then we start all over again.

The Boppy pillow also makes excellent vehicular source material. Added to the four bed pillows, it can be the drum of a cement mixer. Or, on its own, it functions as a “moker” (motorcycle). The other day, Brandt strapped his baseball hat under his chin, declared it a “holmp” (helmet), and rode that Boppy full throttle.

With a little imagination, chairs become pretend transportation, too. I showed Brandt how to line up a row of chairs as a train; he quickly realized this works just as well as a plane. He puts stuffed animals in each seat (leaving a spot for himself, of course). He or I will serve as conductor/pilot/flight attendant, calling, “All aboard!” or offering (pretend) lemonade to passengers. Good times.

What a treat to watch a little mind full of big possibilities.

*translation: dump truck, excavator, and cement mixer

3 Months

Gwendolyn, you’re 3 months old!

(And change. I’m late. Again.)

By the numbers: 3 months old. Weight? Haven’t been near a scale since your 2 month check-up. Ditto for height and measuring tape. 6-7 feedings per day. 1-2 night wakings. size 1-2 diapers. size 3-6 month clothes.

You’re such an interactive baby. You love people. You’ll smile at anyone at just about any time. When you  wake up and see my face, you grin. You give your daddy and brother and other family lots of smiles, too. But you don’t discriminate; friends, strangers in the store, other little kids–they all get smiles upon eye contact. You also love your toys. When your brother was a baby, I thought all those little dangly toys were useless; he never paid them any mind. But you give your attention to any toy in your radius. You stare happily at the owls and hedgehogs that hang from the bars on your swing and bouncy seat. You grab eagerly at the rings and crinkly toys attached to your play gym and car seat handle. If I place your plush baby doll on your chest, you snuggle her and try to chew on her. You really engage with the people and things in your little world.

You’re also a strong baby. You have been from the start. Even in the hospital right after your birth, you could hold your head up for short periods. Now you hardly need your head supported at all when we hold you. If you’re lying on your back and I pull you up by your hands, you keep your head level as I bring you to sit. Despite the fact that you don’t get much tummy time, you can already push yourself up on your elbows and hold your head high. You don’t last for long in that position, but while there, you look all around with wide eyes taking in the new perspective.

May you always be eager and strong, sister.

Love, Mama

{embrace the camera} june 14

Hangin’ out with my baby girl during her brother’s naptime. After her little 2-month photo shoot, I joined her on the floor and aimed the camera at both of us.

Two Months

Gwendolyn Mae, you’re two months old!

(Or rather, you were two months old two weeks ago; yet again, caring for you kept me from writing this update on time.)

By the numbers: 2 months old. 11 lbs 5 oz. 23 inches long. 15.5 inch head circumference. 7 feedings per day. size 1-2 diapers. size 0-3 month for most clothes, but you need size 3-6 month sleepers for length.

You started smiling and cooing consistently this month. In fact, you smile just about every time I look at you! At your 2-month check-up, the doctor asked if you were responsive; I looked down at you as I said, “Yes,” and you broke into a giant grin. “Very responsive!” said the doctor. The other day, I read a baby sign language book to you during a quiet moment. You smiled and even chortled a bit at all the babies pictured on the pages. When I sing to you before your naps, you smile and coo through the whole song, losing your pacifier with every expression of wide-mouthed glee.

Speaking of naps, you take those somewhat more routinely now. If I can catch you in the sweet spot just before you get tired (I watch for the first yawn or the beginning of agitated movement), then you’ll drift off to sleep on your own once you’re swaddled and placed in your swing. But if I miss that narrow window – easy to do with your big brother to watch or errands to run – then you get overtired and won’t sleep without a fight. And even when you do nap, it’s often more of a catnap. You’re just not a drowsy baby. You have never fallen asleep during playtime on the floor, something your brother did constantly. You don’t just nod off in my arms; if I want you to fall asleep while I hold you, I have to jiggle and bounce and pace and sway.

Pressed to pick one word to describe you right now, I’d say that you’re particular. You won’t put up with a wet or dirty diaper for long before making your displeasure known. You will only nurse in one position, and if milk doesn’t flow fast enough for your liking, you shake your head back and forth and grunt. You’re sensitive to changes in light, in motion, in temperature, in noise. If you fall asleep in the car, you wake up as  soon as the engine stops or your car seat is brought inside. If your brother is too loud, you fuss, but when he’s napping you also seem to miss the ambient noise he provides. When we soothe you to sleep at bedtime, you do best if all the lights in the house are off or dim. You dislike breezes. Your bathwater must be just right. I’m curious to see if this pickiness continues as you grow; I would not be surprised if you take after your picky mother.

But no matter what, your picky mama picks you, girlfriend.

My Third Mother’s Day

Standing on this mountaintop
Looking just how far we’ve come
Knowing that for every step
You were with us 

At church, I stood singing in the back row (for easy stroller exit). I held my 6-week-old baby girl; my 2-year-old boy clung to my knees.

Kneeling on this battleground
Seeing just how much You’ve done
Knowing every victory
Is Your power in us

Combined, the moment and the music poignantly pointed to the redemption of Mother’s Day, my former infertility battleground.

Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes, our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did you leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful

He would still be faithful, even if this had been my eighth infertile Mother’s Day rather than my third as a mom. What a privilege that my story got a happy ending twice over.

This Is a Week Late Because Someone Likes Being Held So Much That I Never Have Two Hands Free to Type

Gwendolyn, you’re one month old!

By the numbers: 1 month old. ?* lbs. ?* inches. 7-8 feedings per day. size 1 diapers. size 0-3 month clothes. *You haven’t been measured since your 2 week doctor visit. I’d guess you’re about 10 lbs by now. And you’re certainly longer than your original 21″ length; we’ve already had to re-position your car seat straps to the next height setting. 

From the night you were born, I’ve been calling you my “Yes” baby. To just about every prayer I’ve prayed for you, God has answered, “Yes.” Yes to conceive you, without having to battle infertility again. Yes to a full-term pregnancy (with a week extra, to boot!), instead of premature birth or miscarriage. Yes to a natural delivery, rather than a C-section. Yes to a fairly easy nursing experience. Yes to you, my beautiful baby girl. I’ve learned from experience that there’s blessing when God says, “No,” or “Wait,” or “Not the way you planned.” But it’s simply sweet to also have you, a generous gift of God’s delightful affirmatives.

Your life is sweetly simple right now, too. You eat and you sleep. When you’re awake, you’re quite alert–with focused eyes and strong head and neck control for your age. You’re still sorting out your daytime routines; you don’t nap consistently, though you have settled into a regular pattern of eating about every three hours. In the evenings, you tend to get cranky, and then you want to nurse every two hours. You fuss a lot between those evening feedings, though for some reason you calm down on your changing pad, which we’ve taken to calling your “happy place.” But at night, you give your mama some longer stretches; I feed you right before your daddy and I go to bed, and then you don’t wake up again until 2 or 3 a.m. We appreciate that a lot!

You’ve gotten lots of love in your first month. You had continuous visitors for your first few weeks of life–Beppe and Papa, Grandma and Grandpa, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends. Everybody wants to hold you! You also get plenty of doting attention from your big brother, who says hi and bye to you as he comes and goes, and who likes to kiss you, and who tells mommy to “holdyou baby” when you cry. Your daddy is always excited to see his pretty daughter when he gets home from work. And me? I want to soak up these newborn snuggles (even though my to-do list languishes when you want to be held so much). You won’t be this little for long.

You’re my girlie girl, my sweet pea, my little miss, my “Yes” baby who fills my heart with contentment.

Love, Mama

Gwendolyn’s Birth, Part 3

The Epidural that Couldn’t

So it was 2 o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, and I felt pretty low. Castor oil hadn’t seemed to induce me, and I wished I had just gone ahead with the C-section the day before. At least then the waiting and wondering would be over.

I sat with my feet on my ottoman and read. I started having more frequent, slightly painful contractions. Brandt woke up mid-nap; I rocked him back to sleep, and contractions continued consistently. By the time I settled Brandt and returned downstairs, I thought, “I should probably start timing these.” I sat down to keep reading, now with my phone as timepiece. After a few minutes, I realized I was having difficulty A) keeping track of contraction times by memory and B) focusing enough during contractions to read. So I set my book aside and got pen and paper to record contractions.

2:45-2:47

2:49-2:51

2:54-2:55

And so on. When this pattern continued until a little after 3, I decided to call my doctor’s office. “Um, yeah,” said a nurse, “you’re going to the hospital.”

I told Aaron–who was with my dad working in the garage (yeah, we started a basement renovation the week of my due date, too)–that it was time to go. Flustered, he dropped what he was doing, dashed into the house, and grabbed the suitcase. Meanwhile, I readied to go at an ambling pace. I simply felt content to finally be in labor. I figured it would probably be long, so I didn’t feel the need to rush.

We arrived at the hospital at about 4:00 p.m. (We had to detour around a minor accident, which unnerved Aaron. I told him I wasn’t going to have the baby in the car.) In triage, a nurse checked my dilatation. 4.5cm. I had hoped for more progress than half a centimeter! My doctor (a different one from the day before; I see a practice with 5 doctors and love them all) did think I was in labor, but he suggested we give it another hour before admitting me. If I was admitted and then labor didn’t progress, I’d have to have a C-section after all, so we wanted to be sure this was the real deal.

Aaron and I paced the halls of labor and delivery for an hour. It got harder and harder to walk through the contractions. At 5:30, we returned to the triage room to check my progress. 5 cm. Only another half-centimeter, but my doctor thought it was time to admit me. We moved to a labor-and-delivery room.

At that point, the doctor asked if I wanted an epidural. I planned to have one, but I didn’t want to cause my labor to stall, so I decided to wait. My contractions were painful, but I could still breathe through them. I continued to labor for another two hours, and then my doctor came to check on me again. When he determined that my dilatation had only minimally progressed, he suggested breaking my water to speed things along. I was hesitant (my mom had her water broken with me and then had an awful labor), so I asked the doctor a few questions.

“If you were my sister,” he said, “I’d tell you to break your water.”

“Okay,” I replied. “Let’s do it.”

“Do you want the epidural now? It will get much more intense after this.”

“Yes, I’ll take the epidural!”

After my water was broken, contractions did indeed get much more intense. I moved to a birthing ball to try to get some relief. The nurse brought news that two other patients were waiting for epidurals before me, so it would be a while before the anesthesiologist could come. As the pain escalated, Aaron helped me to try different breathing and massage techniques to get through each contraction.

Finally, about an hour after my water had been broken, the anesthesiologist arrived. I sat on the edge of the bed to have my back prepped and the needle placed. I expected it to go quickly, based on my experience with the spinal I received for Brandt’s emergency C-section. Wrong. First, the anesthesiologist couldn’t get the needle in the right spot. Then, once the needle was inserted, the catheter wouldn’t go in. After trying again and again, he decided he had to move to a new spot.

“Relax,” he and the nurse told me. “Try to hold still.”

Right. That’s easy to do when you’re forced to sit in one uncomfortable position while your uterus tries to forcefully squeeze out a baby.

At last, the epidural was in. “How long until I feel relief?” I asked, as I laid back in the bed. I was told it would take up to 30 minutes, but that each contraction should start to feel less painful. The next contraction hit–worse than any yet. The next one–even worse. “Um,” I said, “it’s not getting any better. Every contraction hurts more.”

“Huh. Let me check you,” said the nurse. “Oh! You’re at a 9!” And she immediately started scurrying around to get supplies ready for delivery. “Don’t push yet!” she said. “Try to breathe through these contractions!”

By then, the pain was so intense I could barely focus. Everything in me wanted to push, but I tried to fight the impulse. When I asked if I would feel any effect from the epidural at all, the nurse said she thought my labor was moving too fast for the epidural to catch up. She checked me again.

“9 and a half! Just breathe through a few more!”

By then, my doctor was in the room, and everything was set for delivery. I made it to 10 cm. Aaron held one of my legs, the nurse held the other, and the doctor instructed me to hold my breath and push through each contraction. It felt so much better to finally have freedom to push! After only four contractions (about 20 minutes all told), my little girl was born at 10:10 p.m.

“She’s a big girl!” the doctor exclaimed. “Does she have a name?”

Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn Mae.

I got to hold her for a few minutes, and then the nurse took her for vitals. 9 lbs 2 oz, 21 inches long. During the afterbirth process (I had a partial 3rd-degree tear), I admired my girl across the room–her full head of light brown hair, her long, slender toes and fingers.

“You’re a rockstar,” my doctor said. “You did great, especially with such a big baby and with this essentially being your first time to give birth.”

As a friend commented later, I had nearly every experience possible in one delivery. A C-section turned into VBAC. Taking castor oil. An epidural, but in essence a natural birth. (By the way, the epidural never did have any effect beyond a slight tingling in one leg. I’m glad to know I can endure a natural delivery, but if there’s a next time, I’ll ask for an epidural sooner!) I’m so grateful to God for the whole saga–for courage to back out of the C-section, for a husband and friends who encouraged me as I waited for labor to progress, and most of all for the safe delivery of our sweet, healthy Gwenny. Our family of four makes my heart so happy.