Teeny Tiny Tessa

Tessa Paige
Born January 25, 2010
9:42 p.m.
7 pounds, 11 ounces
19 1/2 inches
Beautiful.

Much to my surprise, I had the baby a week before my scheduled c-section. I totally brought this upon myself, because on the morning of January 25th my good friend J called to check in on me, and I told her something to the effect of, "I am the greatest baby incubator ever. This kid will never come out on her own; she will have to be forcibly removed." Approximately five hours later, I was in full-blown labor.

That's right, around 3:00 in the afternoon I started having contractions. Bad ones. Painful ones. Contractions so sharp I could not speak until they passed. And they were close together, too, varying from about eight minutes to about four minutes apart. After about a half-hour of watching me moan, my mother, who was spending the day with me, started giving me the side-eye and suggested I call my doctor, to which I responded, "I'm not in labor. These are just more Braxton Hicks, and they'll go away." Then I doubled over as another one hit.

The whole thing was made almost comical because of the two twenty-something-year-old workmen who were in my house installing a massive wall unit (a combo desk/TV stand/storage cabinet). Let me tell you, nothing instills fear in the heart of a twenty-three year-old guy like a woman in labor. These poor people could not get the wall unit finished fast enough, and spent most of the afternoon looking at me in poorly disguised panic and screwing pieces together as quickly as their hands could possibly manage.

After an hour of contractions coming five minutes apart, I broke down and called Dr. M. "I think you should come into Labor and Delivery to be monitored," he said .

"I don't want to," I replied, as my mother glared at me with disapproval. "This baby is supposed to stay in there another week."

"OK..." said Dr. M, sounding surprised and possibly a bit annoyed. "Well, in that case, drink a lot of water and put your feet up, and if they don't go away in another hour call me back. You'll have to come in then."

So I did as he said, and while they didn't go away, they did seem to slow down and ease up a bit. "See," I told my mom smugly around 4:30 p.m. "I told you it was false labor." Then I doubled over as another contraction hit.

By 6:30 p.m. the contractions were coming every five minutes apart or sooner, and they were more powerful. I broke down and agreed with my mom that perhaps I should be checked. "After all," she said, "would you rather be checked now, or at 3:00 a.m. if they don't go away?" She had a good point. So I called the doctor's office, called my husband and told him to start heading home just in case, grabbed a book and a sweater, and my mom and I headed over to the hospital.

I felt sort of embarrassed heading into the L&D wing, and I apologized to the nurse right away. "I'm so sorry to cause trouble," I told her as she strapped a fetal heart monitor and contraction monitor around my belly. "I really think it's just false labor, and you'll be sending me home in a couple of hours."

She smiled and switched on the contraction monitor, which immediately displayed a contraction registering about an eight on a scale from one to ten. I stared at it in shock. Then the three of us, the nurse, myself, and my mom, watched as about two minutes later another contraction showed on the monitor, also about an eight. "I don't think I'll be sending you home tonight," said the nurse.

Sure enough, about thirty minutes later another nurse, named Sarah (and possibly one of the ten greatest people I have ever met in my life), confirmed that although I was only about one centimeter dilated, I was in labor for real and Dr. M and Dr. D were on their way to the hospital. "You're going to have the baby tonight," said Sarah. "You're scheduled for next week anyway, and the baby is full term and healthy, so there's no reason not to deliver you now."

At this point, I remember feeling:
1. Scared.
2. Cold.
3. Really sad that I hadn't had a chance to kiss Gabe goodbye since I'd now be admitted to the hospital for four to five days.
4. Sort of relieved that I wouldn't have to spend the next week obsessing about the upcoming surgery.
5. Vaguely alarmed that Matt was stuck in traffic on the 101 freeway.

That's right, Matt came thisclose to missing the birth because he and Gabe were stuck in rush hour traffic. Only the amazing Sarah prevented this from happening by telling the doctor we had to wait for the father because he had my suitcase with the cord blood kit. (Yes, we left my house in such a rush, and I was so convinced that I was not in labor, that I left the house carrying only my purse and a book, and left my halfway-packed hospital bag at home.)

But thank goodness the doctors agreed to wait and push back the surgery half an hour, and Matt arrived at about 8:50 just as they were preparing to wheel me down the hall for the 9:00 start time. I don't know if I've ever felt such relief in my whole life as I felt when he walked through the hospital room door.

The surgery itself is a bit of a blur, for which I am thankful. I remember that the lovely anesthesiologist had trouble getting my spinal in, which hurt, and that immediately upon it taking effect I freaked out and briefly fainted, and that I threw up quite a bit because I hadn't fasted for the requisite twelve hours pre-surgery. But mostly what I remember is that they didn't bring the baby over to us immediately like they did when Gabe was born.

Tessa was born at 9:22 (although someone wrote down 9:42 on her hospital records, so there will forever be confusion regarding her real time of birth), and she took a big lungful of amniotic fluid before she came out into the world. After she was born Dr. M briefly held her up so we could see her, then whisked her off to the team of doctors in the corner, who began to work to clear the fluid out of her lungs. They had to put tubes down her throat and down her nose, and they worked on her for over two hours. During the rest of my surgery I could periodically hear her cough and cry, but it wasn't the big, lusty, angry cries that Gabe had made when he was born.

Matt was a champion and walked back and forth between Tessa and the doctors and me to give me updates on her condition. The doctors repeatedly assured us that nothing was seriously wrong and this was not unusual, and that she would be just fine, but I've seen the pictures Matt took while they worked on her and they are awful. I remember lying on the operating table and vacillating between focusing on not passing out and not throwing up, and then focusing on how utterly terrified I was that something was seriously wrong with my baby.

Thank heavens, it appears that nothing was seriously wrong. I was eventually moved to recovery and Tess was wheeled to the nursery for more monitoring. Matt went with the baby, and my parents and Matt's parents came in to see me while we all waited for updates. Sarah continued to tell me that all was well, and she was proven right sometime around midnight when they finally declared Tessa to be breathing nicely on her own, and allowed her to be sent to me in the hospital room.

My beautiful, beautiful daughter.

She has been sleeping and eating like a champ and is gaining weight nicely. I love her. I love her so very much.

And to end this post on a high note, here is a list of amusing things that have happened since her birth:

1. On my third day in the hospital, Gabe woke up in his crib and asked for me when my mom came in to get him. She explained to him that I still wasn't home. His face fell, and he said, "My heart is broken." Lest you think his heart was permanently broken, I can report that three minutes later he asked to dance to the Chipmunks movie soundtrack.

2. When we got home and gave him his new ukulele, he looked at it and cried, "Oh me goodness! Holy cow!"

3. He has only said "All done baby sister" about a dozen times so far, which is better than I expected.

In short, all is well. Life is full of wonder and we are so blessed.

Thankful

I am thankful for so many things this year. The health of my friends and family, my amazing husband, my relatively easy and low-risk pregnancy, my joyful, wonderful son.

My son. My son is thankful for Kanye West.

Gabe is at that stage of toddlerhood where he craves repetition: he wants the same book read over and over, the same food for dinner every night, the same song on the car ride home played on repeat. For the past couple of weeks, the song he wants is Kanye's "Gold Digger".

He sits in his carseat, usually clutching a cracker in one hand, and demands, in increasingly insistent tones, "Gol DIGGA! Gol DIGGA! GOL DIGGA!" And then when I play it for him (as I inevitably do) he cackles with laughter. He especially likes the part where Kanye cries, "We want prenup!" He usually claps at that part.

I have only myself to blame for this, as I was the one who played it for him once on my iPod and pointed out the drums at the beginning of the song. (Gabe likes drums.) I did not realize what I was starting. But as I listened to the song five times in a row on the way home this evening, I didn't feel even a little bit annoyed, at myself or at Gabe, or even at Kanye. I just felt grateful.

I mean, the child could have picked up his dad's propensity for Radiohead. That would have been way worse.

Things I Have Noticed Recently

1. The cats have recently gone from "slightly chubby" to "borderline obese." I think this may have something to do with the fact that a Certain Baby Who Shall Not Be Named has discovered the unending fun of throwing food off of the highchair and onto the floor, where the cats wait in near-breathless anticipation to swallow the castoffs. Although a Certain Baby continues to be quite picky about what food he will (grudgingly) consume, the cats have no standards whatsoever. Half-chewed grilled cheese sandwich pieces, graham cracker bits, mashed-up peas...they eat it all. With relish. Phoebe has become particularly fond of waffles.

2. Our condo is fully staged and beautiful, although no one has bought it yet. Please buy it. It has been three whole days since it went on the market, so you should buy it. Seriously, it's awesome here, and we found a house we want to buy in Studio City. (Our commute would go from 45-plus minutes to approximately 9 minutes, for those of you who are counting.) But don't do it for me. Do it for the children. Well, the one child, anyhow. The one child who is tired of riding in the carseat all the freaking time. (At the very least, check out the awesome job my mom and the stagers have done: www.1021nineteenthst.com.)

3. Gabe is Featured Artist at the Children's Center right now, which is SPECTACULAR. He actually seems to enjoy painting these days, and will cheerfully paint anything and everything, including paper, the table, his tummy, his nose, and other children. This is a big improvement from his previous reaction to art projects, namely whimpering and crying when his pudgy fingers touch the cold, horrible, slimy paint. Here's his display:

Gabriel, Featured Artist Extraordinaire

(Sorry for the poor picture quality; this was taken with my iPhone as Gabe pulled to a stand by digging his dragon-like fingernails into the flesh right above my kneecaps. Ow.)

4. If you ask Gabe how big he is, he will now stretch his arms straight above his head to indicate that he is "SOOOOOO BIGGGG!" This may be my favorite trick to date.

Soooooo Biggggg!

5. Keeping the house perfectly clean for potential buyers is very exhausting and challenging when an eleven-month-old baby lives at your house. Take it from me: eleven-month-old babies have zero respect for vaccuum marks on the carpeting and perfectly fluffed throw pillows on the couch.

6. This post is kind of lame, but I am tired, so good night!

Best Laid Plans

I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.

Then this happened:

For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.

"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."

At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)

Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.

Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):


P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.

P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!

P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)

My Day (Aren't You Giddy With Anticipation?)

1. Jerk awake from sleep to the sound of baby crying. Check clock. Is 4:03 a.m.
   
2. Drag self out of bed and into baby's room for standard 4:00 a.m. feeding.
   
3. Kiss baby, lay baby back down in bed.
   
4. Crawl back into bed, then check fancy video baby monitor. Baby appears to be sleeping again, tummy full. Excellent, excellent.
   
5. Resume sleeping.
   
6. Jerk awake to the sound of alarm clock. Check clock. Is 7:01 a.m.
   
7. Force self awake. Accept mug of coffee proffered by lovely, lovely husband.
   
8. Fortified by caffeine, commence morning routine of feeding baby, showering, dressing baby, preparing bottles/lunch for baby, getting ready for work, etc.
   
9. Am hungry, but realize there is no time to eat.
   
10. Kiss baby and husband goodbye and get in car (as lovely husband is dropping off baby at daycare as usual).
    
11. Sit on 405 freeway.
12. Sit on 101 freeway.
    
13. Merge onto 134 freeway and discover there is no traffic on 134. Accelerate to 70mph. Whee!
14. Exit ramp for my exit is backed up. Boo.
    
15. Arrive at work at approx. 9:07. Commence drafting contract while returning emails and voicemails simultaneously. Am excellent multitasking-type person.
    
16. Still hungry at approximately 10:19. Run across the street to Starbucks and grab low-fat muffin (but who am I kidding? Allegedly "low-fat" muffin undoubtedly contains 867 calories and 52 grams of fat) and black coffee. Mmmmm, Starbucks.
17. Return to desk and continue work while picking gross dried apricots out of "low-fat" muffin.
    
18. Send out three contracts for signature. Hooray for me!
    
19. Send out a draft contract to my business contact. Am such an effective lawyer. Pat self on back.
    
20. Is now 12:23. Must run to Studio lot to pick up a copy of 101 Dalmatians for my sister-in-law like I promised her I would do.
    
21. Arrive at Studio lot. Damn, no copies of 101 Dalmatians in stock. Purchase "101 Dalmatians 2: Patch's London Adventure" as wholly inadequate substitute.
22. Grab salad at Studio commissary. Am paragon of virtue, food-wise.
    
23. Return to desk at 1:17 and begin eating salad while replying to emails and feeling guilty re: lack of original 101 Dalmatians DVD.
24. Conference call from 2:00-2:30. No fun. Everyone cranky. Force self to pay attention and not check favorite websites.
    
25. Receive comments to draft contract from business team. Revise draft and send out to vendor for signature. Such a good lawyer today!
    
26. Conference call from 3:00-3:30. Less crankiness on this one.
    
27. Check gmail account and www.icanhascheezburger.com because am lazy and ineffective sometimes.
    
28. Also check favorite blogs, www.flotsamblog.com, and www.amalah.com. Ooooh, new update on Flotsam! Hooray!
29. Send out one more contract for signature. Return some more emails. Is almost 4:00!
30. 4:02. Time to sneak out. Check hallways for signs of boss. Boss is nowhere in sight. Scurry to elevators as quietly as possible.
    
31. Where is elevator? Damn it.
32. Ahh, elevator arrives. Excellent, have escaped without notice!
33. In lobby, encounter co-workers returning from afternoon Starbucks run. Busted.
    
34. Oh well.
    
35. Locate car in parking garage.
    
36. Drive to daycare to collect baby. Is raining. Oof.
    
37. Baby!!!!!!!!!!!
38. Many squeezes and kisses. Baby applauds for me and buries his head in my shoulder/neck area.
    
39. Am happy.
    
40. Put baby into carseat and take him out to car. Grateful for excellent parking spot right near door, as the rain is really coming down now.
    
41. Sit on freeway on-ramp. Inauspicious beginning to drive home.
    
42. Sit on 134.
    
43. Sit on 101.
    
44. Sit on 405 (all the while thanking God or whatever higher power is in charge of baby naps that baby fell asleep on 134/101 transition and remains asleep now. Snoring slightly, actually.)
45. Arrive at home!
46. Baby still sleeping. Huh.
    
47. Will sit in car and wait for him to wake up.
    
48. Check BlackBerry, return work emails.
    
49. Baby still sleeping. Double huh.
    
50. Baby awake! Hooray!
51. Gather baby in carseat (with blanket carefully draped over same to prevent any raindrops from touching his precious skin), daycare bag full of empty bottles and lunch containers, mail from mailbox, and oversize (but very stylish) purse and run for the front door, as rain continues to pour down.
    
52. Discover I am excellent at running in the rain in high heels. Yay for me!
53. Am drenched. Baby is amused. Claps hands.
    
54. Remove baby from carseat and play on the floor for a while. Baby loves clicking butterfly toy and old cell phone with battery removed.
    
55. Try to return a few more work emails while amusing baby with floppy dog toy. Baby spies BlackBerry and demands to play with it.
    
56. Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground. The back comes off and battery skitters under the coffee table.
    
57. Reassemble BlackBerry.
58. Baby demands BlackBerry again.
    
59. Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground again.
    
60. Enough of that game.
    
61. Carry baby to the highchair and present him with his menu options. Baby rejects lentils and rice combo dinner (judging from volume of rejection, baby suspects lentils might contain poison) and instead selects Cheerios and applesauce. Surprise, surprise.
    
62. Feed baby. Much babbling and smearing of applesauce occurs.
    
63. Attempt to wipe off baby. Leave disgusting Cheerio/applesauce mixture mashed into highchair tray for later.
    
64. Realize baby has just spit some Cheerio on my soft, soft (read: expensive) cashmere sweater. Feel that baby is perhaps slightly disrespectful of cashmere, and that I am perhaps stupid for not changing clothes before feeding baby.
    
65. Play with baby some more. Many tummy kisses and giggles and banging on the little red piano are involved.
    
66. Am happy.
    
67. Cuddle up with baby in big chair and give him bottle, then offer baby selection of bedtime stories.
    
68. Baby selects "Hippos Go Berserk," "Each Peach Pear Plum," and "The Going To Bed Book." Excellent choices all.
    
69. Read books, smooch baby's fat cheeks, and lay baby down in crib. Baby is tired, rubbing eyes.
    
70. Turn out lights.
    
71. Grab aforementioned fancy video baby monitor and head to kitchen to do the Big Bottle Wash. Wash all bottles and baby food containers used today, plus scrub previously mentioned Cheerio/applesauce mush (which has now solidified into a hard crust) from highchair tray.
72. Check monitor. Baby appears to be fast asleep. Hooray!
    
73. Realize have forgotten one dirty bottle on bedside table. Damn.
    
74. Check work emails. Return work emails. BlackBerry trackball not working quite properly, perhaps as result of BlackBerry being flung to the ground several times. Hmm.
    
75. Husband arrives home bearing take out Chinese food! Best Husband Ever!!!
76. Smooch husband then greedily grab Chinese food bag from his hand.
    
77. Eat delicious shrimps and mixed vegetables. Mmmmmmm.
    
78. Also drink wine. Mmmmmm.
    
79. Watch American Idol saved on TiVo. Feel strong feelings of love for: (a) husband; (b) baby, who is still asleep; (c) Chinese food; (d) Simon Cowell; (e) cats (one of whom is sitting on feet keeping them warm); and (f) TiVo.
80. Prepare bottle things for 4:00 a.m. feeding; put all supplies on bedside table.
    
81. Brush teeth, remove contacts, etc.
    
82. Give husband big hug and smooch.
    
83. Go to bed.
    
84. Whew.
    

Three Things

1. I hate the 405.

Not to rehash my Thanksgiving post or anything, but my good gracious, Los Angeles traffic is absolutely unbearable sometimes. I left work at 4:00 today in order to meet my parents and my grandparents for dinner and sort of kick off the Christmas festivities (I wanted to sneak out even earlier, but forces were conspiring against me - I actually had to, you know, work at work). The trek from Burbank to the South Bay took me no less than two excruciating hours. All I can say is that I have the best baby in the whole world, because for one hour and fifteen minutes of that time he chatted happily to himself in the backseat, working on his pronunciation of "da da da da" and smacking his Very Hungry Caterpillar rattle onto the arm of the carseat enthusiastically. Next he cried for ten minutes, then blissfully fell asleep for the remainder of the drive, all while I was practically eaten alive with guilt for forcing the poor lamb to be in the car for so long. These days I feel worse and worse about working so much and leaving him in day care for so long, and I just flat-out miss him most of the time. Spending such a big chunk of our precious mommy-baby time stuck in a hideous (and pointless - there was never any clear cause for the gridlock!) traffic jam was almost physically painful to me. But I digress.

2. The drive was totally worth it.

I arrived at the designated restaurant feeling miserable and generally beat down, and I'd been driving in traffic so long that my right thigh was literally cramping from going back and forth between the gas and the break. But much like the night before Thanksgiving, I was so, so glad we'd made the trip. I adore my grandparents, and they adore me, and they really adore Gabe. After about ten minutes of watching them talk to him and play peek-a-boo with him, the treacherous drive on the 405 was all but forgotten. (That's a lie. I remember every wretched minute of the drive. But I'm trying to say it was worth it. I'm not very eloquent right now, OK?)

3. I miss my friend Heather.

This has nothing to do with Nos. 1 and 2 above, but it's been on my mind a lot recently, so I wanted to post about it. About four months ago my wonderful, big-hearted, empathetic, always-willing-to-listen, hilariously funny friend Heather moved across the country with her lovely husband and two fabulous children. The move was absolutely the right decision for their family, but goddamn I miss her. (I miss her husband and her kids, too, but I miss her most of all.) Heather's kids are five and three, so she has been there and done that as far as babies are concerned, and she gives the best and most level-headed advice of anyone I know. Plus I think the two of us sort of think alike, maybe because we're both lawyers and ridiculously type A.

Anyhow, the holidays are making me feel nostaligic and a little wistful, and more than anything I wish I could go over to her house with a bottle of wine and we could order a pizza and feed her kids (organic, unprocessed, baked) fish sticks and just talk for a couple of hours. We still talk, of course, and email, but it's not the same. I want to give her a squeeze and show her how big Gabe is getting and see what awesome purse she's carrying these days, and it's hard to effectively do those things on the phone or over email.

This is actually really selfish of me, because the move has been about 1,000 times harder for her than for me. I just miss her, whereas she has to live in a new city and make new friends and get her kids into new schools, and do new things, ad infinitum. But there it is, universe. I miss my friend Heather, and I love her, and hope she and her family have a Merry Christmas.