Is it hormones or is it Memorex?

Before and after we had JiffyPop I was 100% certain that all I wanted was one child. As much as I totally adore her, admittedly, all the baby stuff is not my favorite in the world. And her dramatic entrance and first few months didn't make that any easier. Breastfeeding every 30 minutes to 3 hours (including through the night) for the first four months almost drove me to the crazy house. I even suggested a vasectomy to Beau who blanched and then declined.

Then when JiffyPop was about 4 or 5 months old, I started getting these urges. It didn't feel very real, just felt kind of primal. "GET KNOCKED UP" my body said. "HUH?" replied my brain. And then my brain got chatty:

You don't want another kid. One's enough trouble. Most of the time it's neat, but sometimes it's pretty boring. You'll be even more broke than ever before, and will probably never ever have your own home. You'll never be able to visit the United States again. The next 1-2 years of your life will be consumed with infant care again. Your "career" (ha ha, what I mean is, simply having a decent job) will totally go out the window. Having JiffyPop alone when you have to go to town can be pretty tough at times, now imagine TWO of them! You pretty much hated pregnancy except for the last two months (months 6 and 7). You're at that age where the next baby could have some serious medical problem. You want to give your attention and love to one baby and not feel stretched/tired/resentful as an overworked Mom. This baby is so sweet and good, there is NO way we're going to get lucky twice; the next one will be a monster.

Yeah.

Despite this, my body keeps saying, "One more! Really, just one more. I won't ask again. Three is out of the question." (No shit).

Is this just pure hormonal, evolutionary drive?

So, I think on the two kids thing for awhile. It's funny, we both thought we were having a boy with JiffyPop and I was really happy about that. But now, I think I'd actually like another girl. I really like the thought of two girls. Not sure why.

Anyway, even when I'm content in the "one child only" corner, something throws me for a loop.

"If something happens to us, JiffyPop will be totally alone," said Beau.

Oh, god.

The whole "every kid should have a sibling so they're not lonely" argument totally doesn't wash with me though. I know plenty of people (including myself!!!) who had a frequently abusive, angry sibling and was completely miserable and would have gladly spent my childhood alone.

Then one of my best friends said, "Gosh, two is actually easier in a way. They play with each other so you don't have to be RIGHT THERE all the time like you do with one."

Oh.

Again, assuming they're siblings who get along.

I actually have one friend with four kids who said it got progressively easier with each kid. Okay yeah, WHATEVER.

But I do have some guilt that Beau and I may spend the rest of our lives here in New Zealand and JiffyPop will be deprived of her extended family, and when we die, she really will be all alone. Now granted, I'm not all that broken up that she's missing out on my family, since I am not all that entirely sure that most of them are good people to be around anyway, but there is still a little guilt, that she probably won't have what I wish she could have: a nice big warm family. Sometimes I think that's just a fantasy - something created in Hollywood for Christmas films and Lifetime movies. I mean, are there really large and supportive families with heaps of cousins and aunts and uncles and lots of love and laughter? (You've all seen Dan in Real Life, right? Great movie, but REALLY?).

I think that after I left home at 18, my tolerance level for all family quirks/annoyances/scandals" plummeted. I just didn't want to deal anymore with the endless drama. Not that I didn't create my own drama, particularly in my 20's, but STILL, I'm pushing 40 now and I feel a lot more settled and a lot less indulgent in family crap. Well, even friend crap too. (Though I'm sure Beau and I may disagree at the level of actual drama at any point in time in our marriage).

ANYWAY, once again, I'm thinking about the second kid. Like, REALLY thinking about it. Is it really just hormones? Argh....more soul searching required.

Postscript: While looking for some images for this blog, I found an article that states that the "happiest families" are those with two girls, due to things like getting along with each other, helping out around the house, being obedient, etc. etc. The unhappiest are four girls. Hunh. Anyway, they did not have any information on only child families. Poop.

I Gotta Be Me!

I'm writing this post not because I have some story to tell, but just because I haven't written in awhile. I hate abandoned blogs, and I don't want mine to be that way. It's not because I don't have time to write anymore (okay, yeah, I have a lot less free time than I did before, but there's always a way to MAKE time), and it's not because I don't have the will, either. I think it has to do with the fact that a) Facebook is such an enormous outlet for what my (and JiffyPop's) life is that it almost seems redundant to come on here, and b) I have become a videotape monster, which has become it's own blog itself.

I managed to buy this super cheap video camera. It's not great quality, obviously, but it takes decent footage (if you're in bright light and hold still). Since JiffyPop was very small, I started videotaping mostly her, but also our life in New Zealand. The land around our house, the places we visit, the dog, the cats, the chooks (now dead), etc. At first it was just short little clips of JiffyPop progressing on that linear map of milestones. I strung all the little clips together into one large movie and sent it off to the grandparents. No one wants to receive 800 photographs anymore, and the internet has made letter writing almost obsolete (sadly). But these grandparents don't have quite the online savvy as us and so telling them "Just go see the new photos of JiffyPop on Facebook" doesn't really cut it (though to be fare to Beau's mother, she does...try).

As time went on, my 30-second clips of Jiffy Pop wobbling around during "Tummy Time" became longer clips of me lifting the camera to the gorgeous scenery around us, and me at first shyly making a comment here and there, to what it is now -- my big mouth going on and on about what's going on in my life, my partner's life, my baby's life and all our lives combined. It's not QUITE a video diary (the tendency for a couple of the grandmas to become highly critical is something I always seek to avoid for personal annoyance sake), but at least a catalogue of how our lives are going. I kind of like it. And it's nice to have one small cd case to chronicle JiffyPop's life instead of 10 photo albums stuffed in a corner.

There's also what I mentioned in a previous blog. Since JiffyPop's birth, I've developed the irrational fear that I will die and leave her, and though that doesn't plague me every day, it does come upon me here and there (usually from something on TV or a book) and it chills me to my core. In some way, these videos feel like I could leave here something of me, in case I should go. Beau hates when I talk so morbidly, but it's true. (Not to mention he was the one who brought up talk again last night of who the hell could we make JiffyPop's godparent(s) in case we die and how we should stipulate the use of our life insurance payout).

Hence, long explanation of why I don't really blog anymore. I can't stand to hear myself go on and on anymore, even if it is in written form. It's true I tend to be a bit more open here, which I avoid on video, but still. Telling the same story over and over sucks.

ANYWAY, I will make a conscious effort to be here more, for my own sake. It's not just about the blog, it's about getting back a bit more ME after becoming MOM. I've always been highly sensitive (and honestly, a bit critical) of the fact that many of my friends seem to have disappeared once they became mothers, and it's something I totally understand now, but still want to avoid. I want to be "J, who has a daughter," not "J the Mother," even if I think JiffyPop is the most amazing creation EVER.

So, I started taking yoga again, went to an amazing art seminar (I hadn't painted in AGES), and at least started thinking about my 85% completed book again. I had shoved my book aside after JiffyPop's birth, and have been feeling guilty and wistful about it since. I have just pulled it out of its hiding place, dusted it off, went through it and made careful piles, and then left it sitting there on the coffee table for the next seven days. Oh well, that's some progress made.

And for 3 days we are back in Hamilton while Beau does some teaching training -- the city of JiffyPop's birth. It's been 9 months and I have just as warm and loving feelings toward the place as I did back then. Gosh, I'd love to live here, though already it sounds like getting a job here is tough. Pff, that's how it is everywhere, especially when you're a "foreigner." Gotta keep trying though. It's been 3 years in the bush and we're both just about at the end of our tether. Anyway, in the meantime, I've done a shameful amount of shopping (and frankly, loved every minute), had some okay food, and as soon as JiffyPop wakes up from this nap, I plan on taking her over to the NICU (baby intensive care) where she was born to say thanks and show them how great she's doing. I'm a little nervous about it since they always had super strict rules there (though they were never crystal clear with you what they were, just when you violated them), and I am hoping it's a friendly, instead of intensely awkward visit. We'll see. If not, there's always a nice cafe to sit and eat away my social embarrassment.

A Baby Changes Everything

Before you have a baby, you hear over and over, "You cannot imagine how much your life will change when you have kids. It changes COMPLETELY."

I heard that so often, I was expecting it. Perhaps, expecting it too much. 'Cause the truth is, I don't really feel it.

Maybe it's because I (we) just have one child. Maybe it's because overall she's a very good and happy baby. Maybe because I currently have the luxury of staying home with her and not juggling a career. I dunno. Even Beau said his life hasn't really changed that much. He still does all the same things he did before. Now, it's just that Jiffy Pop is there too.

There is one thing that changes, or I should say, changed in ME. My mindset. My thought process. I feel I have to be more responsible, more careful with myself, because now I'm someone's mother and she deserves to grow up with a Mom. It's not like I was ever a risk taker or irresponsible before, it's just now I don't want to take any shortcuts or blow things off.

This coming Thursday I'm having surgery. I'll leave out the details, cause, you know....eww...but it's just a minor surgery and I should be sent home the same day. It's something I was supposed to have done a long time ago, but then I got pregnant with Jiffy Pop and they had to wait til after her birth to prevent an accidental miscarriage.

And I'm not one to get scared by hospitals or surgery. I never worry about stuff like that. But all of the sudden, I'm a little nervous. I mean, it's minor surgery, but they ARE knocking me out and people die on the table sometimes...you know...things happen.

Now, I can't NOT have this surgery, and I know, really, it's fine and it has to be done. It's not keeping me up at night or anything, but suddenly, in the back of my mind, there's a tiny fear...

The fear of leaving behind a tiny baby without a mommy.

I wonder at what point this fear fades away. At what point am I "old enough" and not have to have this constant concern in the back of my head?

Maybe never?

Mad PROUD Skillz, Mad DISAPPOINTMENT, Part II

I've been wanting to get a Graduate Diploma of Teaching for the past few years, but obviously, living out in no-man's land, it hasn't exactly been possible. It's just a one-year degree though, and not only would I be able to legally teach, but I'd also be able to pursue what I really want to do, which is be a literacy specialist. I want to help children to learn how to read, and then hopefully, to love it as passionately as I do.

Distance learning has really increased in New Zealand lately, so I started calling all the universities with Education departments to see if I could do this one-year degree from home. I was going to be a stay at home Mom anyway, it seemed perfect.

One big snag -- all of these universities required a one-time, on-campus stay of 1-2 weeks in the first week of February. Then I would be home free to, well, be at home for the rest of the year. Sounds fine, except that Jiffy Pop was due about February 3rd. All the universities said the same thing, "Sorry, you'll just have to wait another year."

Argh!

A few weeks after the Maori language class had ended (and me STILL pregnant), a woman from a Maori university came to Beau's school to talk to us. Many of the people teaching at his school are not truly officially certified and the university had a three-year distance learning program for them to get all the credentials they needed. It would work out well for those in our community who live far from active civilization. The school's staff was told over and over that this university was very keen to work around all our needs. So, along with some staff members and several locals also interested, I came to the meeting myself, hoping that perhaps this could finally be my way to get that damn diploma. Also, it was the cultural part of this Maori university I was really hoping to work in my favor. I'll explain, but first, let me get to the start of the meeting.

Three Maori women walked into the room, smiling and acknowledging several of the teachers and locals whom they obviously knew. We then all settled around a large conference table. The three university women, interested people (about 12 of them, all Maori), and me, white-ass cracker girl.

As in Maori tradition, the first university representative stood up and began speaking in Maori, greeting everyone. Then she did her pepeha (short personal genealogy) for the group. Everyone warmly greeted her, and it then moved on to the next two women who did the same.

Then the first teacher stood up to do her intro. It was coming MY way around the table, not the other way around! She too recited her pepeha and greeted the group, and so rose the next person. There was only one more person between her and I. They didn't go very quickly, but it wouldn't be long before it was my turn.

I gulped and looked around the table at the people there. Should I do my own pepeha? I mean, I'm the American sitting at a table of Maori New Zealanders. Would it be appropriate, presumptuous, weird? Would I be like some sort of novelty? A trained dog? My heart began pounding hard.

But wait a minute, this is what I was taught in language class. This was what I was supposed to do, right? Hmmmm. Okay, I was going to do it!

My heart was really banging in my chest now.

Slowly, I stood up and I immediately had to make myself manually breathe. I steadied myself, then plunged in with full force. This is my name! This is my mountain! This is my lake! This is my ancestor! This is my people!

There was a sudden silence, and the mouths of the three university women dropped open. Their eyes bulged out. They looked at each other in amazement.

I felt a sudden burning flush and knew my neck and face were becoming beet red. I'm as pale as they come, and when I get very embarrassed, the change in skin color is rather dramatic. But I kept going...I was almost done! I finished my pepeha and self-introduction, then switched to English where I said I was hoping to do the graduate diploma. Then, now shaking slightly and with my skin on fire, I smiled self-consciously and sat down.

The table erupted in a loud, collective whooop. The three women let out several exclamations voicing their shock, delight and admiration. I felt so proud and thrilled, but also completely horrified at what I knew my skin looked like at that moment. I have to say though, I hadn't felt that proud and that good in a long time. There aren't a lot of moments like that in one's adulthood.

The crowd began to settle, and the woman next to me, Ella, a Maori woman in her late 50's who often substituted at the school, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Oh great, thanks a fucking lot, J!"

She then stood up and did her own introduction. In English.

Anyway...

I've lived in a lot of places and haven't seen the amount of love and acceptance given to the presence and care for children as I have in Maori culture. Each time I take Jiffy Pop to Beau's school for a visit, my heart is just warmed at the amount of love she receives. Everyone is an aunty, uncle or nanny. Everyone wants to care for her. She is entirely accepted and welcomed in the workplace. The first time I brought Jiffy Pop to the school, one woman ("Helen") held out her arms, said, "Come to Nanny Helen," and after cradling the baby in her arms, promptly walked off to a staff meeting where she stayed with her for the next two hours. Imagine trying to bring a baby into YOUR next staff meeting.

Well, this university provides for women with babies like me! Though I was due to give birth to Jiffy Pop shortly after the university program began, they have it set up so I could stay in my own room at the university, breastfeed and care for Jiffy Pop, and do my several days of required on-campus time before going back home. I could even bring her to class! This is the Maori way. I couldn't believe my luck. I'd be able to get my degree, WHILE here in the bush, do the majority of it online and be totally supported on campus! Wow...beyond thrilled.

Not so fast, J. For reasons that are complicated and still a bit hazy to me, the particular degree *I* wanted to do was not available to me. The rest of the room was interested in doing a three-year teaching degree (basically, a B.A. in Education), but mine was a post-grad one.

I was devastated. I sat there for a minute, sort of soaking in my disappointment. Then, realizing the meeting was going to continue for some time for the REST of the room, I self-consciously whispered my goodbyes and left.

Fuck.

Mad PROUD Skillz, Mad DISAPPOINTMENT, Part I

Starting about two months before I got pregnant, every Wednesday night, Beau and I would attend a three-hour Beginning Maori language class at the local RSA (Returned Service Members Association -- Veterans). It started out interesting -- a class of about 40 people, all from the local community, of all ages (though predominantly women). It was taught by a grandmotherly woman who loved to joke and would frequently throw her head back and let out huge guffaws, exposing her many missing teeth. It was weird, but it was like all those missing teeth looked CUTE in some way. I thought she was a total delight. We'll call her "Kata."

Sadly, as time went on, the class dwindled dramatically, particularly the younger people who evaporated with each class. By the end, we had a steady number of about seven or eight people (including Beau and I). There was an advanced class that ended up with about half that. Beau would grumble every now and then that THAT was why his students were the way they were, they were mimicking the same behavior as their parents -- begin something with gusto, and then just shrug, say you can't be bothered, and quit. A LOT of activities at his school end up that way.

But admittedly, it was a tough class to stick to. It was NINE months long, and sometimes those three hours in the evening were tough to get through, especially for those who worked during the day. Also, the more pregnant I got, the more draining the class could be. But we stuck with it. We really wanted to learn the local language, even if we didn't need to, and besides, with NZ being obsessive about certificates and qualifications, it would be great to have an official Maori Language certificate at the end of it all.

It was important to Kata that there was a strong emphasis on the local culture as well as the language. She frequently went off into tangents and I think Beau and I counted four times that she went into the story of the returned Maori soldiers from Italy in WWII. Basically, the men (who survived), returned heroes and spent the next 20 years boozing their nights away. Since the community was so proud of them and were so happy to have them home, they were given total free reign to let loose when they got home. It's just that no one ever said, "Hey, that's about enough now."

But we did learn more about the people and traditions, aspects of all sorts of local land features, and especially, the beautiful maraes -- small compounds which features several buildings including the main meeting house, cooking and eating house, and the sleeping house. And we did lots of singing. LOTS and LOTS of singing.

Unfortunately for Beau and I, Kata didn't focus too much on the actual LEARNING of the language, and the many books and workbooks we had were practically skimmed through. We still adored her and enjoyed being in the class. One feature was the near hour-long "tea" in the center of class time where each night we had a giant potluck, sat around and shot the shit. It was very enjoyable, and as the months went by, the time of this break seemed to increase.

But there was one thing we learned, and learned well: our Whakapapa. (pronounced: fah-kah-pa-pa). It's basically an oral version of your genealogy. Maori recite it back to their original canoe. In Maori history, seven canoes left "Hawai" or "Hawaiki" (no, not Hawaii), a Polynesian island they all came from, though no one quite knows exactly which particular island it is today. And similar to the American focus on the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, Maori know not only the NAME of each one of the seven canoes (Aotea, Arawa, Kurahaupo, Mataatua, Tainui, Taakitimu and Tokomaru), but also which one(s) they descend from.

There's two ways to do it, the long version where you actually say something like "John slept with Beth and they made Tom" until you get to yourself or the cool short version, the "pepeha." The pepeha involves reciting your connection to your family, your people, and the land you come from. You recite each one like this: "Arawa is my canoe, Tinangahua is my river," etc. Oh, and in Maori, of course. The typical list includes most or all of the following:

- your canoe (or "waka")
- your mountain
- your river (or lake)
- your marae
- the name of the land you were born on
- your "iwi" (larger tribe)
- your "hapu" (local, family clan)
- your main ancestor
- your "whanau" (family name)
- your mom and your dad's name


Now, this is easy for Maori, especially rural ones, who still live amidst all these things. For Beau and I, this suddenly became a unique challenge, especially for me who was born in the Midwest, but after age five was raised in the desert. Then I returned to the Midwest for my university degrees. I was much more familiar with my desert topography, but apparently, it was the Midwest landscape I was supposed to be acknowledging.

Obviously, I don't have a canoe or a marae, and what exactly is my ancestor, tribe or clan? So, after some discussion in the class and the example in our workbook that one Scottish person used, I decided to go with my last name (Norwegian) for my family, went back to the first ancestor who immigrated to America for my ancestor, Vikings as my tribe, and Norwegians as my clan, and used the local land in the Midwest for my mountain, river and the land I was born on. Yeah, it's not an exact science, true. It felt both a little silly and also kind of cool. And though Beau and I brought smiles every time we did our strange pepeha, it was still unconditionally accepted. People don't fuck around when it comes to bloodlines here.

To this day, when Maori get together, even in very official and/or government meetings or in business dealings, they spend a great deal of time introducing themselves, and this almost always includes reciting their pepeha to the group. It's a way of identifying who you are and connecting to others around you who may be closely or distantly related. It's really not so different than our own introductions when groups first get together for a meeting, it's just that instead of the focus being on your job, position, or maybe your university, it's on your family and land.

And in the future it would be very useful and important to me in several situations. I'll share one of them in my next post. :)

Big City, Lustful Heart

I do promise that my blog from now on will NOT be solely about being an obsessive mommy and the wonders of my child. But frankly, the last four months of Jiffy Pop's life have been solely my focus. As she gets older and develops more, I will also be spreading my own wings. Sadly, though living here out on the coast is just as breathtakingly beautiful as the day we arrived, it's now starting to suffocate me a bit. The upside is that it has allowed me to be a full-time mother to a preemie baby, something that would have been impossible in the States. The downside is that I haven't done more than temp or long-term relief work for the past few years and any semblance of a career is slowly becoming an impossibility. Oh, I knew what I was doing when we made Jiffy Pop. And I know living out here on the coast holds few opportunities for anyone, but still, it is starting to get me down.

Beau had some teacher training in Mt Maunganui, a good-sized city attached to Tauranga, which is the fastest-growing city in the country. We love these cities (we kind of see them as one, though I'm sure residents would get pissy about that), and so Jiffy Pop and I tagged along for the day.

It's always a treat to go to Auckland or Tauranga for the day to shop and see movies and eat at restaurants, etc. It's something I feel I truly need once in awhile. I am still a city girl at heart and though I have enjoyed the country, truly, it's not for me. Though surprisingly, when I picture my ideal situation for the future, Beau and I would live on a "lifestyle block" which is basically a modest piece of rural land on the outskirts of a big city where you can do a tiny bit of farming or animal raising, but mostly, it's just bigger and prettier to live in. (This kind of reminds me of what you guys did, Loafkeeper). Since New Zealand is still mostly rural, there are many of these blocks around and the only downside is your commute. But you'd still be attached to the city in some way.

So, on this recent trip to Mt Maunganui where Beau went off to enrich himself professionally, Jiffy Pop and I went off to...the mall! Though it was still morning, I promptly got myself some Indian food, Jiffy Pop got a big-ass bottle, and we proceeded to KILL that place.

It's amazing how much time you can kill in a mall (especially one with a bookstore that has lots of clearance items), and I felt so frickin happy. I missed the convenience, the accessibility, the choices of a city. And luckily, I have a pretty good baby who was a good girl the whole time I pushed her around in her "pram," which believe me, I was super thankful for after passing about 17,000 screaming babies while there (btw, is "bring your baby to the mall" a total THING? There were TONS of them!).

Sidnote: Super big shout-out to this Bayfair Mall! I took Jiffy Pop to the bathroom and saw something called a "Caretakers Room." Pushing a button, a long glass door slid slowly open to reveal an incredible (massive) room: three large changing tables with mats and a sink to wash your hands; a microwave for heating up food and bottles; three leather couches tucked into individual cubbies with a curtain you could pull across so you could breastfeed in private; a large play area filled with toys and sporting a glass enclosure so your little monster can't take off on you; high chairs; and a bathroom with various-sized potties for all ages. Oh, and soft lighting, too. Wow!

Anyway, we then picked up Beau, had some lunch, did a bit more shopping (hooray for the German sausage shop!), and headed home.

Since then (last week), I've felt a bit different. Going to Auckland or Tauranga is like that old adage about sex: once you do it, you wanna do it again right away. So, I've told myself that's just it, I just want to go back again, but I don't know. Though I have always missed living in the city, it's always been nice being here "in the bush," but now...it just seems a whole lot less tolerable. I know I know that this is the perfect time to live here since it has given me the right to take care of my daughter full-time. I really can't imagine what it must be like to return to work 6 weeks later like in the U.S. Awful.

But I've been here in the bush for 2 1/2 years now, and it's just not the place for me. It's so beautiful and the people are really warm and friendly, but the isolation is getting to me. And due to the fact that schools in the big cities won't even interview Beau for teaching positions (we still haven't figured this out, think it might be because he's American and not Kiwi, though people keep telling us, "It's who you know!"), I am terrified that we may be stuck here.

The only way out will be for me to get some great job that makes as much as Beau makes, which will be tough since he makes a pretty decent salary. And since I've been out of the job market for a few years now, who is going to want to hire me for a position like that?

But even if I did get a good job, our monthly costs would easily double once we leave the bush where rent is cheap and there isn't much to spend your cash on. And also, would Beau be happy just being a substitute in a big city, hoping to get a permanent position somehow? Probably not. He's already feeling a bit burnt out as it is and being a sub wouldn't help that much. But after Jiffy Pop gets a bit older, I need to work. I need to work and I need to contribute to my family's expenses. This is important to me.

Whine whine whine. I'm really not unhappy as I sound. My marriage is going well right now, Jiffy Pop gives me a great amount of joy, and though we have lots of bills and little cash, we're certainly not starving. There's just a current flowing in the back of my mind which is unsettling me. A restlessness that, really, is a fear of the future. I'm usually so optimistic about the future, but I need to know we will end up in a decent-sized city somewhere where Beau can work, I can work, Jiffy Pop can go to a good school, and we can possibly get a house.

I never knew such big, open beautiful spaces could make me feel so closed in. I'm going to make the most of this year, and then hope like hell next year we will settle (for good) in a place that will provide opportunities for us all.

One Month, Two Hospitals

NOTE: I'm changing my baby's real name to "Jiffy Pop" on here. Silly? Sure. But I want to give her some anonymity and some for myself as well. There are still some people I don't want locating this blog, and her name makes it a lot more possible. (And it's one of my favorite nicknames for her).

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No great surprise that I've been AWOL from the blog for awhile. The birth of Jiffy Pop was a bit different than expected. I'll try to sum up the post-birth drama.

After a few days of recovery from the c-section, I was put up in a dorm at the hospital and spent my days walking back and forth from my hot little room (without a fan or private bathroom - ugh), to the NICU (infant intensive care) unit. Between that 20 minute roundtrip walk several times a day to the start of breastfeeding and INTENSIVE breast pumping (as militarily dictated by the hospital staff), I was stunned to see what baby weight I had fall off. I've never been able to lose weight easily, so I guess that was a bonus to the regime.

Jiffy Pop was pretty amazing, and besides being small (a little over 4lbs), she began to grow and develop with few issues. There was some jaundice, and one of her eyes got some birth goop in it (yuck) and was a bit nasty. I was shocked when they used my breast milk, squirted into her eye(!!) to treat it. I heard the term "liquid gold" over and over in reference to that early breast milk with all the colostrum in it. But it's true though, a few days later her eye was fine.

I spent the next two weeks at the hospital, and was deeply impressed with the care Jiffy Pop got. I was also saddened by the babies around her, who hosted a myriad of problems even though we were in that "almost ready to go home" room. The boy two cots down had brain bleeding and the one next to us couldn't breathe well. I spent my days alternating feeding her through the tube in her stomach to attempting to breastfeed. I tried to breastfeed as much as possible, since once she could breastfeed for every meal, we could go home. But it tired her out, so the nurses would only let me do it 2-3 times a day.

When Beau was in town, we had the opportunity to enjoy the city of Hamilton in the 1-3 hour breaks from the hospital I got. I was nervous and fidgety during that time though and was always pushing him to hurry back! Those nurses kept a STRICT clock on things and if you were one minute late, they took care of Jiffy Pop themselves and I'd end up standing there feeling guilty and stupid.

I was bummed around Christmas because there was the chance I'd be alone and still stuck in the hospital, but at the last minute they told me I would be transferred to our "home" hospital -- the closest hospital to our home is about 1 1/2 hours away. This was great news, for many reasons. 1) It meant Jiffy Pop had advanced enough to be transferred, since our home hospital would only take her if she was at a certain age and development; 2) Beau wouldn't have to keep up that 4 1/2 hour drive each way to see us for a day or so; and 3) it just felt better. Closer to home, physically and developmentally.

So, Jiffy Pop and I spent the next two weeks in our home hospital. I did this "mothercraft" thing where I basically live at the hospital in my own room and Jiffy Pop is there with me 24/7. The room is connected to the NICU by a door which I initially had open out of outright fear but soon kept closed at all times. There were a lot of restless nights where every fidget and grunt (and preemies are KNOWN for their extensive and constant grunting) had my eyes flying open, sitting bolt upright, checking if she could breathe. To this day, I am illogically frightened of something happening to her, particularly with her breathing. I didn't sleep much, nor did I do much but feed her, change her, and put her back to sleep, but it was steps closer to home.

What IS that? What is it in us that is terrified that our babies will stop breathing or get suffocated? Is it some evolutionary leftover instinct when babies' death rates were so high? Or is it still current with the fear of SIDS? I actually know a woman whose four month old boy died of SIDS and this woman is a PhD who works with infants! So, it can happen to anyone and it truthfully freaks me out, though little by little I grow more confident.

Anyway, after those additional two weeks went by, four weeks total spent at hospital (since they don't use "the" before hospital here), Jiffy Pop was finally eating every meal with me, her dreadful stomach tube was removed, and we finally went home.

Wonderful, frightening, proud...and so much relief.

Here we go!