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You, Me, and Booby Makes Three

Ah the joys of breastfeeding. I don’t know that I’ve ever cared about anyone enough to sacrifice this much of my personal space or to willingly offer up a body part for spontaneous encroachment. Yet here I am. One meal at a time.

Yes Fiona, what’s that you say? You’d like second breakfast? Will that be right booby or left? Very good. Careful not to bruise it there dumpling.

I pointed out to Mark that we were saving money with this feeding method. He said, where once he had to wine and dine these suckers, now they’re saving us money. That is if you put the Similac money away for college.

Yes Fiona, what’s that? You are ready for your pre-lunch snack? Would you like a little truffle oil on that nipple? Maybe followed by an apéritif of booby? Excellent choice.

Fiona’s Favorite book : Good Night Boob

Fiona’s Favorite songs: It’s a Booby Kinda Love

Fiona’s Favorite Word: Boobaliciuos

Fiona’s Favorite Movie: What About Boob

Fiona’s Favorite Drink: Booby straight up with a twist

Nothing can mess with your mind more than the thought of keeping something dear to you alive with a bodily emission you have no control over. This caused a train wreck with my attempt to booby feed my first child.

What’s that Fiona? More booby juice? Did you say please?

But once you, and  your family (read 8-year-old), get over the “ewess-ness” of the deed, you can all relax and lead a semi-normal life. My friend said she saw a mom at the Orlando Universal theme park with a baby hanging off her booby. Everybody’s doing it.

For the record, my boobies are retiring their service before 2014. And hopefully the booby juice will make Fiona super smart and give her the ability to pick nice boyfriends. Ooh, gotta go. The Divine Ms. Fi would like her nightcap now.

Beast Of My Love

Before my little love love was born, this song popped into my head. Theme song? And so I thought I’d offer it up for your listening pleasure while you read my babble below.

My friend Kathy called me a couple of days before I gave birth to Fiona and was swell enough to entertain my personal brain for a few minutes. The one that thinks about creative endeavors. The one who has a blog and wants to grow that and herself and a writing career. SHE INDULGED ME. And avoided talking baby stuff.

Now we’re on the other side. Fiona’s been here for 10 days and is hanging onto my body right now. By her lips. She may even have a soiled diaper.

I will truly try to not do baby-baby-all-the-time talk because it would drive me bonkers if I were you. But some stuff, it’s too cool or weird or funny not to share.

The wee Fiona was a hefty 8.5 lbs when she popped out of me. Then the pediatrician wanted to worry me she’d lost too much weight and told me to cup feed her. I’d seen it once and it’s weird. Reminds me that we are all beasties first. And most Mama’s do what love requires of us no matter what it takes.

Ooh Baby Baby

 

 

The epic story is this. Boy met girl and girl met boy and there were flowers everywhere.  Fun and merriment ensued and eventually a baby made them three. And  happily they all lived until the girl worried was this to be the only baby. And in a feat of miraculous proportions, girl manifests her hearts desire as the last grains of sand leave the hourglass.

 

 

On March 5th, the girl who is me, gave birth to a little girl at 4:47am at the Memorial Hospital at Easton, Maryland in the USA. I was surprised and delighted she was a GIRL and her name had always been Fiona Marie Peach. She’s a charmer. And I’m told beautiful for a newborn.

The nursing staff were dutiful. And I owe a great deal to nurse Kelly who cared for me until the baby was out. And she was the lucky one to give her the first bath. Nurse Shannon was funny and sweet took care of the baby and me through the next night so I could get those meager few hours of sleep. And nurse Connie was my advocate to get me released from the hospital early so I could come home and find the beginnings of my zen with a newborn.

 

 

To say that this baby has brought joy to many would only be the a preface to a life I know will spread happiness beyond the expectations of her parents and family. There’s something about this Wee Fiona.

Or maybe newborns seem to promise HOPE to everyone in their presence. I now get it daily. It’s doing wonders for my complexion.

Shalagh and Fiona several hours after the birth.

 

She’d Been Pregnant As Long As Anyone Could Ever Remember

Sometimes stuff just doesn’t work out the way you and your sonogram technician have planned it. I thought she was crazy when she said I was due on February 27th. And today I wanted to apologize to her. I am now overdue for having this baby make his/her exit from my body.

I feel as if I’m living in some alternate universe fantasy land. While everyone around me frets about their schedules permitting the delivery date, I have no choice but to sit her and wait. And try not to feel nauseous.

I am completely done with being this way, of course. And rather tired of the line all are compelled to deliver. “Get yourself to the hospital and deliver that baby already, will ya?” If I could I would people. But baby delivering is one of those acts of nature that our wills have no apparent control over.

Seems everyone has a helpful hint on how they think I should hurry this process up. A kind Italian man offered today, “Make up a nice dish of angel hair pasta tossed with olive oil (region not specified)  with some oregano (not too much cause it can be strong) and then take a nice long walk.” The walk’s a perennial favorite. And has absolutely no effect on baby conjuring.

Only one thing can effect the onset of childbirth and it’s a special hormone the body releases when it’s decided the popper has popped. Physicians can also introduce that hormone to the cervix to “let the games begin”. That’s called induction and is what I’m scheduled for on Tuesday if this weekend doesn’t produce babe in arms. It would seem that the placenta has an expiration date.

And as one last act of craziness, I wanted to record a video of me in this unbelievable state. The first attempt was thwarted when equipment and software wouldn’t cooperate. On borrowed time, I re-recorded myself sharing the thoughts on this pregnancy and last year I felt were most important. And then a “fatal error has occurred to thwart me again. So visit my Facebook page here.

TURN THE SOUND WAY UP BEFORE YOU PRESS PLAY as I talk softly in the beginning.

I appreciate you giving me whatever break you can here and know that I’m doing it all for the love of the art and the family.

Thanks for all your generous support and kind thoughts. I look forward to sharing the next chapters as they unfold.

Love,

Shalagh

 

 

Baby Loot

I began to feel panicky. I only had a crib, a mattress, and a blanky. Yes, there are numerous boxes of years’ worth of boys clothing in the attic. But we don’t know if we’re even having a boy.

I had nary a nappy or bottle or binky in the house and I was 32 weeks along.  Although I thought it possible that people might offer up stuff via a shower or queries, time was running out. And I was woefully behind in my nesting preparation.

This is where I had an “episode”. Did we have enough money? What did I actually need? Were people going to help? Did anyone really care? Numerous worries compiling in my head. My husband calls this the shotgun effect.

You can worry or you can do something to abate the worry. Only the latter will make a difference.  If you really want to worry, make sure you put enough things on your plate to feel really overwhelmed. And definitely don’t break down and make a list of action steps toward alleviating the worry. Pay the worries the respect they need to fester. “It’s still your choice. Always has been.

As I had paid the bills, we had “extra” money (Maryland quarterlies be damned). And we planned a trip to Target. My swollen leg and my lack of car had me seated for that week prior so I typed up lists. There’s a ‘Bag for the Hospital’ list and a ‘Need for the Baby/ Nursery’ list. There’s also a ‘People Who Will Help after the Baby Arrives’ list. The lists helped me feel more prepared.

We hit the Target on Saturday. When I had filled the cart up, Mark looked at me and asked, “Do we have enough nest for all that nesting?” Sadly, a good chunk of the haul was just stuff for me. Like granny underwear and socks that don’t cut into my swollen calves, and nursing tops for the aftermath. Happily, most of the baby wear was on clearance.

This process revealed an important fact; you need to show up for you first. If you’re absent from your life and wonder why you feel abandoned, consider how to best show up for yourself and then do so. Funny how we can stand back and wonder where everyone is and forget to include ourselves in this equation.  Party of One is still a party.

We’re planning a meet the baby party after the birth. People will be able to actually see the fabulous blessing in person. And will most likely be relieved to know what gender of child to shop for were that necessary. Meanwhile, I am just glad to have that pile of stuff upstairs. Now if only that crib would paint itself.

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