Made in Richmond

I got a call from a friend of a friend last week. He works for a company that does commercials and the like in town. They were getting ready to shoot a commercial for some children’s hospital in West Virginia and needed some babies.

You see where this is going.

So! At 7:30 this morning (gah), JR and I trekked down to Shockoe Bottom so he could pal around with some other babies in front of a camera for a few hours. Conveniently, that palling around would also include a nice monetary reward* for not too many hours of work.

We ended up being kind of late for the shoot which made me want to die. I blame it completely on the fact that I’m trying to not be an obsessive psycho about details. But the one time I didn’t obsess was the one time we weren’t where we supposed to be when we were supposed to be there. Lesson learned: continue to be a psycho and anyone who says otherwise knows nothing. Anyway, they were very cool about it and quickly ushered us into a back room where JR was outfitted in a onesie printed with some kind of cutsie, babyish phrase. He was then whisked off to sit in front of the camera pretty much right away.

I have to be honest, when I saw him sitting there at first I thought, “Oh, I just want to take him home. I don’t know if I can do this.” He just looked so confused and all, “What? What is happening? Who are all of you?” But he ended up doing pretty well at first. He basically had to sit there and look cute. He even smiled a bit at the nice lady making a damn fool out of herself off to the side of the camera (she was really wonderful, though). But then he started sucking his thumb, and they didn’t want him to be sucking his thumb, so the nice lady gently removed his thumb from his mouth. And there was much woe. Luckily they were all very sensitive to how babies will just lose their shit sometimes and didn’t give me looks like “Ugh what is wrong with him? SHAKE IT OFF, KID.”

The rest of the morning was spent changing JR in and out of other onesies with more cutsie phrases, sitting him next to other babies, and keeping the Cheerios flowing. They got some good footage of him (including his Quasimodo crawl which apparently blew the director’s mind) and he saved his complete meltdown for right when we left.

All in all, not a bad way to spend a morning. Weird, yes. But not bad. I’m not sure if we’ll ever do it again. Although it was nice to spend the few days leading up to the shooting reminding that JR that he was going to finally earn his keep.

*Let it be known that all funds earned today will be deposited directly into JR’s 529. Even though one of us (NOT ME) immediately thought that we should by Beatles Rock Band.

I’ve been referring to this past Wednesday as “The Day Of Much Woe.” Work was frustrating on many different levels, JR was determined to do anything but nap, the house was (and still is) a disaster, and, ugh, just a million other things that I just can’t muster up the energy to talk about.

More than anything, I felt like a totally shitty parent that day. During the rare moments that I wasn’t completely occupied with something else, in those precious, fleeting pockets of time where I could have been playing with JR on the floor or reading to him… I just couldn’t do it.

And then I felt horrible. Because that’s what I do.

And then I felt guilty. Because I do that, too.

With the guilt came thoughts of, “I don’t play with him enough. I don’t talk to him enough. He’s going to be behind developmentally because I’m such an effing introvert that it doesn’t even occur to me to talk sometimes. Sure he does wave “bye-bye” but not all the time. And he’ll point to Ross when you say ‘Where’s Dada?’ about 60% of the time. But he rarely points to me when someone asks, ‘Where’s Mama?’ He has no clue who we are. Oh God, Oh God.”

Later that evening, I expressed all of this to Ross through some hiccuping and ugly tears.

Ross sighed, went over to JR, picked him up, walked back over to me, and said, “Where’s Mama?”

Without missing a beat, that baby of mine smiled, turned to me, and shoved one gloriously chubby finger right in my face.

And then I thanked God for that baby and his sweet father. Because I don’t do that enough.

It is impossible to nap too much.

Grandparents are incredible.

A dirty Arnold Palmer is a lovely way to end an evening. Or every evening.

One can never eat too many peanut butter cookies.

It is very possible to become even more addicted to your child.

A tan after a week at the beach does not indicate a good time. Carrying around about five extra pounds do.

True relaxation involves no makeup, no hair brushing, and minimal showering.

Popsicles really are the best thing ever.

So, we’re back. Somewhat begrudgingly so. Part of me is glad to be home, but I feel like I’m going to be missing this vacation for a good long while.

Also, here’s this:

Now that it’s been 10 (holy heck how did that happen?) months since I had a baby, I’m finally in a place where I can really, really talk about what it was like afterward.

I don’t mean the physical pain or the exhaustion, which, in retrospect, weren’t that awful for me because I was blessed with a very easy baby. And Percocet. Lots of that.

Now I’m talking about my feelings.

When we were in our childbirth class, our instructor mentioned that if you’ve struggled with anxiety or depression, you’re something like 85% more likely to experience postpartum depression. Being someone who fits quite neatly into that category, I made sure I thoroughly educated myself on the symptoms and knew what to look out for.

When we brought JR home, I can surely say that I went through the baby blues. There was much crying and hand wringing and fretting and “oh my God what have I done”-ing for a couple weeks until my hormones leveled out. And never did I experience what would be classified as postpartum depression. Most of the time I was happy – tired and sometimes crabby, but mostly happy.

I was also scared out of my ever-loving mind. Not because I didn’t think I knew what I was doing. I did know what I was doing. I knew I was more than capable of taking care of my baby. But, I was sometimes paralyzed by the fear of The Bad Things That Could Happen.

My mind constantly raced with thoughts, not of terrible things that I thought I might do to the baby, but with terrible things that could happen to him or us: SIDS, car accidents, house fires, cancer, intruders, carjackings, abductions, me falling down the stairs and hitting my head, leaving him alone in his crib, starving, for hours until someone came home to find us. It became almost crippling at times, not enough to make us shut-ins, but enough to make me contemplate it.

Luckily, this was of thinking has kind of phased itself out. I still have my panicky moments, but I’m sure all mothers do. I never felt that I needed medication, but it might have reached that point if I hadn’t somehow, blessedly, snapped out of it.

Now you’re probably asking, why are you putting this out there? I’m doing so because I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not the only one who has gone through this very specific brand of postpartum anxiety. I just never came across anyone else going through it while I was, too. I didn’t know what to call it or how to even begin talking about it. Hopefully by me saying this, someone else will.

JR,

It’s finally started to register with your dad and I that your first birthday is just around the corner, I’m assuming because you’ve hit the double-digits when it comes to how many months you’ve been with us (outside of my person, that is). And we’re celebrating this milestone while on your first “for real” vacation at the beach. It’s been great to spend so much interrupted time with you, free from distractions of work and regular life, allowing us to soak you up and enjoy the little boy you’re turning into.

Just over the last couple days you’ve started pulling up on everything and everyone, cruising around the room and getting into anything left within your reach. You do all this while babbling and pointing CONSTANTLY. Seriously, you with the babbling, how can you have so much to say? Yesterday, whe I went in to get you up from your nap, you bolted up from being dead to the world and thrust your finger into the air, declaring “Bubba dleh dleh DAH DAH DAH DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOG.” Pretty much any moment you’re awake, you’re making noise. Your father is responsible for that, I have no doubt.

Our nursing relationship is slowly fizzling out. We’ve been nursing just in the morning for the last few weeks (you get bottles the rest of the day), but lately, you latch on for just a few minutes, and then pull of and go roll around on the bed until we bring you a bottle. I figure we’ll keep doing that as long as you’re interested in the morning. That last little bit of breastmilk will only do you good, so I figure we’ll keep it up until I sense from you that you’re completely, 100% done.

I think part of me was afraid of ending our nursing relationship because I thought we might feel less bonded after it was over. But I can safely say that’s not the case at all, mostly because of your recent tendency to, shall we say, lose your sh*t when I walk out of the room. Usually you calm down pretty quick, but you’re definitely a mama’s boy at this point. I see your eyes seeking me out when you’re not perched on my hip, and the smile I get when I walk up to retrieve you from whatever arms are cuddling you at the moment is, oh Lord help me, specTACular.

Perhaps the most exciting thing that happened this past month was your baptism. I’d been looking forward to it since the day we found out you were coming. We love our church so much, and it was great to “officially” bring you into that part of our lives. I was overwhelmed by how many people came out to celebrate the day with us. It’s comforting and wonderful to know that you’ve got so many other adults invested in who you are and what kind of man you’ll grow up to be.

We love you, bud. Love, love, love, love, crazy love.

Love (see?),
Mama

We left Richmond on Saturday** and I’ve already lost track of what day it is. I’ve also only sent maybe two work-related emails, which is monumental.

And I haven’t been able to do more than that because I’ve been busy witnessing things like this..

(Ross will be adding more pictures here throughout the week.)

I’ve also been reading, napping, joining my in-laws as they finish watching Battlestar Galactica (Ross has been opting out of that because it pains him too much to get sucked in once more and just have it be over again), and eating ridiculous amounts of chips and cookies. I’m quite sure I will weigh approximatel 743 lbs. when we get home next weekend.

In fact, my legs might end up looking like this…

Funny how it’s so cute on a baby but “Uh WHOA” on an adult.

(I’ll be back at least by Thursday because it’s the 17th, marking JR’s 10th month of living outside of my womb. How crazy is that? AYEEEE MAH BAYYYBEEEEEEE.)

*Ok, that’s a lie. I’m sure we’ll be back. I just don’t have to be happy about it.
**All you Internet-savvy burglars out there, don’t get any ideas. Our house is occupado to the max by two big dogs and two people who wouldn’t hesitate to beat the ever-loving mess out of you. And I bet there’s a dragon there, too.

I haven’t posted for eight days. I think the longest I’ve gone is five days, and that was after I birthed a baby. I don’t really have any excuse, other than being insanely busy trying to get ready for vacation. I’ve basically had to do two week’s worth of work in five days. Well, four really, because I did take a break on Monday.

And to further disappoint you, all I can give you right now is this video. But I think it’ll keep you entertained.

I promise more frequent updates next week when all I have to do is eat, nap, and cuddle mah beh beh.

I hate birds. HATE. The beaks, the feet, the TALONS. They are horrible.

There used to be this pet store in the mall near where I grew up. They let the birds just hang out on perches in the middle of the store. And they would just sit there. Staring at me. And inexplicably flapping their wings out of nowhere, making me feel like 1) they all knew something I didn’t and I best get ready cause The Rapture is about to happen or 2) they were all in cahoots, plotting how they would swarm me and peck out my eyes.

Lovely image, no?

I use this story to illustrate the absurdity of my latest obsession. I have a burning need to purchase every home accessory festooned with an avian theme. Allow me to share some of them with you…

I have no idea where they would go in my house, and I’m certain Ross would never allow them to come through the front door, but their whimsy is appealing to me.

Guys, I don’t even like tea, but I need this in my life.

Whenever I see this I want to hug it and say, “Heh-wo dere, wittle ow-ul fayce.” Hey, I never claimed to be not crazy.