Made in Richmond

JR was baptized yesterday. We decided to make the most of the day and have a party to celebrate.

And have a party we did.

The church was pretty packed, as was our house later on that day. I spent the better part of Saturday freaking out over how everyone was going to fit and would people think it was weird to involve so many people. But I’m so glad we did.

While we were standing at the front of the church, our big beautiful boy happily cradled in the arms of our pastor (and friend), I got to take a minute to look out and really look at the people sitting out in front of me. A lot of them would have already been at the church service anyway, but quite a few had chosen to spend their day celebrating with us, to show how much love they have for us and JR.

I’m still kind of blown away by it.

It’s an amazing feeling when other people are invested in the well-being of your child. I mean, Ross and I *supposed* to love him; we’re his parents. But the people with us yesterday are *choosing* to be part of his life, to be friends to us as we raise JR and to encourage and love him as he gets older.

And, still, I have no words. Ok, well one…

Thanks.

I got an email today from the person we hired to clean our house saying that she’s decided not to clean houses anymore. Something about being really busy and tired, etc. Which I could sympathize with. But I *did* cry when I got the email. Big ugly tears.

SHUT UP. I had my reasons.

1. I have approximately 75 million people coming to my house on Sunday to celebrate JR’s baptism and to just enjoy the last bit of summer. While I love every last one of them, I’m starting to freak out a bit. And since I was getting my house professionally cleaned on Friday, I hadn’t bothered to do a damn thing to keep things not-disgusting for days.

2. Work is insane and nonstop right now. The only breaks I get are when JR is awake, and one can’t call “chasing after a newly crawling infant who seems hell-bent on ending his life via face planting into corners” much of a break. Once he’s napping or asleep I’m frantically trying to catch up. There is a light at the end of the tunnel (i.e. VACATION IN TWO WEEKS!!!), but DUDE, this is a long-ass tunnel.

So I cried, ok?

But, luckily, I have a wonderful husband who has Spidey-sense for when I’m about the blow my top. As soon as I told him the cleaning person canceled PERMANENTLY (before she even started – she was gonna mop, guys) he was on the phone to his mother figuring out a plan B.

And now my saint of a mother-in-law will spend Thursday here taking care of the baby (rather than at her house, like she normally does on days I work) and getting our house together while he sleeps. And I hear she’ll be back on Friday, doing it again so I can get some effing work done.

I realize these are not real “problems.” I mean, I might want to punch someone who was all, “Wah wah my cleaning lady canceled woe is me.” But, guys, there is woe over here. Woe that is the result of me projecting my frustrations with other things on to this situation, but woe nonetheless.

So. We hired a person to come clean our house.

Not just once. Like, regularly.

I’m almost embarrassed to even talk about it because, seriously, who am I? Why can’t I clean my own damn house?

Well, the answer is, I just can’t. With work, more work, a shit-ton of work, raising a baby, and trying to have a life/relationship/conversation with my husband that’s *not* about work or raising a baby, this needs to happen. It needs to happen badly.

She’s coming every other Friday. To clean my house. And not half-ass clean my house, like I would do. She talked about wiping down baseboards. And mopping. MOPPING, I TELL YOU. I almost wept.

Yes, it will cost money. But, as my friend Susan (who also has this same lovely lady come into her house once a month) put it, “If you can wake up Saturday morning and think, ‘What am I going to do with my lovely husband/child/dogs today?’ instead of thinking ‘Now I have to get up and clean up after my stinky husband/child/dogs today EFF EVERYONE!’ then it’s worth it.”

Couldn’t agree more, really.

Last week I noticed that things were a little tender on my c-section scar. Odd because I really haven’t had much sensation at all along the scar, which is somewhat common at an incision site. Or as I like to call it, “My Baby Exit Zone.” I’m kind of thrilled with the fact that when JR asks me how he came out of my belly I can just say, “The doctor opened my belly and got you, of course!” No awkward conversation there, and they would most certainly be awkward because, hello, have you met me?

I gave it a couple days. Things got, well, worse. As in “swollen and hurty and gross” worse. So, I thought it only appropriate to call the man responsible for the scar: my OB/GYN.

After being sent home from my appointment yesterday because the doctor had to go deliver THREE BABIES AT ONCE, I made my way back today to get things checked out. After spending 45 minutes waiting in the exam room (while listening to the woman next door go into EXTENSIVE detail about how *exactly* she recently acquired an STD from a friend of hers with whom she “just let the boundaries get blurry”), the doctor finally came in. After appropriately oooohing and aahhhing over the picture of the baby that I finally brought to him, he took a look at me.

“Oh that’s a cyst. I can take care of it right now.”

“Wait. Why is there a cyst there?”

“Sometimes that happens on c-section scars.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that could happen?”

“Well it doesn’t happen to everyone, and if we told you everything that could happen, it would be a really long list. Better to deal with issues as they come.”

“Good point.”

He asked if I wanted him to “take care of it.” I wasn’t entirely sure what “take care of it” meant, but he sounded so breezy that I figured it couldn’t be so bad. Because I forgot that removing people from other people is part of this guy’s daily life, so most things “aren’t so bad.”

So the doctor turned to the nurse and said, “Please bring me some novacaine, an epi-thingamabob (he didn’t really say that, I just can’t remember what is was called)… and a knife.”

I then proceeded with a lot of “Whoa whoa whoas” and waving of the arms. I asked the doctor what exactly he was planning on doing with the knife and “all of this business.” Yes, I actually said that.

“I’m going to numb you, make a tiny incision, and that will take care of it.”

“But won’t that hurt?”

“Some. But don’t remember how you had a c-section 9 months ago?”

“Right.”

(I love my doctor. LOVE. We have a lovely bantering relationship.)

So the “taking care of” started. There was much stinging, much revisiting of my Lamaze breathing techniques, much praising the high heavens for numbing agents. And before I could “OMGTHATSTINGSLIKETHEDEVIL” I was patched up and sent on my way. But not without a slight warning from my doctor that the things could pop up again, so we need to keep an eye on it. I shrugged and thought to myself, “At least I still don’t have to talk to my son about him coming out of my lady parts.” Might be worth it.

Dear JR,

Today you are 9 months old. I think that’s a big deal for a lot of mothers because you’re quickly approaching the status of “more time out than in.”

The biggest change this month has to do with nursing. At this point, you only nurse in the morning and at night. The rest of the day you get bottles. You’ve done beautifully with this transition, and I’ve had absolutely no problems – both of these are signs that it was the right decision. Next will switch you over to the bottle for your nighttime feeding and just keep the morning one as long as you’ll take it. It’s my favorite time with you, and it seems you feel the same way.

I must say, I was a little sad when the time came to make this change. But you’re growing up, and the simple act of giving yourself a bottle (or in some cases a cup) of milk makes you so very happy. Look:

You’re also branching out in terms of food. Today I heated up some edamame and gave you the beans. You LOVE munching on them, smiling and laughing the whole time. When I put you to bed a while later I noticed you chewing on something. I reached into your mouth and what did I find? A bean. That had been sitting in your mouth for two entire hours during which you both nursed and had a few ounces of formula. It was like you were saving it for later.

No crawling yet, but you’re getting better at turning yourself around when you’re on your bottom. You’re also rolling to whatever it is that you want on the floor. Tonight you even hurled yourself forward just to face plant in efforts to grab one of your toys. Luckily you didn’t seem to mind. I expect the crawling to happen in the next couple weeks. It seems that you’re just on the later end of the spectrum when it comes to the gross motor skills. Your fine motor skills are quite impressive though. You’re able to point at and touch very small things (like screws on hinges and tiny buttons on people’s shirts) without any trouble. Your verbal skills are also developing really quickly, with lots of “buhs” when we say “buttons” and “puh” when we say “push” and “tiiiii” when we say “tick tock.”

Oh, little man, what can I say? You get better and more wonderful every day. You’re healthy and you seem happy. That’s all we can ask for.

Love,

Mama

I’ve got a cold. The baby is an equally snotty mess due to the same cold or teething. Work is nuts, and I barely have time to do anything not related to things that pay the bills.

Be back soon…

I know my last post was a list. I’M SORRY I AM VERY BUSY. But I have some things to share with you, all of which you will LURRRRRV. So here you go…

My darling, dear friend and co-contributor on RVANews, Patience, has just launched a website highlighting her new work as a birth photographer. Please, please go look at it. There is nothing that will make you squeamish. It is all beautiful and wonderful and making-you-want-to-have-babies-ful.

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Ross and I recently bought a new camera because our old one (after several years of serving us well) went kaput. We’re still in the honeymoon phase with it, meaning we use it all the effing time. Which is great when you have a cute BAYBEE. Ross has taken and uploaded some great shots of JR, and he also managed to capture his most recent milestone on video. Along with some quality baby babbling.

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My friend Jenny has recently started a blog. Go give her some clicky love.

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Ever since we saw Public Enemies (which was kinda slow, pretty good, oh hello, Mr. Depp, yes I will run off with you, especially if you hold on to the Southern-ish accent) I’ve been mildly obsessed with John Dillinger. Well maybe not with him specifically, but more with the era and the whole “glamourized criminal” type thing. Particularly the nicknames people had: Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, guys who were called “Red.” I’ve decided that if we were gansters, Ross would be called “Bottlecap Catrow,” due to his tendency to leave them everywhere; they could be like his calling card. I haven’t zeroed in on a name for myself yet. Send me some ideas, and be sure to think up one for yourself. Anyway, I encourage yourself to get lost on Wikipedia looking at that stuff. It’s fascinating.

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And finally, here’s a video tribute to the late, great John Hughes. A montage set to Teenage Wasteland. Because sometimes things *are* perfect.

We are going on vacation in September. VACAAAAAYYYY-SHUNNNNN.

JR is *this close* to crawling. Although I understand that this will no longer be exciting once it actually happens.

It’s August which is almost September which is almost October which equals my birthday.

I’m getting a manicure, pedicure, and lunch out tomorrow. And I don’t have to pay for any of it.

The other night Ross and I were going through some pictures on his computer when suddenly one popped up of a baby being cleaned off just after being born. Specifically, MY baby. In a picture I HAD NEVER EVEN SEEN.

As Ross kept flipping through, more and more images (also unseen by me until that moment) flashed before my eyes. Guys, it was like Christmas.

I had recently resigned to the fact that we just didn’t have a lot of pictures of our time in the hospital. What with the pain and the surgery and the suddenly being responsible for an entire other person, I figured we had just unfortunately missed the opportunity. But I was so wrong.

Ladies and gents, I’m so so pleased to present “Labor and delivery: the lost footage.” (Don’t worry, there’s nothing gross.)

Me getting ready to be heaved onto the operating table.

My, that was a big belly.

Starting to process what’s about to happen.

Fresh out of the oven. And he’s angry about it.

I think the nurse was trying to find a diaper that was big enough.

Hanging out in the nursery.

Sigh. It almost makes me want to do it all over again.

Almost.