not that you asked...

Quick update

Asher had his two-week well baby checkup today and much to everyone's surprise, now weighs in at a whopping 5 pounds, 14 1/2 ounces. Not only is that two and a half ounces above his birth weight, it is also a gain of 10 whole ounces in a week. (Although he still hasn't made it onto the growth charts.)

To say I am relieved is the world's biggest understatement. Relieved that he is gaining weight well, relieved that my milk is not only in but is doing its job, but most of all, relieved that I can relax the Nazi schedule a little and stop seeing Asher as a mechanical every-two-hours feeding project and as my baby instead. I think he deserves that.



I have so much else to write about: the hospital bag that was never packed, the mesh panties (of which I did bring two extra pairs home from the hospital, oh yes I did), Hambone's new fascination with Asher, and my personal favorite, HOW ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH MY CHILD MANAGED TO PEE OUT HIS SNAPPED-UP SLEEPER AND INTO HIS HAIR. But it has to wait until the weekend. Today is Dave's birthday and since we skipped out on celebrating our three-year wedding anniversary last week, we're hoping to make it out to dinner tonight. So just know that I'm thinking about you, Internet. Thanks for sticking it out here with me even though the posts are few and far between for now.

What no one told me about breastfeeding

My milk totally lets down every time I pet the dog.

PEOPLE. Something about this is very, VERY wrong.

Enough about Asher.

Internet! I know, I know, the baby is so cute and so smooshy and so adorable blah blah blah blah but there is someone else I'd like you to meet. Someone I have waited weeks upon WEEKS to introduce you to. Someone whose reappearance in my life has resulted in a joy I have never known before.

Internet, please welcome...

MY ANKLES.

On the left? My atrocious preeclamptic ankle. And on the right? My ankle as of this morning, which I have been admiring almost as much as I have found myself admiring the 11-day-old fruit of my loins. And I find myself admiring the fruit of my loins a LOT these days what with the fact that he's attached to my boob for a solid 12 hours a day.

   

I mean... ugh. There just really are no words to convey my disgust at photo #1. The sausagey toes! The tree-trunk calves! The cankles of death and destruction! I confess that the first picture dumbfounded me a bit when I took a look at it a few days after delivery. Mostly because I was completely convinced that I was experiencing only moderate swelling; as in, the same variety of swelling that most pregnant women experience toward the end of their pregnancies. And everyone assured me that I was looking great, maybe a little swollen, yes, but definitely nothing crazy. Swelling is normal! Swelling is ok! Nobody wears their wedding rings for the last couple months of pregnancy, really! Seriously, Emily, NO ONE can fit into their stretched-out, two-year-old running shoes after week 30!

And then I found out that they were all totally lying to me. And here is where I post the most horrific photo you will ever, EVER see of me, where I am in the hospital, in labor, typing out a little update for this website with a head that is shaped exactly like SpongeBob SquarePants. BECAUSE I WAS THAT SWOLLEN. AND NO ONE TOLD ME.

And just to prove that I don't look like that in real life (at least not anymore), here's a photo I took of myself today, on what would have been my due date. I've placed it next to the photo of me at 37 weeks to show you that yes. I. WAS. SWOLLEN. And no one told me how badly. In the second picture? I HAVE EYELIDS. No one bothered to mention they had disappeared in the first place.

   

I feel fantastic now, to tell you the truth. I'm still on blood pressure medication to treat the lingering symptoms of preeclampsia, but for the most part, I feel amazing. I gained around 15 pounds of water weight in the last two or three weeks of my pregnancy (!!!), and now that I've essentially eliminated it with a dedicated regimen of peeing and heavy perspiration, I feel like a whole new person. I never really minded being pregnant, but I must admit that post-partum is SO MUCH BETTER. Even with the sleep deprivation and the incision pain and the Nazi feeding schedule. And not just because I like my new body a whole lot better.

After all, there is the boy. Who is absolutely delicious. Hairy little back and gas smiles and effeminate mittens and all.

Hard work pays off

Operation Nazi Feeding Schedule must be working: Asher's weight is up two entire ounces since Monday. Pacifier still roughly the size of his entire head.

Really boring update, so I have peppered it with pictures to entice you to stay!

There's so much to say. First of all, thank you to everyone who left a comment or sent an email of congratulations last week. Dave and I loved reading through them every chance we got in the hospital and once we got home on Saturday, and I will certainly be printing all of them out for inclusion in Asher's baby book. Thank you all for being such a huge part of this experience for us!

Asher is doing pretty well. He is a fabulous sleeper and he's enthusiastic about eating and even at six days old he has developed a real knack for peeing up his back. Which, I know. I have no idea how a baby with a penis manages to pee up his own back, but he's done it about eight times in the last two days and although I don't necessarily get the exact mechanics of how he's doing it, I suspect it must have something to do with the fact that even preemie-sized diapers are ginormous on him. And preemie-sized clothes? A JOKE, people. His little scrawny body is absolutely swamped by them.


Three days old

Today Asher had his first doctor's appointment and I had my first appointment with the lactation consultant. Because he was so small at birth (5 pounds, 12 ounces and the SURPRISE OF THE YEAR considering I totally expected him to follow in my footsteps as an eight or nine pounder) our doctor wants to keep a close eye on his weight. Unfortunately he's already down to 5 pounds, 2 ounces, so we've been placed on some kind of insane Nazi feeding schedule complete with pumping and supplementing and charting and setting alarms to wake us up so that he doesn't go any longer than three hours during the night without a mouthful of my glorious, semi-functioning breasts, which may or may not be giving him all the nourishment he needs. We have a follow-up appointment on Wednesday to weigh him again and see if he has gained anything. I assure you that I will ABSOLUTELY DISSOLVE INTO HYSTERIA if I must leave that appointment on Wednesday with a four-pound baby. And that is why I am taking my mother along, to catch me if I pass out in the exam room if they annouce that news.


Three days old and looking rather mooshed

Dave has been nothing but amazing throughout this entire last week; both as a husband and supporter to me and as a doting father to Asher. He has changed every diaper and has made every meal, has answered every phone call, walked the dog and scheduled every follow-up appointment for me. I have never felt so lucky or so cherished in my life. I try to remind myself to tell him that every chance I get. Unfortunately, I don't do it nearly enough.


Sticky-uppy

And Asher. He's indescribable. And perfect. And adorable. Even though right now things are hard and exhausting and terrifying and somewhat, well, boring, I can't believe how lucky we are to have been blessed with such a beautiful, perfect son. It really is hard to imagine what life was like before him, before everything in OUR lives revolved around him. I wouldn't change a thing. It feels wonderful to have my own real family. And it feels absolutely amazing to have been blessed with this particular family. Hambone included. Even if yesterday he tried to lick a poopy diaper.


Naptime with mom

All seriousness and mushiness and basic updates aside, there is so much I have yet to discuss with you and I plan to do it soon. Like the mesh underpants and the fact that I never got around to packing a hospital bag and perhaps most disturbingly, that when they were rolling me into recovery after the c-section, I saw BLOOD SPATTERED ALL OVER THE FAR WALL OF THE OPERATING ROOM. I am not sure if it was mine, and I was so horrified that I didn't ask, but I can't imagine that it was just left there after the previous patient, so therefore I have to assume it was. And that is FRIGHTENING, dear readers. FRIGHTENING. Although also frightening? HOW SMALL DOES THIS BABY LOOK IN A BOUNCY SEAT? Holy. Crap.


Five days old

Introducing Baby Asher

More to come...

These are days we’ll remember

Asher David made his way into the world today at 5:34 p.m. via an almost-but-not-quite emergency c-section. Five pounds, 12 ounces; 18 ½ inches long; and without a doubt the world’s cutest head of sticky uppy jet black hair.

We are head over heels in love.

Pictures as soon as we can upload them. Thank you all for your support and your good thoughts and wishes. We can’t wait to introduce you to our new addition.

T minus four hours: No baby yet

But the doctor thinks he’ll be here by 8.

YOU HEARD ME RIGHT PEOPLE OF THE INTERNET. Induced this morning because of preeclampsia symptoms. Feeling good, thing are progressing fast, epidural brought my blood pressure down. Dave is holding the computer so I can type this lying on my side which is why I can’t say more. The hospital doesn’t have wireless but we’re managing to steal some through the window for now… no guarantees for later, although we’ll try.

Wish us luck!

T minus 12 days: No baby yet

Days on bedrest pass in hour-long intervals: The Today Show at 8. Regis and Kelly at 9. Martha at 10. Ellen at 11. Local news and the writing of a few thank you notes at noon. Budget decorating shows on HGTV at 1. Discovery of a Property Ladder marathon at 2. Property Ladder, Property Ladder, Property Ladder... consider Oprah at 4, decide the DirecTV synopsis makes this particular episode look beyond boring, then receive email from Mo at approximately 4:45 that informs me I SHOULD be watching Oprah because the doctor who is on is really overly excited about the ripe and delicious smell of his own sweat and will also be announcing the informative results of a new poll concerning women who wipe front to back after the next commercial break. Damn. More local news at 5 even though NOTHING HAS HAPPENED SINCE NOON. By the time Rachael Ray starts preparing her 30-minute meals at 6 (at times I can only tolerate her on mute), it's only a matter of time before Dave arrives home to entertain me. Lather, rinse, repeat for tomorrow. Except there isn't a Property Ladder marathon on so TLC can return to its regularly scheduled programming which means I can resume watching A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby and Surviving Motherhood and for some godforsaken reason, 10 Years Younger, even though it features the World's Creepiest Makeup Artist and a host who seems much more insulting than helpful and who used to be on While You Were Out and that JUST DOESN'T MAKE SENSE TO ME, DOES HE DESIGN ROOMS OR PEOPLE? Still: Must watch tomorrow. Love watching people squirm during facial resurfacing procedures and moan in agony during the peels.

Tomorrow I do have a doctors appointment at 8:30am, during which my doctor expects to see significant improvement in the general appearance of my cankles and feet and possibly a loss on the scale (ha!). I didn't exactly rest much this past weekend, so today I am cramming. My feet do look better, but the minute I stand up to do something I can feel them start to turn on me and before I can finish a simple and mindless task like peeing, my calves start to feel tight again. Admittedly, it is getting kind of frustrating because it is clear that bedrest is the only thing that will keep the swelling under control and not only does that mean my doctor was TOTALLY RIGHT, but it also means that it is entirely likely that I will be stuck on this here couch until the baby arrives. And for all intents and purposes, that could be THREE ENTIRE WEEKS AWAY. I guess technically it could even be four, but I would rather willfully consent to having sex before I let that happen.

Dave actually spent the weekend at home alone with Hambone, for the most part. My dear, dear college friend Katie flew up for the weekend to attend the baby shower that Dave's family and friends threw for me and since the only extra bed in our house right now is a crib, we opted to stay at my parents' house instead. And so on Saturday morning, after treating myself to a breakfast that consisted of two chocolate glazed donuts, I decided to also treat myself to a long, hot bath in a clean, completely operable bathtub that features an actual metal stopper and didn't require me to stuff an athletic sock down the drain to keep the water from slipping right back out. I believe the last bath I took was in Vegas back in February, which if you'll recall, was disappointing on many levels, the worst of which was that I was unable to view the Olympics on the flat screen TV while also simultaneously rinsing my underarms. This weekend I perched atop the toilet in my parents' bathroom and watched excitedly as the water rose, tested it with a toe to make sure I wouldn't poach the baby, then climbed in and lay down.

And panicked as all the water sloshed out over the sides.

Because, you know, that whole water displacement thing. I forgot about the fact that this is the biggest body I've ever personally lowered into a tub. And so I greatly, GREATLY misjudged the water level. And so as a result, I needed SIX FULL-SIZED BATH TOWELS to sop up the excess bathwater from the floor. At about the point where I needed towel four, I figured there was no way water wasn't pouring through the ceiling into the kitchen below, but apparently I got lucky and no one would have even known anything remotely embarrassing had happened except that I can't keep my mouth shut. (Like you all didn't know that.)

In other news, we caved to the pressure and told most of our friends and family the baby's official name over the weekend. And it was met with what we think was rousing approval, or at least really well-faked approval. I'll tell you that it still starts with A, but I'm still going to totally make you guys wait. Because I have to have SOMETHING that will bring you back here day after day. Oh, and also because I'm mean.

37w5d: Because I promised