A Few Pictures

Last summer when we were visiting Tom's parents, I spent quite a bit of time sitting queasily on their front porch, trying not to throw up. (How glad I am not to be pregnant this summer!) All the flowers Tom's mom was growing made the porch a lovely place to sit and take deep breaths.


This year, I told Tom I'd like to create a similar screen of flowers on our back deck. I am not the designated gardener in our relationship; my preferred method of growing things involves flinging seeds over a patch of dirt and hoping that plants will magically grow the way they do out in the wild. Luckily, Tom has decided that gardening provides a welcome change from the intangible labor of trying to become a tenured professor, so in addition to growing various berries and vegetables he started growing flowers.


A few days ago, I took pictures of something I hadn't photographed for a while: non-child objects. My children are well documented at this point, so I decided to capture a few of the flowers.


The geraniums look vaguely patriotic against the backdrop of the hosue:



It sounds terribly cliched, but these lilies look like a burst of sunshine, even on overcast days:



Once I started taking pictures, I was intrigued to find that ants seemed to be enjoying the flowers as much as I was:



They liked these pink and white ones too:

A Poem

This month, the online magazine Literary Mama has published a poem of mine called "Meeting the Train." When Ben was a baby, I didn't have time to write very much, but I did write several poems that captured the disorientation and emotional rawness of being a new mother. Now when I have similar experiences with Meg, it's comforting to think of those poems and remember I've been through this once before. I may be horrible at scrapbooking or filling out baby books, but at least I get words down on paper sometimes.

Food = Love

At one point soon after we were married, Tom made the observation that my family equates food with affection. "Doesn't everyone?" I asked in surprise. When I was growing up, family dinner time was sacred. Birthdays gave us the right to dictate a dinner menu and choose a cake. We weren't particularly religious, but the sticky buns on Christmas morning meant as much to me as any sacrament.


Maybe that's why I have been so touched by all the food we've been given thanks to Meg's birth. One of the mom's groups I'm in holds "food showers" for expectant mothers, and two of my friends organized mine as a lovely afternoon tea, complete with finger sandwiches and decadent desserts. They even mixed their own loose tea to serve. After Meg was born and we started making our way through all the frozen dishes, I felt cared-for and happy not to have to worry about cooking.


The other mom's group I'm in coordinates meals that are dropped off after a baby is born. When people started delivering the meals, I realized the strength of this approach: It gives people a chance to check in and make sure new moms are okay.


Then two weeks ago someone from the Unitarian church we've been attending called to tell us they wanted to coordinate some meal deliveries for us. When Tom and I were both feeling sick, it felt like a minor miracle to have someone show up with soup and rolls and chocolates. Meg and I returned home from the hospital to find that a friend had dropped off a salad and homemade macaroni and cheese.


Sometimes when I'm home for a visit and my mom and I are in the grocery store, she'll bring up Tom's comment: "I know he says we show love through food, but that's not a bad thing, right? At least we're showing love, right?"


I always reassure her. Sure, people can have problems with mixing up food and love, and I don't mean to minimize that. But my nursing newborn reminds me many times a day how closely linked the two really are.

Parenthood Is Hard

At Meg's one-month appointment on Monday, I congratulated myself on not crying during her shot. With Ben, I couldn't stand the thought of him being in pain and not understanding why. This time, I knew the pain would be brief and she'd get over it; someday, she'll be a 4-year-old who grumbles at shots but is willing to be bribed with stickers and a piece of candy.


Then Monday night, Ben started throwing up, but I still kept my cool. I had a cold and was feeling tired and achy, but I cuddled him and washed sheets and blankets, and he learned how to throw up in a bowl. "Stay with me a while," he said, and I lay next to him and held him.


The next morning, though, everything got worse. Tom looked gray. Meg felt hot and was acting sluggish. I took her to the doctor and discovered what happens with a newborn with a fever: you go to the ER without passing Go or collecting your things from home.


After we checked in with the triage nurse and Meg slept in her car seat, I struggled to keep my mind from racing. When I started to have awful thoughts about what could happen to her, I sternly brought myself back to the present:

What am I being asked to do right now?
I'm being asked to sit here.
Can you do that?
Yes.

So I did my best to practice sitting-in-the-ER meditation. I did what people asked me to do. When Meg needed to be held, I held her. I still felt tired and sick, and I thought of the story my dad tells about the morning my mom went into labor with me. He had hurt his shoulder and was in a lot of pain, but he realized that when his wife was in labor no one wanted to hear about him. That's what parenthood does to you; yes, I was tired and stressed and sick, but that really was beside the point. Instead, I tried not to think too much and be there for Meg.


The nurses tried to talk me into leaving when they did the spinal tap, but if Meg was going to have it done I wanted to be there. They held her down on the bed and she turned red from screaming, and then pooped all over the sheets. The resident wasn't able to get clear fluid from her spine, so the attending doctor had to come in and try again. After that bout of screaming, Meg slept for a long time.


After the first 7 hours in the ER, I started to lose it. Staff had been telling me they'd admit Meg "soon," but then they'd disappear for a long time. Finally, I asked a nurse for some water. When she returned bearing ice water, crackers, and Sprite, I couldn't help myself--I started crying. It felt good to be taken care of. I desperately wished we had family in town. I didn't feel nearly grown-up enough to handle all of this.


After 9 hours in the ER, we were at last admitted and taken to a room in the hospital. The first night, I soothed Meg to sleep five times, and each time she was awakened by medical staff who wanted to poke and prod her. When they closed the door, I sobbed with exhaustion and frustration. Finally, we were left in peace to sleep.


The next morning, though, everything felt calmer. Meg's temperature was down, and the preliminary tests came back negative. The sun shone. I ate breakfast. Tom came to the hospital and held her for a while, and I went to the rooftop garden.


The sunlight felt wonderful, even if the breeze was sharp. Several wind chimes tolled in what sounded like music. Little birds chirped in the bushes, and a stream trickled below a crust of ice. From the rooftop, I could see traffic, the bare branches of Forest Park, and blue sky. Many of the benches and bridges were gifts "in memory of" or "in celebration of the life of" various people. After my rough day and night, I felt a little ashamed of having lost it, but I was humbly grateful for all the people who had planned and paid for this garden to give people who are tired or sad or scared a peaceful place to rest.


Now, two days after being admitted, we're waiting for the final test results to come back negative so we can go home. I have great sympathy for the families I saw who are staying here for a long time because they have children with serious health problems. I can't imagine the strength they've had to develop. As I waited for the elevators to go to the cafeteria, I looked at all the floors of the children's hospital I hope never to visit--oncology, the cardiac cath lab, intensive care. I find it reassuring to know, though, that if we ever end up in one of those unthinkable places, we will find the same little flashes of thoughtfulness and compassion to help us make it through.

Welcome, Margaret!

Little Meg was born via C-section on 1/2/09 at 4:03 PM. I'm working on the birth story, but in the meantime, here's a picture:


We came home from the hospital yesterday. Ben was very excited to meet his sister, and he proudly wore his "Big Brother" t-shirt to preschool this morning.

Induction Attempt

I am getting seriously impatient to have this baby, so this morning after I dropped Ben off at preschool I decided to talk a walk around the botanical garden and see if exercise would jump-start labor. I've never seen the gardens so quiet--deserted except for one man walking and some workers speeding around in golf carts. Evidently, most people consider twenty degrees too cold to be strolling around outside.


As I waddled around taking pictures, I could feel my impatience subside. Instead, I tried to relish my last days of being able to go where I want when I want. The smell of something frying wafting from the restaurant inside made me think for some reason of when I lived in England and would travel by myself and explore new cities. For the moment, my chances of international travel are nonexistent, but I've promised myself that once the kids get older I'll figure out a way to explore again.


Although my walk in the cold didn't end up inducing labor, I felt exhilarated. I warmed up at the old-timey World's Fair Donuts, where I ordered one of whatever was the freshest, which turned out to be a maple-peanut donut.

The Adventures of Grouchy Pregnant Lady

Last Saturday was the last StudioSTL workshop of 2008: graphic narrative. I thought it sounded like a cool topic, but I felt utterly unqualified to teach it. Luckily we found James and Jason, who thought spending four hours teaching teenagers how to express themselves through words and pictures sounded like fun. They assured everyone that, when it comes to drawing, "Ugly is okay," and soon all of us were creating characters and drawing on the giant Post-It notes stuck up on the walls.


I am still trying to convince myself that ugly is okay, but I will share the comic I drew. I did a few sketches Saturday and then finished it today. (You can click on each picture to see a larger version.)