Six weeks! We made it!
I’ve been waiting on the six week mark, probably since we found out we were pregnant. Not for the obvious reason that so many men think of (we are a far cry from that.) But because I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. I’ve lost a significant amount of weight. Leo and I are in a semi-consistent routine. I get enough sleep so that I can function and put together sentences that normal people can decipher. Annnnnnnd (drum roll) I’ve been cleared to run. A short 5 hours after getting my clearance, I left the baby, the dog and my worries with my husband, put on two sports bras (cause woah) and laced up. I did a pitiful stretch because I was so anxious to start…and I ran.
I started my running career when I was 23 years old. I was going through a bit of a rough patch at the time. I was out of college, out of work and completely lost. Running was the only thing I felt like I could control in my life and run I did. One mile turned into three. Three turned into five. My body became stronger and I surprised myself with what I could endure. I ran my first marathon in 2008 and cried at the finish line (so did my dad.) I’ve strayed from running now and again. Let up on my training. Pushed harder. Slacked off a bit. But I’ve never stopped running. Until I was three months pregnant and the cramping started and it scared me. My fabulous doctor told me I had to stop. I hated it. My body hated me. So you can imagine how long I’ve been waiting for the go-ahead to lace up again.
And boy did it hurt so good. My Dr told me to just go around the block the first time. Not to over do it. My goal was two miles. I did a measly 1.81 miles in 20 minutes. For us math whizzes that’s about an 11 minute mile. I’m a 9 minute mile girl. I wasn’t disappointed, but I wasn’t thrilled. My calves screamed at me the entire time. I loved it. The exciting thing is that I have a lot of work ahead of me. And soon I’ll be pushing a jogging stroller. I can only imagine how hard that will be. Can we say : Work. Out.
Other than aching to run, the past six weeks have been a wonderful learning and growing experience as Drew and I have learned to become parents. We’ve had moments that have made us laugh uncontrollably. And I’ve had moments where I’ve cried non-stop. Remember that drive, honey? 😉
We’ve been doing a whole lotta baby gazing. And I’ve been taking a whole lotta pictures. Not as many with my big camera as I thought I would. But I did do one mini photo session with Leo. Here are my favorites from his first time in front of my camera. I think he’s perfect.
I’m obsessed with his little hands.
And those lips. Melt me.
This is one of my favorites. Through the crib bars. Love.
And this one. That natural faux-hawk. 😉
I was still delirious when I wrote Leo’s birth story and I left out one of my favorite parts. Our first night in the hospital. I’ll tell it now.
In short…it was hell. Pure and total hell. Leo was born at 4:44am. So by the time the evening of March 21st rolled around, I’d been up for almost 36 hours. We said good bye to our visitors. We rearranged our room so that our precious new infant could sleep next to my incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed and made Drew’s pull out bed on the other side of my bed. We were all lined up. Our new family of three settled in for the night. Annnnnnnnnd Drew took a Tylenol PM. So that he could get a good night’s sleep.
Cue the crying, inconsolable infant. And let me remind you…Drew took a TYLENOL PM. I could have killed him. Every time Leo cried Drew would wake up looking like he’d been shot by a horse tranquilizer. He was zero help. I couldn’t do a thing to calm this baby down. I was thinking he hated being in our family. He hated his parents. He must think we were the worst people on the planet. I couldn’t feed him, I couldn’t swaddle him, I didn’t even have a pacifier that he liked. I was sitting in the most uncomfortable rocking chair in the planet, tears running down my face, I’d been up for 48 hours, Leo is screaming in my arms, when Drew wakes up (again) and mumbles…why don’t you call the nurse and ask for help.
There are reasons they don’t keep sharp things in the post-partem rooms. But I took his advice. The nurse comes in and turns on all the lights. We all squint like little bugs that live in the darkest of places. Even little Leo is shielding his eyes against the light bright as the sun. She says she’ll take him to the nursery for a few hours to let us get some sleep. As she wheels my screaming baby away at 3:45am I feel like the biggest failure in the world but have no energy left to cry. Drew is up and swaying around the room like a giant ogre asking when these horrible drugs will wear off and how to kill the lights.
The lights won’t turn off. Our light switch is broken. We finally have silence and can’t turn the god-for-saken-bright-as-day-lights off. This night can’t get any worse. Drew looks like death. He keeps saying how horrible he feels and that he never should have taken that Tylenol PM. (I keep thinking YEAH.) Our nurse comes back sometime later and resets our light switch. It’s quiet and dark. We sleep.
Two hours later, our boy returns. Tightly swaddled, sound asleep and with a Soothie in his mouth. All is right with the world. Our nurse showed me a few swaddling tricks. Showed me how the Soothie is God’s gift to crying infants (sorry, if there are pacifier haters around here. I’m not one of them.) And said that the lacatation nurse would be in later to answer our questions regarding breastfeeding. Two solid hours of sleep to me felt like eight. I was a new woman. Drew was also recovering from his Tylenol PM induced coma. And the sun was rising on day two.
Danser, party of three, has re-grouped. And all the Tylenol PM has been discarded in our home.