‘Tis the season

Posted on December 9, 2019 by Good Times with Jess

Two months postpartum and it’s that time of year. Having a new baby for the holidays is simultaneously lovely and a terrible idea.

Last week I managed to throw out the rotting pumpkin on our front steps and Tutu our elf on the shelf is out and about. She hasn’t remembered to move from the plant in the kitchen. But she did remember to get out of the attic, so points for that.

Update: as of this morning Tutu is nowhere to be found. Either she’s back at the North Pole for good or Captain decided to take initiative.

Update on the update. Captain moved her! She was on top of the kitchen light and Captain has earned himself a new job.

Note on the updates: Before kids I used to write these blogs in one sitting at 11am. Now I write them over the course of a week, starting at 6am. That’s why it’s possible to need multiple updates.

Ok that’s it. No more asides.

Hanukkah decorations are in full swing and I’m ready to wrap presents as soon as I get a minute without a kid, so maybe next year.

I know it’s too soon to say much about RB’s personality, but as much as BB is a clone of Captain, RB seems to be more like me. At the very least she seems chill and very smiley and happy despite being congested for 6 out of the 8 weeks she’s been alive.

It’s tough having an older sibling in school. BB spent the first month of RB’s life sneezing and coughing all over her. In the last month BB decided she’s capable of covering, which is wonderful, but still hasn’t prevented us from sharing every cold.

An email comes in from BB’s school: ‘just want to let you know a child has hand, foot and mouth.’

Oh help us.

Through all the colds, spitting up enormous amounts of milk and phlegm all over her face and into her eyes, because back is best? RB is still smiley.

I know people say babies don’t smile socially for several weeks, but I SWEAR RB has been smiling socially since she was born. She smiles for everyone. I’m not that indiscriminate with my smiles, but close.

On the other hand, if you get a smile out of BB, you’ve EARNED it. There are a million other things I could list that make BB and Captain twins, including their artistic talents, but there’s one recent discovery that I’m in awe of.

Captain can fart on command. I have a moderate amount of control to stop a fart, but I have no idea how to create one on cue.

During a moment of dinnertime tension: BB playing with her carrot sticks, me about to take her plate away, Captain tried to lighten the mood. He directed a fart at BB. I looked at her. She had a funny face. Was she upset? She directed a fart back at Captain. He did another one at her, she did another one at him!

Amazing! Such control, especially for someone who still won’t poop in the potty.

BB tries again. She’s running on empty. Frustrated she declares,

“I need more toots! How do I make more toots?”

Captain offers,

“Eat more green beans.”

The incentive is strong enough to incite a green bean nibble before the playing begins again and I take the plate away.

We relent on the cupcake because when everyone is exhausted, snotty and BB with her double ear infection isn’t eating, but will eat the chocolate frosting off a cupcake and then go to bed. A deal is made.

Also a deal was made to write about Captain farting on command. He said it was okay as long as I include a Ren and Stimpy photo. Here ya go.

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Blog-life balance is hard. And to BB, I’m sorry. Just sorry

Posted on November 18, 2019 by Good Times with Jess

One month postpartum. I’ve been DESPERATE to write a blog for a couple weeks and finding time feels hard.

Aside from that and BB being mad at me, things are good. Maybe it’s the placenta pills.

When my placenta came out covered in meconium, RB’s first poop in the womb, the nurse said,

“You don’t want this.”

I spent 9 months making and maintaining that thing and I’ve already paid $400 to get it made into pills, so I DO want it.

“Did you see your placenta? You don’t want it.”

“I do want it.” And considering it’s 2am, I want to save it until I can check with my placenta person and see if it’s still good to ingest.

“We need to send it to pathology.”

“Why do you need to send it to pathology?”

“When there’s meconium we send it to pathology.”

It avoided pathology and was allowed to go home with my mom who was kind enough to escort it out a day early.

And in case you were thinking:

‘Hey! Whatever happened to Jess’ varicose veins and those sexy tights?’

Well let me tell you.

Immediately after delivery the veins in my legs felt better. That or a million more important things were going on and I forgot I had legs.

I had 2 pairs of compression tights in my hospital bag and I didn’t think about them for a second.

The day after I delivered I woke up at 4am to intense pain. All my bulging veins had clotted. They were super hard, hot and painful. I could barely walk.

The irony of having an intact vagina but hobbling about because of my varicose veins was not lost on me.

At the time I didn’t realize there are all different types of thrombosis and what I have is painful, ugly and not life threatening. The blood clots are superficial and can’t move anywhere in my body, unlike deep vein thrombosis. That’s the deadly one.

At 4am we alerted the powers that be, but no one was alarmed. After multiple calls to the nurses, they told us that the doctor isn’t concerned and someone will be in to see us eventually.

Captain and I did the only logical thing to do if you’re in a hospital and think you might have something deadly going on. We consulted Google. It was unclear what signs of imminent death we should be looking for, but to be on the safe side we didn’t go back to sleep.

The nurse put a loose heating pack on my leg. I asked her for a way to strap it on. She said,

“Like an ace bandage?”

“Yes!”

“We don’t carry those on the maternity floor.”

“Ok.” I’m waiting for her to follow up with how she’s going to get one from somewhere else because we’re in a HOSPITAL. She proceeds to tie a baby swaddle blanket around my leg.

After an ultrasound to confirm what they suspected: nothing deep and deadly, we went home. They recommended I start wearing my compression tights again. A month later my newly found vascular surgeon tells me,

“Yes, wearing your tights after delivery definitely could’ve helped.”

Screw you people. I wore them my entire pregnancy, through JULY AND AUGUST. I could have worn them for one more day and maybe prevented or minimized the clots, but no one told me.

My vascular surgeon adds,

“It could be helpful to wear them now.”

Maybe, but now the pain is so minimal and the stockings are so annoying, that the pain-annoyance ratio is not in the tights’ favor.

Three months until surgery to remove the clots. I’m sorry BB and RB. It’s hereditary.

But BB has enough to worry about right now. She’s not happy. I’ve taken a lot of my love and attention that would’ve gone toward her or no one and directed it toward 10 pounds of screaming, helpless cuteness.

With the rainbow theme in full effect in RB’s room, BB informs me,

“You know I like rainbows too.”

“Yes! Of course you do!” There are plenty of rainbows for everyone.

Three days postpartum my placenta began the process of being turned into pills in my kitchen. The meconium did not disqualify it.

At this point I’ve swallowed about half of my placenta. And if you thought this would be free from the sting of sibling rivalry, you’re wrong.

BB had a lot of questions including,

“What did you do with my placenta?”

Sorry kid. We threw it out.

My placenta print. You’re welcome.

Got good food? I’ll make milk

Posted on September 1, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

It’s hard to keep track of all the different parts of my body that have changed. Never mind what’s changed back. Who am I?

The changes I want to keep, clear skin and slow-growing leg hair, are both no more. I’m a mom with a head of straight and curly hair. My leg hair is out of control. When I manage to have a shower and there’s time to wash my hair OR shave my legs, I prioritize my hair.

My feet have gone from a size 10 to a size 11. Looks-wise they’re the same. So no vanity issues. Size-wise I have a problem. I’ve never been a crazy shoe-shopper person, but I like them and I wear them. I’ve been a size 10 for 20 years. That’s a lot of time to amass a reasonable shoe collection. Now all I can do is look at it. Don’t get me started on my two-year-old ski boots.

My boobs are another story. They’re huge compared to pre-pregnancy, but not that big compared to other milk-filled boobs. They used to just hang out and keep to themselves. Now they’re acting like they’re running the show. They’re colluding with my subconscious mind.

The other night Captain and I pick up takeout. We get home and I take my shirt off. Our place is officially a topless joint. If I’m not nursing, then I’m letting them air out.

I chow down on my salad with spicy peanut dressing. It’s so good! I hear something drip on the floor, did I spill salad dressing? I look down. Nothing. I continue to devour my salad. More dripping. What’s happening? I look down again. Milk is spurting out of both boobs.

My oxytocin is flowing.

Captain rushes to get me a burp cloth. He tells me,

“I definitely don’t enjoy my food as much as you do.”

Numb the whole area and then bring on the intercourse

Posted on August 19, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Baby Bop is 6 weeks old! And I’m 6 weeks postpartum. Yesterday was my doctor’s appointment that was hopefully going to give me the all clear, open for business, hello Captain. It did not.

Captain, Baby Bop and I all head to the doctor. The doctor comes into the exam room. She asks,

“How’s it going?”

“Good, but I’m still bleeding.”

“Ok we’ll check it out.” She turns to Captain and Baby Bop. “Will you step outside for a minute?”

Both of them have seen every part of my body very intimately, so what’s one more vaginal exam?

The doctor gets her exam on. She declares,

“You are still bleeding.”

That’s right. I’m not making it up. She continues to poke around.

“You look great. The doctor did a great job with your stitches.”

“Thanks.”

“It looks really nice.”

That’s a relief. I am curious about what a good job versus a bad job looks like, but I’m very glad I got the good job.

The doctor finishes my internal exam and tells me,

“You’re stitched up nice and tight. You might be tighter than before, but it’ll stretch out. If it doesn’t stretch out, we can always cut it open a little and restitch it.”

WHAT?!

“We need to schedule you for an ultrasound to see why you’re still bleeding, so no intercourse for now.”

She hands me several packets of lube.

“When you do have intercourse, you’ll need these. Also because you’re tight you might want to take a Motrin ahead of time and use some topical anesthetic.”

Numb the whole area? I’ll be defeating the entire purpose of why I’d want to have intercourse in the first place. Aside from that one time when I wanted to make a baby and I am NOT ready to make another one of those.

Second blog since Baby Bop was born, the struggle is real

Posted on August 2, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Baby Bop is 3 weeks old! Or she was when I started writing this post almost a week ago.

I told her she’s carrying it very well and doesn’t look a day over 2 weeks. She groaned. Mom jokes. Either that or she was pushing a poop out. That takes real effort. For both of us. I’m on stool softeners for 6 weeks and if I forget to take them, my butt reminds me very quickly.

Postpartum recovery is no joke. I know gazillions of people do this, have done this and will repeatedly do this, but at 3 am with spit up drying on my chest and poop pieces everywhere, it’s hard to imagine surviving until daylight.

I’m still bleeding. That’s normal. I used to sleep naked. Now I sleep in underwear with a giant pad and then shorts so I can look in the mirror and pretend I’m not wearing a diaper. I also sleep with a bra or nursing tank top because my girls are heavy, tender and leaking if I even look at Baby Bop.

Baby Bop is doing well. As far as I can tell. She eats, sleeps, poops, farts, spits up and cries to make it clear she doesn’t like getting her diaper changed, sometimes. She also doesn’t like to get dressed, which is hard because I’m a big fan of trying on multiple outfits a day. It’s her fault she’s cute.

We got home from the hospital when Baby Bop was 2 days old. When she was 6 days old, her umbilical stump was looking weird and her belly button was really red. We call the pediatrician. The nurse asks us,

“Is she acting normal?”

“What’s normal? I’ve known this person for 6 days.”

Now I’ve known her for 26 days. I have a better idea of what’s normal, but she’s still surprising me. Will she wake up at 3 am, 4 am and 5 am? Probably. Is there a chance she’ll also wake up at 4:30am? Definitely, but not every night.

My mom asks me,

“Is she a gift every morning?”

I’m not sure what hour of the morning Baby Bop becomes a gift. I do fall more in love with her everyday, so that’s in her favor.