We named our son (our son! we have a son!) Theodore Arcturus Perreault. Theo, for short. Theo was born on May 5th, which makes him almost 11 weeks old now. He is obviously made up of some kind of weird time/anti-time matter because these past weeks have been both the longest and shortest weeks of my life. He's like a black hole. The closer you get to Theo, the more time you spend with him, the faster time flows. (Or does time behave the opposite way with black holes? Oh well, I've stopped being able to remember laws of physics or anything relevant to understanding how the world works beyond the immediate laws of love-feed-change the baby.)
Leaving the house, formerly a matter of grabbing a quick shower and a bite to eat before fluffing my hair in a casual, carefree way and skipping out the door, is now a convoluted routine of diaper bag checks, changing the baby, rechecking the diaper bag, getting in a few last minutes of nursing or pumping, changing the baby again, loading the car, driving away, and driving back for the forgotten diaper bag. It takes hooooooouuuuurs. We are constantly running late. Parents who are reading this are like, "Yawn! Tell me something I haven't been through before." Non-parents stopped reading at the second mention of a diaper bag. Which is why I can say something patronizing here – and not have the childless resent me, since they are no longer reading this – about how they'll never ever ever ever understand what we parents are going through until they've gone through it themselves. (As an aside, I think I'd like to rename someone who doesn't have a kid from "childless" to "life- and spare time- and rest- and dizzying freedom-full".)
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this specifically in my bazillion baby-related facebook updates and photo uploads, but I never thought I could love someone as much as I love Theo. John described this parental love as a physical warmth that spreads throughout his chest, an overwhelming and unstoppable yearning to make this little human happy. Sometimes I tear up a little when I look at him. Just look at him! How could I not?
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| Theo, gazing at his father. Stay tuned for an exciting postcard birth announcement once we get our act together. We may never get our act together. (Photo credit: Gretchen Drew) |
Some people have asked me what I've been up to other than this whole parenting thing. I don't know if it's the new zen-like calm of motherhood that I've achieved, but I feel like hitting these people. With a dirty diaper.
What else have I been up to? There have been showers – brief, furious (and usually not daily). I think I've managed to do a couple loads of laundry. And I sometimes remember to brush my teeth (I might be lying about this, I can't really remember). There have even been some episodes of sleep. Truth be told, sleeping is what I really should be doing right now instead of updating this blog. Would that I could relive those halcyon days of real sleep! Formerly a member of the 8-hours-plus club, I now consider three hours in a row lucky, and four hours a freaking miracle. Obviously, we are meant to survive this, right? Because otherwise, evolution would have done in our species by now.
But it hasn't all just been basic-hygiene-maintenance-fun-and-games in this household.
Mostly, I've been nursing. And for the past month, both nursing and pumping. And pumping. Lots and lots of pumping. What with all the hands-on assistance from the sort-of-but-not-at-all-helpful hospital nurses and the really-and-truly-helpful (and internationally certified!) lactation consultant who visits once a week to do a weight check on Theo, my boobs have received more attention in the last two months than in the last three decades combined. (No offense to John, who's quite handy himself, but breastfeeding takes the cake.)
Nursing is a unique experience for every mother. For me, it has been the hardest thing I've ever done. And that includes labor and delivery (which could be its own special The More You Know blog topic, but I think we'll pass on those details for now). Theo gained only an ounce over birthweight in his first month. He's fine now – back squarely on the percentile charts, gaining lots of weight and thriving. But that first month nearly killed me because of all the anxiety. Worrying and stress and lack of sleep – is that really part of evolution's plan? It's a sadistic one if so.
The second month has nearly done me in because of all the pumping I'm doing in order to supplement him with the breastmilk that he's somehow not getting directly from the breast. My life is now filled with words like supplement, express, breast, milk, and pump. Are you bored yet? Because I kind of am. Not bored with the nursing, which is lovely and fulfilling and lets me have an incredible bond with my son, but it's the hours every day spent hooked up to a breast pump that make it all seem not quite worth it. Hours I could be spending playing with Theo. Or sleeping. Have I mentioned sleeping? I think I came up with a Hierarchy of Love in my head the other day. John and Theo at the top. Parents and friends and cats there too. World peace, Shostakovich, croissants, walks on the beach blah blah blah. But sleep trumps a lot of these things, so I can't describe the exact order of my hierarchy without hurting some feelings.
We're leaving for a Seattle vacation in a little over two weeks. By then, I'm hoping that, boob-wise, things regulate into a more normalized routine so that I don't spend the entirety of my vacation holed up in a guest bedroom with the pump. "Genevieve, come with us to Café Presse to watch a soccer game and eat delicious Parisian bar food!" "No thanks," I'll say. "I've got to express at least another two ounces!" Yeah, that's not going to make me happy.
Being so focused on one thing makes for some rather one-track blog posts. I acknowledge that. So consider this just a stepping stone back into the normal. I figure, give me 18 years or so, and I should be back to my old self.
