Family Ties

Six months ago we left the home we loved in South Carolina to make a new life in Pennsylvania, largely because it is so much closer to "home." And by "home" I mean family, for that's what home really is.

That decision already has paid off in spades, evidenced by the fact that all of my immediate family members (and Chris' parents) already have met little Evan, and he's only 3 weeks old. It's such a blessing for everyone to be just a short drive away from us, rather than a 16-hour two-day car ride.

A few snapshots of the family meeting its newest member (all labeled according to what Kostyn calls them):

"En" with "Kiki" and "Te-goo"

"En" with "Lia"

"Manny" holding "En" and "Papa" holding "Non"

"Manny" and "En" (He'll graduate to "Grammy" and "Evan" one of these days...)

"Manny" and "Non" (He's great at spelling his own name, but not so good at pronouncing it.)

"Papa" and "En"

Love Train

I’m not the type of mom who walks around pining for yesterday. I don’t spend my days wistfully wishing I could stop time and keep my babies as the itty bitty beings they are today instead of anticipate how they’ll be tomorrow. Honestly, I can’t wait until the phrase “poopy diaper” is no longer in my vocabulary. So imagine my surprise when I got all teary-eyed the other day while watching Kostyn play with his older cousin, imagining him in the older boy’s shoes.

His cousin (whose mom prefers I don’t use his name) is 23 months older than Kostyn, and he and my sister came to spend last week with us to help us out. The boys have hung out several times before, but for some reason Kostyn had hit a developmental milestone between the last visit and this one, and he was suddenly smitten with his older buddy. He wanted to do everything his cousin did. Sing every song, play with every toy, follow every footstep.


One evening the cousin found a piece of ribbon among Kostyn’s toys and the boys made an impromptu train using it, his cousin leading the way around the table, “choo-chooing” as the train’s engine, and Kostyn clutching the ribbon and following as the happy little caboose.

It was truly adorable, and as I watched Kostyn’s face light up, I saw what I hope to be the future of our happy home. I saw Kostyn as the older sibling and Evan in Kostyn’s shoes, sweetly following along. Giddy, giggling, animated. And it made me cry.

At first I thought they were tears of joy, so thankful am I that we’ve been blessed with two boys to grow up together and be each other’s playmate and confidant. But then I realized the lump in my throat was one of distress, created by an overwhelming feeling of dread at the thought of my baby boy not being my baby boy anymore. Kostyn as the older sibling? The leader? The engine??? “Don’t grow up!” the sentimental mother inside me begged. I wanted him to be the cute little caboose forever, even though I have another one waiting in the wings.

I don’t have a real point here, except to say that maybe my friend Guido was right: Perhaps motherhood is turning me into a total sap.

Brothers

Whaddaya think .... see any resemblance?

Kostyn, 2 weeks old

Evan, 2 weeks old

Kostyn, 2 weeks old

Evan, 2 weeks old

Easy, baby...

Big brother has been introducing Evan to all his animals.

I had no real experience with babies before Kostyn was born, and from the moment he came screaming from the womb I decided one thing was certain: There was no such thing as an “easy baby.”

There couldn’t be. Because everyone told me Kostyn was a great baby, and he was -- sweet and lovable and for the most part low-key. But he cried. A lot. He cried when he got his diaper changed. He cried when he was naked. He cried when he was trying to poop. And he cried at night. Oh, how he cried at night. He’s never been a fan of sleep, and he made that fact known every night for the first several months. We shushed, we swaddled, we let him suck on a pacifier. We nursed him (well, I nursed him...), we rocked him, we walked around the darkened house at all hours of the night singing to him. Still, he cried, and he didn’t sleep.

When all the baby books told us our baby should be sleeping 16-18 hours a day, Kostyn was sleeping 13-14, and not one minute more. (And believe me, he made us earn all 14 hours of peace and quiet.) When they said he should be averaging 12 hours of sleep at night, he was snoozing for 10, tops. He still gets up once or twice a night. Sometimes it’s cake getting him back to sleep; other times it’s a long, frustrating ordeal.



But again, people told me he was a great baby. And I believed them. (I still do!) I assumed he was probably about as easy as babies come — and I knew there wasn’t anything “easy” about him. So when friends or acquaintances would describe their newborn as being an “easy baby,” I’d nod and smile and think to myself, “Bullshit. ‘Easy baby’ is an oxymoron, and you’re clearly lying.”

“He hardly ever cries!” they’d gush, and I’d roll my eyes in disbelief when they weren’t looking. “She never even fusses!” they’d say, and I’d swallow my impulse to offer my opinion on the “cry it out” method of parenting. I know it was cruel and unfair, but for my own sanity I had to believe that these magical babies did not exist, that they were figments of sleep-deprived parents’ imaginations.

And then, quite unexpectedly, I gave birth to one. An “easy baby.” And I’m stunned (and elated!) to say that they do, indeed, exist. Evan is my definition of “easy.” He’s mellow, quiet, sweet, and he Rarely. Ever. Cries. I mean, he’s still a 2-week-old, so he does cry occasionally. But it’s mostly when he’s trying like hell to poop. (Poor thing. Not that I wanted him in my uterus for one second longer, but why does God have babies come on out to play before their digestive systems are mature enough to handle 2 measley ounces of milk??)

"Seriously, Mama, what am I supposed to do with this? Doesn't he know I can't really grasp things yet? Hell, I can't even see things yet!"

So here’s the real kicker: He sleeps well! Nights are a breeze with this kid! He wakes up and squirms, I scoop him up, feed him, burp him, kiss his face, lay him back down, and 9 times out of 10 he just falls back to sleep. There are no marathon singing and rocking sessions. There are no tears shed by either of us. I don’t dread nights the way I did when Kostyn was a wee one. In fact, if it weren’t for Kostyn still waking up at night, I think the whole family wouldn’t be sleep-deprived at all this time around.

On Saturday night — at a mere 11 days old — Evan slept from 9 p.m. to 8 a.m. I had to wake him twice to feed and change him! His older brother still doesn’t sleep that long! (Yes, I realize I’m using an obnoxious amount of exclamation marks! But this is extraordinary news in my life!)

I know I’m basically just bragging at this point, and no doubt some of you are rolling your eyes and calling “Bullshit!” and I don’t blame you. But by God, I deserve this baby. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in two years. Also, I’m sure as soon as I post this Evan will turn against me and keep me up all night with his wailing. Doesn’t matter. (Yeah, I know: “Bullshit!”) At least I got a taste of what an “easy baby” is like to have in the house.

It’s a dream come true.

Notice who's awake and who's asleep...

Spring is Here!

I always thought I was the type who didn't give a hoot about getting flowers from boys.


I was wrong.

A new partner

We had our first dance a few days ago, Evan. Kostyn was out of the house, playing with his cousin, and we were all alone. Just us and the dog and the cat, a quiet afternoon in a quiet house, which I know will be hard to come by for the next 18 years or so.

I should have napped, or written thank-you notes, or dusted the furniture, or piled all my maternity clothes into a box for Goodwill. But I didn’t do any of that. Mostly I sat and stared at you, and caressed your skin, and watched out the front window for your brother to return.


I dance with Kostyn a lot, and we definitely have songs that, in my heart, will always make me think of him and I, and that special bond we share. And I didn’t want our first dance to be to one of those. I wanted it to be ... well ... ours. Luckily I’d downloaded a few new tunes (not new-new, just new to me) for the labor playlist that I didn’t end up using in the hospital when you were born, and one of them seemed like a perfect way to introduce you to mama’s arms on our tiny dance floor in the living room of this old rental where you are starting your life’s journey.

So we swayed and spun around to “The Aspidistra Flies” by Stars as the warm March sun shone through the front windows and the dog watched us without moving, for once. You fell asleep about halfway through the song, which I played again after our dance was done. And then again, sitting on the couch holding you, listening to your tiny breath, imagining all the dances that will matter to you in your life, and hoping that maybe if I write this one down, it will someday, somehow, seem important to you, too.

All the umbrellas in London couldn't hide my love for you
All the rain on tentside couldn't stop you shining through
I dreamt of you last night, lying next to me in blue
All the umbrellas in London couldn't hide my love for you

A whole new world

I have so much to say I can’t even start.

But I’ll try.

Labor and delivery the second time around, for me, was a very different and even more wonderful experience than the first time. Less time in labor, less anxiety, fewer complications, shorter hospital stay, and a much shorter amount of time I had to have the dreaded IV stuck in my hand. (Believe me, that’s a big one.)

I think maybe it was even slightly less painful. Or so says my husband. After all was said and done and we were comparing the two experiences I told him I thought the contractions were stronger this time and he looked at me with all the conviction a man could possibly have when talking about the pain level of his wife’s labor and said, “Oh no, it was worse last time. Don’t you remember? You were yelling and crying and throwing up.”

This gave me pause, and I conceded that perhaps he was right, given the fact that last time I had “back labor,” which is a very benign way of saying “the baby is faced the wrong way, so in addition to the regular pain of labor you’ll have the added agony of the baby’s skull scraping your spine on the way out.”

But I still think I just handled the pain better this time. That is, until the epidural kicked in; those last 3 centimeters were a breeze.....

To get me through each contraction, I stared at Kostyn’s face in several pictures I’d brought. His sweet smile and wonder-filled eyes take me to a happy place, and I knew that keeping my eyes on the prize, as it were, would help. And boy did it help.

The thing is, ever since Evan arrived, I can’t stop staring at his face. He has the most amazing eyes. In those fleeting moments when he is awake and alert, he looks at me with such a serene, knowing expression, like we are old friends and words between us are unnecessary. It’s magic, and I can hardly believe that just a week ago this wise little being was safely tucked inside me, a little mystery.

More to come. Much more.

I'm no longer in labor

Boy was Chris right: I have no idea how I went this long without cake AND ice cream. Evan Thomas came into the world at 1:14 p.m. Tuesday, March 10, on his due date. He clearly didn't inherit his mother's procrastination gene. He was 7 pounds, 1.6 ounces and 19 1/2 inches long. Perfect, mellow, sweet. Both baby and mama were doing so well, the docs let us go home today, which is a huge blessing. I'm feeling overwhelmed with all the juggling that's to come, but very, very blessed.

Just a few minutes old...





Kostyn met his little brother last night. Baby Evan was a big hit. (I'm sure that will change...)





Evan's already looking up to his big brother.



Proud Daddy with his two boys.

I'm in Labor

You heard it here first. :)
Stay tuned.......

Playlist for Pain

In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there

In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love!

As limited as my music collection is, I love making playlists for friends, family, parties, different moods, whatever. The one I’m currently trying to make, however, is proving to be substantially more difficult than I’d first thought.

Because who the hell knows what kind of music I’m going to want to listen to while I’m in labor? What’s going to soothe my soul, and what’s going to piss me off? I haven’t a clue.

One thing’s for sure -- I need songs with lyrics. I respond to words, not instrumentals, especially in times of stress or when I need to completely move my mind to another place.

The question is, which will I want to do — focus on guiding my mind through the pain, or completely move my thoughts to another time and place? Should I go with uplifting, slow, meditative tunes like The Blind Boys of Alabama’s “I Shall Not Walk Alone”? Or do I choose fun songs like the Indigo Girls’ “Closer to Fine” that just make me happy or remind me of something far, far away? Will one of my favorite songs, Paul Simon’s “Late in the Evening,” do its usual magic and put me in a good mood no matter what...or will its jumpy groove annoy the crap out of me as a way-too-peppy background for the physical agony I’ll be feeling?

It’s a tough one, I tell ya. Right now my “labor mix” is a hodge-podge of different moods, genres and tempos. The Weepies, Barry Louis Polisar, Neil Diamond, Keb’ Mo’, Bellamy Brothers, Lone Justice, U2....it’s eclectic, to say the least.

Last time I didn’t make a specific playlist to get me through labor. I brought my whole collection and just figured I’d skip around and play what felt right at any particular moment. But then Kostyn’s heart rate kept dropping and they decided they needed to continuously monitor him, which meant I needed to continuously monitor him for my own peace of mind, which meant for 12 hours I listened to nothing but the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of that monitor.

Come to think of it, that worked out pretty well for me. Perhaps that’s the perfect tune...

you know there will be days
when you’re so tired that you can’t
take another step
now you will have no stars
and you'll think you've
gone as far as you'll ever get

you, and me
walk on, walk on, walk on
‘cause you can’t go back now

Disclosure

Dear Evan,

This is it. Doctors and charts and calendars tell me that we are one week away from meeting each other (though only you and God know the actual day you’ll let me kiss your face for the first time). For these past (almost) 40 weeks, you’ve been getting to know me through my muffled voice and the foods I eat and the way I laugh and the fact that your big brother spends a lot of time smooshing you by sitting on my lap.

The thing is, there’s a lot more to me than that, and not all of it is as nice as the calming wish-wish-wish of my heartbeat. Since I figure we should start off this lifelong journey on a note of honesty, I thought I would tell you — warn you? — about what you’ve signed up for by being my son. So here’s me coming clean about a few things:

1. I sing off-key. Like terribly, horribly, my-mother-must-have-bribed-the-middle-school-choir-director-because-that’s-the-only-way-I-could-have-gotten-on-those-risers bad. Right now my singing likely comes across to you as muffled hums that may actually sound soothing from where you are deep inside me, but trust me: You’re going to have to be tone deaf yourself or very forgiving (and overtired) in order for me to sing you to sleep. I can tell you that I manage to sing Kostyn to sleep, so take heart: It can happen. I’m just sayin’ .... the first time you hear your father sing to you, you’ll never listen to my version of “Jesus Loves Me” the same again.

2. I’m not one of those creative moms, the kind who make pancakes shaped like trucks and sew award-winning, one-of-a-kind Halloween costumes for their kids every year. I’ll try my hardest to inspire and entertain and educate you, but a lopsided heart-shaped PB&J sandwich is about the best you’re gonna get.
Luckily, your Aunt Kielynn-Marie (or “Aunt Ki-Ki”, as you’ll probably call her for the first few years) is exactly that kind of mom, and she lives less than 2 hours away. Seriously, the woman is the MacGyver of Motherhood, the type who can take an empty toilet paper roll, some dryer lint and a few orange slices and come up with an afternoon art project for toddlers that is both fun and educational. AND she’s busy baking a cousin for you that will be just four months younger than you, so I’m sure you’ll be fast friends and get to take advantage of all Mama MacGyver has to offer.

3. I’m a writer, and this will surely affect you. I write for money and I write for sanity, and I’m warning you right now that you have been and will be the subject of my prose from time to time. I’ll always keep your dignity and your heart and your future girlfriends in mind, but I cannot promise you that some of your embarrassing moments or silly things you say and do won’t ever make an appearance under my byline. But, I can promise you that I also will put in writing your genius and your specialness and your talents and everything about you that makes you amazing. In fact, I can’t wait to do just that.

4. I love being the mother of boys, but I’m not so good (yet!) at some of the finer points of construction and blocks-building and ramming cars into one another for fun. Don’t get me wrong, I will be your willing playmate and fellow engineer. But my best attempt is usually building a tall, sturdy tower. Lincoln Logs, MegaBlocks, Legos, doesn’t matter: I’m pretty much gonna build a tower. If you want to use all 80 MegaBlocks to make a giant robot or a fire-breathing dragon, you’ll have to wait until your father gets home from work because he’ll do all that and more. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

5. Finally, I’m scared of two things when it comes to you, sweet baby.
First, I'm scared that you’ll think I walk on water. That you’ll look at me with eyes that say I can do no wrong, that I hold the world on my shoulders and make your life amazing. I’m scared of this partly because I don’t know if it’s something I can pull off, even though I’ll want to with all my heart. But mostly I’m scared of it because I know no matter how hard I try, that impression of me won’t last and I dread the day I see that in your eyes ... the day I know that you know I’m not superhuman, but just human. That I’m not everything, but just something.
The other thing I’m scared of is that you’ll never think I’m superhuman in the first place.

Guess that’s enough for now. The rest you’ll have to learn as we go along, just as I will learn all about you. I can’t wait! See you soon, Little One.

Love,
Mama