Hi ya'll! I figured that while these three heaping teaspoons of instant coffee are still running through my veins like a well-oiled machine, I should squeeze in a blog entry before my eyes turn into little "x"'s and I'm passed out asleep, tongue lopped out of my mouth and the kid in his bouncer wondering what's happening to Mommy.
Max has passed the 4 week mark, and will officially be 1 month old on Friday! He's really been a great baby, crying only when he truly needs something (I'm hungry/I'm wet/I pooped/I'm gassy/I'm cold/I'm hot/I want to be held/I've had enough reruns of Will and Grace to last a lifetime can we please turn it off for the love of Pete). I've taken over nighttime duty, as Josh has returned to work and needs to get a full night's sleep as best he can. Over the course of 4 weeks, I have become quite accustomed to Max's noises and cries. Now, I simply wait with bated breath at the sound of him stirring with a good cry on deck, rather than spazzing out and tightly gripping Daddy's hand under the covers with the melodrama of that old couple at the end of Titanic who stay in their bed to go down with the ship.
Yes, I just compared my crying infant to drowning in the Atlantic.
This is the part where I "freeze frame" the blog entry, break the fourth wall and turn to you, the reader, explaining that in all honesty, it's fun to be slightly dramatic and martyr-ish when it comes to detailing the life of a new parent. It's truly been a fantastic, wondrous journey since day one, and although it's had its moments of deep sighs and helpless cries, it is exponentially outshadowed by the immense joy and excitement that Max has brought into our lives! So please, if you are considering expanding your family and are reading this, don't add that chastity belt to your Christmas wish list just yet.
Ok. "Time in!"
Throughout the nights of getting up to feed, rock, burp, swaddle, and stare out the window at the sun mocking me in its first appearance of another day, I have picked up a few morsels of wisdom that can only be acquired on the journey of new motherhood:
-12:00am episodes of Say Yes To The Dress are the same ones that already ran earlier in the day. Minus one point for midnight feedings.
-Food indeed tastes so much yummier when prepared by someone other than one's self.
-Number of times the term "counter-intuitive" appears in the book Happiest Baby on the Block: 56.
(First tip-off that parenthood is a whole new ball game).
-Blogs from other moms or mom-to-be's are actually interesting now.
-Any string of words can be made into a soothing song, you just gotta sell it. Here, try it: "Four score and seven years ago . . . ." (Interpretive dance moves don't hurt the cause).
Max is a happy baby - and after surveying that the next youngest person living on our street is in his upper 40's, dare I say that our little Max is, indeed, the Happiest Baby on the Block.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Max's Bris, and a Day with Auntie Shannon
Ok, a couple out-of-order updates on the life of Mr. Max. I would not be upholding my part of this blog if I didn't include one of the most important days of Max's life thus far- his Bris!
After 8 days of being on this earth, Max had his ceremonial circumcision, hosted by my in-laws in their home. The doctor did a beautiful job explaining the significance of this right of passage and its meaning. Though I was nervous, I managed to hold it together until the doctor fed Max a little wine - the calm before the storm, if you will. At this point, Mommy looked away the entire time while Daddy and Grandpa Steve held down the fort and witnessed the event, along with about 40 of our friends and family members. Our little one did a great job (like he had a choice!), and recovered quickly, napping the duration of the evening (can ya blame him?). He was passed around from loving arms to loving arms, making not a peep until we got home and lightly suggested it was bedtime, which in baby world, equates to party time.
The evening was truly special; my mother-in-law did an incredible job hosting the night and making it one to remember. This was Max's first real outing of more than an hour total. It was a big night, and he did great. Thank you to all who came to support us, and our love and hugs go out to those who couldn't be there.
Max also had another big day. This past Friday, he had his first whole day being babysat! Our good friend Shannon was kind enough to look after Max while Josh went to work and I had my nasal surgery (all went well!). Shannon took GREAT care of our little guy, and her beautiful daughter Suri and Max had some special cuddle moments! Shannon said Max was great, and even gave him a bath! Anyone who returns your kid smelling better than they arrived is an A+ friend in my book.
After 8 days of being on this earth, Max had his ceremonial circumcision, hosted by my in-laws in their home. The doctor did a beautiful job explaining the significance of this right of passage and its meaning. Though I was nervous, I managed to hold it together until the doctor fed Max a little wine - the calm before the storm, if you will. At this point, Mommy looked away the entire time while Daddy and Grandpa Steve held down the fort and witnessed the event, along with about 40 of our friends and family members. Our little one did a great job (like he had a choice!), and recovered quickly, napping the duration of the evening (can ya blame him?). He was passed around from loving arms to loving arms, making not a peep until we got home and lightly suggested it was bedtime, which in baby world, equates to party time.
The evening was truly special; my mother-in-law did an incredible job hosting the night and making it one to remember. This was Max's first real outing of more than an hour total. It was a big night, and he did great. Thank you to all who came to support us, and our love and hugs go out to those who couldn't be there.
Max also had another big day. This past Friday, he had his first whole day being babysat! Our good friend Shannon was kind enough to look after Max while Josh went to work and I had my nasal surgery (all went well!). Shannon took GREAT care of our little guy, and her beautiful daughter Suri and Max had some special cuddle moments! Shannon said Max was great, and even gave him a bath! Anyone who returns your kid smelling better than they arrived is an A+ friend in my book.
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| Proud Grandparents |
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| Teamwork at its finest, people. |
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
YE-LLO!
Hi! My name is Max Samuel, and I've been around for just over three weeks. I love to poop, pee, eat, sleep, smile due to gas, and be burped. I love my back patted and scratched - NOT rubbed. Bath time rocks, and I love it when Mommy pours water down the back of my head to wash off the baby shampoo! I've been growing like a reed and achieved my birthweight by two weeks. Daddy likes to tote me around in the Baby Bjorn, and he's already an expert. Mommy claimed she'd never be "one of THOSE women" who posted pictures of me on Facebook at 10 minute intervals, but guess what - SHE IS. So if you want to see what I look like at any given hour of the day, that's your hub. I don't mean to toot my own horn (I toot enough as it is), but I'm pretty sure Mommy and Daddy are quite obsessed with me . . .
More later!
More later!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Be careful what you wish for!
Today marks 3 weeks - YES, 3 WEEKS - that Max has been on this planet and charming us with his baby breath, paci sucking marathons, and sweet little stare that would melt the heart of the truest Scrooge. I'd be remiss to not add that we've also endured three weeks of late-night crying fits, poopies mid-diaper-change, and an array of spit-up hanging from most things in our home. This experience has been nothing short of incredible on all fronts: our ability to "buck up" and adapt at the drop of a hat out of pure necessity, the joy and absolute wonder that has filled our hearts since his arrival, and the realization of how much unconditional support and love we have from those around us. Simply put, life's been pretty amazing.
That's not to say, however, that Mommy didn't have her moments. Ohhh, and there were moments. The most fitting summation of my freak-out phase has to be evidenced by the Google search history I recently stumbled upon, documenting my mental state from my very first week of Mommyhood. Enjoy:
"Breastfeeding help"
"Breastfeeding + help!"
"Newborns + what nobody told me"
"Dr. Brown's bottles"
"C-section recovery"
"C-section + bowel movement?"
"Percacet side effects"
"Newborns + overhwhelmed + normal"
"Caffeine and breastfeeding"
"New mommy + success stories"
"Pictures of pie"
"What newborn cries mean"
"Late night food Cave Creek + delivery"
"Facebook"
"Diaper too tight?"
"16 and pregnant"
Soon after we arrived home with Max (and shook off the shock and lingering question of "NOW WHAT??"), Josh and I quickly got our heads together and began to function like expert partners in a three-legged race. I'm talkin' team-WURK, people. Oh, there were trials and errors, and many a hand-off while we literally mime-wiped our hands clean and left for the other end of the house. But we managed to find our footing over the course of a couple weeks, and I don't feel I'm jinxing it to say that we're no longer treading water, and actually feel - -gulp- - comfortable.
The biggest adjustment, as anyone reading this would guess, was adapting to, like, NO sleep. Upwards of four times a night, I would sit in the glider, eyelids drooping, feeding the boy with one hand and frantically scrolling the track ball on my Blackberry in a desperate search of recent status updates on Facebook, 'cause that means I'm not the only one on the planet up and percolating at such an ungodly hour.
In reference to the title of this post, my wish upon a star out the nursery window to get some much needed rest was granted in the form of surgery under general anesthesia. According to my ENT, I have a hemangioma tumor in my nose (Geez, Heidi, sneak attack with the nasties, I'm not even done with my cereal!). What I first assumed was a sinus infection on the coat tails of all those nose bleeds is actually a pollup of sorts which necessitates surgery for its removal and subsequent relief from wishing the left half of my face were blown off with an uzi. Surgery is scheduled for Friday. So there you have it. Mommy wants sleep, Mommy gets it in the form of general anesthesia and pain killers. In all honesty, I am nervous to spend so much time not actively caring for Max. For three weeks, I have been by his side, or holding him, or eating his cheeks, or smelling his butt. It will be a major shift to go from that, to sleeping for more than three hours at a time. Alright. Typing that actually got me kinda excited. Bad Mommy.
Josh and I, albeit still exhausted to a degree rivaled only by a few Vegas weekends in college, have gotten to a place where visitors are truly welcomed and we have the wherewithall to actually hold substantial conversations to catch up with our friends and families. We've taken Max out for lots of quick errands, and it's finally feeling like we are simply a cute little family of 3 inhabiting the world, doing our thang. It's a great feeling. Max has gotten to meet so much of his family and pseudo-aunts and uncles, and has met many of his new friends, like Suri, Charli, and Reznor! We are finding a place of comfort with him; I really didn't expect to experience this turning point so early on, and I feel blessed to already feel like we've "made it".
(Flash forward to next week's blog, titled "Eating My Words")
:0)
That's not to say, however, that Mommy didn't have her moments. Ohhh, and there were moments. The most fitting summation of my freak-out phase has to be evidenced by the Google search history I recently stumbled upon, documenting my mental state from my very first week of Mommyhood. Enjoy:
"Breastfeeding help"
"Breastfeeding + help!"
"Newborns + what nobody told me"
"Dr. Brown's bottles"
"C-section recovery"
"C-section + bowel movement?"
"Percacet side effects"
"Newborns + overhwhelmed + normal"
"Caffeine and breastfeeding"
"New mommy + success stories"
"Pictures of pie"
"What newborn cries mean"
"Late night food Cave Creek + delivery"
"Facebook"
"Diaper too tight?"
"16 and pregnant"
Soon after we arrived home with Max (and shook off the shock and lingering question of "NOW WHAT??"), Josh and I quickly got our heads together and began to function like expert partners in a three-legged race. I'm talkin' team-WURK, people. Oh, there were trials and errors, and many a hand-off while we literally mime-wiped our hands clean and left for the other end of the house. But we managed to find our footing over the course of a couple weeks, and I don't feel I'm jinxing it to say that we're no longer treading water, and actually feel - -gulp- - comfortable.
The biggest adjustment, as anyone reading this would guess, was adapting to, like, NO sleep. Upwards of four times a night, I would sit in the glider, eyelids drooping, feeding the boy with one hand and frantically scrolling the track ball on my Blackberry in a desperate search of recent status updates on Facebook, 'cause that means I'm not the only one on the planet up and percolating at such an ungodly hour.
In reference to the title of this post, my wish upon a star out the nursery window to get some much needed rest was granted in the form of surgery under general anesthesia. According to my ENT, I have a hemangioma tumor in my nose (Geez, Heidi, sneak attack with the nasties, I'm not even done with my cereal!). What I first assumed was a sinus infection on the coat tails of all those nose bleeds is actually a pollup of sorts which necessitates surgery for its removal and subsequent relief from wishing the left half of my face were blown off with an uzi. Surgery is scheduled for Friday. So there you have it. Mommy wants sleep, Mommy gets it in the form of general anesthesia and pain killers. In all honesty, I am nervous to spend so much time not actively caring for Max. For three weeks, I have been by his side, or holding him, or eating his cheeks, or smelling his butt. It will be a major shift to go from that, to sleeping for more than three hours at a time. Alright. Typing that actually got me kinda excited. Bad Mommy.
Josh and I, albeit still exhausted to a degree rivaled only by a few Vegas weekends in college, have gotten to a place where visitors are truly welcomed and we have the wherewithall to actually hold substantial conversations to catch up with our friends and families. We've taken Max out for lots of quick errands, and it's finally feeling like we are simply a cute little family of 3 inhabiting the world, doing our thang. It's a great feeling. Max has gotten to meet so much of his family and pseudo-aunts and uncles, and has met many of his new friends, like Suri, Charli, and Reznor! We are finding a place of comfort with him; I really didn't expect to experience this turning point so early on, and I feel blessed to already feel like we've "made it".
(Flash forward to next week's blog, titled "Eating My Words")
:0)
 |
| The Love of Our Lives, Mr. Max. |
Saturday, August 13, 2011
And so the journey REALLY begins. . . . .
Family, friends. If you are reading this and are thinking, "Wait. She has time to write a blog entry, but not call me/email me/text me/facebook me back?", please consider this as my gift to you - a one stop shop to get up to speed on my life, so that when I DO call/email/text/facebook you back in between feedings and diaper changes, no time will be wasted and we can talk about all that is fabulous with YOU. See what I did there?
Welp, there you have it. Max Samuel Kaplan has made his entrance into this world a healthy, pink little human being. It was quite the journey getting him here safe and sound, and since this is a place for you to check in on us, allow me to tell the story of how little MSK got here . . . .
If you have been keeping up with the blog, you know that about a month and a half ago, I began struggling with severe nosebleeds. A couple frantic trips to the ER led me to an ear-nose-throat doctor, who cauterized an area he believed to be the source of my problems. All returned to normal, until I hit 39 weeks.
In the middle of the night, I was awoken to the taste of my own blood (oh right, now would be a good time to put down your fork). After a few gulps and realizing what was happening, I jolted out of bed and ran to the sink to pinch to sh*t out of my nose. And it worked.... for about two hours, when the gusher would start again out of absolutely nowhere. After a sleepless night of staying up at the sink pinching, Josh had an all-day work meeting in town, and I had my 39 week OB appointment. Since I couldn't drive out of fear that another bleed would start as I hit 75 mph on the freeway, I spent my morning with my Mom, who accompanied me to the appointment.
Four gushers later, I was in the middle of describing these insatiable bleeds to my OB nurse, who stared at me with what appeared to be a look of confusion, perhaps doubt, maybe pity. It was during my nervous explanation to her about my bleeds that somebody up there took the reigns and prompted a bleed to start right then and there, in front of her. I bolted to the sink and pinched. The nurse hurriedly grabbed my OB and started to talk to her in that hush-hush way that makes you feel like somewhat of a sideshow. The OB Dr. and nurse came into the room and urged me to make an emergency appointment with my ENT to recauterize the area of concern, and have the ENT contact the office to let them know when would be the optimal time for me to push. Yes, PUSH.
"....hhh...uh?"
"We'd like to deliver your baby tonight."
WHHHHAAAAATT?
Adrenaline and heaping dose of fear flushed throughout my entire body. I was not me. I was somebody else; a machine trying to acclamate to this information that I was absolutely NOT prepared for.
Numb, I met my mom in the lobby and told her we had to get to the ENT right away. Within 30 minutes, I was being seen by him, who, after draining out all the blood, recauterized me and ended up needing to pack my nose to prevent further chaos. About 10 minutes passed before I mustered up the courage to look in the mirror. Staring at the tube coming out of my left nostril and taped to my face, sinus goo dripping out of my eye, it was not quite the image I had dreamed about the past 9 months. After I informed my ENT that he had to get in touch with my OB, he left the room, took a seat at a desk about a yard away, and phoned my doctor. I listened.
"Yes, Dr., I just treated your patient Heidi Kaplan for her nosebleeds, and based on the severity of her bleeding, I do not recommend her bearing down. If she were to start to bleed during a birth of this type, well . . . . it'd be bad".
I closed my eyes and prayed for the room to stop spinning.
Straight back to my OB to commence and figure out the plan of action. My nurse brought me back into a room and informed me of the following:
Due to your nosebleeds, the fact that you have some excess amniotic fluid, and that the baby took a pooie inside of you, we're going to deliver you tonight. By C-section. You are scheduled for 5:30pm, and need to be there at 3:30 for prep.
I look at my watch. It is 2:45pm.
"Um, um um um. OK. I need to call my husband. Is this seriously happening? Tonight. Are you sure? It's hot in here. What kind of blood pressure medication can you prescribe me?"
"What?"
"Blood pressure. I've never felt it so high in my life. Can you give me something. It's hot. Oh my Jesus."
I walked out of the office once again, gave my Mom a very telling glance, and phoned my husband.
"Baby? We're gonna have this baby."
Within 45 minutes, I had gone back to my Mom's house, took a few deep breaths with her, gained some semblance of composure, turned around and went to the hospital. Josh met me there within the hour, as did our families (Andy left for Arizona from California right away), and our good friend Shannon.
I was in a complete state of shock at the turn of events of the afternoon. Wasn't I supposed to go to my 39 week appointment, then get some fro-yo with Mom and swing by Walgreens for that new mascara that quadruples each lash? Wasn't that the plan? Ha, plans!
At 7:45pm, I was taken into the OR and given the epidural, after which Josh was allowed into the room and kept his face right up next to mine the entire time. My body was completely numb, but I could feel myself rocking side to side, up and down, with each maneauver of my OB to 'get on in there'. And at 8:19 pm, the staff urged Josh to look over the tarp at our son, emerging into the world. Our boy. His cry was like a drug, sending me into a state of pure euphoria, and to be perfectly honest, feeling extremely proud of him. Of me. Of it all.
"Is he ok? What's he like? Is he alright? Is everything good?"
"Honey, he's beautiful! He's perfect! He's BLONDE!"
Josh brought him over to my face, and it happened: I kissed his cheek, smelled his baby breath, and fell madly, hopelessly, overwhelmingly in LOVE.
And there you have it. Max Kaplan. Real human being. Nice to meet ya.
We spent the next four days at the hospital, wrapping our heads around our new roles as parents, learning to feed him and experiencing our first bouts of sleeplessness and petrification. I spent those four days staring at him, at each little finger and toe, all his little blood vessels, hair follicles, ears, nose, butt. And I couldn't believe it; any of it. I wanted to stop time and breathe him in so as to never lose this moment and the feeling of holding my newborn baby. He would never again be this small and I already felt him growing up too fast. Thank you, hormones.
Since we arrived home last Saturday, Josh and I have had to learn so much, so fast, and implement it immediately. Preparing for this baby has been akin to learning a foreign language by purchasing the Rosetta Stone, but leaving it in the saran wrap on the coffee table in that room of your house that you never go into. It is only when the baby is born that you need to dive into the program and exercise every brain cell you've collected over the span of your life, throw it all together, all at once, and switch to speaking this new language exclusively.
I'd like to take the time to thank all of our family and friends. You have been so unconditionally supportive of and excited for us, and you each show your love in your own, beautifully unique way. We have SO much gratitude for everything each of you has given us and it has surely shaped our experience of pregnancy and the journey into parenthood.
We are so happy, so busy, and so, so tired. Within the course of one week, the pleasure one might experience during a hot stone massage on the beaches of Maui is now reserved for brushing my teeth. This has been the most surreal experience of our lives. We are infused with such love and infatuation for Max, and run on that love like it's fuel.
Welp, there you have it. Max Samuel Kaplan has made his entrance into this world a healthy, pink little human being. It was quite the journey getting him here safe and sound, and since this is a place for you to check in on us, allow me to tell the story of how little MSK got here . . . .
If you have been keeping up with the blog, you know that about a month and a half ago, I began struggling with severe nosebleeds. A couple frantic trips to the ER led me to an ear-nose-throat doctor, who cauterized an area he believed to be the source of my problems. All returned to normal, until I hit 39 weeks.
In the middle of the night, I was awoken to the taste of my own blood (oh right, now would be a good time to put down your fork). After a few gulps and realizing what was happening, I jolted out of bed and ran to the sink to pinch to sh*t out of my nose. And it worked.... for about two hours, when the gusher would start again out of absolutely nowhere. After a sleepless night of staying up at the sink pinching, Josh had an all-day work meeting in town, and I had my 39 week OB appointment. Since I couldn't drive out of fear that another bleed would start as I hit 75 mph on the freeway, I spent my morning with my Mom, who accompanied me to the appointment.
Four gushers later, I was in the middle of describing these insatiable bleeds to my OB nurse, who stared at me with what appeared to be a look of confusion, perhaps doubt, maybe pity. It was during my nervous explanation to her about my bleeds that somebody up there took the reigns and prompted a bleed to start right then and there, in front of her. I bolted to the sink and pinched. The nurse hurriedly grabbed my OB and started to talk to her in that hush-hush way that makes you feel like somewhat of a sideshow. The OB Dr. and nurse came into the room and urged me to make an emergency appointment with my ENT to recauterize the area of concern, and have the ENT contact the office to let them know when would be the optimal time for me to push. Yes, PUSH.
"....hhh...uh?"
"We'd like to deliver your baby tonight."
WHHHHAAAAATT?
Adrenaline and heaping dose of fear flushed throughout my entire body. I was not me. I was somebody else; a machine trying to acclamate to this information that I was absolutely NOT prepared for.
Numb, I met my mom in the lobby and told her we had to get to the ENT right away. Within 30 minutes, I was being seen by him, who, after draining out all the blood, recauterized me and ended up needing to pack my nose to prevent further chaos. About 10 minutes passed before I mustered up the courage to look in the mirror. Staring at the tube coming out of my left nostril and taped to my face, sinus goo dripping out of my eye, it was not quite the image I had dreamed about the past 9 months. After I informed my ENT that he had to get in touch with my OB, he left the room, took a seat at a desk about a yard away, and phoned my doctor. I listened.
"Yes, Dr., I just treated your patient Heidi Kaplan for her nosebleeds, and based on the severity of her bleeding, I do not recommend her bearing down. If she were to start to bleed during a birth of this type, well . . . . it'd be bad".
I closed my eyes and prayed for the room to stop spinning.
Straight back to my OB to commence and figure out the plan of action. My nurse brought me back into a room and informed me of the following:
Due to your nosebleeds, the fact that you have some excess amniotic fluid, and that the baby took a pooie inside of you, we're going to deliver you tonight. By C-section. You are scheduled for 5:30pm, and need to be there at 3:30 for prep.
I look at my watch. It is 2:45pm.
"Um, um um um. OK. I need to call my husband. Is this seriously happening? Tonight. Are you sure? It's hot in here. What kind of blood pressure medication can you prescribe me?"
"What?"
"Blood pressure. I've never felt it so high in my life. Can you give me something. It's hot. Oh my Jesus."
I walked out of the office once again, gave my Mom a very telling glance, and phoned my husband.
"Baby? We're gonna have this baby."
Within 45 minutes, I had gone back to my Mom's house, took a few deep breaths with her, gained some semblance of composure, turned around and went to the hospital. Josh met me there within the hour, as did our families (Andy left for Arizona from California right away), and our good friend Shannon.
I was in a complete state of shock at the turn of events of the afternoon. Wasn't I supposed to go to my 39 week appointment, then get some fro-yo with Mom and swing by Walgreens for that new mascara that quadruples each lash? Wasn't that the plan? Ha, plans!
At 7:45pm, I was taken into the OR and given the epidural, after which Josh was allowed into the room and kept his face right up next to mine the entire time. My body was completely numb, but I could feel myself rocking side to side, up and down, with each maneauver of my OB to 'get on in there'. And at 8:19 pm, the staff urged Josh to look over the tarp at our son, emerging into the world. Our boy. His cry was like a drug, sending me into a state of pure euphoria, and to be perfectly honest, feeling extremely proud of him. Of me. Of it all.
"Is he ok? What's he like? Is he alright? Is everything good?"
"Honey, he's beautiful! He's perfect! He's BLONDE!"
Josh brought him over to my face, and it happened: I kissed his cheek, smelled his baby breath, and fell madly, hopelessly, overwhelmingly in LOVE.
And there you have it. Max Kaplan. Real human being. Nice to meet ya.
We spent the next four days at the hospital, wrapping our heads around our new roles as parents, learning to feed him and experiencing our first bouts of sleeplessness and petrification. I spent those four days staring at him, at each little finger and toe, all his little blood vessels, hair follicles, ears, nose, butt. And I couldn't believe it; any of it. I wanted to stop time and breathe him in so as to never lose this moment and the feeling of holding my newborn baby. He would never again be this small and I already felt him growing up too fast. Thank you, hormones.
Since we arrived home last Saturday, Josh and I have had to learn so much, so fast, and implement it immediately. Preparing for this baby has been akin to learning a foreign language by purchasing the Rosetta Stone, but leaving it in the saran wrap on the coffee table in that room of your house that you never go into. It is only when the baby is born that you need to dive into the program and exercise every brain cell you've collected over the span of your life, throw it all together, all at once, and switch to speaking this new language exclusively.
I'd like to take the time to thank all of our family and friends. You have been so unconditionally supportive of and excited for us, and you each show your love in your own, beautifully unique way. We have SO much gratitude for everything each of you has given us and it has surely shaped our experience of pregnancy and the journey into parenthood.
We are so happy, so busy, and so, so tired. Within the course of one week, the pleasure one might experience during a hot stone massage on the beaches of Maui is now reserved for brushing my teeth. This has been the most surreal experience of our lives. We are infused with such love and infatuation for Max, and run on that love like it's fuel.
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| Meeting Max |
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| Add caption |
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| Max's first burp in his whole life |
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| Max loves bath time! |
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Drumroll, please . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ladies and gentlemen, it is with immense, heart-swelling pride and pleasure (and a heck of an incision), that I announce the arrival of "our little bundle", "booger", "nugget", the inspiration and epicenter of this entire blog, and now our entire lives, "Baby K":
~Max Samuel Kaplan~
Born 8.2.11 at 8:19pm
7 pounds, 15 ounces . 20.5 inches
Many more postings to come on the adventure of labor and delivery. And boy, was it ever . . . . . .
Monday, August 1, 2011
What the deuce?
For this post, I'm going to tell you a little story. It is of no real consequence, has seemingly little to do with the bun in my oven, and may only serve as a peek into my daily goings on, now that I'm so close to popping (39 weeks tomorrow, what what!). But it matters to me.
The other week, I started to think about the birth of our baby boy in an entirely new way: not so much the physical pain of it, how it was going to happen, WHEN it was going to happen, fun with needles, etc., but something of an entirely different priority . . . .
Making sure mama be lookin' good for them first photos.
Needless to say, the birthing experience will leave me with a healthy glow, a radiance, if you will. ALRIGHT , that's just sweat, ok? SWEAT. And my hair will be carelessly tossed into a messy nub of nest, flopping side to side atop my head with every contraction. So if that's the case, I'd at least prefer said nub to be absent of those Sarah Jessica Parker roots that make their appearance every 4 weeks. And if I'm to tackle those roots, it's fitting that a mani-pedi comes with the territory (husband reads post, rolls eyes extravagantly). Nothing like some funky fingers wrapped around a pristine, cherub baby body to screw up a photo.
So I called to book an appointment to have my digits prettified. Scanning my daily planner and sporting a furrowed brow deep in thought, I knew I needed to bank on a date for this service. I figured the little nugget wouldn't come too early, but I needed to make sure the appointment was also far enough along that I wouldn't be due for a touch-up come first push. I made the appointment for late July: not too early, not too late, but just right. A Goldie Locks of the 21st century. Ouch, that's corny.
I went to the salon and got my toes and nails done a pretty pink color, especially since my world has turned to every shade of blue in existence. Afterward, I waited an extra 10 minutes before leaving to make sure they were good and lacquered dry, then left feeling just darling. Upon arriving back home and putting some things away, I looked down, and I saw it. IT. The unthinkable.
My polish chipped. (Read: polish as in nail color, not Polish as in sausage. I couldn't explain that.)
Now please, family, friends! Don't minimize this window, or heaven forbid all-together close it! It's not about the pettiness of the polish. There's something deeper to be said about the smudging of a nail mere hours after professional application - a defeating experience all on its own, am I right, ladies? Rather, as I stared at the crescent-shaped chippage and severe lack of "Virgin Orchid" at the tip of the offending finger, an overwhelming sense of peace fell over me, the message being quite simple, but just as necessary and completely applicable to the arrival of our little meatball:
I can plan all I want, meticulously plot out everything under the sun. In the end, imperfections and mishaps will pop out wherever they choose along the way. I have no control over this - and it's beautiful.
So whether I make my appointments according to the exact alignment of the stars, or avoid harsh cleaning chemicals at all costs; let my nails dry an extra 10 minutes, or organize and put away all baby items according to size and developmental age; delicately take out the keys from my purse so as to not smudge a thing, or vigorously take copious notes at every Birthing Basics class . . . . .things are going to happen as they were written to all along, and the key is to know this ahead of time and roll with those punches; honor those punches. Because it's those "mishaps" that shape your experience and makes it all your own, makes it YOUR story to tell. The bigger plan will always play out. "Hey Mom, you just outfitted me in my brand new infant sleeper? Well now I'm gonna barf on it."
The only thing we can do in life is keep an extra onesie on hand, and enjoy the journey - chipped nails and all.
The other week, I started to think about the birth of our baby boy in an entirely new way: not so much the physical pain of it, how it was going to happen, WHEN it was going to happen, fun with needles, etc., but something of an entirely different priority . . . .
Making sure mama be lookin' good for them first photos.
Needless to say, the birthing experience will leave me with a healthy glow, a radiance, if you will. ALRIGHT , that's just sweat, ok? SWEAT. And my hair will be carelessly tossed into a messy nub of nest, flopping side to side atop my head with every contraction. So if that's the case, I'd at least prefer said nub to be absent of those Sarah Jessica Parker roots that make their appearance every 4 weeks. And if I'm to tackle those roots, it's fitting that a mani-pedi comes with the territory (husband reads post, rolls eyes extravagantly). Nothing like some funky fingers wrapped around a pristine, cherub baby body to screw up a photo.
So I called to book an appointment to have my digits prettified. Scanning my daily planner and sporting a furrowed brow deep in thought, I knew I needed to bank on a date for this service. I figured the little nugget wouldn't come too early, but I needed to make sure the appointment was also far enough along that I wouldn't be due for a touch-up come first push. I made the appointment for late July: not too early, not too late, but just right. A Goldie Locks of the 21st century. Ouch, that's corny.
I went to the salon and got my toes and nails done a pretty pink color, especially since my world has turned to every shade of blue in existence. Afterward, I waited an extra 10 minutes before leaving to make sure they were good and lacquered dry, then left feeling just darling. Upon arriving back home and putting some things away, I looked down, and I saw it. IT. The unthinkable.
My polish chipped. (Read: polish as in nail color, not Polish as in sausage. I couldn't explain that.)
Now please, family, friends! Don't minimize this window, or heaven forbid all-together close it! It's not about the pettiness of the polish. There's something deeper to be said about the smudging of a nail mere hours after professional application - a defeating experience all on its own, am I right, ladies? Rather, as I stared at the crescent-shaped chippage and severe lack of "Virgin Orchid" at the tip of the offending finger, an overwhelming sense of peace fell over me, the message being quite simple, but just as necessary and completely applicable to the arrival of our little meatball:
I can plan all I want, meticulously plot out everything under the sun. In the end, imperfections and mishaps will pop out wherever they choose along the way. I have no control over this - and it's beautiful.
So whether I make my appointments according to the exact alignment of the stars, or avoid harsh cleaning chemicals at all costs; let my nails dry an extra 10 minutes, or organize and put away all baby items according to size and developmental age; delicately take out the keys from my purse so as to not smudge a thing, or vigorously take copious notes at every Birthing Basics class . . . . .things are going to happen as they were written to all along, and the key is to know this ahead of time and roll with those punches; honor those punches. Because it's those "mishaps" that shape your experience and makes it all your own, makes it YOUR story to tell. The bigger plan will always play out. "Hey Mom, you just outfitted me in my brand new infant sleeper? Well now I'm gonna barf on it."
The only thing we can do in life is keep an extra onesie on hand, and enjoy the journey - chipped nails and all.
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