Atomic Tonic

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.

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*

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.

I went back to work when Matilda was 5 months old. I milked my maternity leave for all it was worth and got 5 months. So many women in this country get 3 months. 6 weeks. 3 weeks. It's a crime. I got 5 months and still I was a mess and paniced about pumping (and pumping too soon and not getting results and panicing some more and getting less) and hormonal and emotional and did not want to leave my child at daycare.

I got 5 months home with her and once she did go to daycare, it wasn't full-time. My mother watched her a few days a week and soon it became clear that I could not handle working 40 hours a week an hour (and two train rides) away from her and not ever getting a full night's sleep and trying to pump and getting nothing and then forgetting the nothing in the fridge at work when I sprinted out of there at 5 o'clock to catch a train to catch a train to get home to her by 6ish. So I started working four days a week and still I was a mess. I was getting up at 5:30 to go for a run before I went to work because as much as running in the dark and then traveling an hour to work made me feel like I was running twice every morning, I needed that time.

This time around, I'm not working. I don't have to worry about pumping for a stored supply. I will eventually pump so I can leave Linnea for longer than half an hour, but I don't have to go to an office an hour away from my kids and try to pump enough to feed the younger of the two. I don't have to get up at 5:30 for a run, although I will start doing that soon anyway as I like running in the dark. I like getting my time out of the way.

I don't have to leave Linnea at daycare anytime soon. I don't have to leave Matilda there either, but I am anyway. Now that she's two and I'm tied to a newborn, I'm dropping her off at her old daycare two days a week. Yesterday was her first day back. I'd brought Linnea with me thinking we'd be staying a while until Matilda was comfortable with me leaving. But 10 minutes after we'd gotten there and stocked her cubby and filled the staff in on the Swedish words she uses, I asked Matilda if I could leave her there. She said yes. I said, "Ok. Linnea and I are going to leave. I'll be back later to pick you up. Ok?" Matilda said ok. Bye. And walked over to the kitchen area to play with a plastic donut. So we left. And when I went back to pick her up 8 hours later, she looked at me and asked where Linnea was. "Where Naya?" She was still holding the plastic donut. She hadn't eaten much of the lunch I packed her (she never does), but she had eaten the ice cream and M&Ms they had as a snack. She'd taken a nap. She'd chattered away to everyone and watched the other kids. Girlfriend had a great time. I think she only came with me because I told her I'd be taking her back to Linnea.

At two, Matilda is all about the kids. Big groups of them make her back up a little and watch, but in general, the kid loves kids. She loves boys especially and all her people. At two, she needs the break from me nearly as much as I need the break from her. And I do need the break from her, especially with a newborn to look after as well. (Although having just one child to wrangle yesterday felt like being on vacation. Even after I had to nurse Linnea in the shoe department of Target and then nurse her in the car in the parking lot of Target and then carry her back inside Target to collect the package of diapers that hadn't made it into my cart the first time through.)

When Matilda was 5 months old, leaving her at daycare made me want to cry. It made me itchy and short of breath. I was paniced all the time. Now that she's two, leaving her at daycare feels like the right thing to do. I'll admit I feel like I'm copping out as I'm home. I'm just around the corner from her. I'm wearing house pants and pink crocs. I'm cuddling Linnea in the pouch and writing a post. I've got a stack of things that need to get done. I didn't get enough sleep last night but I have the option of napping with Linnea this afternoon. I'm not at work in an office in pants with buttons or a zipper. I don't feel like my eyes are bleeding. Things feel managable.

Now Matilda doesn't need to be in daycare. But she likes being in daycare and that's more important.

Tomorrow Linnea is one month old. It feels like she's been here simultaneously for 3 days and 3 months. She's outgrowing clothes already. She wakes up about twice a night. Tends to get fussy around 7pm and sometimes again around 4am. She's started pooping once a day, gigantically, blowing through oufits and reaching clear up to the back of her neck, instead of everytime she nurses. Her umbilical cord stump fell off at one week. I don't think it was ready to -- I think her clothing pulled it off -- so the pediatrician swabbed her button with something to dry it out. It's looking healed now but she has yet to have a proper bath or a shower. So far, it's been sponge baths and baby massages on the Safer Bather.

She's been taking a pacifier here and there.

I have mixed feelings about this. Matilda took one for about 2 days when she was wee and screaming which prompted us to find a place online to order replacements for the only one she deemed ok. This time around, the hospital didn't cough up even one pacfier and I didn't ask as I assumed this kid would be using me as a pacifier much the same as Matilda did. But Linnea is a different creature and my milk production doesn't allow for hours of comfort nursing unless it's followed by grunting and spitting up. So when the need to suck comes up, as it often does for the newborns, we've discovered that the pacifiers leftover from Matilda's brush with them are coming in handy. I'm apprehensive about this as I don't look forward to breaking the habit but I have to admit I'm enjoying the time between meals when I get to keep my shirt on.

Her personality so far mimics how she was in utero. While Matilda was all Bruce Lee all the time, both before and after birth, Linnea is a little more Martha Graham, maybe. More apt to organize her stretching out and bending backwards. She enjoys sleeping. Is finally losing her ruddy jaundiced complexion but is still working on the baby acne. The hair on the back of her head is darker than the hair on the front. Her nostrils are perfect triangles. Her (blond) eyelashes get longer everyday. Her hands are long and delicate.

She's a great sleep aid, helping to get Matilda down for naps and bedtime. With Linnea lying next to her, Matilda is out in a quarter of the time it usually takes. If she wakes up and Linnea is no longer on the bed with her or even if she's no longer wedged under her head and is instead lying on the other side of me, there are tears and demands and "I wan taka Naya! I wan taka Naya!" It's sweet but too bad Matilda is only two and we can't use her as a babysitter.

Most nights Matilda goes to sleep in her own bed but by morning, every morning, she's in our bed. Sometimes she brings her "baby Ida" (doll) and her "big taggie" (blanket) and sometimes she comes alone. I prefer it when she brings her doll and blanket as it saves me the trip to get either/or if she decides she needs them later. The last couple of nights she's been in our bed from the start. Niclas was out of town on business for two bedtimes and the only way to get her to sleep and appease Linnea's baby witching hour is to lie down with both of them and nurse Linnea while Matilda settles down to sleep. Last night, while Niclas was home, Matilda demanded I put her down and Linnea, well. Linnea is working on some brain-growth and child is getting cranky. So off to bed with all three of us it was.

Our bed is a queen-size. Our bedroom cannot accommodate a king. There's a mesh-covered bed railing on my side of the bed to ensure that Matilda doesn't fall off. She's got her own pillow. Linnea has a wedge (which apparently at least one nurse deems unsafe, but I have to think that in this situation it's better than not using it). Niclas and I both have second pillows to put between our knees (good for the back, crucial for horizontal nursing). Four in a queen-sized bed is tight. Even though one of us is under 10 pounds, Matilda makes up for it. She sleeps all over the place. Like a pinwheel.

Most times I'm ok with this set-up. Most times I like it as the sight of my older child wrapped around the head of my younger child, children I pushed out of my own body, is better than an actual pile of puppies. The problem with this set-up is if Linnea wakes up at 4am, she wakes up Matilda. If I get up to change or burp Linnea, it's all over. Matilda wakes up and is ready to get up. So most times, if Linnea starts fussing at 4am, I make Niclas get up and tend to her. Most times, this keeps Matilda from waking up. Most times, this keeps my day from starting at 4:30. It's the days that start at 4:30 that make me question this set-up a little.

Before I became a parent, I had no idea how other parents dealt with their sleeping arrangements. I had no idea where kids slept, outside of some general awareness of cribs and toddler beds. I think that the sleeping arrangements of families with small children is the real parenthood secret. It's not the fact that some women poop on the table when they're pushing or how long the sleep deprivation really lasts (years) or how postpartum you go through a mini menopause and sweat for weeks. The real secret is where the kids sleep.

So where do your kids sleep?

I seem to remember either week 6 or week 8 being the height of newborn crankiness. I'm certain I could look this up but I'm too lazy and it's not like knowing is really going to be useful. Linnea is 5 weeks old tomorrow and regardless of where her high point is going to fall, she's on her way. She won't let us put her down anymore. She spent the afternoon sleeping on my chest in the pouch. Asleep but periodically screaming anyway. She managed to keep me up last night till nearly 3 with her nursing and grunting and nursing and poke poke poking. She's in cahoots with her sister as they like to start screaming at the same time. All the time. One screaming kid I can nearly handle. Two of them in stereo make me fantasize about $10 cocktails and a tank full of gas.

I joke but I'm glad I'm on the way out of this phase of my life. The early days of parenthood. The saggy stomach and bloated hands. The fear of night and how little sleep it holds. Nursing too often to drink a whole glass of wine. Not having the luxury of having a few glasses of wine and chancing a hangover. Spending over an hour every night putting kids to bed before I can sit on the couch and unwind. If I get lucky and get to unwind. Sitting on the couch nursing one kid who won't let me put her down while the second kid whines and screams and stomps on the floor in the upstairs bathroom that she wants to eeeeeeeeat! No bath! Eeeeeeeat!

She does not want to eat. She just wants to test us. She is currently testing my will to not throw her out the window.

Went for a run this morning. Three miles. No walking. I'm still slower than usual, but it's progress. According to the scale yesterday, I'm down another half a pound. According to it today, I'm up two. I will feign optimism and go with yesterday's number. I managed to get one of my wedding bands on the other day but wiggled it off last night because it was too tight. I broke down and bought three shirts at Target because my clothes still don't fit and I'm still sick of my maternity clothes.

Pretty sure Linnea has started smiling. Even when it's not gas.

Parenthood with a two-year old and a five-week old is like an on/off switch you have no control over. It's ON at 6am when the toddler starts barking orders -- "get up" "downstairs" "want to eat" -- and the baby realizes I'm no longer lying next to her. She wants to nurse and the toddler wants pancakes and then cereal and then yogurt. She drops two pieces of pancake on the floor, directly out of her mouth, won't touch the cereal as soon as I add milk and spills the entire container of yogurt down the leg of her chair and onto the rug. It's ON when I say shit and the toddler says shit. Shit shit shit and the baby is mad. Yelling from the swing because that was not in her plan. It's OFF when Niclas gets up and eats breakfast with the toddler who finally eats and the baby is satisfied and sleepy enough to lounge in her bouncy chair while I take a shower.

It's ON and both kids are screaming. The toddler needs pants but loses it if you try to take her crocs off to put the pants on and the newborn is really pissed that she's currently in the carseat and not being held and how dare you. It's OFF and the toddler is napping in her bed and the newborn is conked out in the swing and you've got two hands free and no one yelling at you. You have time to fold laundry. It's ON and they both wake up at the same time. They're both hungry. So are you. The toddler won't eat, just ask to eat. The baby will eat but she grunts if you walk around too much. She wants you to sit down, stop moving, knock it off already. The toddler wants you to get up. It's ON with a dimmer when the baby will nurse in the pouch and the toddler will help cook dinner.

It's OFF and the toddler is at daycare and the baby has been sleeping for three hours in her carseat. You have time to pin up a few more Taggies for all the friends about to have kids, more kids. We're populating the earth with all these kids and all these kids need Taggies.

It's ON and the toddler is home demanding to eat as she didn't eat at daycare and the baby is ready to nurse for four hours straight. An hour into that, the toddler needs a bath. She's recently decided she hates baths unless one of us gets in with her. If I get in with her, the baby screams in Niclas' arms because she was not done nursing. If Niclas gets in the bath, it's ON for him but I get to sit on the couch with the baby and then it's ON with a dimmer.

When it's OFF I think I can handle it. When it's ON I can't imagine how it is when it's OFF.

Last October I sat next to the mother of two young children at a friend's wedding. She told me that our second kid, the one I was still carrying, was going to be my kid. She said I'd be the only one capable of calming her down. It wasn't so much that I didn't believe her, but every situation is different. I didn't think much of the conversation at the time but the last few days I've been realizing she was right. Linnea is my kid. She's Niclas' too, but at six weeks today, she wants me to hold her all the time. She yelled for the duration of my shower this morning, all while Niclas held her. She stopped as soon as I took her back. She wants to sleep nose to nipple with me at night (which is awkward but not nearly as bad as what Matilda wanted at her age, which was to nurse while she slept. All night).

The swing is becoming less reliable as a nap location. More often than not she wakes up before 10 minutes have passed and yells for me to pick her up again. She'll still sleep in the carseat, sometimes for hours, but she tends to put up a fight at the start now.

I have no idea how I'd be surviving Linnea's babyhood (and Matilda's toddlerhood) without this pouch. I guess I'd make it through but I'd be starving and the laundry would never get folded. With Linnea in the pouch, I can do some of the cooking and I can wipe off the counters. Unloading the dishwasher is out as the angles are just too awkward, especially when she burrows into my armpit, as is loading the washing machine.

I can't remember how old Matilda was when we got this pouch but I know we had it by the time we went to Sweden when she was 5 months. She slept through 4 countries, 3 airports and countless afternoons in it. Before I got too pregnant to use it with her, she spent many an "uppee uppee uppee" type afternoon in it. She hung out on my hip while I cooked, her toddler legs dangling around my knees. Now, Linnea spends nearly all her time in it when she's not nursing and sometimes when she is nursing.

Me me me

If Linnea is six weeks old, I'm six weeks postpartum. Down another 1/2 a pound which is pathetic and I don't believe it as I've been eating too many cookies.

As the weight drips away, the sagging is becoming more apparent. This is unfortunate. The muffin top is very unfortunate. I'm glad I can't see myself walking away these days. I have to avert my eyes when the sun casts my shadow on runs. On paper, the runs are getting better. Bit longer, touch faster. Got some minor shin splints for my troubles. But I'm stuffing myself into my old running clothes and I can feel things jiggling. I am so impatient for this body

to change back to this body.

I'm all alone. I'm sitting on the couch with the laptop and a Tivoed episode of Lost (for noise mostly as I hardly pay attention to TV anymore and Lost lost me ages ago and I might have seen this episode before, actually) and I'm alone in the room. Both kids are asleep in our bed with a pillow between them to protect Linnea from Matilda's tossing and rolling. Niclas is working in the room next to them so he can keep an ear out.

I'm alone in the room. I'm eating the easter bunny I bought Matilda weeks ago thinking I could convince myself to forget it was in the house. I'd forgotten until now, alone in the room with my arms free and my shirt on and the house in relative order for tomorrow.

The dishes are washed, the toys are picked up and my coffee is ready to go, but there's laundry to be folded. There's always laundry to be folded, however, and I'm putting this batch off to sit on the couch alone. The folding of this load doesn't matter as much as the washing did. This load contains this dress

which Matilda hardly takes off long enough to be washed. (She didn't wear it today but started asking for it before bedtime. I told her we had to wash it but she could wear it all day tomorrow. She helped me put it in the washing machine. It was important to get it into the dryer. She will be asking for it as soon as we get downstairs tomorrow morning.)

I haven't been alone on the couch with the TV and the internet and things wrapped up at the end of the day since Linnea was born.

I saw the OB I used for my pregnancy with Matilda this weekend. She told me the new girl working at her front desk has six kids and that's why she hired her. Figured anyone who could manage six childred would be on top of whatever her job could throw at her. I'm not ready for six kids. I've got two and I think we're doing ok but I spend all my time organizing and cleaning and planning weekly menus (oh yes, yes I am) and mapping out how to get to the bank or the post office and making sure Matilda's snack tray is stocked and ready to go the night before

so I can pull it out in the morning and put a stop to the "eat eat eat eat" chant and have a cup of coffee in the relative peace of a nursing infant. (The trays are working and the joy is spreading.) I'm busy distracting one kid while the other eats and then distracting that kid while the first one eats. I'm pulling out playdoh and starting dinner at 2 so it's ready when Matilda starts asking for it at 5.

I'm busy trying to catch all the things Linnea is doing. The grabbing and grunting and kicking and smiles.

I'm making faces at her and rubbing her soft round head. I'm talking to her when she's nursing to see her raise an eyebrow, kick a leg straight out and pop her seal on my nipple. I'm trying to include Matilda in all this. Reminding her to be gentle with the baby. Sitting with her so she can hold her sister. Not get headbutted in the process.

I asked the OB, who has four kids herself, if it gets easier. She walked me through her mornings. By 6:30, she's done two loads of laundry, served three cups of tea at two different temperatures, one cup of coffee and four breakfasts in three shifts. So no. It doesn't get easier. Being alone in a room becomes slightly less novel but I gather the laundry never lets up.

When I got pregnant with Linnea I decided I wasn't going to buy any maternity clothes. My due date with her was one week after my due date with Matilda was, two years previous. It was my last pregnancy. I figured I would use the same maternity clothes and hold off buying new clothes until the pregnancy was over and the weight was gone.

I didn't live up to it. Over the last year, I bought one maternity shirt ($6), two pairs of lounge/sleepwear when my stomach got so big even the largest of my maternity clothes rode up or fell down ($40), two pairs of knock-off Crocs when my feet got so uncomfortable the ugly started to look good ($20), and then a handful of non-maternity-but-hide-the-muffin-top shirts once the baby was out but the weight was certainly not ($50).

In the last year, I've spent just over $100 on clothing for myself. I've still got 20 pounds to lose. I'm nowhere near being able to buy clothing for myself. I'm grumpy and puffy and fat. Spring is around the corner. I need to spend. Spending is mental Spring Cleaning. I can't spend on myself because I can hardly look at my body in a mirror nevermind try pants on it.

So I spent on the kids. I bought some Baby Legs for both of them knowing that Matilda wouldn't let me put them on her and Linnea wouldn't have a choice.

So far, Matilda won't let me put them on her. Linnea doesn't have a choice.

I also bought a lighter weight pouch. Linnea is certainly putting in the hours in the fleece one and I don't see that changing anytime soon. This summer we go to Sweden. The first time we took Matilda to Sweden, she spent roughly 85% of her time in the pouch. Linnea will be the same age for her first trip to Sweden that Matilda was on her first trip.

The pouch is almost like buying new clothes for myself.

I'll forget the faces Linnea makes when she's nursing. I'll forget how her legs dangle over my side and she kicks them out like she's starting her engine. I'll forget that she raises one eyebrow when I interrupt her dinner to talk to her. I'll forget how she waves her fists like she's knocking on a door.

I'll forget but I don't want to.

I'll forget how she rolls her head back and to the side when she stretches her back and how she kneads my stomach and the tops of my thighs with her feet when we're lying in bed. I'll forget how outrageous her smiles are. How easily they come to her. I'll forget the weight of her. I'll forget the cry she makes when she's really hungry and hears my voice. I'll forget how much it sounds like she's being stuck with a pin. How it sounds like she's in so much pain. How did she learn such a noise?

I'll forget that Matilda has been reading books to us at night. That she repeats after me "I know a rhino. We like to take tea. I have two sugars," "...two sugars," and she holds up two fingers, "and rhino takes three." "...takes three." I'll forget that she tells me she only wants two. I'll forget that she holds up the book she's reading so I can see the pictures and how she sneaks the word "libary" onto most pages. I'll forget that she wants to "take Naya" all the time. That she wants to burp her. I'll forget that she's been running around the house eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches this week and she wants to watch E.T. - "E.T. go home" - and I'll forget that this is the week she really figured out how to get her clothes on herself. Underpants, tops, pants.

I'll forget but I don't want to.

I'll forget how she puts her "baby Ida" between her legs so she can jump on her trampoline using both hands to hold on. I'll forget how she's been using wet wipes to clean up. Her face and the couch and the tub and how she holds her palm at the edge of the tub so she can catch what the wet wipe brushes off. I'll forget that she wants to bring the wet wipe to bed, along with "baby Ida" and two books and the baby monitor. I'll forget that she needs chapstick and to drink water before she can sleep and she needs to get both "all by self."

I'll forget but I don't want to.

I won't forget that our first night home with our first newborn was terrifying. I won't forget that we had no idea what to do and were so lost that we called the pediatrician in the middle of the night. I won't forget that he sounded very tired. That he was very patient with us. That he made me feel better and then a little crazy for feeling like we needed to call him in the first place.

I won't forget that Matilda screamed for four months. That she hated her carseat with the fire of a thousand suns and mearly waving her bottom over it was enough to send her into spasms of red-faced hatred. I won't forget that she screamed loud enough to shatter glass everytime we put her in it and the only thing funny about it was going under overpasses as the shadows they cast made her open her eyes so wide we thought they'd pop right out of her head. Every single time.

I won't forget that Linnea does not hate her carseat. That she naps in it even when we're not in the car. I won't forget that she's an easier baby. I won't forget that the second time, the sleeping is easier and so is the sleep deprivation.

I won't forget that the first time, breastfeeding was scary and the closest thing to jumping out of a plane I'd ever done. It was a leap of faith. I hit ground pretty hard. I won't forget that the first time, for the first 4 months, breastfeeding broke me. The second time, breastfeeding put me back together. I will forget what it feels like to nurse one of my babies, but I won't forget that it was good. That it was worth it. That I'm glad I stuck it out.

I'm going to talk about my kids' current sleep habits. I'm about to stab myself in the face and pour whiskey on the wound.

Matilda has never been a good sleeper. Too busy screaming! (In fact, I just typed that she's never been a good screamer. Had to go back and edit.) I can't bring myself to relive it and no one wants to hear it. Let's just say she has not been easy. Recently, I've been hating her naps. It was taking an hour to get her to sleep. I'd lie on our bed and nurse Linnea while Matilda lay on the other side of her sister and eventually get around to sleeping. Bedtime had morphed into about the same thing but with more books before she'd lay down and more kicking after she'd put her head on the pillow. Then she'd get up to reach the water in the cubby over our bed. Then to get chapstick. Oh, the games we had! If I was feeling calm and mellow and like a good parent, the rituals didn't make me want to scream. But if I was worn-out and thirsty and wanted to GET ON WITH IT ALREADY, the water and the chapstick and the sometimes Kleenex. Oh. Made my hair curl. And from there we'd have an hour to go.

I asked the advice of my friends inside the computer and the consensus was "get a grip." Or, "get a routine." Stick to it. Show no mercy. That was 5 days ago. We told her she'd be sleeping in her bed. We'd read her books and I'd kiss her goodnight and leave the room. Then Niclas would tuck her in and leave the room. We'd leave her awake. The first night, she stomped her Crocs-clad feet and screamed for 45 minutes. The next night, she half-heartedly called for Papa for 5 minutes. Last night, not a peep. Tonight, silence. Naps are the same. Books, kisses, tuck her in, pat her back, leave the room.

I've got to say, it's nice not having her roll all over me all night, but that's not the point. It was the getting to sleep that was giving me a twitchy eye. It she joins us at 3am (she hasn't so far), that's ok. I like cuddling with her. I'm just not lying with her waiting for her to fall asleep anymore.

This brings us to the little big one. Linnea is a better sleeper. Last night she slept for 8 hours straight. I'm still shaking my head over it. This morning, she fell asleep nursing so I wedged her into the Boppy pillow and tucked her in. She woke up and looked around the room. I assumed she'd be squawking soon enough to be picked up but she went and fell asleep on her own. She's better at this. I don't get 8 hours out of her every night, but I'm clearly going to have an easier time of it on round two.

Linnea had her two month check-up today. She's 10 pounds 11 ounces. 22.5 inches long. Already smarter than us as she managed to barf her way out of getting her shots. The nurse tried to give her an oral rotovirus vaccine. Linnea calmly projectile vomited it and a quart of milk all over herself and the floor. Twice. Then passed out from exhaustion. The nurse and I looked at each other, her in purple non-latex gloves and me with a boob hanging out, and decided that was good enough for the day. "Bring her back next week for shots!"

Matilda won't stop talking. She talks all through breakfast and drawing and painting her nails. She talks all through picking her outfit, "blue dress blue dress," and getting dressed. She talks on the way to the car. She talks in the car. She talks about the car. She talks through dinner and bath time. She talks over us when we read her stories. She talks to Linnea. "Chatty" was circled on her daycare note yesterday. Underneath that it said "at naptime."

Linnea is 10 weeks old today. She loves the sun smiley face that stares down at her when she lies on her baby gym. Grins and pumps her legs at it. She swings at toys brought into her range. Sucks on her hands. Follows Matilda around the room with her eyes. She's wearing 3-6 month clothes. Has spent the week screaming at us if we put her down.

Man. She gets so mad. It's a good thing she's cute because the screaming around here is a little out of control. The best (and by best I mean worst) is when Matilda starts screaming too. That is SO MUCH FUN.

My kids have broken me. I am broken. If I hear one more shard of the beginning of a scream today I am going to get in the car and drive to Kansas.

Lucky for Kansas, Matilda's in bed and Linnea is drooling in my armpit. Niclas isn't really a screamer. I'm not raising my voice above a whisper.

We might be good. I might still live here tomorrow. I hope tomorrow there's less screaming because today there was a lot of screaming and Kansas was looking good.

Last week when it was winter Matilda and I made some playdoh. We used a recipe I found online. It was easy to make and Matilda enjoyed the part where we added the food coloring but once that was done and I was left to knead the colors in, she was pretty much over it. Which was kind of a drag because we had been making collages on paper bags previously and that mess was still all over the dining room while the playdoh mess was unfolding in the kitchen.

Playdoh

1 cup flour
1 cup boiling water
2 tbsp. cream of tartar
1/2 cup salt
1 tbsp. oil
Food coloring

Mix and knead together. This playdoh is not sticky and does not dry out.

(We find that corn starch mixed with a little water (and food coloring if you like to live on the edge) makes a much more interesting substance. Like sand down by the water at the beach.)

Today

Today Linnea is 11 weeks old. When she's not screaming to be held, by me, only me, she's a peach. Smiles like crazy, kicks her legs. Laughs, gurgles, grins, chews on her hands. Grabs the rings hanging from her baby gym. Didn't wake up last night until 3:30. Makes up for the screaming with cute but she does lose her everloving mind every night at Matilda's bath-time.

This morning Matilda picked up the cup dispenser from a bottle of cough medicine. She took it to the park and then the children's museum with us. Brought it back to the house and into bed for her nap. Set it next to her on the table while she made more paper bag collages after nap. She keeps calling it her cup of coffee. She does not need coffee to go to 11.

This afternoon we made a double-batch of banana bread. I messed with a low-fat recipe I (wait for it) found online. The original had 189 calories a slice. This version probably has more (original was all white flour and whole eggs while this is egg whites and a mix of flours, flax seed meal and wheat germ). Right before we headed into the kitchen to make this, I checked in on a blog I've been reading as of late only to find that she'd just made some healthier banana bread as well. Great minds and all that or something.

I'd recommend the following recipe even though I haven't tried it yet as Matilda has just eaten three slices. She's never eaten an entire slice of any quick bread before.

Low-Fat/No-Longer-Low-Calorie Banana Bread

4 egg whites
1 1/3 cups sugar
4 ripe bananas, mashed
1/2 cup applesauce
2/3 cup skim or 1% milk
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 1/2 tbsp. vanilla
1 1/2 cups white flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/4 cup flax seed meal
1/4 cup wheat germ
4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2/3 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325. Spray two bread pans with non-stick cooking spray.
In a large bowl, beat egg whites and sugar until light and fluffy.
Beat in bananas, applesauce, milk, oil and vanilla.
In a separate bowl, add flours, flax seed meal, wheat germ, baking powder, soda and salt.
Stir flour mixture into banana mixture until just blended.
Fold in walnuts.
Pour batter into brean pans. Bake until bread is golden and a toothpick comes out clean, about 1 hour.

Me too

In running news no one cares about but me, I'm pretty comfortable saying I'm back up to 20 miles a week. Hit the 100 mark three weeks ago. Got new running shoes. Am considering a 10k this Sunday for the beer and party at the end even though I haven't run that distance postpartum yet. I know I can. I also know I wouldn't be racing.

I'm down one more pound. Losing weight at a reasonable rate is bullshit.

We've been parents for over two years now. We've got two kids in diapers. We own two courier bags, one huge and hugely preppie tote bag, one too-narrow homemade tote bag and a hard-sided too-small Baby Bjorn diaper bag. I tend to throw a few diapers, some wipes and zip-lock baggies of snacks into my handbag as often as possible as I hate all our diaper/non-dipaer bags.

On Monday, I had to lie Linnea on paper towels and change her diaper on the concrete floor of the bathroom in the children's room at the library. I've found my next sewing project. Changing pads. Maybe if I start from the inside out, I'll finally get around to making the diaper bag of my dreams.

Like my bag-making, changing pads are turning out to be a lot like cookies (can't eat just one, can't make just one). I made the first pad yesterday during naps.

I wanted it as small as possible so I could carry it in my handbag. I sewed two layers of flannel into the middle so it's fairly absorbent, but all the layers means it's also fairly thick and since Linnea is already nearly hanging off of it, it's not making the cut. (Not for my bag, but we'll use it at home where we only need something under her bum and not under her head.)

I made the second one last night after both kids were tucked into bed. Matilda in hers, Linnea wedged into the Boppy Pillow on ours.

It's cotton on one side and fleece on the other like the first but this one doesn't have a flannel center. It's also wider and longer, so the tie is on the side. You fold it in half the long way and then roll it up. Next I need to sew up a little pouch for the diapers, wipes, snacks and pad. Right after I sit around and deposit my brains into kleenex today.

It's been two weeks since I've had grandparental back-up. My folks went to India for a wedding. I know right? I've also been fighting Matilda's cold for two weeks. The cold finally won yesterday. My folks returned last night. My mother will be here in an hour or so. I might shower today but only because she'll be here to kid-wrangle.

On Monday Linnea turned three months old. I haven't been writing about her much because it's hard to put into words how one falls in love with an infant.

She's telling stories all the time now. Chewing on her hands. Is thisclose to finding her thumb. Her hair is coming in a little. It's whispy blond. She laughs when we tickle her. Go nuts when Niclas and I put our heads together over hers. Looks from one set of eyes to the other, over and over again. Slaps herself on her sides with her arms. Pushes off with her feet. Grabs my shirt or hair when she's nursing. Snorts and grunts and man, the child can pass some gas.

I can pretty much guarantee a morning nap out of her, nursed to sleep and wedged into her carseat. Then she's sort of...up for the day. Catnaps on me but tends to wake up with The Anger if I put her down to sleep by herself. By 3 she's pretty well exhausted and cranky. By 3 I need to start dinner. So that's fun. She'll sometimes sit on Niclas' lap for dinner but she just STARES at me so I usually end up feeding her while we all feed ourselves. Then it's a mad dash to clean up dinner, clean up myself and get Matilda upstairs for her bath with Niclas before Linnea loses the plot and sets the house on fire with her angry, angry screams. Then we settle in for an hour or so of nursing before I can sneak her upstairs to bed.

I had a dream about her a few nights ago as she lay asleep next to me. She was wedged into her Boppy Pillow, head and feet in the air. I dreamt that I kissed her. Her head and face and the back of her vulnerable wee neck. Her long lean fingers and her chunky little thighs. Each of her toes which look exactly like mine.

And that was it. The whole dream. Just kissed her little body which is what I do all day when she's awake. Apparently I didn't get enough in that day.

Some nights I go to bed earlier than necessary so I can listen to her and rub her fuzzy head. Last night I pulled her blanket up so I could see her feet one more time before I lay down. I hug her to me and breathe in her smell every night when she wakes up hungry and I move her out of the Boppy. She's a pretty good reason to be tired.

There's so much to talk about. Too bad I have nothing to say. There's Linnea, old enough to play a newborn on tv. Chewing on her hands and rolling onto her back. There's Matilda, picking up new words every hour and wanting the tiny *pinching fingers together* spoon and the tiny block and the tiny toy. There's me asking her who's on the video conference. Her saying "farfar" (father's father) when it's not, it's Niclas' brother, Fredrik.

There's Fredrik, refusing to believe he looks just like his father.

Linnea is four months old. I have no idea how this has happened.

Twice last week she slept from 8 to 5. I'm not complaining, no, it's just. When she does that? I don't get to run because 5am is when I'd leave the house. But you know, not complaining. And I can't really blame her for my lack of motivation this week. I guess I can blame being four months postpartum, but that's me and not her. The hair loss is certanily me. As is the overwhelming desire to eat. Doesn't really matter what it is, I'll eat it. And I'm not even really hungry.

It's a good thing Linnea is cute because four months postpartum is kicking my ass. I'm a wet hot mess and there's so much to tell you but I can't seem to form the sentences. I put Linnea in the car the other day. Got in myself, put the key in the ignition. Released the parking break and noticed that the car was already in drive. On our inclined driveway. I can't even park a car, nevermind organize a paragraph. I will try st