Atomic Tonic

Matilda had pudding for breakfast along with some red sprinkles and cold medicine.

Since then, she's eaten two candy bracelets, one bowl of ice cream, half a coconut fruit popsicle and three Pedialytes. She's not barfing, but she likes the Pedialyte enough to drink it and today that's all that matters.

She's two and her eyes are running more than her nose. We've watched one of her new birthday DVDs, Matilda, three times. She's spent 98% of the day affixed to one of us. The other 2% of the day she's spent running around the house in search of things to photograph with her new Fisher Price camera.

Papa! Good morning!

(I had an OB appointment today. 37 weeks, 5 days. Still 3 cm and 80% effaced. Gave a nurse practitioner in training a thrill by letting her feel the baby's head. Looks like Matilda and her sister will not be sharing a birthday, but I'd be willing to say I won't make it to 38 weeks, 5 days. Just a guess.)

Knock it off. I know you're just trying to practice and all, but frankly the Braxton Hicks are wearing me out. If you're not serious, please just leave me alone. I'm tired. My back hurts. My joints hurt. My whole body hurts. I'm puffy and swollen and I drop everything I pick up. I can't type anymore. Keep missing the keys. I'm spending a good two hours awake each night. The time I spend asleep finds my hip bones eating through my flesh to meet the mattress. My thighs rub together when I waddle. None of my maternity clothes fit anymore. The pants roll down and the tops ride up. I lost my belly botton months ago and I fear I'm going to need reconstructive surgery if I ever want to see it again. Matilda is back to waking up closer to 6 than 7. The naturally clingly child ("Uppee uppee uppee uppee uppee uppee") has the needy cranked to 11 with a head cold.

I really don't need you coming on all strong with a rash of contractions or some decent cramping only to back off just when I think it might be time to use this. So thanks but no thanks. If you're just kidding around, go find someone else to tease.

38 weeks. Stick a fork in me.

My kid keeps using my stomach as a canvas. I can see the appeal. It's only a marginally smaller spread then the wall.

I broke down and bought (fake) Crocs because hey! They are padded and comfortable and a welcome slab of cushion between my swollen, sore feet and the cold, hard floor.

I am glad, for once, that I did not purge a nearly useless household item we've had since 2002. I remember arguing with myself over whether to toss it in the Goodwill pile at least once in the last year. I'm guessing I didn't because I thought Niclas might suddenly decide he wanted to use it and I'd have a hard time explaining why he could not find it.

(I do that a lot, toss things in the Goodwill pile.)

What was that I was saying about two?

I posted the night before Matilda's birthday expressing my enjoyment of two. The language and joking and the jumping, bouncing, pint-sized crazy. Then she went and actually turned two. It's like a switch was flipped and now the crazy is deaf. Half a week ago, she'd listen to me. 80% of the time, I could reason with her. Now, days into the actual third year, I can't even get a *blank stare* from her. She just carries on with whatever she was doing.

This afternoon, what she was doing was screaming "no no no no no," tears and snot running down her face demanding...hell if I know, actually. We were in a Marshall's. I tried to carry her down one of the toy aisles "Look Matilda, books!" and she lost it. Dropped the plot, arched her back and bawled her eyes out. I asked her what the problem was. Where would she rather go? Back here? Over here? Another aisle? What? Did she want to see the teacups again?

Nothing. Just hiccuping hysterics and tears until she finally put her head down on my chest and requested we go home for a nap. (She'd already had her nap. It was longer than usual.)

We came home. She did not nap. She was happy and full of beans. Made Niclas lie down on the floor so she could jump over his legs. One and then the other. Over and over. Used her new Bingo paint dots on my stomach. Ate 5 clementines. I'm guessing the easiest way to deal with two is to assume nothing. Her past actions have no bearing on any future actions.

We have a two-year old. We know nothing.

Matilda nursed until she was about a year and a half old. The end was mostly for comfort and only before naps and bedtime. And when she was sick. Or when we were home. Or if she saw me without a shirt on.

I finally cut her off for good when her nursing hurt me so much, because I was pregnant, my immediate reaction was to throw her across the room.

As soon as she stopped nursing, she got attached to Baby. Her Ninnie made it for her and she'd had it for months without more than a passing glance.

As soon as she noticed Baby, her clothes came off. Now, a year after baby was sewn up, she's a wet hot mess. Matilda dances with her, feeds her, puts her on the potty and to bed. Put purple marker eyeshadow on her last week. Talks about putting a diaper on her but won't follow through with it. Baby goes everywhere with Matilda.

I worry about the state of Baby. She's got silver glitter glue on one arm and something sticky on the other. She's got tahini on her back and juice all over her face. She's stuffed with wool so cleaning her is a spot job. I'm also starting to worry about Matilda's demands regarding Baby. Because Baby goes everywhere Matilda does, sometimes Matilda needs to hand her off so she can poke the cookie dough

or jump on her trampoline or draw or eat or any number of things. This is worrisome because she hands Baby to me, "hold Baby," and won't let me put her down. Twice today I had to shove Baby down the front of my already bulging shirt so I could finish making the cookies and start making the dinner.

I made Matilda a pouch for Baby and I'm hoping she picks up on that once she sees me carrying the new kid in my pouch as I'm just not prepared to carry a doll around along with a toddler and a newborn.

Baking for kids

I told Matilda last night before she fell asleep that we'd bake something today. After story-time at the library and a two hour nap, we cracked open the cookbooks to find a decent cookie to make. We found Marta's Chocolate Slices.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Grease a cookie sheet.
Combine and mix:

3/4 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 cups flour
1/4 cup powdered cocoa
1 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs

Divide dough into 6 pieces. Form into logs and flatten slightly. Place on cookie sheet. Brush with:

1 egg, beaten

Sprinkle top with pearl sugar. Bake on center rack for about 15 minutes. Cut into 3/4 inch wide diagonal slices while still warm.

These things are easy breezy. I'll be adding them to my baking rotation for sure.

The last two days have been full of Braxton-Hicks contractions. More than normal for me which is saying something as normal for me is all the live long day. The last two days, they've been almost organized in their timing. They have gone from uncomfortable to painful. Last night they woke me up twice. The pain made me suck in my breath as it caught me off guard, mid-dream.

This morning I vacuumed and mopped the downstairs and oiled the kitchen island. 'Course, then I went and spilled orange juice all over the coffee table and rug. This has prompted me to decide, finally, that we're no longer bringing food into the living room. I am one step away from covering all the furniture with plastic, except not at all. I'm just sick to death of the food and spills all over the living room and aggravated that the biggest spills seem to be my doing and not Matilda's. The fact that moving Matilda and her juice into the dining room only meant that then she spilled juice, this time all over the table and my laptop, made me grit my teeth.

A lot of things have been making my grit my teeth the last few days. Juice boxes that squirt juice when picked up by small hands. My fat hands that fumble and drop everything I try to grasp. I have anger towards my maternity clothes as none of them cover my belly. The pants, all of them, every last pair, roll down when I have a contraction. The shirts stop three inches past my belly button. My stomach marches on. It's too cold to go out. Our cat drags kitty litter into our bed. Won't stop howling. My laptop battery lasts all of 15 minutes if it's not plugged in. I've been losing my mucus plug for over a week now. The woman reading books during storytime at the library yesterday was the personification of nails on a chalkboard. The grandmother sitting next to me asked when my son was due. "But you're carrying all in front! That has to be a boy!" Yes. Actually. It's not. "Well. When are you due?" "Any minute." *gritting off the enamal*

The contractions, they march on. I'm oddly less annoyed with them than any of the above as they seem to be gearing up to a point. However, if I'm still here in a week, I'm going to feel very different towards them.

My water broke with Matilda 10 days before her due date. A broken bag of waters is a pretty clear-cut start to labor. My first real contraction, after a call to my OB, a shower and some breakfast, about made my eyes pop out of my head. The ones that followed were not quite as outrageous, not for a few hours at least.

This time my water is intact but I'm pretty sure things have started. Today, day three of the stronger BH contractions, I'd be willing to say they are no longer Braxton Hicks and are indeed early labor. They've continued all day regardless of my activity. They are too far apart to bother timing. They are painful but workable. I don't have to stop what I'm doing. They've slowed down for periods but they've never conked out altogether. My mucus plug continues its disgusting southbound travel. Things are emptying out. There's a bag of snack-sized Twix in the kitchen. I've only eaten one (instead of the entire bag, which is how that would have played out last week).

I've put a call in to my mother in case things pick up and we need her to come over in the middle of the night. I don't think it will come to that, though. I think things are going to remain at this level through the night. But I don't think I have a chance in hell of avoiding birthing this kid by day's end tomorrow. 10 days early. Just like Matilda.

(Watch. Now that I've written it down, the contractions will curl back up and not show their face again for a week. Will serve me right.)

Water broke at 11. Freezing cold by the time Niclas returned with my cell to call the OB. Contractions right behind them. Too many to count in the span of a shower. Matilda awake and screaming. Will post what we can here.

We're home. We're all fine. Matilda loves her sister to the point of jumping, literally, for joy.

Linnea Beatrix Rose. 6 pounds, 13 ounces. 19.5 inches long. Born 12:14am, February 7th.

The birth story, it's a good one. Stick around.

We gave both our kids two middle names. Matilda's are Emelia Rose. We were originally going to give Linnea "Beatrix Violet" but we started talking this morning, an hour before we left the hospital, about how the names don't flow. Started joking about using Rose instead. And then we stopped joking. Why not? If they ever get married or for any reason change their last names, they'll still have the Rose to connect them.

Matilda Emelia Rose and Linnea Beatrix Rose.

How sticky meconium is. That they pee everytime you take a diaper off them. How sensitive their skin is. That nursing hurts in the beginning. How big my boobs can get. How much the early nursing cramps my uterus (actually, that was just worse this time). About the nursing thirst. About the little grunts they make. How they curl up around your torso when they're nursing. How wonderful the tops of their heads smell. How tiny their hips are. How much they sleep at the start.

Of note before we begin: My labor with Matilda lasted 20 hours. I went into labor with her open to a non-medicated birth. I got an epidural 12 hours into it which most certainly slowed things down. The epidural was so strong I never felt the urge to push and could not feel anything when I was pushing. It took just over three hours to get her out.

I went into this labor knowing it'd probably go a little faster. I also wanted to try a little harder to go drug-free.

Tuesday morning, February 6th, I wake up thinking "That's it! Today's the day!" Get up with Matilda, have breakfast. Vacuum the downstairs, mop the kitchen floor, oil the butcher block island. Clean up the toys and books and magazines. Plump the pillows on the couch. Then I sit around while something but nothing happens all day. Go to bed at 10 assuming things are *thisclose* but not quite.

Twice contractions wake me up. I wonder if I'll be able to get much sleep.

Wake up gushing water. Jump out of bed and note the clock -- few minutes before 11. By the time I return from the bathroom, I am freezing. Shivering uncontrollably. Goosebumps on my legs. Call my OB who asks if I'm ok as I sound paniced. I say I am fine but taken by surprise. She reminds me that contractions don't start just because your water breaks. I tell her I know that but seeing as I've already had three since I dialed her number, it's safe to assume I'm in labor. She suggests I time them and she'll call back in half an hour. Hang up with her and call my mother who lives half an hour away. Tell her to get a move on. Get in the shower as we have 30 minutes to kill and I am still freezing. Give up counting contractions in the shower once I hit double digits. At this point, they are significantly more painful than they'd been all day. I tell Niclas that the difference between before and after your water breaks is the width of an ocean.

I put some clothes on and post to the blog on the laptop Niclas has perched on the bathroom sink. Then I fall to the floor with a contraction. And another. And another. And they just. kept. coming. and I am roller coaster. Not on a roller coaster. I am the roller coaster. Screaming through them like a triple loop amusement park ride. My hair is wet I didn't have time to comb it it's falling in my face and I'm sweating. Matilda comes into the bathroom wide-eyed and scared. I tell her I'm ok. In pain but it's ok. I'm going to have a baby. OB calls back. Niclas relays to me her question. How far apart are the contractions? "Are you kidding?" Another one hits and I'm on all fours on the floor rocking forward and back and I can't bend my arms but resting on my elbows might be better than my hands but I can't move them can't do it howling through a loop and I can feel my body pushing. I don't push back but it's happening anyway. I'm screaming that I want an epidural as soon as we get to the hospital. "Niclas tell the OB that tell her to get that set up I can't do this." Matilda is screaming back at me. Niclas is running up and down the stairs getting ready to go. Matilda chases after him. Comes back in and I'm still howling and now she's wearing socks. Niclas is trying to decide if we're waiting for my mother or if we're taking Matilda with us. Yes. No. I don't know and another one hits and I'm screaming and she's screaming back and I think for a second that I might feel better if I got on the yoga ball and another and another and my mother arrives. Niclas is back upstairs can I get downstairs? I do. Somehow I do. Fall to the floor in the living room for another loop, banging the floor with my fist. The car is on the bags are in it and I get down the stairs without a contraction. Get it the car, front seat facing backwards, kneeling.

We live three minutes from the hospital. Somehow the ride is ok. I get into the lobby at L&D and drop back to the floor. On all fours. Niclas tells the woman behind the desk that I'm in labor. She says yes, a little, huh? White clogs come out, ask if I want a wheelchair. No. No, can't sit, let's go. I get up and walk till another contraction hits. Then I drop back to the floor. On all fours in the hallway of L&D, screaming for an epidural. White clogs takes us to the first room, up and down the whole way, it finally occurs to me that Niclas needs to push on my lower back as hard as he can HARD HARD HARDER. Up and down, into a room. HARDER. On all fours on the floor at the foot of the bed, now there's another pair of shoes, crocs, but where's the epidural. They need me on the bed. I wait for a pause and climb up, still on all fours. They can't get the monitor on to check the baby's heartbeat I can't stop looping I hear the nurses discussing the whereabouts of my OB (not there yet) and I see crocs pull out a glove and some lube and no way can you check me, don't you dare. White clogs tells me she has to, I know this but I AM A ROLLER COASTER. She checks me "She's complete. Head's right there." White clogs tells me there's no time for drugs. I know this too but there's nothing? Nothing I can have? The roller coaster, it's blowing my mind and it loops again and I'm lying on my side howling and clogs is trying to get me to breathe and not push, no pushing and I'm not, not really, but I am I can't help it and then the OB arrives, she's putting on a mask and they're turning me over and the baby monitor, it's resting on my belly they didn't even have time to fasten it but at least they have the heartbeat. They break down the bed and raise it up and they're telling me to lift my butt and then I get to push really and the head, it's crowning just like that and it hurts oh my god that hurts. I reach my hand down between pushs and feel her there, just like that, she's right there, her head. I'm begging them to help me (how?) and pushing as hard as I can because I know the pain is going to get worse before it gets better and it has to get better and help me! Do something. OB tells me she's going to give me a shot of novacaine and it's just like at the dentist, the needle stays in too long and she wiggles it around and then I can feel slightly less and I see her pick up the scissors but I can't feel it and then the pressure releases and the head is out.

OB tells me to push slower, not so fast and I feel her pull down and then a body, an entire body, arms and torso and legs falls out of me.

An entire baby. OB puts her on my stomach. A baby. An hour and 15 minutes after my water breaks, a baby, crying, pink, blonder than Matilda was. Niclas cuts the cord and there's a real live person on the outside of my stomach who was just on the inside. She's bubbling and needs a few hits of the bulb syringe as she came out so fast, her lungs didn't have a chance to get squeezed empty. But she's perfect and out and I'm fine. Totally fine and now I can see the faces of clogs and crocs and we're all laughing and my OB is giving me a hug and I'm thanking her for showing up on time and Niclas pulls out the bag of skor bar I made for the staff and crocs is eating it but she's allergic to peanuts and the skor bar, its got almonds not peanuts but still, where's the key to her locker in case we need her epi pen?

Linnea Beatrix Rose
6 pounds, 13 ounces
19.5 inches long
February 7, 2007, 12:14am

Linnea has jaundice. Matilda had it too. Hers was worse. She was a pound lighter than Linnea and I was a breastfeeding disaster. I think it was a combination of first-time parent stress, trying to pump too soon and my boobs just not getting the memo.

Matilda spent some time on a bili bed in the hospital and had to spend a few hours there after I was discharged. Then they sent her home with a portable spatula-shaped bili light which was super fun to try to get her to sleep on.

So far, Linnea's jaundice doesn't require the lights. Instead, she's currently napping in a laundry basket in the dining room with the sun on her face. She's got a spare pound to spread the blood cells around in and this time the nursing is going swimmingly. I still have a pretty slow let-down, but Linnea's diapers and occasional spitting up are proof that they are actually working. It's blowing my mind, I'll tell you what. Everytime she squeezes her body around mine, grunts and lets one off, I mentally punch the air. Newborn diaper-changing is neverending but I'll take it over crystals in the diaper and blind panic over her consumption and output anyday.

The thing that is freaking me out about the breastfeeding this time around is my rack. My breasts are so big I'm terrified of them. It feels like they are filled with electricity. If they weren't attached to my body, I'd run away from them.

Matilda is pretty interested in them, however. The first few times she caught on to what I was doing with Linnea, there were tears and demands of "I need that." She seems to have settled into "Neea eat nipple" now, which is much better.

Linnea's first pediatric appointment is tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed her level is still low enough to avoid taking her back to the hospital for tanning sessions.

Nursing Round Two is just. Blowing my mind. It's working. Linnea is a week old tomorrow and today she produced actual tears. She's got tears to spare. I'm so relieved that my body is working and thus, so is hers. 'Course, I'm also feeling guilty because it wasn't this easy with Matilda. It was really, really hard with Matilda. She screamed for four months because, at least in part, she was hungry. I spent a lot of time near tears myself trying to figure out if what we were doing was normal or if we were beyond the insanity that is the normal newborn nursing schedule and into something being wrong. She nursed constantly. She hardly ever popped herself off looking content. The day I took this:

I really wanted to believe that it was working. I don't think it was, not enough. I'd break down and give Niclas a bottle to give her when it was either that or cry myself. But if you give them bottles, your supply goes down and if your supply goes down, good luck to you. So I gritted my teeth and stuck it out most of the time and tried so hard for her to be breastfed. After month four, she wasn't exclusively but I nursed her till she was a year and a half old. I didn't give up. I did give in.

This time I made sure we had a can of formula in the house before Linnea was born. There was no way I was going to starve another kid. No way I was going to grit my teeth through all that screaming.

I'm happy to report I don't think we'll be needing the formula.

There's nothing you can do about it

I'm trying to teach Matilda to respond to "How old are you?" with "Relentless" rather than two. Because the child is two and two is relentless. She's finally picked up "No," although she's mostly polite about it. Ask her if she wants some chicken and she responds with "No tank you." Orange? "No tank you." Milk? "No tank you." Yogurt? "No tank you." And on and on until the world ends. That is two. Two goes straight to the end of the world.

Two is also obsessed with her little sister. She wants to see her feet and hold her hands and kiss her head, "puss" she says, and help change her diapers and take her little hats off. She wants to sleep next to her, forehead to forehead. She wants to make sure she holds her between the diaper changes that upset Linnea and the nursing that calms her down. But ask her if she loves her sister and she says "No."

Relentless.

Would have been nice if I'd taken and posted these yesterday but life with a toddler and a newborn means doing one thing not baby-related a day is a good day.

Yesterday was a good day, true. I even managed to make Marta's Chocolate Slices again with Matilda's help and Linnea nursing. Which should tell you just how easy these cookies are to make. Or what an easy baby Linnea is. Or what a good baker Matilda is.

I should look back in my archives to see what Matilda was like at one week old. I should but I lack disipline and I'm fairly confident that my memory is correct. I'm fairly certain that at one week, Matilda was already putting her lungs to the test. And our patience. She screamed in the living room and the dining room. She screamed in our bedroom and hers. She screamed in the car. She screamed in the Snap-n-Go. She screamed. Even her pediatrician called her high maintenance. She kept us tap-dancing for months. I'm not surprised we tried for a second seeing as we went into number one knowing there would be a number two.

But.

Girlfriend was rough.

Linnea is easy like a Sunday morning. True, she's only a week old and the hight of crank doesn't hit until week six so she's got some time to redeem herself. But right now, she nurses. She poops, forcibly. She waves her hands in the air around her face. She checks out her surroundings -- she seems especially interested in her room -- and she sleeps. She sleeps through a lot. She sleeps through our showers and breakfasts and the sound of the coffee grinder. She sleeps through laundry and sewing projects.

She sleeps through the phone ringing and Matilda jumping. She sleeps through the majority of the sisterly kisses and the tantrums. And she sleeps through pancakes.

I can really only count on her to wake up when Matilda falls asleep.

Linnea woke up to watery eyes and a sneezing fit this morning. I've already had to pick her teeny nose and break in the new bulb syringe.

I knew this was going to happen. Newborn. Coughing toddler. We were exposed to the flu and apparently strep throat before she was born. A handful of people holding her. February. But still. Not even a week and a half old and already feeling the charms of New England and breathing through her mouth.

I'm feeling the charms of New England too although for dfferent reasons. It'd been a mild winter up until a week ago. A week ago it got really cold and bitter and now we have the ice after the storm. It's hermit weather and I've been abiding it but the cabin fever it starting to make me itchy. The toddler hysterics are hitting me right between the eyes and the 25 pounds I apparently have to lose are just hitting me.

In an effort to put off my own hysterical tired as long as possible, I've been heading to bed shortly after Matilda at night. Trying to sit down now and then. Drink enough water. Eat a healthier diet than my pregnancy one which isn't that difficult considering my pregnancy diet was atrocious. I've been trying to nap with the kids, provided they nap at the same time. Today I got about 20 minutes.

This is all well and good, but the attempts to get some sleep mean I've got very little to no kid-free time and when they're awake, one requires a diaper change every half hour or so and every half hour or so, she manages to pee on the couch or poop through three layers of clothing, changing cloth and changing table cover. The other is finding it impossible to do or ask for anything without dramatics and tears. Oh my god, the tears.

What I really want to do is go for a run. I even tried to pump today to see if I could store up enough to leave the house for an hour. Turns out, I might be producing sufficient milk to keep Linnea content, but I still can't pump for shit. I guess I should consider myself lucky as if I actually pulled off the time to go for a run, I'd probably make it about 50 feet before I collapsed in a pile of post-partum fat and jiggle and giant, electric boobs. But. 25 pounds. *blank stare*

Yesterday, 11 days postpartum and one day past Linnea's actual due date, I went for a run. Well. I put on my running shoes and I left the house. I traveled 2.6 miles but according to the time it took me to do so, I don't think I can really call it a "run." The first two blocks had me feeling like Rocky and then reality hit a little. A pregnancy, extra weight, 5 weeks of bedrest. Neither my legs nor my lungs were really up for a full-out run so it was a walk/run affair.

I knew it wasn't going to be pretty before I even started out so unlike a normal run gone bad, it was ok. At least I was prepared. And at least I've started because I've got a long way to go.

That stomach, it is soft. It does not resemble much the stomach I had between pregnancies.

The bellybutton looks familiar, though.

Pregnancy really does take some time

Matilda and I were hanging out in her playroom/storage closet yesterday, throwing a plastic scoop of ice cream around and jumping on a giant ant. I glanced up at the photo strips on the wall and noticed this photo:

It was taken at the end of May. I was not feeling great that weekend. I was sure I'd caught a bug. My friends and Niclas had both been bugging me to take a pregnancy test "You are PREGNANT, fool," for a few days. I think mentioning that my child's garlic breath was making me gag was a pretty big tip-off to them if not to me.

For bodily reasons, it just didn't seem possible even though we had actually started trying again that very month. The day following this picture, I finally broke down and wasted money on a box of sticks to pee on. I bought a "buy two get one free" box because who ever, ever needs to pee on just one stick when trying to get pregnant? No one, that's who. No one except, it turns out, me. Turns out, I didn't have a stomach bug. I had a pregnancy, about 7 weeks along. Who knew?

The pregnancy took forever and flew by but looking at this picture it's obvious that pregnancy takes some time. Nearly a year. Because at week 7, Matilda looked like a baby. Now, 2 weeks after the pregnancy is over, she's a kid. There is no baby left in her, not a glimmer.

Matilda had her two year check-up today. Unfortunately she is two and screamed bloody muder throughout the weighing and measuring portion of the visit. She screamed so emphatically, in fact, that Niclas had to stand on the scale with her and then without her and let the nurse deduce her weight from there.

She weighs 23 or 24 pounds. Something like that. She was measured lying down and then standing up against the measuring stick on the wall. The lying down came first and was a dead end in terms of a number. The standing was second and while I'm fairly certain a number was reached, I have no idea what it was. Matilda was screaming and writhing too much for me to pay attention. She was fighting it so much that she now has a rash of scratches on her upper back from the stick. So. She is toddler height. Her head also has a circumference. I have no idea what it is.

Linnea was scheduled to go in for a weight check on Thursday but since we were all there already this morning, she was weighed and measured and prodded as well. She's now, at 13 days old, an inch longer than she was at birth. She weighs 7 pounds 1 ounce. Yet more proof that my body is feeding her in decent quantities. I am still floored by this.

(from Garlic and Sapphires)

Linnea is two weeks old today. Matilda's boyfriend Jack is coming over this afternoon after naps. We baked a cake.

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 cup sour cream
2 tbsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour an angel food cake or a bundt cake pan.
Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, blending well after each addition.
Mix the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt together and add this to the butter mixture, mixing well. Add the sour cream and mix well; then mix in the vanilla. (The batter will be thick.)
Pour the batter into prepared cake pan and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until golden. Let cake rest for 5 minutes before turning it out of the pan.

Linnea is two days into a growth spurt. My nipples invert when she wakes up rooting. Again.

Matilda got into my stash of postpartum panty liners and made sure the stairs were well protected.

I've still got night sweats. My hair has started to fall out. My wedding rings fit, but they're too tight to be comfortable.

I need a nap.

Yesterday morning we went to a birthday party with balloons and juice boxes and cupcakes. Matilda spent a large part of the party climbing the stairs and jumping on a bed. Linnea spent the duration crashed out in a pouch on Niclas.

We arrived back home around four to find the house a little chilly. Like, the heat wasn't working chilly. It's February and Linnea is two and a half weeks old and we have no heat. Matilda was up till nearly 10 the previous night playing with cousins and is now hysterically tired and we have no heat. It's a Saturday night and we have no heat. We should never have been allowed to buy a house because we have no idea who to call when we have no heat. It's a good thing our neighbor is handy as we have no heat.

It's Sunday and we still have no heat. We've had a man from the gas company, the previous owner, our neighbor and his electrician all banging around our basement in the last 24 hours and we have no heat. The furnace is missing a part. It's Sunday.

We showered at our neighbor's house this morning. I just pulled the driest turkey ever to miss a Thanksgiving dinner out of the oven. We've got a space heater on in the basement to avoid busted pipes and one in the living room to avoid freezing babies.

I want this post to be better. I want my parenting to be better. It's a Sunday in February and we have no heat. The two-year old is willful and whiney and playing deaf. The two-week old has officially eaten her way through my birthing hormones. I am tired. The young one is hungry. The old one is testing limits like it's her job. I am fat. I know I just had a kid but I am big and I'm not comfortable with it. I meant to run yesterday but I didn't get up in time. I meant to run today but didn't because I have to plan my runs and showers around a ravenous (chubby cheeks! double chin!) newborn and we were showering at our neighbor's house and I didn't have the time.

It's a Sunday in February and we have no heat.

I ran four 5k's during my pregnancy with Linnea. I didn't know I was pregnant for the first three and the first doesn't really count as I was all of 48 hours pregnant. For that race, not even my uterus knew I was pregnant. For the second, I was coming up on week five. My time was abysmal and I didn't understand why. Yes it was hot and I got hungry waiting for the race to start, but it was only a 5k. I should have been able to at least run the whole course.

The third was barely a week after the second one. I was determined to make up for my crappy time. I ended up with my best 5k time to date. For the fourth one, I was 23 weeks pregnant. Time did not matter. The fact that there was a hotel with a bathroom halfway through the course did matter.

I'm three weeks postpartum tomorrow and I've been out for a run 4 times. It's still miserable but I've been shaving a minute off my time every run. However, that's not saying much considering my time today was just over 12 minute miles.

I'm feeling pretty discouraged and physically messy these days. Big. Carrying all this extra weight. None of my normal clothes fit. Some of my early stages maternity clothes don't even fit. I'm currently a D cup after starting out as an A. My gigantic nursing bras grab all manner of extra flesh on my back. My belly is, understandably, still soft and loose. The feel-good birthing hormones have petered out. There's nothing left but increasing waves of tired and overwhelming nursing hunger.

It's just me and the kids now. The whining insistance of the two-year old and the fact that the three-week old has finally discovered the difference between lying in a laundry basket and being held. Naturally, she prefers the latter. My back is out of wack and carrying her in the pouch hurts. Constantly having to bend down to pick things up off the floor makes me feel creaky. Not being able to put my feet up while I nurse Linnea and instead having to get Matilda a snack/markers/book/cup/whatever she currently needs but won't want as soon as I give it to her is making my patience run short. I feel old.

The crashing hormones have me convinced that I will never recover from this pregnancy. That I will always have this belly and hint of celulite on my ribs. That I'll never manage to lose this weight. I'll always be tired. Feel run-down. Be incapable of running one full mile without stopping.

I know this is not true. I know it gets better. Well. I assume it gets better. I'm going to continue running and not eating entire cakes in one sitting on the assumption that this has to get better. I'm just going to close my eyes and keep running. I have to keep going. It has to get better. I'm really, really sick of my maternity clothes.