Oh, what a year

With just a few days to go before 2018 hits, I'm also marking another anniversary-- one year ago yesterday, I found out I was pregnant.

This was the earliest I could get the news, and ever the planner, I was bursting with anticipation. The app I had downloaded to help me track had cheerfully notified me that I could take a pregnancy test-- hurray! But despite the build up, I actually didn't have that strong of a reaction and now look back on it as one of my final days of calm.

There are a few reasons for this. First, I think it was the time of year. The period between Christmas and New Year's is always a nice little placid stretch and though I was working that week, the office was quiet, the TTC was quiet, and as such, so were my feelings about a tiny human sprouting inside of me.

It was also a secret. That's a big one. Over the weeks that followed, I had a lot of fun telling friends, family members and colleagues (my favourite trick was dressing Winston up in a Big Brother t-shirt), but for the first few days we told no one. This meant I couldn't really 'act' pregnant, so in a sense, it wasn't a real thing yet. We even stayed home on New Year's Eve just because I didn't want anyone to notice I wasn't drinking-- sneaky!

I also feel the calm in hindsight. On December 28, 2016, my life was exactly the same as it was one day earlier when I didn't know if I was pregnant or not. I was obviously worried about how having a baby would alter my life, but I thought I had nine months to figure that out. However, by the end of my first trimester, everything had been thrown off balance and into complete chaos. I dealt with a shift in my professional life and I started to experience symptoms like morning sickness and heartburn, but the biggest shock of all was that my pregnancy revealed cracks in the foundation of several relationships I held dear, including one in particular that I had previously believed to be indestructible.

The first sign of Ethan

What I've realized over the past year is that no matter how much you plan or how lucky you think you are-- I'll share that it only took us two months to conceive, which makes me feel so grateful to this day-- you never truly know what kind of person you'll be or what kind of life you'll have once you become a mom. I learned this the hard way even before Ethan arrived, but my 'glass half full' view of this is that because of what I went through, I was prepared to brace myself for the curveballs motherhood has thrown at me.

And, having perspective and seeing the big picture are important. I would love to say that the challenges I experienced during my pregnancy resolved themselves or that I have at least been able to put them out of my head. Unfortunately, neither is the case and I still feel very hurt by a lot of what transpired. What is the absolute 100% truth, however, is that Ethan was worth every hurdle, every blow and every single tear.

 So 2017 is nearly behind us, and it was without a doubt the hardest year yet. But, it was also the best year because it gave me our little man and I know 2018 is going to bring us so much laughter and love-- and yes, a few challenges too. Bring it on!

Sharing the love

I know when parents have second or third children, they often have the challenge of making sure older siblings still feel loved and included. I can relate.

"But Emily, Ethan is your only child. What on earth do you mean?!"

Well, if you know me, you know the answer to that question. I'm referring, of course, to my my fur-son, Winston the Puggle.

Winston will always be first baby. I had never been one for dogs before, but I chose him-- after finding him by chance through a random Google search-- and after making the trip to Kentucky (yup) to pick him up, I fell in love with him instantly.

Yes, we loved him so much, but he was difficult puppy-- actually, in a lot of ways, the newborn Ethan phase has been easier than the early days of Winston. He did not come to us house trained. He pulled on his leash during walks (still does) and he nipped constantly. One time, I thought we were having a perfectly nice snuggle until he bit me on the armpit and then peed on the floor. Good times.

However, Winston is two and a half now, and while he's still spirited and stubborn, he's a sweet, cuddly little guy and we couldn't imagine life without him. He's taught us so much about compromise and family and pure, unconditional love. And, it probably goes without saying that he's also really, really spoiled.

So, this is why I was a little nervous during my pregnancy about how exactly we would all handle the new addition. How, with a fresh baby, could I possibly devote as much as my energy and love to Winston? Would he be jealous or skittish or destructive? Or, would he withdraw, feeling left out or forgotten? It felt like the end of an era, and I felt guilty about forcing an adjustment on him when he was so used to being the absolute centre of our universe.

My babies

However, I'm pleased to report that over the past three months, Winston has been the most sane member of this household. Okay, that's a pretty low bar, but he has been one shred of normalcy during what been a pretty hectic time. Other than a few curious sniffs, he basically leaves Ethan alone, but for me, he has been a constant source of love and affection-- often knowing when I need it the most even before I do. In fact, when we got home from the hospital the day after Ethan was born, Winston seemed to sense right away that I was drained and overwhelmed. In response, his first order of business was to climb up on the couch, curl into a ball next to me and heave a huge sigh of contentment. I, exhausted and full of hormones, immediately burst into the happiest of tears.

What I'm getting at is that there's always enough love to go around. People (and dogs) surprise you with how they adapt to change, and I've been lucky to see an amazing new side of Winston since Ethan joined our tribe. True, he's not our only baby anymore, but we love him just as much as we did when he was our whole world-- when Ethan was a mere abstract concept of the future-- and he's been doing just fine with his new role as big brother. It probably doesn't hurt that he still has a place in our bed while Ethan sleeps in the bassinet, a fact I'm sure he secretly gloats about...

100 days of Ethan

Hear ye, hear ye. Ethan's life has hit triple digits!

Excuse me while I get emotional again. This is another one of those 'time flies' moments, but it's also got some more significance because it signals the end of the so-called 100 Days of Darkness.

In an earlier post, I wrote about the fourth trimester and baby's adjustment to life outside the womb. Similar but not quite the same, the 100 days of darkness concept refers to a mom's adjustment to parenthood. This can mean all kinds of things-- sleep deprivation, changes in mom and dad's relationship, hormones, being scared to leave the house, you name it. By the end of this period, in theory, we mothers should be emerging from the fog. 

In some ways, I feel ahead of the curve on this front. I don't mean that I'm doing better than other women-- I try very hard not to be that person-- but more that I've challenged myself in a lot of areas and I'm pretty pleased with the results. For example, Ethan and I have been going to see movies at our local theatre almost every Monday since he was three weeks old. We signed up for a bunch of classes and I make it to most of them more or less on time. He sleeps through the night regularly, I still like Dave more days than not and the majority of my pre-mommyhood friends continue to tolerate me and my excessive Instagramming. I even started a blog!

However, I also kind of resent the implied notion that now that we've hit day 100, I should suddenly feel like my old self. First of all, my old self doesn't exist anymore, because I will never again be able to put myself first. I say that not because I'm trying to sound like some kind of self-sacrificing hero, but because it is actually impossible for me to prioritize anything-- my sleep, my health, my career-- above Ethan's happiness and well being. I have moaned about wanting my pre-preggo body back and missing being able to go places that aren't stroller-friendly, but at the end of the day I don't care because those new realities are all part of life with Ethan, and Ethan, ultimately, is my whole life (Winston is too, but you get my drift).

And-- what if in some ways I'm still feeling blue or a little out of sorts or that the puzzle pieces aren't fitting together just yet? Here's an example: I have a really hard time pumping because Ethan eats so much that I'm rarely full enough to produce more than an ounce or two at the most. What this means is that I've only gone out without him a handful of times, never for longer than a couple of hours, and when I do it requires careful advance planning. I also find it difficult emotionally, which is hard for me to admit to other moms who seem to have it a bit more 'together' and have been able to get out for regular date nights or spa days. These are things that I miss of course, but physically and mentally they just aren't a reality right now. 

What a nap looks like

Another example: Ethan does not like to be put down, and I don't just mean for naps in his crib. He is fussy in his swing, on his playmat on the floor, wherever, if he is left for longer than about five minutes. Essentially, I am his primary source of entertainment and if I am not holding him, he is grumpy. We have had some success with the carrier, but it hasn't gone well enough for me to have any confidence in its usefulness on a day-to-day basis. So, what I'm getting at is that if Dave is not home, I can't tidy my apartment or read a book or cook a meal-- things that a lot of moms are doing at this stage. Maybe I can get a few minutes to fold laundry if we've been out and Ethan has fallen asleep in his stroller, but that's basically it. The rest of the time we're nursing or reading or he's just bouncing his cute little chubby legs on my stomach, all of which are amazing and I'm hashtag blessed and so on, but I have definitely not emerged from the fog of takeout and clutter and yeah...I could continue. I'm gross, let's just leave it at that.

I have a point, I promise. I think this is becoming a bit of a theme, but if I have one Christmas wish it would be for so-called 'experts' to please stop making up cutesy labels or creating false milestones that at the end of the day make a lot of moms (including me) feel like we're failing ourselves. The past 100 days have been filled with so much light, most of which has come from my wondrous baby boy. But, some of the fog lingers and no parenting book is going to be able to guide me out of that on any kind of schedule--I just have to keep reminding myself that a little bit of darkness is okay. 

There's no cheating in childbirth

I'll spare you, dear readers, the intimate details of my labour and delivery (although some of you were there), but here's the short version: Ethan came fast, and without warning. Aside from some minor back pain the night before, I had zero signs of labour until my contractions hit me like a tidal wave, starting at 2 minutes apart.

It was a mad rush to the hospital. There was no birthing tub or exercise ball or leisurely stroll around the maternity ward. I didn't get a nap or even a snack. I showed up at 3:40 a.m., fully dilated, and was pushing within half an hour. If you're familiar with the mechanics and timeline of childbirth, you'll have concluded by now that I was not given the option of an epidural. Yes, folks-- I, who previously cringed at the mere thought of a routine pap smear, had an entirely natural birth.

Let me be clear that a natural birth was not in my plan. I had not practiced breathing or read about hypnobirthing. I went to one prenatal yoga class and concluded it was boring. I scoffed at those who said that childbirth should be treated as a beautiful experience, one to be felt and treasured. Bring on the drugs, I said.

So I was unprepared. Really, really unprepared. But thanks to the support of my Earth Angel (also known as a doula), my mom, Dave and some truly incredible medical staff, I survived, relatively intact, and delivered a healthy baby boy.

Once I emerged from the haze of pushing out a 7 pound being, I joked that that even though there's no medal for foregoing the epidural, there absolutely should be, because some numbing in the lower half of my body sounded really, really nice. But, alas, there are no winners in the Childbirth Olympics, and kidding aside, that's a good thing.

My labour was rough. It was excruciating, in fact, but it was also over quickly. I didn't have time to be rundown or frustrated or anxious. I never had to be worried about a c-section. I couldn't feel self-conscious or shy. Other women have had long and tiring labours, complicated deliveries, emergency c-sections, painful inductions, you name it. I can't feel superior about what I went through because one thing that should bond all us mamas together is our shared achievement, knowing that regardless of the path our bodies went down on that fateful day, we all have a unique badge to wear.

Unfortunately though, there's a lot of mom-shaming out there, and childbirth is just one aspect of that. Too often, c-sections are treated like the easy way out even though the recovery is long and difficult. Women who get an epidural sometimes feel ashamed if they had hoped to have a natural birth. And, with my circumstances, when I tell people I was only in labour for 5 hours, the response I get is usually "oh, lucky you."

The "lucky me" part is that I had tons of support and my son was born safely. There was nothing lucky about a short labour that I was not ready for, just as there's nothing lucky about undergoing major abdominal surgery or having to lie in an uncomfortable hospital bed for 36 hours while your nether-regions are repeatedly prodded. And, when we say to another woman that her labour sounds nice or we ask if she regrets the epidural or feels less powerful because of her c-section, we are effectively suggesting that our worth is higher, that we have achieved greater heights, that our badges have more shine.

In summary, yes, I wear my natural birth badge with a fair bit of pride and it makes a pretty good story for those who know how incredibly pain-intolerant I am, but I also know I'm not the only warrior mama out there. In other words, if you're a new mom or mom-to-be and you want to trade gory details, I'm your girl-- just be prepared for a loooong play-by-play about how much it hurt to push. :)

Three months!

Ethan is officially three months old today, and since this blog is an honest space, I have to admit that I'm having mixed emotions about this particular milestone.

Of course, I love that he's a healthy growing boy and is doing lots of cool things-- smiling, interacting with other babies, trying to stand. I could do without the early teething and spitup, but it's all part of the whole baby package. He's also got some really great 3-6 month outfits, so it's going to be a pretty stylish phase!

My big boy!

But, on the other hand, today marks the 'official' end of the so-called fourth trimester, the stage where Ethan adjusts to life outside the womb, and I'm feeling a little emotional about that. I know he's not off to university yet or anything, but time is rushing by. While I was pregnant I insisted that I would pump daily so I could maintain my independence, that we wouldn't co-sleep, blah blah blah, and now I love our cuddle-naps and our nursing bond and I'm (mostly) totally okay with spending 99.9% of my time with him. Plus, on a practical level, some of the developments on the horizon terrify me a little, namely crawling and starting solids, because a baby that can escape AND destroy the carpet sounds like a lot more work. In other words, Ethan might be ready for these next leaps where he doesn't depend on me so fully, but I'm not quite sure that I'm ready.

On a positive note, the three-month mark is supposedly when moms start to get back to their 'old selves,' which is a pretty loaded term, but I'll try to illustrate. My pregnancy was pretty run-of-the-mill from an aesthetic perspective-- a 35-pound weight gain and a case of acne that lasted the entire nine months. Like many women, I lost 25 of those 35 pounds within two weeks of giving birth, but the pesky extra 10 has hung around-- mostly in weird and unflattering places-- and my skin has remained pretty spotty. Not a big deal, you may say, but when most of your clothes don't fit and you look longingly at makeup-free clear-skin selfies from two years ago and cry, it's not awesome. Anyway, now that December is here, I've noticed a slight dip on the scale AND I've gone almost a whole week without a new blemish, so that is something to feel really good about!

Well, ready or not, here we are-- Ethan is a quarter-year and time is passing. I'll just have to take the good with the scary (not bad!) and to try keep in mind that so many awesome milestones and adventures with Ethan await us. Oh, and writing this has convinced me that I should probably start therapy at least a year before Ethan goes to kindergarten because it's a fairly safe bet that I'm going to be a hot blubbering mess when that day comes.

The struggle for balance

For the first week or two after Ethan was born, you couldn't have paid me to go out. I was exhausted and overwhelmed, but at the same time I was enjoying the beautiful chaos that was life in my apartment-- sleeping on the couch with tiny Ethan nestled in beside me, eating at weird intervals and welcoming more visitors than I had ever had in the entire 4+ years Dave and I have been together. Couple that with the slow and painful recovery that tends to follow childbirth (certainly mine, anyway), home seemed like the right place to be.

Now, however, it's rare that we ever spend even an afternoon at home. Once I felt comfortable driving, loading and unloading the stroller and changing Ethan on bathroom floors, I got into gear and haven't looked back. We've been to weddings and parties, we go shopping and to the movies and starting in early November we've been in classes 3 days a week. This is a good thing, but maybe too much of a good thing.

I was inspired to write this post because today for the first time in weeks, I missed my scheduled activity and spent most of the day hibernating with Ethan and Dave in our humble abode. It felt weird-- not just being at home, but deviating from our dutiful attendance at mom and baby class.

Don't get me wrong-- I love our outings and classes are awesome, especially because I get to meet other mamas and share the day-to-day with other ladies in exactly my position. However, it occurred to me recently that while holing up at home probably isn't ideal, neither is pushing myself into having a scheduled activity for every minute of the week.

Part of my desire to do this comes from a serious case of FOMO. With my career on hold for a bit and my downtown young professional persona radically altered, I have been desperate to maintain not only some routine but also the sense of belonging and community to which I had become very accustomed. Being at home with a baby is rarely boring, but it can be a tad lonely, and no one wants to be lonely.

Ethan on the move

There's also the fact that by exposing Ethan to the world, I am giving myself some respite from singing baby toys, one-handed meals and the stark reality that there is always so. much. laundry. When we're out, I just wheel Ethan around in the stroller and chat with him like we're two adults. Yes, he needs feeding and changing pretty often, but at least someone else is serving my food, my coffee stays hot and that ever-growing pile of tiny onesies is out of sight, out of mind.

But, as with alcohol, junk food and reality television, my busy mama life needs a bit of moderation. Being on the go with a baby is tiring, and when I'm tired, being out feels just as lonely as staying in. Plus, Ethan and I had a cuddle-nap this morning that I didn't have to cut short to get him dressed for 'school' and that was AWESOME. And, if I leave some of our days open, I can enjoy a little bit of the spontaneity that I actually craved in my working life.

So, it's early, but I have one New Years Resolution for 2018: Take life one day at a time. This means accepting the changes, both wonderful and less wonderful, and embracing the fact that some days will be mundane, others lonely and many more blissful and magical, but they will certainly all be different. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have some cuddling to do!