Genevieve, enter stage left

On January 3rd at 4:07PM, I gave birth to our daughter.

Genevieve Danger, day 1:  6lbs 11 oz, 19" long

She's utterly fantastic. It's insane how much I love her. She makes the most amazing faces, and is (so far) pretty easygoing. She cries when she's hungry or wet, but that's it. Seriously.

She smells amazing, and she snuggles like it's going out of style. Also? She has crazy fantastic dimples, which I'm hoping to catch on camera. Because the cuteness will kill you.

Napping in Andrew's arms

She sleeps pretty well (about four hours at a time at night), so we have no complaints. Andrew is an amazing father; he changes (cloth!) diapers like a champ, and he's been taking fantastic care of me, too. I'm really happy that his company has such a phenomenal paternity leave arrangement.

My parents have been over the moon over Genevieve (who we've been referring to as "DangerMouse", since she yawns like a mouse), and the only issue seems to be that whoever isn't holding Genevieve thinks the person who *is* holding her is "bogarting the baby". (A term that has been bandied about quite frequently around here.)

Genevieve holding Andrew's finger

I've gotten a lot of questions about the particulars of her birth, and how Genevieve is doing, so I'm going to do my best to answer them here.

The dogs:

Niki and Elphie are adjusting nicely to Genevieve. Elphie was totally cool from the start; Niki had some ... challenges with the adjustment. It took about two days for Niki to relax and ease up on the assertive grooming.

Elphie seems to have taken a shine to Genevieve; she checks on her everytime Genevieve makes a peep, and when she comes back in from a walk, she checks on Genevieve FIRST- before getting water or having her leash taken off.

We are using the tips from Childproofing Your Dog, which have been really helpful. Andrew and I both recommend it, and we got it based on our favorite vet's recommendation.

Breastfeeding:

Genevieve latches like a piranha. I'm pretty sure that I've heard her growl as she goes in for the attack. I got really excellent lactation support at the hospital, so the first few latches were pretty awful, but we're over that particular hurdle and on to finessing the other details. You know, like being able to unhook the nursing bra one-handed, and finding the "just right" angle. All details.

Diapers:

Cloth. We're doing basics- prefolds and covers, like Mom did for me and KidBrother Sam. Cloth diaper technology has come a long way, but the favorite of the family is the bumGenius Diaper Sprayer. The thing is AWESOME!

Since Genevieve was three weeks early, we didn't have ANY diapering stuff. Thankfully, there was wi-fi at the hospital, and within two hours of Genevieve being born, I was ordering a few basics (to be delivered the same day we were discharged).  Thank heavens for Amazon Prime. Seriously.

Since I prefer to support small businesses, we did most of our diaper shopping at Tiny Tots in Campbell. I got fitted for nursing bras, got a sling tutorial, and Andrew got to ask all his cloth diapering questions- and they were cheerful about taking the time to help us. PLUS! The prices are *really* close to prices on Amazon. So, it's a win on all fronts.

I love her eyelashes.

STOP READING HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT BIRTH DETAILS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

The birth story: 

Genevieve wasn't due for another three weeks (and one day) the day she was born. Our day started early- around 2am, when I got up for my regular 2am mosey to the bathroom. I did my thing, washed my hands, and as I went to crawl back into bed - SPLASH! My water broke. Spectacularly.

I was horrified. Not only was she not due for another three weeks, but SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY it was gross. I froze there for a minute, trying to figure out how to get back to the bathroom without making a wet mess all over our wood floors, when Andrew startled awake (let the record reflect, with a scream).

He helped me to the bathroom, we did the requisite checks of fluids/colors that you do, and then called Labor and Delivery like we had been instructed to do in case of such an event. The L&D nurse declared us "another full moon baby", and told me to have some breakfast, grab a shower, and come on in.

My contractions really kicked in about ten minutes after my water broke. I told Andrew that I just. Wasn't. Ready. I needed my three weeks. Andrew informed me that it wasn't really up to me at that point.

Mom and KidBrother Sam came over right away; Mom made me some oatmeal for breakfast, and KidBrother Sam made himself comfortable on the couch to keep the dogs' routine regular. I called my dad, who was in Los Angeles visiting family- because we had THREE WHOLE WEEKS until the baby was due. In the meantime, Andrew grabbed our mostly packed "go bags" and scrambled to get the last few things thrown in there, and loaded the car up in a flash.

My dad answered the phone with a start, and gasped out an "Is your mom okay?!" Because at that hour, the news is rarely good. I informed him that the baby was coming, and that he may want to head home a little earlier than he had originally intended. (By the way, he made it back home in RECORD time.)

We got to the hospital around 4am, got checked in (and checked) and I was 85% effaced and 1cm dilated. Andrew was a champion coach, and we used all of the tools we had learned in Bradley class. He was AMAZING, seriously. (Who knew that among all of his many talents that he was an incredible doula as well? What do you call a male doula? A dude-la?)

I made good progress, but as the hours passed, my contractions became more and more painful. There was vomiting. There were tremors. And, sweet mother of pearl, there was back labor. Yes, my friends. My precious daughter was going to be born face-up.

After 8 1/2 hours of natural labor, we had exhausted all of the coping skills we learned in class, I was in mind-numbing pain, and I was utterly knackered.  I asked for some painkillers and was able to rest for about an hour. Once the painkillers started to wear off, Andrew and I decided that it was time for an epidural- the back labor was not easing up.

The epidural was a patient controlled one, and I had it for about an hour before I was ready to push. In that hour, I went from 7 to 10cm. Booyah.

Once it was time to push, I pushed. And pushed. According to Mom, I pushed for about 30 minutes. Assisted by the midwife, Mom got to "catch" Genevieve. The cord was wrapped around Genevieve's neck, and she was as purple as the umbelical cord, but she still cried as she came out. Andrew cut the cord and she was whisked over to the warmer where they gave her some oxygen to pink her up.

Me? Second degree tear. Exhausted. Oh yeah, and my blood pressure and temperature had spiked (pre-eclampsia), so I was put on magnesium sulfate and antibiotics to make sure I didn't have a seizure or infection. It made me feel terrible, and I had to stay in bed for 24 hours. Thankfully, I had Andrew with me the whole time, and he was able to be both SuperDad and UltraHusband.

Since Genevieve was *technically* premature (a term that stings like a thousand shallow cuts and makes me feel like I failed her from the start), we got some extra help with nursing. She also had jaundice (which is normal), and her levels were low enough that we could bring her home, provided that she was on a biliblanket all the time- except when her diaper was being changed.

She was on the biliblanket for five days, total, before her bilirubin levels dropped sufficiently. We did it with skin-to-skin contact, because everyone told us it was better for Genevieve. Also? It's totally delightful to snuggle a newborn skin-to-skin.

We got tips from the nurses, and Andrew made sure to pay close attention on how to keep an eye on both of us recovering. He's been changing diapers, fetching and carrying, and making sure that on those days where I start feeling like my old self, I don't overdo it and backslide. (Who, me?)

We're almost two weeks out, and we're all doing great. It's because of our family and friends- Laura cooked us a week's worth of meals AND did the emergency shopping/laundry so that Genevieve would have luxuries like socks, diapers, and some onesies.

We've had other folks drop food off for us; my in-laws have brought dinner when they visit AND tidied the kitchen when we were done. My parents have been helping out by running errands, cooking, cleaning, and holding Genevieve while I live it up and take hot showers, or attempt to eat food while it's still warm.

Thank you all for your well-wishes and congratulations. I am so happy to be sharing my baby with all of you.

With a little help from my friends

A few years ago, Andrew and I figured out how to juggle the holidays so that neither of our families felt jilted. We would follow German tradition and do the bulk of our celebrating on Christmas eve, have breakfast (*coughbrunchcough*), and open our gifts in a leisurely manner.

In the afternoon, Andrew and I would mosey over to his family celebration and have Christmas dinner with them. It was such a simple and elegant solution; I felt like a genius for working it out.

Christmas eve dinner is always crab, and we invite our closest friends to join us. It's the BEST. Sure, it requires some planning, but it's totally worth it.

This year, I couldn't do most of the things I normally do to plan. Andrew has been running around like Buddy the Elf, trying to get everything done, and I'm directing via lists from the couch. The tree isn't up this year because there just wasn't time. But Christmas isn't about the tree.

We made our list this morning, and we went through the timeline for the day to make sure that (a) dinner went on as scheduled and (b) I didn't "overdo it" (Andrew's words). As the guests arrived, I was told to sit and direct; so I did.

Laura (the Joy of Cooking Fairy) took care of the crab, Andrew roasted a chicken (for my father, who is not a fan of shellfish), Bromantic Brandon picked up ice for the drinks, Mom did dishes, Snackary lined the table in paper, and MacGuyver Colleen cracked the eggs for the homemade egg nog. Our one-butt kitchen was a-bustling with activity.

(Side note: The egg nog recipe from The Joy of Cooking is AMAZING.)

It was a team effort, and that's really the message of the holidays, right? Nobody was stuck cooking all by themselves, or cleaning up solo. The Holiday Cheer^TM was abundant, the food was delicious, and we had enough egg nog to share with our neighbors.

The evening wouldn't have been the same without the company of our family and closest friends; it wouldn't have be do-able without them either. That's the sign of real friendship; everyone seems to come together when times are tough, and when times are good, we all just bask in the goodness.

I'm a little sappy about it, but this is my first year needing help, and for this type-A, control-freak, it is incredibly reassuring to know that - believe it or not - I don't have to do everything.

Slipped deadlines

There are 9 days left until 2012. It appears that I will not be finishing Andrew's sweater before the ball drops. I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am that I won't be meeting this goal.

Andrew understands; I can't knit with swollen hands, with my feet up and my torso reclined, *or* through the hormone-related joint pain. Still, his sweater sits on a TV tray next to the couch, with its half-knit sleeves mocking me with how close I got.

If I was a less confident person, I would worry that Andrew took the not-finishing-his-sweater as a sign that I don't love him. Since I'm not, I'm taking a sweater-half-done approach; I'll have to keep him around long enough to finish the sweater, which of course, is a sign that I love him even MORE, right? (I'm glad we're on the same page.)

With any luck, the swelling and joint pain in my hands will subside, and I'll be able to finish it up before SharkBean makes her debut. If not, then Andrew will just have to wait until I get around to finishing it. Let's face it, if a handspun, handknit sweater isn't worth waiting a little longer for, then I don't know what is.

Mama's watchin' her stories

As I mentioned in the previous post, part of how I'm spending my time is watching TV. There are some pretty good shows on this season, along with some old favorites.

Most notably, Andrew and I have been watching Grimm, The Walking Dead, and American Horror Story together.

Grimm is new, and it has a distinctly Supernatural vibe to it, with a few major exceptions- namely, no hunky Winchesters. Don't get me wrong; David Giuntoli is cute enough, but he's no Jensen Ackles or Jared Padalecki.

It's more enjoyable if you're (vaguely) familiar with the Grimm fairy tales; less enjoyable if you speak any German. (Mom is frequently annoyed by the mangling of German on the show.)

Shortcomings include that *everyone* seems to know that the main character is a Grimm, who hunts all the fairy-tale bad guys- except that this one doesn't, really. It's been fun watching this show develop.

The Walking Dead is (now) filming the third season (I think), but the second season? Fantastic. So much character development! The writing is so good that they've completely changed my opinion on a number of characters. Just don't watch it at night if you're like me; I have the most horrific zombie nightmares if I watch this one too late at night. (But seriously, it's sooooo good.)

I'm a little torn on American Horror Story. It's dark. It's ultra-violent. They don't give away too much of the story too quickly. It's created by the same guys who created Glee. (Andrew didn't believe that last bit when I first told him, by the way.)

I'm not into the violence- particularly the prevalence of graphic violence against women (and feminized characters) on the show, but mostly, I'm really skeeved by the idea that the house *itself* is a creepy character. Not being safe in your own home is a great horror trope, but it makes you jump at small, benign noises after watching it.

We watch this show week after week, and I'm still not certain that I like it. I'm partly worried that it will take a LOST turn, and I'll feel cheated out of the time I've spent watching. Only time will tell.

Some R & R

Last week, I was put on modified bed rest. I won't go into details because - frankly speaking - this whole pregnancy business can be pretty gross extremely magical. What this really means is I'm spending a lot of time on the couch with my feet elevated.

I've been doing some reading, and I've been watching some TV. The reading has been productive, the TV watching... not so much.

I just finished reading The Rookie Mom's Handbook, which I enjoyed enough that I thought it would be worth blogging about. I borrowed it from the library (and I'm returning it tomorrow), so nobody sent me a comp copy for review. I just thought I'd share books that I liked, since there have been quite a few that were ... not as good.

Cover picture shamelessly stolen from Amazon.com

What I liked: 

- The book is very positive, and it takes into account that you might not have your pre-partum body back 15 minutes after being discharged from the hospital. 
- Some of the suggestions were very creative, and I hadn't considered before. Also, they sounded very fun.
- At least *3* of the activities required yarn. I wholly approve.

What I didn't like:

- A lot of the suggestions include going to a mall, shopping, or other consumer-centered activities. Take this with a grain of salt: On a good day, I hate the mall.

Overall, I'd recommend this book, especially if you're worried about being short on ideas on how to maintain your identity post-partum.

Me? I'll be here on the couch, reading and catching up on my stories.

Jasmin 2012

I can't believe it's mid-December and I haven't talked about Jasmin 2012 yet.

The theme for Jasmin 2012 this year is "balance". (Special thanks to AmyDe for the suggestion, I couldn't think of a single idea for 2012 aside from "apocalypse". Balance is better.)

I like "balance" as a theme because with SharkBean getting ready to make her debut, I have zero idea what the rest of my life is going to look like with her in it. But let's take it one year at a time for now, shall we?

Balance is tough for me, so it's going to be a challenge sticking to it. I used to be all go-go-GO! all the time, but what I have already learned from SharkBean is that is just not going to work. (Now I'm just "Go! Nap!")

Everything will not always be the way I want it to be, when I want it to be done (because I just *can't* do it all anymore), but that's okay. I can (and will) rely on the people who offer to help, and - the "balance" part - not get my giant knickers in a twist when it's not done 100% the way I would have done it. I have a feeling that when SharkBean is a more vocal member of our household, this will be especially important.

[This is where I give Andrew lots of credit for pulling a double-shift- working full time and doing the lion's share of the housework when he gets home.]

For now, I'm going to be okay with doing what I can and coping with the rest. Even if it *does* look like our bedroom threw up all over the house. (We're still moving back in to the bedroom, and the Grownup Furniture^TM is AMAZING, even if I have to take a running leap to get into bed.)

Lighting the way

The fact that we will be parents in under 2 months is starting to sink in. Proof?

Add caption

We have nightlights all over the house now. (Specifically, these ones.) It makes our house feel more like a home, which is strange, because it's never *not* felt like home.

Until this last weekend, I had forgotten how amazing night lights are. Having night lights all over means:

- I no longer have to do a shuffle step when I get up in the middle of the night to avoid stepping on either of the dogs.

- I can get a midnight snack without searing my retinas with overhead lights.

- Personal injuries (toe stubbings, knee bangings) have been greatly reduced, not just by my graceful self, either. 

- The gentle lighting is always flattering. (If for no other reason, go with this one.)

Cashmere is not a carcinogen

Knitting and spinning aren't happening too much for me much these days. Thank *goodness* I have the Cricket loom!

Some manly gingham, in Jade Sapphire 2-ply cashmere.

I started this scarf a while ago, shortly after I finished my Five Projects and for some reason, it never got finished. I had a frustrating week because, let's face it, if I can't play with yarn, I'm pretty awful less delightful to spend time with. It's like being around a smoker who can't get out to get a cigarette, if you've ever been around one.

[Once upon a time, I was knitting at a Starbucks, and I was accosted approached by a woman who used to knit when she was in college, and after she was done talking at to me at the speed of light, she declared that if she didn't have a cigarette RIGHT NOW she was liable to choke me.]

While smoking and knitting *can* alienate some people, wool isn't a carcinogen, so just pass me my knitting and I'll stop twitching.

I'm also getting larger. We're at 33 weeks (and change), and sitting at the table is becoming a bit ... iffy. The Cricket is great, because you can weave anywhere without a huge space (or seating) commitment for a loom. It's also not a million dollars.

[Side note: I wish LYSes would do a trade-up deal with Crickets; learn on a Cricket, trade it up for a Flip if when you decide that weaving is TOTALLY AWESOME. Truth be told, you'll have to pry my Cricket from my cold, dead hands, regardless of the presence of any other looms in the house.]

It's amazing how inspiring making fabric is; I have SO many ideas about things I want to weave, and things I want to learn how to do. Yesterday, I also BRIEFLY considered doing a whole whack of weaving for Christmas. Which is 14 days away. Fortunately, I came to my senses quickly, and didn't share this particular bit of crazy with Mom.

For now, I'm going to finish this scarf. Because the next project beckons.

Two dog night

I mentioned in an earlier post that Andrew painted in anticipation of our Grownup Furniture^TM. Part of painting included dismantling our very well-loved bed, and sleeping in our guest room.

When we bought the bed for the guest room, I *insisted* (all those years ago) that we spend a little extra and buy a queen-sized bed. I hated people who would invite couples to stay over, only to have them (us) on a twin bed; either we'd have to squish, or rock-paper-scissors for the bed. Even if Andrew *had* ever won, his feet would have dangled over the edge. I vowed to never be that hostess.

The salesman, when we splurged on a high-end mattress for the guest room, asked us were we really, really sure? Considering that our guests sleep soundly, Mom recovered from cardiac surgery, and one of us sleeps on it when the other is sick, yeah. I have never regretted this decision, except when I end up on a subpar mattress when traveling. My own fault, really.

We sleep on a California King bed, normally. There's enough room for my beloved but oversized Andrew, myself, two dogs, and the Snoogle. (The Snoogle is the best invention, ever, by the way. I have to wrestle both dogs *and* Andrew for it. Every night.) The dogs come and go as they please, and usually it's one dog or the other on the bed- unless it's REALLY cold outside. You know, like 40 degrees.

(For the record, the house never gets below 60ºF/15.5ºC. My dogs are both double-coated Chow mixes, and they're indoor/outdoor dogs. Who don't like the cold. It gives entirely new meaning to a two dog night.)

What I have observed in the last few nights is the following:

The smaller the bed, the more creatures want to be in it at the same time. Proof:

Andrew took this picture when I was sleeping, sick on the couch. Charming man.

I'm just lucky that we're not all sleeping on a twin. If the theorem holds, we'd have to share it with an opossum. Or something.

A holiday plea

Dear Readers;

This holiday season, please, stop killing yourselves. If you need an excuse, please please PLEASE, make it your gift to me. Stephanie is knitting mittens for an army, Alison always expresses her love in stitches, and I know that more than a few of you reading are scrambling to find a way to get all of those gifts knit, crocheted, woven, or sewn.

I know you want your loved ones to feel loved. Believe it or not, your loved ones want you to be happy, too. (And if they don't, they should.) Knitting yourself into a repetitive stress injury- or madness - is not in the Holiday Spirit^TM. Trust me. We have 19 days until Christmas, 16 days until Yule, and 14 days until the first day of Hanukkah. Time is a'tickin'.

Some suggestions from me, the Grinchiest Elf on the block:

- Amazon.com. Everyone buys stuff there, and a $25 gift certificate is usually more well-received than a gift made with love. Also, it's near impossible for me to make something for *less* than $25.

- Bake, and use butter. A few extra pounds will also keep your loved ones warm! BONUS: You can finally justify buying a bucket of butter, like this one:

Why yes, that IS 5 lbs of butter. And this year it WILL BE MINE!

Enlist the young people in the family- they'll enjoy it and not realize that they're participating in a whitewashing-the-fence-type scam. Chase it with a brisk walk after dinner, and admire the decor on the homes in your neighborhood. We have a set of neighbors who never cease to amaze me with how much Holiday Spirit^TM they have. Especially after a few mugs of Glühwein. (Our family gets into Holiday Spirits a whole different way, if you get my meaning.)

- Put together s'mores kits (scroll down, totally worth it), but make the marshmallows from scratch, and use the Smitten Kitchen recipe. Andrew and I were asked to recall a favorite memory in birth class last week, and it's remarkable how much we enjoy something as simple as making s'mores in the backyard with friends.

Remember what the intention of the holiday season is really about. I was in the car with LittleJ last week, and, as usual, I asked her how she would feel about our gift to them (the kids) being baking and decorating gingerbread men. Also, doing it earlier than Christmas, since my mobility is getting more and more limited as the Countdown to SharkBean looms nearer and nearer.

[Side note: The "kids"? Only three are under 18 at this point. When did they get so OLD?]

LittleJ, at 16, pointed out that it's not about *when* we do the baking. It's about the doing the baking. We could all take a page out of her book.