Dating for Mommies

Everywhere I go these days, people are emphasizing the importance of having good community - real, authentic community that supports you and goes through the challenges of life with you. I've always known this is important, but it is one thing to know the importance of community and another thing to actually have good community. The last sermon I heard on this topic this was this past Sunday where I promptly thought to myself, He's preaching to the choir on this one - now how do I get it?

We live in a society where caretakers and their children are more isolated than ever. It's more and more common for people to live far away from their extended families, leaving mom (or dad) who is home with baby alone for long periods of the day. I've recently experienced how isolating this is and how I long to meet other women in my area who are going through the struggles of taking care of an infant day in and day out, if only just to talk about which diapers to use or what their baby's sleep schedule is, how their lifestyle has changed, etc. Mostly because it would make me feel a little more sane to know that I'm not the only person in Los Angeles who contemplates spit up and diaper cream all day.

So I've been trying to put myself out there whenever I meet another mom and reach out even in the strangest of circumstances. I was emailing with the chef of a nearby restaurant we love who made food for our housewarming party a few weeks ago, and she introduced me to a moms' support group on LA's east side aptly named the Booby Brigade. I posted a message on our message board looking to meet up with other moms and have gotten a few responses so far. I also emailed a mom twice that I stalked out (well, sort of) at a church we have been visiting because her baby was the same age as Elisa. So far no response. Every time I see a mom walking with her baby or with a stroller, I wonder if I should just introduce myself but I usually feel a little awkward about it. I feel like I'm dating or something. I mean, am I cool enough for all these hipster moms in our area?

Elisa is 4 months and is just a little ball of cuteness. I am getting more rest than I have since she was born (which is still not exactly a normal 7-8 hours of interrupted sleep, but you take what you can get!). I love waking up to her smiling face and watching her interact with the world in new ways all the time. Here she is with her big morning smile. Getting greeted by her when she's in this good a mood definitely overshadows all the tiredness.

Around the Bend

I blame the lack of blogging on something very simple - this month, we moved! We're now settled in a 2 BR house in the Silver Lake area of LA, only about 5 minutes from where we used to live but with way more space. We've also got a lovely patio area, a non-working hot tub, and carpet instead of hardwood, which is nice for Elisa.

This past week, I think Elisa has finally turned a corner. She is adjusting more and more beautifully into life outside the womb. The past month or so, she would be in a good mood in the mornings, but get fussier as the day progressed. Lately, I can get a smile out of her almost all day long. She's doing better with riding in the car without crying, and she charms most people she meets with a smile and sometimes even a laugh.

Sleep training was hard to stomach at first...in the newborn days we didn't feel good about letting her "cry-it-out" for very long since her needs were so physical (hungry, poopy, tired). Then we realized that more and more often, she cried because of her emotional attachment to us and our soothing methods were becoming less and less effective. So we letting her cry, and after one night of a rough wailing session and us going in to comfort her in intervals, she woke up bright eyed and smiling, and napped without a complaint the next day. It's been up and down since then, but overall, she is learning to sleep better in her crib than she ever did. Now, when she's content to go to sleep, we can put her in the crib without the usual swaddle, rock, nurse routine, and she'll eventually drift off to sleep. There are of course times when she does not want to sleep, but in general it is getting easier and easier to put her down for naps and bedtime. What a huge blessing! Getting her off the pacifier will be another battle, but hey, one thing at a time.

Here's our happy girl at almost four months.

End Fourth Trimester

Elisa had her 3 month birthday yesterday, which we celebrated with our monthly cupcakes from Lark, my favorite bakery in the neighborhood where I always eat way too many pecan bar samples every time I go in there. Yum. Of course, the only way to have her taste the cupcakes is for me to eat them. This is a good tradition. Yesterday we got the autumnal pumpkin flavor and our classic vanilla favorite.

I've been waiting for the end of the first three months. Not that I haven't enjoyed taking care of her and seeing her grow in the newborn phase, and I often really miss how little she was when she was first born. But everyone kept telling me - hang in there, the first three months are the hardest and my doctor even termed it the "fourth trimester." I had this glorious view of what this next period would be like, that maybe I would wake up on October 12 and she would be a perfect angel, no crying and fussing or anything. Wrong. Today has been a tough day, probably because I am itching to get more of our stuff packed up but frustrated that she won't seem to nap for more than 20 minutes. I finally got her to take a nap now after a fight with the swaddle blanket. Last week, Paul's mom and grandma came to visit and she was great in the mornings, but totally fussy every evening. It took tons of rocking, swaddling, and shushing to get her in any kind of state to go to sleep. We even had a meltdown episode at our favorite dim sum restaurant. For some reason, Elisa just wouldn't stop crying for the 1 1/2 hours that we were there. We had to take turns taking her outside, and just when we thought we had gotten her calmed down in the car, she started another crying session that lasted the whole way home. Suffice it to say that we won't be going back there anytime soon, unfortunately. So far the end of the fourth trimester has been pretty unremarkable, sadly enough. People were saying, the first three months are the hardest - it'll get easier. Now they're saying things get easier after six months! Hopefully things will get easier soon.

Little Miss Personality

Lately, Elisa has been smiling and cooing to no end. It's such a fun stage that she's getting into. Last week, I brought her to work where we were having a faculty luncheon and she charmed everyone she met, smiling and laughing, sitting quietly while we ate, and then making her exit with a very big poop that leaked onto my hand while I was holding her (luckily, no one else noticed).

I'm seeing some of her personality start to come out, and although she's barely 3 months old, these are my guesses. We'll see if they hold true:

• She's a people person - she loves meeting new faces and smiles at both familiar and unfamiliar people, then gets totally exhausted from the energy it takes to process all of it.
  
• She's determined and a bit stubborn (don't know where she get's this...). This is evident in the way she fights her way out of swaddles, refuses to sleep even if she's really tired, and the vigorous way that she nurses.
• She's vocal and communicative. If she's hungry, she has a specific cry (sounds like, "Aaa. Aaa. Aaa!") and if she's not done quite yet but I try to close up the cafe, she'll let me know right away.
  
• She's a clean freak. If her diaper is the littlest bit dirty, she protests - loudly. Sometimes she cries loudly right before she starts peeing, which we've found out the hard way because it often happens while we're changing her diaper and pee ends up on the changing table and all over her clothes. It seems like she thinks the idea of sitting in her own urine for any amount of time is philistine and unrefined. Maybe she's ready for potty training already!
  
• She's smart. Lately, she's been cooing and babbling, and when you say a word to her, it sounds like she's trying to say it back to you! A word she seems to say a lot sounds like "Ah-go" which I think sounds a lot like "Aiko," the name of our dog and something we say a lot around the house. I'm sure all parents think their children are smart, but she has one particular expression where her brow is furrowed and it looks like she's processing something really complex, like contemplating her philosophy on life outside the womb or solving quadratic equations in her head.

Another parent told me that the 3-6 month period are the "golden months" because babies sleep longer during this time and start to become so cute and interactive. If this is a glimpse of what's to come, then I'm looking forward to it. We're still working on the sleep part of it, but hopefully she'll sleep longer and longer stretches soon.

This is currently my favorite photo of her, which Paul and I both posted on FB so you may have seen it by now! I bought this hat when she was about a week old and didn't think it would ever fit her - it seemed so huge at the time.

In the present

I think we've been looking for a new place to live intermittently for about 6 months. It started at the end of my pregnancy, after graduation when I had time, but I was soon too huge and immobile to deal with moving. So we put off the search for awhile, although I'd still poke around on craigslist to see what was out there. We've seen places from as far as Sherman Oaks to Koreatown to Highland Park and Eagle Rock, all the while lamenting the fact that we'd probably be leaving our neighborhood of Silver Lake, which we have loved living in for the past 3 years. Well, finally the right place has come along, only about 5 minutes away here in Silver Lake - and we'll be moving in October 15!

It reminds me that in so many areas of my life, I'm always waiting for some kind of change to occurs which I am somehow convinced will improve my life, and I don't do anything well until it happens. Waiting for the ideal job, the bigger house, the better car, the superior guitar. While I'm sure some of these things might make life easier or more enjoyable, I really want to learn how to just be here in the now and enjoy what is before me right now. This new house will be a big improvement in space for the baby, but it won't make my life so much better that I should stop everything now and place all my hopes in our new living situation. So while normally I would be pretty stressed out about moving, especially with a 2 month old baby, I am trying to let the moving happen when it happens and still focus on what is before me.

I'm constantly reminded of this challenge while taking care of Elisa every day. She changes and learns so many new skills and things each week that if I keep my eyes on the future, I will miss what she is in the present. Lately it seems like her development has really taken off. She can now follow faces coming in and out of the room, suck on her fists and fingers, pet the dog when I help her, sit in the Bumbo, and drool. Her neck control is improving, she is nursing less frequently, and she is smiling - smiling lots, which is so precious that I find myself speaking in a really high voice and cooing and oogling over her whenever she does. We're trying to shift her bedtime a little earlier, and are hoping the evening fussiness will go away soon as she gets used to the new schedule.

Here's Elisa at 2 1/2 months, completely enthusiastic about her ability to be sort of upright.

Better All the Time

Elisa is now two months and four days old. She's suddenly in her third month of life. I don't know what has happened since her birth - it's all a total blur that is somewhere deep inside my memory as a hard time but a beautiful time. Lately we've turned a corner in her growth and in our everyday lives. Somehow things are getting easier, and it happened very suddenly yet very gradually.

The biggest improvement as of late is that Elisa is now getting up only once a night! I feel like I'll jinx it by writing it here, but it has been pretty consistent for the past 2 weeks or so. It has made a huge difference on my body and my energy level. Getting up to feed her 3 times a night like I had to in the very beginning was exhausting, and left me feeling like a wreck every day. Last night she even went for a 6 hour stretch from about 11pm -5am. A few times a week we have a bottle ready for her at night so that Paul can feed her and I can sleep through the night, which is A-MA-ZING!

I think my emotional health is improving also. The biggest reason is that I am making a concerted effort to get out of the house every day. I'm making a little schedule for us - Monday: walking Silver Lake; Tuesday: the local farmer's market; Wednesday: weekly Target run; Thursday: Trader Joe's or Costco; Friday: City Center (our favorite Korean food eating area and grocery store). These lovely activities can happen out of order too - this is just a sample of our glamorous life. Even if I don't necessarily need anything, it's essential for me to get dressed every day and get out of the house to remember that I am some kind of active member of society, if even just a consumer.

I've also just started exercising again, which has been completely painful. My local trendy workout class, Pop Physique, offers a new mom's special which is an unlimited class pass for 3 months at a discounted price. It's an intense hour long workout similar to the Bar Method with exercises targeted at different parts of your body and core combined with some ballet and yoga stretching. I used to go before I got pregnant and found the class difficult but totally worth it. Now it is beyond hard, but I'm pushing myself to go three times a week to get the most out of my unlimited pass. It's pretty awesome so far - I've been twice this week while Paul watches the baby in the evening, and I've already noticed some changes in my body. Mainly soreness. Right now my core is totally sore and it's hard just to get myself on and off the couch! After labor, all of your extra body fat just turns into this squishy mess as if to remind you that something happened there. On my first day back at Pop, I was sweating through my workout trying to keep up with the instructor, telling myself to keep going. I had flashbacks of what labor was like and the sheer determination it takes to make your body do something it doesn't think it can do. It's very much like what my hands first felt like when I started practicing guitar again. It's so hard but so possible.

I've started a tradition that every month on the 11th, we get cupcakes to celebrate another month of Elisa's life. This month we didn't get pictures of the cupcakes because Paul accidentally dropped the box and they got smushed, but I still ate them. You know, so Elisa could have some too. But I did get a picture of her in the pretty blue dress that Auntie Lav sent us last month. All the 3-6 month clothes are fitting now and the newborn stuff is too small - in fact, at her 2 month checkup she was weighing 9 lbs and 15 oz - nearly 10 lbs!

Our little girl is growing so fast!

Love and Fear

I suppose that when you start to love anyone, the most human thing you can do is also become afraid. I never feared starting to love my parents or siblings since I've always known them, although I have feared losing them so much that even now, just thinking about that will often bring me to tears. With my husband, I grew to love him very gradually, dipping my toes in the water a little bit at a time, giving my heart time to process and consider if this endeavor would be worth the pain if I were ever to lose him someday. When it finally decided yes, it was already too late; I was in love with him and could not be convinced out of it even if I tried.

I wonder about this love/fear phenomenon because ever since Elisa was born, I have begun loving her so intensely that sometimes it brings on these gigantic fears. This past weekend, I turned 30 and my mother graciously offered to watch the baby for a night while Paul and I went to Napa for a surprise getaway. I had a fabulous day. He had booked me 2 hours of spa time, which was followed by a lovely little picnic on the balcony of our room before we went out to dinner. I was looking forward to a full night's sleep in the plush hotel bed, but could not fall asleep for the life of me. There was this huge void in my heart and I lay there awake, staring into the darkness while Paul snored away peacefully, thinking about the baby and missing her like crazy. Even though she was with my own mother (who sent me photos of her every hour) and I had no reason to be afraid for her safety or her life, the irrational, terrible demon of fear started to devour my mind. I tried my best to stop thinking and feeling scared that something could happen to her, to stop worrying for once and let sleep overtake my tired body, but I couldn't.

I woke Paul up after tossing and turning for a few hours and he was sweet enough to process all of this with me and pray with me. Instead of reassuring me that she would be perfectly fine and safe, he reminded me that everything was in God's control and that I needed to trust God's hand in this new journey of motherhood. Such a hard thing for me to do, especially in the wee hours of the morning. It isn't true that my baby will always be healthy and safe, but it is true that God's plan is always better than mine, and here is this new area of my life that I need to continually lay down at His feet and say, "You give and take away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

On the long drive back to LA, I continued thinking about this new blessing in my life that I have not yet learned how to submit to God. My heart has been so full that amidst the exhaustion, it often feels like it is about to burst - and I think, how could loving a little person so much ever steer me away from Him? But God calls us to love Him above and beyond anyone else, even our kin, our own flesh and blood. It was this very relationship, that of parent and child, that God decided to use to demonstrate His immense love for me on the cross. I don't think I have ever fully grasped what it means to give your own son for someone else's life, and in that moment as we drove into the sunset on interstate 5 gazing upon cows and dry landscapes, it hit me what this great sacrifice really was - that God gave His son, in all His perfection, to die so that I could live. And God probably felt the intense love for His child the way I feel about Elisa, but a thousand times over. Could it be that He gave me this child so that I could get a better grasp, if even just a tiny inkling, around the whole concept of the meaning of the gospel ?

I think so. I think Elisa is in my life because somehow loving her does bring me closer to my Maker. And not because her life will be perfect or free from sickness or hardship, but because when I lay down this precious gift in my life to my Lord and King, I am loving Him a little bit more - and that is indeed my greatest calling as a mother.

Baby Blues

No one ever tells you that along with the bliss and intense love that comes with being a new mom, there are also a lot of tears. They say this is common, since your hormone levels are skyrocketing, you are sleep deprived, and you're getting used to a new little person that demands your attention 24/7. It's the baby blues, or more severely, postpartum depression, or most severely, postpartum psychosis. I just heard a story about a mother in Irvine that dropped her seven-month old baby off the roof of a parking garage. It made me sick to my stomach to think about, but also shows how delicate a woman's emotional health can be after birth.

Mixed with the moments of love and baby bliss, I've shed a lot of tears this past six weeks. I cried when we first got home from the hospital because the baby seemed so unhappy and somehow I felt like it was my fault that her entrance into the world was so rough. I cried when the baby cried and I had no idea why she was crying, and my friend who happened to come over probably thought I was a serious nutjob. I cried when all of my family members who came down to LA to help us left and I went about my day alone for the first time and felt so lonely. I cried while breastfeeding because it hurt so badly the first few weeks and I wanted to give up. I cried whenever I touched my Boppy pregnancy body pillow because it reminded me of how much I used to sleep when I was pregnant (proudly, about 10 hours a night!) I cried when the dog barked at the baby crying because I didn't know how I could deal with crying and barking at the same time, but couldn't bear the thought of giving away the dog even though we would never do that. I cried when the neighbor complained about the baby crying. I even cried when I was really hungry one day, there was no food in the house, and I had no idea what to do because I was so tired I couldn't think straight.

Luckily, I feel that things have turned a corner although it's been a rough transition into motherhood, mostly because I had no idea that it would be like this. When people used to talk about babies waking up in the middle of the night, I would think, "Oh, I'm sure our baby will sleep through the night" or "I can deal with getting up in the middle of the night once." But you don't imagine that it is multiple times a night for days on end, and all of that added with the pressure of adjusting to feeding the baby 8-12 times a day and trying to be a great mom can make you feel like you're about to crack sometimes.

I had a heart-to-heart conversation with my mom when she was in town last week to help me with the baby while Paul was away on a company retreat. I was exhausted from a few awful nights of the baby not sleeping well, combined with anxiety plaguing my mind causing terrible insomnia. I tried to nap and couldn't fall asleep for the life of me, and was so tired and wiped out I almost felt like I would vomit for whatever reason. I came out of our bedroom in tears, and begin rambling about every single fear or anxiety that had taken over my thoughts and prevented me from sleeping. My mom listened patiently, assuring me that it was perfectly normal to go through all this huge life change. She reminded me to keep everything in perspective - here was my beautiful, healthy baby girl, and she needed a mom who was happy, not a mess. This stage, after all, is temporary - she won't be an infant forever, and it will all pass before I know it, and this isn't the end of my career as I fear it will be, but a special season where a baby needs her mom the most.

I've taken much of her advice to heart and feel that somehow I've turned a corner lately. In an honest conversation with my doctor, I told her that I had been feeling slight signs of depression. She asked me if I had thoughts of hurting myself or my baby, which are signs of more severe postpartum depression, and I quickly said an honest no. So she assured me that what I was feeling was normal, and that it would pass quickly. But sometimes when I don't have enough alone time or go for days without leaving the house and not realizing it, I still feel like I could be teetering on what feels like a dark abyss - and I fight my way through it, reminding myself that I am blessed beyond belief to have this baby in my life and I want to love her with every ounce of my being. Now that I've gotten the green light from my doctor to exercise, I'm going to try to get out a few times a week to take my little creatures (dog and baby) for a walk around the lake and to get some sun (not hard in LA) because that helps prevent depression too. I also pump a bottle for the baby every night so that Paul can help with one of the night feedings, which allows me to usually sleep for 4-5 hours straight. And when I do need it, Paul takes the baby out so that I can teach, have some alone time, and just collect myself every now and then. This helps a lot too and he enjoys taking her out on joyrides around town. In fact, tonight they are out in Westwood at a dinner while I taught a new student, took a nice long shower, and finally got to blogging again.

So you who are reading this can help keep me accountable. I'm keenly taking steps to fight against a darker place of emotional health, and I'm going to try to be the optimist that I'm not and think positively for once - because as my mom says, if you want your children to be happy, you have to be happy yourself. And when Elisa smiles up at me as she did today after a really big poop, I know she deserves all the happiness in the world.

Here are my two little creatures in our first time together around the lake (about a 2 mile walk).

Labor. It's work.

I was so eager to meet her. At 39 weeks of pregnancy, I had had it - I was tired of being immobile, hot, uncomfortable, and chained to the bathroom. I could not wait to hold her in my arms. I was impatient and curious - what did she look like, what would she smell like, what would her cry sound like? Would she recognize my voice when she heard it, and would I feel like I had known her for so many months already? Sometimes I would sit and poke my belly and say, "Come out and play with me!" and Paul would scold me because he said that she'd come on her own time, and that he wouldn't mind a few more days of sleep either.

Maybe somehow I willed her exit to happen. I woke up on July 10, 2011 in the middle of the night to discover my water had broken. It wasn't like in the movies where everything is wet. Things were only a little bit wet, yet I knew that it was water and not anything else. I waited and waited that morning, wondering if my contractions would begin and the process of labor would start. We waited some more, making plans to go to a friend's birthday party if she didn't come, repacking the hospital bag if she did come; yet nothing happened. I felt some Braxton-Hicks contractions, which are more like minor cramping, but nothing that told me that my body was going into actual labor.

I called my doctor that afternoon and she advised me to come into the hospital, saying that there was a risk for infection if my contractions didn't begin soon. Little did we know what we were in for. They tested to see if I was leaking amniotic fluid, and the test came out negative. But my doctor was dubious about the results and told me to walk around for an hour and take the test again. I was okay with that until the nurse told us that we had to stay on the eighth floor (the labor and delivery floor) of the hospital. This made the hour particularly slow, as I was moving at a snail's pace (I had pulled my groin in pre-natal yoga class the week before, making my walking ability that much more impaired!). Paul and I walked from one side of the hospital floor to another, stopping to stare out the same window about 50 times, sometimes laughing at the futility of the exercise and sometimes staring at the clock in disbelief. But what do you know - my doctor's instincts were correct. At the end of the hour, I took the test again, and it came out positive. My water had indeed broken, and the clock was on before the baby was at risk for infection. And so the ride began...

We settled into a rather large delivery room and the nurse stuck an IV in me and started me on a low dosage of Pitocin, a synthetic form of oxytocin used to induce contractions. As hours passed and they raised the Pitocin level notch by notch, we waited for my contractions to get stronger, but nothing seemed to be happening. I checked Facebook on my phone, played Words With Friends on my iPad, and even watched an episode of Friday Night Lights. It was boring and I wasn't doing anything; we were waiting for the drugs to do the work. I didn't feel good about that but nothing could be done. At one point, the fetal heart rate monitor indicated that the baby's heart rate began to drop and a barage of nurses burst into the room interrupting my sleep, flicking on all the lights and talking in loud, urgent voices. They threw an oxygen mask on me, did a rough cervical exam (ugh!) and waited to see if the baby's heart rate would go back up. Even though I felt like I was in the middle of an ER episode, I knew the baby was just fine because I could still feel her moving in my belly. They then had to turn off the Pitocin and start all over again from a low dosage.

Finally, after about 12 hours, my doctor figured that my water hadn't completely broken - it had just started leaking from the top of the bag, which prevented my body from receiving signals to go into labor. So she broke my water (I didn't even know this was happening when she did it) and then the contractions began to kick in so strongly that I knew I wouldn't be able to handle them for very long without pain medication. I had long kissed my dreams of a "as-natural-as-possible" birth goodbye, and had to accept that this was what was in the cards for me. Letting go of the desire for a natural birth was hard, as I had read all these books about it, including The Joy of Natural Childbirth which heralded all the ways birthing could be a beautiful, painless experience. But being on Pitocin, I couldn't use all the coping methods that we had learned in our birthing class, like walking around, using a birthing ball, taking a bath, shifting into different positions, etc. I was chained to the bed with an IV pumping antibiotics and fluid, a fetal heart rate monitor, and all kinds of things stuck invasively in every part of my body. And because the Pitocin made the contractions even more intense than they would have come on naturally, the pain was searing. In tears partly from the pain and partly from letting go of what I had wanted for my labor, I called for the epidural.

About 20 minutes later, the anesthesiologist showed up. He was a little Korean man with a cart full of drugs. I imagine he must be a popular guy whenever he enters a hospital room. It took about 15 minutes to administer the shot in my back as he casually made small talk with my nurse about last year's hospital holiday party, and almost immediately I felt a numbing sensation come over my lower body that finally brought relief from the intense contractions that had had me writhing in pain. Ahhhhh. I smiled, relaxed, and felt like myself again, wanting to hug him. It was the perfect dosage - I was relieved from the pain, but could still wiggle my toes and feel my feet. I was able to sleep intermittently for the next part of my labor, as I wanted to rest as much as possible for delivery. But the nurses watching the baby's heart monitor again burst into my room a few hours later, repeating the exercise from what was now the day before, saying the baby's heart rate had dropped and they had to turn off the Pitocin once again. It was another scare, but deep down I knew she was just fine. At this point, I realized that so much of obstetrics is about preventing the worst-case scenario, despite a mother's intuition telling her that everything is okay.

I had now been in the labor process for almost 24 hours. At this point, my contractions were still going even without the Pitocin, and once they turned it back on again, I was finally closer to the right amount of dilation. At last, I was at about 8.5 to 9 cm dilated, and it was almost time to push. But my doctor came in with a doubtful look on her face. "I'm really praying that the baby will start moving down more, but I don't know..." She was worried about the amount of time since my water had broken, which was approaching a point dangerous enough that a C-section could be a safer route since the more time that passed increased the chances that the baby could get an infection, and the baby was still feeling a little too high up. With all the antibiotics they were pumping into my system, I didn't feel that worried and something told me that somehow, my body was going to make a way to get this baby out safely.

Finally, I was dilated enough that it was time to push even though the baby was still pretty high. And push I did. With a nurse holding one leg and Paul holding the other, I pushed with all my might because it was the only way to bring relief to the intense contractions that I was feeling now that my doctor had turned the epidural off. I thought about the technique I had read about in my Hypnobirthing book that discouraged traditional "purple pushing" and instead advocated for the mother to "breathe your baby down." Well, I hadn't taken the class, I'd just read the book - but at this point there was no way that just deep breathing was going to make this baby come out. Maybe next time, oh somewhat-misleading-natural-birthing-methods.

Continuing to push, I went through bouts of frustration, asking my doctor desperately, "Why isn't my body helping me?" to which she replied sympathetically, "I don't know, Connie. I don't know." I pushed through sweat and tears, groaning and using every last ounce of energy in my body. Nearly two hours later, I finally heard my cheerleading team screaming more optimistic chants such as - "You're almost there!" (me: "You promise?!") and "I see the head!" (me: "Are you serious?!") "You're doing amazing!" (me: "Really?") and "Oh my God!" from Paul, shocked by what he was seeing, along with a rather sweet, "Thank you, thank you" he whispered in my ear seconds later. Then, a final push, my doctor saying, "I know you have a birth plan and you didn't want a vacuum used-" and me saying, "IT'S OK, JUST DO IT!" And then, a cry. A very sweet cry.

A crying, wet baby was placed on my chest and though I couldn't see (didn't have my glasses on) and all I really wanted to do was take a shower and sleep for 10 hours, I was amazed at this little person wriggling around finding her way to my breast. She was really here. I felt a strange sense of peace and rationality float over me, and this first encounter was nothing like what I thought it would be. I had imagined myself bowled over with emotion, crying at my first glimpse of her. But instead it sunk in slowly - I was a mother; I was calm and collected, and here was my baby at long last, needing me for survival, wanting me, and in her own little way, loving me. I strained to see Paul and the baby as he cut the umbilical cord. I wanted so badly to be standing there next to him and the team of nurses hovering over the baby, but I was still lying in the bed with my IV in as my doctor was quietly focused on stitching me up. I kept asking her if she was done, and finally she said she was, putting away her collection of scissors and tools that had made me cringe at first glance. She looked over at the baby and from behind her scrubs, shower cap and face shield said, "Happy birthday" to the baby softly, and then, "Oh, you guys - she's so cute!"

And then it was all over. Paul held a calm, quiet, clean baby in his arms wrapped up in a pink and blue hospital blanket and cap. He had this huge grin on his face with a tenderness in his eyes that I had never seen before. The nurse helped me get cleaned up and use the bathroom, and I nearly fainted from dizziness and pain. I got refueled on some cranapple juice and was moved to another room in the postpartum wing, where I nursed the baby again and gazed down at her little face. I melted as she held my index finger tightly in her tiny grasp, feeling a deep love wash over me. She was perfect, healthy, and nothing seemed to matter except for the three of us in this tiny room, soaking in the bliss of being a little family.

Introducing Elisa!

I was going to discontinue this blog, but I have been itching to journal some of the experiences that have been my life for the past three or so weeks. So this site has now been transformed into my M.O.M. blog = Musings On Motherhood. Thank you for being curious about this new journey. I'm overwhelmed, but so excited about this road ahead.

So far, it's been this whirlwind of emotions - some which I expected, some I had no idea even existed. I don't think I realized from the very beginning that pregnancy was the easiest part, no matter how uncomfortable I was at nine months. I was so tired of people giving me stupid comments like, "Wow, you look like you're about to pop!" or "How in the world can you still play the guitar?" But it was true - I was pretty much unable to play the guitar with my belly that big, and walked about as fast as an elephant on sedatives. I also had to be near a bathroom at all times, which limited my choice of activities so much so that my idea of "exercise" became walking down every aisle of Target soaking up the air conditioning. And then there was my 36 hours of labor and delivery (the most pain I have ever experienced in my life), which was followed by a crying, wet baby being placed on my chest, leaving me confused about why I wasn't allowed to just sleep 10 hours right then, but that now I was supposed to learn the beautiful "art" of breastfeeding?!

You're supposed to fall in love with your baby when you first lay eyes on her, but I didn't have my glasses on and I was really sweaty. So as they stitched me up and I was straining to see what was going on, asking my doctor if she was almost done and asking my husband, "What does she look like?!" - I guess you could say I fell in love with her the second time I laid eyes on her, when I was a little more alert and had corrective vision working for me.

And now, as I watch her grow and change every day, I'm overwhelmed - that this little person somehow came out of my body; that she will grow up and be an adult someday; that when she smiles, I see my husband's face on her; and that we are inextricably linked to her even after we both pass, however depressing that may be. I look into her wide eyes as she spits up on my shirt or pees on my hand while I change her diaper, and I think - wow, you are the most amazing creature I have ever seen. You are so amazingly beautiful I just want to eat you. (Her middle name is Madeleine, which is a cake after all.) And I am overwhelmed with love, and even at 3am when I am feeding her for the zillionth time, I understand why people do this.

Moving time

I'm not sure how many people are still following this blog, but I do need to tell any of you loyal readers out there that my blog is now moving here. This is in an attempt to gain a bigger readership, hold me accountable to blogging more frequently, and not be ashamed to integrate my faith and spirituality with my artistic and professional life. The two have never been separate for me, so why should I act as if they are?

In my last few weeks of pregnancy, I've got tons of time - some of which is used well (sleeping 11 hours!), and some of which isn't (watching my sister slaughter me in a round of Words With Friends). I've read so much about labor and pregnancy that my head is spinning. The hospital bag is packed, my birthing ball is blown up, and now it's time to just wait...and wait until this baby girl decides its her time to make her grand entrance into our beautiful world. I am so eager to meet her and wonder daily, what will she look like, feel like, sound like? My husband's typical reply is simply, "Probably a little bit like us!"

So thank you for your loyal readership - my blog will now be transitioning into my website, and I hope that you'll still follow me on your blogrolls and RSS feeds. I admittedly haven't played much guitar lately (it's kind of hard when your belly is so big that you can't see your fingerboard any longer) but I'm daily on the lookout for some artistic inspiration so that my insides don't crumble and dry up. Today - a new book on my iPad and a movie on Gustavo Dudamel and El Sistema. I'll let you know how I like both of them.

Manna

I haven't blogged in so long that my computer doesn't remember the address in the browser. It's been a little busy around here in sunny LA - I spent three months in hibernation studying for qualifying exams, watched my husband run a marathon in the only torrential downpour that LA has ever experienced, and have been going crazy with my "nesting" instincts. Pregnancy is going by fast, this being the final week of my second trimester. I can't believe that my belly is going to grow even larger than it is now and that this is the final stretch before we get to meet our little girl.

This has proven to be one of the most thrilling and yet totally anxiety-ridden seasons of my life. A few months ago, P lost his job and we were faced with the reality that we are once again in a season of financial strain. Graduating this May will be thrilling and freeing, but is putting me out on the market for a college teaching job that doesn't seem to exist right now. I am for once more qualified than ever to do what I've dreamed of doing - teaching guitar at the college level and having a performing career - and yet the steps to making that a reality sometimes seem so far away.

Some doors are currently closing and some doors are opening. For now, I have a few really great concerts lined up for next season and am trying hard to create more opportunities in that area. I've tried to use every outlet of my current network to find teaching jobs and have gotten a few maybes, a few no's, some complete lack of responses, and have tried to pick myself up after each one and continue to think creatively about my career. But despite all my feminist convictions about balancing a hefty career with impending motherhood, if God says this is a season for me to have the luxury of being home part-time with baby, than I have no reason to doubt that could be the best thing for our family.

I've admired the way that P has made a challenging situation into a time of self-discovery, exploration, and contemplation. It's made us all the more reflective over what is truly important for our child to have in her life. There's a crib in our dining room right now, a sight that the practical, get-it-done side of me thought would be fine, rationalizing it with a good friend and mother of three's humorous words in my head: "Babies don't need their own room. You could put a baby on the floor and it wouldn't know the difference!" But the night I came home and saw P building the crib that we snagged on craigslist, I burst into tears, pained by emotions that I'd never experienced before - the fear of not being able to provide for our child. I realized that this fear was not completely legitimate; I mean, I don't fear not being able to give the baby food, shelter and clothing, but I only fear not being able to give it all the things that our culture says is necessary for our little ones.

Realizing this, I'm trying hard to see past the American need for more stuff and more space, the controlling, materialistic urges and idols that plague American parents and tell us that we absolutely need all these things for such a tiny little person, that if you don't get this thing, then that could happen to your baby, etc. It is ridiculous the way that the baby gear industry instills fear into parents and guilts them into buying more stuff and more expensive stuff. As P reminded me the other day, sometimes God gives us manna, and you get only what you need for the day. But sometimes the baskets of loaves and fishes indeed overflow, and the abundance of his grace showers us. Right now, our manna is more than enough. He has promised us this, and I have no reason to doubt the right provisions will come in time.

So we've decided to name our baby Elisa, which means "God's promise" - a reminder of the necessity of a season in which we are utterly dependent on His provision and promise, and the character we pray that will develop in our daughter as a result of trusting in His promises.