Talking

Sorry for the dead time between posts--- I've had several projects I've been working on for friends and a big one of my own that I've undertaken, so I've really had to squeeze out the spare time from each day.  This is compounded, of course, by the fact that Lucy is talking a blue streak, from the moment she wakes up to the time she finally falls asleep.  It's exhausting, but also amazing--- the funniest parts are when she quotes movies she's watched in the right context.  The other day, I asked her, "How are you?"  And she replied, word for word, "She froze my heart, and the only thing that can save me is an act of true love."  Another time, we were out walking, and we were going down an unfamiliar road, and she said, "Oh, Pongo, Pongo, I'm afraid we're lost."

The fun thing is that she helps to occupy Amelia, who loves to listen to her and watch her.  There will be whole stretches of time where they'll sit facing each other, just giggling nonstop.  Hopefully this bodes well for the future.

Guest Post for In Pursuit!

My friend Tiffany writes a very sweet and very stylish blog called In Pursuit, starring her adorable son Joseph.  This week, she is on vacation and asked me to do a guest post for her about a favorite memory I have of my grandparents.  If you'd like to see the comic, mosey on over to In Pursuit!

Death's Door

Toddlers don't sugar coat things.

I mean, good grief.  This is why cocktails were created.

Sounds Like

The days that you can get them both to sleep at the same time, all you want to do is sit silently on the couch to avoid waking them up.

A brief status update (because both of them are asleep, which means I'm on the clock):  Lucy is more or less potty-trained, she greets us occasionally with "hiya toots, you're one hot-looking tomato," and she can sing the opening lines from "They Call the Wind Maria."  Thanks, Muppet Show.

Amelia is starting to babble and coo, and we get big smiles while she's nursing or having pants-off time.

And now BEDTIME.

Guardian Angel

In the words of Jimmy Stewart, "you look about like the kind of angel I'd get."

For simplicity's sake, I had to leave out how Will's parents were at our house during this episode, and so we actually had some extra help when things started spiraling out of control.  There really wasn't even any opportunity to feel embarrassed about this chaotic end to an otherwise pleasant evening.

Poor Lucy.  She didn't understand what was going on and thought she had done something wrong.  This happened on day two of potty training and set us back a good ways; over a week later, she still doesn't like pooping in her potty.  So I think we're still getting over the ramifications, but buying her Tinkerbell underpants has helped offset the damage.

I have no explanation for why our guardian angel's name is Julius other than it was Groucho Marx's given name and therefore seemed appropriate.  

The Way Things Are

It's a twofer today!  First, let's check in on what life with Amelia is like:

So far, Amelia is not much of a crier, but boy howdy does she make some bizarre noises.  She's sleeping in a bassinet about two feet away from my side of the bed, and throughout the night she serenades us with an odd combination of grunts, gargles, and bleats.  I usually know she's about to wake up wanting to eat when she starts snorting like Welly trying to ferret a chipmunk out from under the porch.

And in other news:

 I feel great.  I've stopped taking my pain medication and have gotten the all-clear from my OB to drive, pick up heavy objects, and do non-abdominal exercise.  I'm shedding weight pretty quickly thanks to breastfeeding and the coordination it takes to take two children and a dog for walks, but I'm still mostly stuck in maternity clothes and yoga pants.  But I've got a fitness plan and several short- and long-term goals (Glacier National Park backcountry, I'm looking at YOU), and being stuck in yoga pants means that spontaneous yoga can occur at any time.  Resume downward dog!

Sister

On Monday, March 24 at 10:42 AM, we welcomed Amelia Rose Martin into the world to the chorus of Katy Perry's "Roar." 

I had a hunch that she was going to be dark-headed.  If Lucy is our fair-skinned and blonde-haired sweet tea and peaches baby, Amelia seems to have gotten a few of my Mediterranean genes with her dark hair and olive complexion.  The Italian heritage lives on!

Where can I start?  This time was so much different than last time.  I won't lie; at some points in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I half-wished that I would spontaneously go into labor, not be able to reach anybody on the phone, and deliver Amelia at home with no drugs or surgery involved.  Of course that was a stupid idea and I am extremely fortunate it didn't happen that way.  Everything happened right on time, from the moment Will's sister showed up to watch Lucy to when we were wheeled out of surgery.

Not laboring beforehand made all the difference in the world.  I was alert and lucid throughout the whole morning.  I joked with the nurses.  I talked more to my OB about his recent vacation than about the surgery.  I answered the tech's questions about national parks.  I teased my anesthesiologist about his weird fixation on bears (in retrospect, you should probably never tease your anesthesiologist).  And I was literally singing when Amelia was born.

So I didn't get my all-natural cavewoman girl power birth.  But you know what?  As medical and drug-induced as Amelia's birth was, that's almost how non-medical and natural my recovery has been.  After I had Lucy, most of what I remember is a haze of pain, unpleasant nights, and general shell-shock.  Three days after we returned home, this all culminated in a night that can only be described as wretched for everyone involved as I tried to undo the ramifications of laboring for twelve hours, getting the epidural, undergoing major abdominal surgery, and then being put on narcotics right away to kill the pain.  Having overcome that, it was still several weeks before I felt well enough to get outside and move around.

This time, when they offered me the hydrocodone, I asked if I could try staying off the narcotics.  They put me instead on regular old Motrin and Tylenol.  It didn't kill the pain, but I remembered my bad experience the first time around and found other ways to cope with the soreness.  When I got a gas bubble trapped in my shoulder from the IV, Will and I walked, with him pushing Amelia in her bassinet, up and down the corridor to try to diffuse it.  When the spot where I had gotten the spinal began to interrupt my sleep, I got out of bed and did some gentle yoga, easing out the tension in my spine.  I breathed.  I laughed.  Mostly I snuggled Amelia and let the feel-good baby hormones do their work.

As a result, this past week I've actually had to stop and remind myself that I'm not supposed to drive, or else I'd have packed up the girls and driven to the mountains for a picnic.  The hardest part has been being restricted from picking Lucy up until my two-week checkup.  Amelia has been eating, sleeping, and pooping like she was born to do it, and Lucy has been sweet and gentle with her.  Will has, once again, been the ultimate champion of parenting and is forever my hero.  And of course, we have tons of loving family and friends coming by every day, for which I am outrageously thankful.

So, all I have to say is, watch out world, because in five weeks when I have my final follow-up and my incision is healed, the Martin girls are going to party like we're living in a Katy Perry song.