Strange

Right now I'm sitting in a cafe while someone else plays with Henry, feeds him, and puts him down for a nap, but he occupies my thoughts almost as much as if he were here, banging on the table and pointing emphatically to my food with his signature, all-purpose "ba!" (give me that now, look at that, open this door, there's a ball/box/dog/cat, etc.). Is he having trouble falling asleep for his morning nap right now? Did I forget to tell Susan something? Is he fussy? Does Susan cuddle him? I forgot to tell her about chase and hiding, and how that is one of the main contexts for physical affection these days. Did he drink very much of the bottle? Is he hungry? Does Susan know what to do right now? Does he miss nursing?

I can see that being off duty is going to take some practice.

While I work on that, I'll pick up a hat (two hats?) I tucked away almost two years ago: writer and editor. I have only eight hours each week to devote to freelance work, so I'm going to have to spend my time carefully. Only projects that enhance my portfolio--no fluffy stuff. Tell your friends: Amy Millward, freelance writer and editor, is open for non-fluffy business!

I know many parents trust their three-month-olds with a full-time nanny; I'm leaving my one-year-old for two half days a week. Not exactly the same thing. So I feel a little silly admitting it, but this is hard. I feel an intense pull to be around him, to care for him, to know how he is feeling at all times. It's almost physically painful to leave the house without him.

But that's actually one reason I'm doing this. Now that I'm a parent, I understand why people get obsessed with their kids. It's a consuming role. I think everyone who is their child's primary caregiver risks letting other facets of themselves not just fall to the wayside, but actually curl up and die. I guess we tend to define ourselves by what we spend the majority of our time doing. I eat, sleep, and breathe Henry, and I believe that what I'm doing is challenging and important work. This is the most satisfying job I've ever had. But already I'm having a hard time seeing myself as anything other than a mother, and that's sad, because I am many things.

So. For a few hours every week, I will hang with the laptop-in-a-cafe crowd, maybe eat a lemon curd doughnut (don't judge), and hunt down some work that doesn't involve diapers. Or maybe it does, if you want me to write copy about diapers. I'm open. Let's do this thing!

Henry's Birth, Part 2

Part 1, for anyone bored enough to go back and read it again. :)

******

I was floored and confused that things were already so intense. My first contraction happened at about 9:30am—it was now barely lunch time and it was already taking all my concentration and effort to get successfully through each contraction (success, in my book, was maintaining enough control to do the low moaning and not get high-pitched and freak out). Also, all of a sudden there was barely any time between them. I knew first-timers tend to have long labors, and I thought, how will I ever survive days of this kind of intensity? What if this isn't even active labor yet, and it turns out that I am just a big, fat wimp after all? Logically, I was having a hard time believing that what I was feeling wasn't active labor, but all my fears—of weakness and inadequacy and my body not working properly—surfaced, and I doubted myself a lot. I knew that if we called the midwife she’d listen to my sounds during a contraction and gauge where I was in the process, and I really wanted to know.

So right before Becky showed up, we called the midwife (well, Chris did). He gave her a brief update and then handed the phone to me. I started trying to explain what the contractions were like but immediately sensed one coming on and stopped talking so I could do my thing. She listened to me, and when it was over she said with some surprise in her voice, “Oh, Amy—you're in labor!”

Those words made everything brighter. It's kind of funny how those sensations seemed almost unbearable when I thought they were pre-labor, but totally doable once I knew it was active labor. From that point on, the sequence of events is blurry for me. Lis arrived soon after our phone call, and Becky arrived just before Lis. I remember Lis feeding me blueberries one at a time. Those blueberries were like sweet nectar from the gods. I remember Becky and Lis continually offering me sips of water and coconut water, and even though sometimes I didn’t want it, I drank it. I’m actually surprised at how compliant I was throughout labor—I thought I would have been more ornery and, well, bitchy. (It’s possible Chris and Becky could speak more accurately to the bitch factor, but nobody’s asking them.) I remember Chris behind me, always behind me, letting me lean so hard on him, grip his arms, push into him.

It was uncharacteristically warm that day, and we had some windows open—specifically, the ones that opened into a small courtyard that we shared with about 12 other tenants in our building. Eventually, a woman in a nearby apartment had had enough. “Close the window—we don’t want to hear that!” she yelled. Lis, our sweet, soft-spoken midwife, called out softly as she closed the nearest window, “She’s in labor!” and giggled a bit. I laughed too, and had a few thoughts but no time to speak: 1) Lady, I WISH I were having sex right now, 2) Doesn’t it seem peculiar at all to you that someone would be having orgasms every few minutes for the past two hours? and 3) We have to move immediately after the birth because there’s no way I can look any of these people in the eye again.

I labored in many different positions, all at Lis’ suggestion. I sat backward on the toilet and leaned back a bit (on Chris, of course), with my feet braced against the wall behind the toilet. That was more challenging than standing up, and I started chanting during contractions, “I can do it. I can do it.” This chant filled my mind so that there wasn’t room for negative thoughts, helping me stay calm and relaxed.

Next I tried kneeling in front of an armchair and leaning on the seat of the chair. That was the only position that gets a big, fat fail from Amy. All kinds of fun stuff was leaking out of me at this point, so they put a chux pad below me and my knees kept sliding on it. Also, strangely, I was still wearing socks even though my underwear had long since disappeared, so my feet couldn’t grip the floor like I needed them to. Because of all the sliding, I was having to tense up my thigh muscles to hold myself in place, and I was very upset about that. I knew I needed to be relaxed and loose; that was my primary goal throughout labor. After I complained about it between a few contractions, we moved to the bed.

I wanted Lis to check me to see how dilated I was, and when she was done she said something like, “Okay good, you’re doing great.” The fact that she didn’t give me a number discouraged me a little at the time; I assumed it meant I wasn’t very far along. After the birth she explained that I was at about five centimeters when she checked me, which was great, but she didn’t want me to get hung up on a number. I appreciate her wisdom, since I think five centimeters would have disappointed me. Also, believing that I still had a ways to go actually strengthened my resolve to continue to give every contraction my all.

After Lis checked me, I labored on the bed, on my side with my knees drawn up. Chris knelt by the bed so that his face was near mine, and I held onto his hands. If I didn’t have his hands, I completely freaked out. Since she didn’t know how long my labor would be, Lis wisely wanted me to conserve my energy. She encouraged me to relax my whole body, including my face and hands, and I tapped into all my relaxation and visualization practices to do it. It was so hard. She also encouraged me to lower the decibel level of my vocalizations and to try not to chant. I knew vocalizing was really working for me so I didn’t stop completely, but I did my absolute best to be quieter. I hope the neighbors appreciated the brief respite before the pushing began.

While on the bed, I felt my whole body bear down during a contraction. I told Lis I was pushing a little bit. She gave me some pointers on pushing effectively, and I’m sure they helped, but what I remember most is that my body was leading and I was following. After a bit, a pattern emerged: For a few contractions, my body would bear down very forcefully, and I accompanied it with all the strength I could muster, and then there would be one milder contraction. I learned to bear down only as forcefully as my body led me to; otherwise I felt I was wasting energy. It seemed like when my body and I worked in conjunction, the push was exponentially more effective.

I wasn’t really a fan of lying on the bed, so Lis suggested using the birth stool she had brought, but as soon as I sat on it I knew it wasn’t right for me. They moved it out of the way and I got into a deep squat there on the floor next to our bed. Wow—once I was in that squat the bearing down was WAY more powerful. Squatting opened up my pelvis and gave gravity a chance to help out. The contractions were now more difficult to endure, but I also felt that they were more effective, so I was glad.

It’s weird—I know the contractions were very painful and that during each one the pain and pressure seemed like the full amount I could possibly endure, but it’s hard to remember what the pain actually felt like. What I do remember is that the contractions were like a huge wave barreling through me, and I knew my part was to give in to the pressure by relaxing my pelvic floor and squatting deeply, and to bear down with everything in me. At this point, my sounds were guttural and very loud, and I saw my mouth as a little pressure valve that, when opened, made the pressure of the pushing bearable. Every so often Lis would encourage me to put more energy toward pushing and less toward vocalizing, and I would try, but my God. The force never felt like more than I could endure, but it came right up to the line every time.

When he crowned, Lis asked me to try not to push during the next contraction and to try to pant instead. I did as she asked, and I was surprised that I was able to do it. I remember feeling pretty proud of myself for having that kind of control. I think she asked me to do that for a few contractions, and then I felt his head leave my body. It seemed like my whole body was relieved, and I had no contraction immediately afterward.

Now that his head was out, Lis wanted me to push his body out ASAP. These things need to happen one right after the other. But there was no contraction, so I did nothing. I had only ever pushed when my body was already bearing down, so pushing outside of a contraction did not compute. I remember looking at her, wanting to obey but not understanding physically how to do that. Unfortunately, at the same time she was also telling me to put some distance between my butt and the floor to make room for his body. This also did not compute—the deep squat was the perfect birthing position for me, so why would I move? Also, logistically I couldn’t figure out how to raise my butt while remaining open to let his body through. I tried, but my pelvic floor tightened, and I knew that wasn’t good. Time was ticking, and Lis got very stern. I could tell it was important, but I didn’t know how to manufacture a push, and I couldn’t figure out how to get out of the squat. Since I wasn’t acting fast enough, Lis started telling Chris to lift me a bit. Finally, with Chris holding me up by my armpits, I pushed with all my might, no contraction—and his body shot out, slippery and heavy, just like I knew it would from the two births I had witnessed.

Lis laid him on the floor at my feet. He was purple and red, and he wasn’t breathing. I think she told us to talk to him. She used a little air pumping thing, but that didn’t work, so she covered his mouth and nose with her mouth and blew, and that did the trick. Finally, he cried. He was out, and he was alive and I was alive: mission accomplished.

******

I’m working on part three—the awful tear, the scary breathing, the two trips to the hospital, the breastfeeding blunders—but that’s the hardest stuff to write about. We are all fine now, but there is still so much from that time that’s painful to remember. Things I’m angry about, things I regret. That’s how I know I need to write it down, and little by little I’m chipping away at the whole mess.

The Story of Henry's Due Date

On July 4, 2011, Henry's due date, Becky and I watched the fireworks from amid a crowd of happy, singing, slightly drunk people at Alamo Square Park. We wrapped ourselves in blankets to block the chilly wind and ate pound cake with berries and homemade whipped cream in the dark. Becky let me talk through my disappointment that Chris wasn't there with us, and I was able to put into words my hopes for this special July 4th. I wasn't expecting Henry to be born that day, but I had definitely envisioned doing fun holiday-ish things with Chris and Becky, and making some special memories with Chris—our last holiday as a family of two. I imagined the events of that day becoming a sweet story I told Henry over and over again when he got old enough to want to hear it.

But Chris hadn't slept well the night before and was really tired (and, he will admit, a bit grumpy), and the place I wanted to get burgers from was closed, and we never made it to the park for a picnic lunch, and Chris opted to stay home and sleep instead of watching the fireworks that night. I was emotional and disappointed, and I had been snippy and frustrated with Chris. I played the whole “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in eight months so suck it up” card, and I felt superior and right but still sad.

I find myself thinking about that day often. My life with Chris has plenty of disappointing days with snide remarks and short tempers and not enough communication—and it’s still a wonderful, amazing life. This is just life. We have “perfect” times, and we have disappointing times, and it’s all life, and I’m thankful for it. I’m thankful for the memory of that Fourth of July, when Henry was inside me, and we knew his name but were keeping it a secret, and I watched fireworks in San Francisco in a park near our house, and I talked with my sister Becky as we shivered under our blankets. I’m thankful that I don’t even need to remember whether Chris and I made up that night or the next day—I just know it happened, because we always make up.

Talking it through with Becky that night was therapeutic. I realized I did have a story to tell Henry—just not the one I thought I’d have. This one would be less like an award-winning children’s book and more like the kind of story your parents tell you while you’re crying because things didn’t go your way.

I’ll save the picture-perfect tales for the books Henry and I will check out from the library someday. The stories I tell him myself will be about real people and the sad, funny, beautiful, awful things that happen in this world, because those are the only stories I know.

Amy's Lists: Great Suggestions from Friends

1. Deep v-neck t-shirts and a punk-rock attitude toward breastfeeding in public (thanks, Audrey!). Suck it, world! 
2. Waterproof picnic blanket (thanks, Julie!). Henry and I go to the park most days, and now I don't have to leave with a wet butt.
3. Watching Downton Abbey while taking a bubble bath (thanks, Dorothy!). TMI, right? But if you’ve never tried it, and you’re a sucker for a good period piece, it’s SUCH a good idea. (Note: Dorothy directed me to Downton Abbey but is not responsible for my baths or my oversharing.)

Someone revoke our speaking privileges

Me (pretending Henry is a train): Choo choo, chugga chugga choo choo!
Henry (in the midst of a farting session more incredible than any in his entire life up to this point): Pfffttthhhh. Pffffffttttthhhhhh.
Chris: You're a tooty caboose!
Me: You're a tooty cabooty!
[Awkward pause.]
Me: We should not be allowed to speak.

Henry's Birth, Part 1

No time for a proper introduction to this--if I try, I will surely never ever ever post it. So here you go! The first part of what will quite possibly be the longest birth story ever told.

_____

I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks, but they didn't hurt at all. The only way I could tell I had them was that I felt out of breath for 20-30 seconds (I guess because they were squeezing my uterus up and squashing my lungs even more?). On Sunday, July 10^th, I woke up around 9am, and Chris was still sleeping. As I lay there slowly waking up, I felt a Braxton Hicks like usual—except that this one came with period-like cramping and slight achiness in my lower back. I was super excited and really, really, really hoped it was the day, but I kept telling myself it could be days of this.

I had three more contractions like that while I lay there waiting for Chris to wake up, and as soon as he woke up I told him what was happening. (I may have jostled around more than usual, flipping and sighing, to encourage him to join the land of the living.) We were both trying to play it cool so as not to be disappointed if nothing happened for a while. We lay there talking it all through (our usual way of dealing with things)--the possibility that today might be the day, and the greater possibility that we would need to wait longer, what our day would look like either way. For some reason, one of the main reasons I hoped I would go into labor that day was so that I wouldn't have to go for antenatal testing the next day. Not really sure now why that was such a huge deal in my mind.

Finally we decided to get out of bed and start the day. When I sat on the edge of the bed, I felt a tiny gush and wondered if it was my water breaking, but when I looked, there was a bright red spot of blood on the sheet. I had read about bloody show, but anytime it was mentioned in a birth story I read, it was described as light brown or tan, so the bright red blood kind of scared me. I worried that maybe something was wrong. I got up and told Chris, and then mulled it over while Chris made us breakfast.

After breakfast we decided to call our midwife to let her know what was going on and ask her about the blood. She reassured me that the blood was normal and said the crampy contractions were a good sign, but that it could still be days. She encouraged us to go about our day and try not to think about it too much.

I decided we needed to clean the house, just in case I did go into active labor that day, so we cleaned for a couple hours. For the first hour and a half, I moved and cleaned through contractions, giving Chris a running commentary of the duration and feel of each one. I process things verbally, much to Chris’ dismay sometimes. :) Chris tried to downplay it and get me to think about other things because he thought I was obsessing. But little by little I started sitting down during each contraction, and then I was sitting and gripping the sides of the chair during them and thinking to myself, these are very unfun. It seems like three things happened all at once: sitting during contractions no longer helped, I stopped being able to think very well during them, and Becky texted me asking what we were up to and when she should come over.

I had thought a few times about texting her to let her know I was having contractions, but I was still holding onto the idea of the three of us watching movies all day, me sitting on the yoga ball, and maybe occasionally going on short walks. Along with that idea, I envisioned her coming over as she normally would, so that I could surprise her with the fact that I was in labor. So I hadn’t let her know what was going on yet, and by the time she texted me, I couldn’t think well enough to reply. In between contractions, I told Chris that Becky had texted me, and I guess he contacted her and told her to come over, because she arrived after I had moved to my next position: squatting in the bathroom doorway.

I ended up there because I wanted to kind of hang from something (kind of like with water skiing, where you hold the handles, plant your feet, bend your knees and let your butt fall back a little). The pressure of the chair on my butt was no longer working for me, but standing up wasn’t working for me, either. I had a lot of very low back achiness and pressure at that point. I wanted to squat, and I found that moving my hips back and forth and in circles distracted me just enough from the intensity of the contraction to make it bearable.

So there I was, standing in the bathroom doorway, gripping one side of the doorframe with my butt to the other side. During a contraction I would grip the doorframe, drop my hips down in a squat, and sway my hips back and forth. I wanted Chris near me, and after trying a few different things I settled on him being directly behind me. During each contraction, he applied pressure to my lower back as I pressed my hips into his thighs (while still swaying them). Basically, we were grinding in the bathroom doorway. Sadly (or happily), there is no photo documentation of this.

It was in the bathroom doorway that I began to vocalize (low moaning), and I never looked back—I just got louder and louder, actually. I was experiencing so much intense pressure, and it had to get out somehow. To me, it was as if during a contraction the pressure built and built, and by moaning and moving my hips I was letting some of it out, the way you let air out of a balloon or tire. If I didn’t focus on keeping my moans low and deep, if Chris wasn’t in his position behind me, and if I didn’t start swaying, I would start to panic. I’d get more high-pitched and I’d start to freak out about the intensity and say “oh no” and “I can’t.” Then once Chris was in position and I had forced myself to do what I needed to do, it became more manageable and I could make it through. So I learned to make sure we were all set up ahead of time, the moment I sensed the next contraction was coming.

snapshot: Henry at three months

[Seeing as Henry is almost four months old, I thought I'd post the update I wrote back when he turned three months.]

My sweet little three-month-old. Henry, you just keep getting sweeter and more fun! Here's what your life is like right now:

You moved up to size 2 diapers and promptly pooped out the side of one while I was burping you one night. Poop in my belly button—a first for me.

Another first for me: You pooped as I was wiping you the other day. Since I was already staring intently at your behind, I had a front-row seat for this rare glory.

You're getting better at grabbing things and bringing them to your mouth. Right now, your favorite things to grab: your hands, our fingers, the yellow phone rattle (Daddy's when he was a baby), the cage ball with a rattling ball inside, my hair, and burp cloths.

Speaking of mouthing things, for the past few weeks you have been seriously chomping down on things (as opposed to just sucking). You even bruised your little knuckle! That made me sad, so whenever I see you biting your hand too vigorously, I try to substitute my finger or a toy.

You are escaping regularly from even our best swaddles. This makes me want to wean you off the swaddle, but the other day I tried swaddling just one arm (leaving your right arm, your favorite, for you to suck on) and it kept you from ever falling asleep. I guess for now you still need to be swaddled, so I take this as a personal challenge from you to step up our swaddle game. I'm thinking duct tape or ace bandage.

You seem to appreciate our sleep time routine more, and you're much easier to put to sleep. No crying—just sometimes a minute or two of fussing/fidgeting/grunting in my arms before getting droopy eyelids. At night, you're consistently sleeping about seven hours, waking in the wee hours for a meal, and then sleeping two to three more hours before your first meal of the day. You are a sleeping champ! That week or so of nine- to ten-hour nights (right around two months) was a tease, but this is still super great, and I'm very thankful that you're sleeping so well.

One of your most precious new developments is stroking my shirt with the palm of your hand while you nurse. Back and forth, back and forth. So precious. And then, as if I needed another reason to absolutely adore you, once you're not super hungry anymore you look up at me until I notice you, and then give me the biggest, sweetest, happiest smile—and then go back to nursing. Usually we're not in a hurry, so I confess to letting this go on for quite a while. After a bit of a rough start with breastfeeding, I consider it our special reward for all that hard work and perseverance.

You can curl yourself onto your side, but you're not going from back to tummy just yet. You clearly want to move yourself, though—if you're tired of lying on your back or sitting in the bouncer, you'll grunt and strain, lifting up your head and straightening your arms and legs. Daddy and I like to imagine you're saying to yourself, “One, two, three, getmeoutofhere!” or “one, two, three, somewhereelsenow!” And then we laugh (sorry).

This isn't something new, but I love how you shrug your shoulders up when you talk. It is seriously so cute, and I've been trying to capture it on video.

You grab your feet, suck your thumb, control your head really well, follow us around the room with your eyes, and smile at the baby in the mirror.

Amy's Lists: Things that have made me cry this week

1. This documentary on circumcision
2. Not knowing how to help Henry get to sleep now that he abruptly weaned himself off the swaddle (turns out he does best when laid down in bed, calm but alert--he plays and fusses for 15-20 minutes before falling peacefully asleep)
3. These photographs of a couple meeting and taking home their little boy they adopted from Korea
4. Chopping onions

Amy's Lists: Things I've said to ants

1. Time to die.
2. You know who's going to drown? You are.
3. If you come by the sink, you will go down the drain.
4. Die, motherfucker!

when Henry gets to choose

So, our boy loooves to stare at the walls and the ceiling, and the other day Chris called me into the bedroom where I found them chilling, Henry-style:

snapshot: Henry at two months

Henry, you're two months old! Here's a rundown of your life right now, since you won't remember any of it.

For the past two weeks, you and I have been alone together during the day. For better or for worse, you now have a real, live stay-at-home mom. I was nervous in the beginning, but you're pretty fun and I've loosened up quite a bit, and now I'm sure we're going to be all right.

Discovering that you're content to watch me blow dry my hair has been a total game-changer in the morning. :-) 

When you received your six-week shots, you weighed in at 10 pounds 11 ounces. Your next doctor visit is two weeks away, so I don't know how much you weigh now, but I'm guessing over 12 pounds. You feel so heavy in my arms!

We haven't found a bigger apartment yet, so for now you sleep in the co-sleeper in our room. A sound machine signals to you that it's bedtime.

You need your arms swaddled tightly by your sides in order to sleep. You also usually need one arm pinned underneath you when you nurse or you'll push yourself away (which makes you very angry). If you're really worked up before a meal, you need your other hand pinned down too or it'll get in the way as you try to latch. Those pesky arms!

Speaking of arms, you have discovered them (although you don't realize they're attached to you), and if you catch sight of them you try to grab one hand with the other. You also sometimes point your finger, which is just really cute.

Your favorite words are “goo” and “ghee," accompanied by the sweetest smile on the planet. And sometimes spit-up. You've also recently added an occasional "beh" and some adorable squeals.

I sing to you a lot, and often you'll sing along with me. It's pretty fun. We sing Annie songs, Elton John songs, plenty of Disney musicals, some Regina Spektor, Joshua Radin, the Mister Rogers "Good Feeling" song, and the hymns and worship songs my mom sang to me when I was little. I sing "Let Mercy Lead" by Rich Mullins--he wrote it for his song Aiden, and I substitute your name and use it as a prayer for you. I've also decided to start working in some classic CCM (Michael W. Smith, Petra, White Heart, etc.) in honor of my dad, your namesake (Daniel).

You seem to have resigned yourself to the constant kisses and no longer put up a fight. When I kiss you on the mouth, you leave your mouth open, and it's the most adorable thing ever.

We spend quite a bit of time laughing at you. It's kind of convenient, because you provide the comic relief for your own difficult behavior. You're a full-service baby.

You love the Ergo, and if all else fails, we know we can put you in it and you'll sleep like the baby you are. So far, you're not particularly impressed with the stroller, so you're in the Ergo almost anytime we go out.

You've taken countless bus trips by now.

Pooping still upsets you and, much to my dismay, sometimes wakes you up when you've been sleeping peacefully.

These days, when we swaddle you, give you a pacifier, and lay you down in the co-sleeper, you'll fall asleep on your own eventually. Until very recently, though, I would hold you and rock you to sleep. I still do that sometimes. And I have to say, I (usually) don't mind a bit. I've decided you're going to be small for such a short time, so I'm just going to enjoy the feel of your tiny, warm body resting in my arms, your cute little feet dangling by my side, your sweet smiles as you drift off to sleep, the way it takes forever for your eyes to close completely, and how different your face looks when you're sleeping.

You love your Daddy time every morning. After you have your morning meal, he burps you and changes you and plays with you until he leaves for work. Of course, you also get lots of fun Daddy time on the weekends. It's the best. He also feeds you one bottle each night, which you gobble up (at least, that's what I hear—I don't know, I'm busy sleeping). In the past few days you've dropped both of your night feedings, though, so he may not be doing that anymore! We'll see.

Baths happen in our kitchen sink, and you love them. I love that you love bath time, and it's become one of my favorite things to do with you. I try to give you a bath every day because it's such a nice experience for both of us, but sadly I don't always get the dishes done in time.

You also love being on your changing table (a changing pad on the dresser) and having your diaper changed. That's my boy! Cleanliness is next to godliness!

You bring so much joy to our lives, Henry, and I love being your mommy. It's so much harder and more wonderful than I imagined. 

my Henry boy

In choosing a name for our son, one of the deal-breakers was that it be a name not likely to be shortened by others. We wanted it to stand on its own. We wanted people to call him exactly what we named him.

We also routinely mocked people who engaged in "baby talk," claiming that we would never stoop to that. We would speak to our child like the adults that we are.

Of course, no sooner had Henry made his entry into this world than the silliest terms of endearment started flowing from my mouth with unstoppable force. I'm serious--I cannot stop myself. I sound a lot like this all day long (except without the element of comedic genius, unfortunately).

So without further ado, here's a list of the things I call Henry on a daily basis:

Henry*
Henry boy*
Bubby
Bubs
Bubby boy*
Pumpkin*
Pumpkin noodle*
Pumpkin boy*

Precious
Sweet pea*
Sweetie pea*
Snorty Henry

My sweet

My love 

My sweet love

My sweet boy

My sweetie boy

Froggy boy*
My son
My lovely
Lovie*
My little one
Tasmanian devil

*Can be prefaced with "my little"

I'm out of control over here, people, with the names. But I don't care. Just look at this sweet little bubby boy! How could I NOT call him exactly what he is--my precious little sweetie pea, my lovie?

39 weeks

Sometime in the next three weeks, we will go from "Chris and Amy Millward: Childless Couple Who (Mostly) Sleep through the Night and Generally Do What We Want" to "Chris and Amy Millward: Inexperienced Parents and Sole People Responsible for Keeping Our Particular Baby Alive."

So yeah, I'm starting to kind of freak out. But just as frequently as I freak out, I yearn to see and hold and kiss and feed and rock our baby boy. I long to call him by his real name instead of Blaybley, our silly name for him right now.

Every time he moves, I try really hard to picture him. I imagine giving birth to him and the first time I get to touch him and hold him. I picture Chris and me just staring at him--hopefully with those special parent glasses that make weird-looking newborns look like beautiful, miraculous specimens--and examining his perfectly formed body.

I've been feeling emotional and teary for the past week or so. I think I'm feeling the gravity of what I'm about to do and wondering if I can really do it. This morning at my appointment, my midwife said something like, "I have every faith in you that you can do this. I think it's going to be a normal, boring birth." And I felt like sobbing, because that's exactly what I've been wanting to hear from her.

Toward the beginning of the pregnancy, I worried a lot that because this is my first birth, and I'm small, and I don't have a reputation for having a particularly high pain tolerance, that secretly she was thinking, "Sure, you can try to have a natural birth--but I'm basically waiting for you to fail."

Of course, I realized that was ridiculous, and as time went on, I let go of that fear and felt confident in myself and my body's ability to do this. But now--now that I'm staring down the reality that at any moment my labor could start--those fears are resurfacing. I know I should have just said to her, "I know this is crazy, but I'm worried that you don't believe I can do this." But it's hard to say those words, and I just never did. So it was such a gift that she said those words to me this morning.

One more thing, since this is already an emotional, rambling post. If you pray, I have a prayer request. There's this song that I listened to a few weeks ago, and ever since then, this little part of it has been stuck in my head: "And all of my labor seems to be in vain..." Of course, the song isn't talking about childbirth, but it's really starting to bother me that I keep finding myself singing that line, because it feeds into my fear that my labor won't progress normally. Would you pray that those lyrics (and really that entire song) would leave my mind, and that a song full of peace and reassurance and confidence would take its place? Thank you, friends. You're the best.

Q&A with Amy

In preparation for a baby shower game, my friend Erika asked me to answer some questions about pregnancy and parenting. They never ended up being used in the game, but I'm so glad she had me do it because now I have them, both for posterity and to share with you. 

Maybe if you're lucky, this handsome fellow will let me post his answers, too.

It's a considerably shorter and less serious read.

What was your first reaction when you found out you were expecting?

Shock, disbelief, and giddy happiness--somehow all at once.

What excites you about becoming a parent?

Right now, I'm excited about little things--kissing our son's cheeks, watching him discover new things, taking him to the park, giving him a bath...those are the things that occupy my thoughts these days. But when I think a little more "big picture," one thing I'm looking forward to is just kind of standing back and watching him grow up and experience the world with his own unique perspective. I'm looking forward to figuring out how to talk to him about God without oversimplifying things to the point of watering it down. 

I'm also really looking forward to this new chapter in my relationship with Chris. So far, each chapter has been better than the last, and I'm excited to keep growing together and learning from each other.

What scares you?

Pretty much all the same things that excite me. :-) It's scary thinking about how much our life is going to change, and I know that having a child is going to bring new challenges to our marriage. There's something very scary about so many unknowns being ahead of us.

What was your reaction when you found out the baby's gender?

At first, disappointment--I had wanted a girl and had really convinced myself it WAS a girl. Also, I had been harboring quite a bit of pride at the idea of presenting the Millward clan with their first girl in two generations. 

But later that day, I caught a glimpse of my pregnant belly in the mirror and my first thought was, "I love you, little boy." I was surprised and overwhelmed by how fiercely I loved him, and how almost protective I felt of his boyness. I know this isn't always the case, but for me, learning his gender caused me to bond with him immediately, and from that point on I honestly never wished for a girl. I couldn't imagine it any other way.

What's one of your biggest goals for yourself as a parent?

Wow, I have no idea. I'm not sure I even know what my goals are as a person. I guess one of my biggest goals overall is to love people well--to be an example of how God loves us. And that sounds like a good parenting goal, too. Clearly I need to think about this more.

What's something you hope to instill in your child?

Some things I'd like to instill in our son are confidence and the belief that failure isn't a bad thing. I'd really like for him not to be ruled by a fear of failure.

What has impressed you most about your spouse during the pregnancy?

From past experience, I already knew Chris would be great at taking care of me, and he has been. But one thing I'm really impressed with is how positive he's been about the whole thing, even though he had wanted to wait a little longer before getting pregnant. 

I thought he would struggle with that more, but he got used to the idea super quickly and has instead graciously helped ME cope with all the changes, both to my body and to our lives. He's really made this whole, crazy experience so much more fun and positive. One of my favorite parts of the day is joking with him about the baby and pregnancy stuff.

What about pregnancy has surprised you?

I always thought I would love being pregnant--it looked pretty easy to me, and I thought I'd look cute with a belly. I would inwardly roll my eyes at pregnant women who complained of feeling fat. I also didn't understand what the big deal was about feeling nauseated. I remember thinking to myself, I've felt nauseated before; it's not that bad. 

Surprise, Amy! Being pregnant is actually not easy (at least not for me). It's been an emotional rollercoaster accompanied by almost constant nausea (which is WAY different from occasional nausea), and a lot of the time I feel a little bit fat and not remotely cute. What a fool I was.

What's the biggest disagreement you've had about pregnancy/parenthood?

Ooh, good question...I'm not sure what our biggest disagreement has been, but the first one was pretty big. As soon as we found out I was pregnant, we resumed a long-standing argument: when to make a public announcement. I couldn't imagine keeping such a huge secret from family and close friends and wanted to tell everyone right away, and Chris wanted us to have some special time "just us" before the baby craze and wanted to wait until the start of the second trimester to tell anyone. 

Thankfully, due to a variety of circumstances, it eventually made sense to tell a few close friends during the first trimester, and wait to announce it to our families and everyone else until Christmas time (just before the second trimester). So we sort of both got our way. :-)

How many kids do you want to have all together, and why do you think that's the ideal number?

I want to have four children. I've always liked the idea of having a big family, and as the eldest of four, I think four is a nice, even number.

30 weeks

Behold, not one, but two photos of me and my giant belly!

Before leaving the house Friday night for a friend's birthday party at Poquito, a yummy Ecuadorian restaurant we will definitely be returning to.

Out and about in our neighborhood Saturday afternoon.

And now I will tell you some of what we did on Saturday, just because I feel like it. 

We started out by realizing we were hungry and it was lunchtime, so we got lunch at Nopa, probably our favorite restaurant within walking distance of our house (although it's really hard to choose). 

Waiting for our lunch at Nopa.

I had a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and their custard french toast. It's the best french toast I've ever had (and I've had a lot of french toast). Chris had smoked rainbow trout, farmer's cheese, and radishes on a bagel, and it too was quite delicious. 

We're on the hunt for a dresser for the baby, so we stopped at The Other Shop and Mickey's Monkey, two vintage shops near our house, but didn't find anything.

After that, we hit up a corner produce market and scored some amazing-looking local strawberries (we ate them last night, and they were pretty darn good), huge navel oranges, lemons, and beets. 

The whole time we were out the baby was doing his usual alien rotations. He's not so much into the rapid kicking anymore--now he mostly goes for slow, big rolls and flops, and he's hard at work on them all day long. Once, a knuckle-sized bump appeared on the side of my belly and, alarmed, I pushed it gently back in. It's like he's trying to freak me out. A lot of the time these days, my stomach doesn't look completely symmetrical, because he's situated himself on one side or the other. I say that like I know what he's doing; I have no idea what he's doing, or what part of his body is trying to escape through my belly button at any given moment. I really wish for X-ray vision at a time like this.

Here are two other photos, just because you've made it this far in my ramblings and probably feel you deserve some kind of reward for that.

26 weeks

29 weeks
Somehow I lost the side view photo. Crazy how well this top disguised my belly from the front, though.

running through the mall

One time, all four of us kids were at the mall with Daddy, and Becky started to get fussy, so we needed to leave. I guess in an attempt to distract Becky and make the journey faster and a little less unpleasant, he announced that we were going to run through the mall to the car and reassured us it would be fun.

Jesse and I were old enough to be mortified at this idea. We started doing the "no Daddy, no" thing, pleading with him quietly (and while glancing around to see who was watching) not to do it. Dana, however, was easily sold on the joys of running through the mall, so Daddy held Becky in one arm and took Dana's hand with the other and off they went, laughing and running. Jesse and I didn't have to discuss our plan--we pretended we didn't know them and walked slowly back to the car, thoroughly humiliated and mad at Daddy for tainting our mall reputations with such uncoolness.

I love that memory. Doing what's right, being a good parent, and having fun were always more important to Daddy than being cool. I think part of what made him a fun dad was that he didn't really care what people thought. And now I see that it's much more important that your child respect and admire you when they're a mature adult than that they think you're cool when they're a silly, insecure adolescent.

Anyway, happy birthday, Daddy. I wish so much that I could call you today and wish you a happy birthday. I miss you every day.

the good, the bad and the ugly

Guy next to me at the café: Are you wearing perfume?

Me: Yes.

Guy: It’s just so weird, because I can smell that and the vinaigrette from your salad. It’s a strange mix.

Me: Oh.

Guy: Last night on the bus I was talking to this girl who was wearing [some perfume name—didn’t catch it], and we were talking about [blah, blah, blah, forgot what he was saying already]. It was so funny.

Me: Oh. [polite laugh]

Guy: It’s like your perfume is saying, “Come here,” but your salad dressing is saying, “Stay away.”

Me: Oh, hm. [polite laugh]

Pretty sure it was all saying “stay away,” guy. On the up side, I forgot it was cash-only here, and when it came time to pay I realized I had only $5, but my meal cost more like $7. I asked the guy ringing me up where the nearest ATM is, and he said there’s one right here but not to worry about it. When I protested (multiple times), he said the transaction fee is exorbitant and that he’d rather me not spend $3 to pay the two extra dollars for my meal. I always worry when things like that happen that the person didn’t notice my wedding ring in time, but maybe he really was just being kind. I’ll choose to believe that, and bring extra cash with me next time to make it right.

My ideas are wasted on the logical minimalist I live with.

Me: [sitting on the couch thinking about shower curtains]

Chris: [sitting on the couch thinking about things that are not shower curtains]

Me: It just occurred to me—I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!

Chris: What?

Me: To find the right shower curtain, we should be doing what the consultants do on Say Yes to the Dress!

Chris: I don’t know what they do.

Me: The very first thing they ask a bride, before discussing necklines, beading or price point, is, “How do you want to look on your wedding day?”

Chris: ….

Me: So instead of just trying to find a non-ugly shower curtain we both don’t hate, we need to first ask ourselves, how do we want our bathroom to feel?

Chris: ….

Me: I’ll go first. I want our bathroom to feel…rustic. Soft. Dreamy and calm.

Chris: [laughing] That’s not what I want the bathroom to be like!

Me: [trying to keep an open mind] Okay, what do you want the bathroom to be like?

Chris: [thinking about our bathroom, as if for the first time] A bathroom. I want to not be confused about where I am.

Me: [face-palm combined with deep, internal sigh. and maybe an eye roll. and some frustrated screams.]

to make up for the lack of photos here

Did you know Chris has a tumblr, and that his posts consist almost exclusively of photos? We are like the yin and yang of blogging.

A couple weekends ago we went to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival at Golden Gate Park. It was crowded and freezing, and in order to have a decent seat/view we would have had to set up camp that morning, apparently, but thanks to a kind gentleman and his cooler, I was able to watch Conor Oberst perform the very last song of his set (it was one of my favorites). Chris documented the moment for us all.

I felt kind of silly standing on a cooler peeking through the fence, but I'm really glad I did it. I listen to these two albums all the time and love them with a fierce and emo devotion, but I'd never actually seen Conor Oberst before, so I was confused by the small guy with the mop of brown hair, bopping around the stage. Where's the tall, nearly anorexic Conor Oberst with the greasy, dirty blond hair? Oh, I made him up? Hm. This is going to take a bit of adjustment. (Kind of like the first time I saw Ira Glass.)

Thankfully, we snagged a patch of grass on the outskirts for the Gillian Welch concert--otherwise, I would have had to plop down right in the middle of the sidewalk because my feet were killing me, and we had only just gotten there. Chris is the Gillian Welch fan, but it was a really good show, and we had fun sitting there eating our beignets and people-watching while freezing our butts off.

Internet, meet weird uber-Christian Amy Boss

Guys, you are in for a treat today.

A few days ago I spent a good chunk of time weeding through my many, many plastic bins of keepsakes. (Side note: Kind of funny how predominantly the saving of sex for marriage featured into my middle and high school life. I found like five of those True Love Waits commitment cards as well as evidence that I attended multiple(!) Joshua Harris conferences. I was serious about not being a hussy.)

Anyway, I found this one random little journal with only six pages filled out. I don’t recall naming my journals, but apparently I had high hopes for this one, because I titled it “Secret Secrets.” Here are two sweet morsels of Amy Boss goodness:

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June 28, 1997

My Secret Summer Dream

My secret summer dream is to find a guy that is just perfect. One that is spiritually mature (maybe more than me), has the same standards as me, looks really good, is tall, goes to Cypress Creek, and wants to go out with me/get to know me better. That’s not too much to ask, now is it? Oh, and one more thing; he has to be hilariously funny, and not desperate. Added on 11/27/98: And outgoing. Fun!!!

11/27/98

My Secret Senior Dream

To have a date to prom. I want to be asked by someone (preferably someone who goes to CCHS) who does not booty-dance, and I want all the plans to run smoothly. Not smoothly; but just comfortably—no awkward moments, you know?

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Who is this nerd? Spoiler: No one asked weird, non booty-dancing Amy to prom. Maybe if I’d spent more time getting to know people with different “standards” than me and less time talking to my journal, my Secret Senior Dream would have come true.

Thankfully, there’s a happy end to all the pathetic weirdness: I did indeed find a tall, good-looking guy, although not in time for prom. But he is hilariously funny, and I think he wants to get to know me better. I’ll let you know how it turns out!