1 month

One of my friends shared her first real moment of truth about parenting. Vicki said, "You wake up in hospital and have this baby. You spend the first few days amazed at the miracle. The next few days struggling to learn new skills--maybe terrified at doing something wrong. Then you head home, and eventually you begin to feel comfortable. Then comes this shocking revelation--this little visitor is never going home. And what you remember as normal life is never coming back."

My friends we have had that moment. On the evening of Good Friday, we took Grandma Bonnie and Grandma Gretchen to the airport. The MOMS (as our friends called them) were our support crew--providing hot meals, clean clothes, sage advice, welcome distractions, and the occasional reason to leave the house to visit a local attraction (I think I would have stayed in my pajamas the whole month otherwise). As Nathan headed back to work and I struggled from lack of sleep, they took the baby when necessary, but also kept each other entertained when we weren't very entertaining. Although we want them both to come back to enjoy more of Western Australia, we needed their help in making this transition from the hospital to home.

With the MOMS departure, we are making another transition to a new normal. The hard part is we really don't get to decide what the "new normal" is. This normal includes waking up at 6 am to make it to church by 9. It includes managing to type, cook, do laundry with only one hand. This normal now includes weekend entertainment of doing a crossword in bed and going to sleep early. Figuring out that Noah normally wails for 30 minutes in the evening regardless of what anyone does. And starting to see friends for lunch, dinner, and coffee (although we are grateful so many of them are coming to us at the moment!).

We spent much of Easter weekend finding normal again. There were a few challenges but we survived. For example, the choir sang at the front of the church for Easter...this meant breastfeeding and diaper changes in front of the entire congregation (Thanks Karen....the "hooter hider" was a lifesaver!). We figured out who takes the early shift (me!) and the middle of the night shift (me!) but who can put Noah to sleep after 30 min of inconsolable crying (Nathan!) and who gets to take an afternoon nap (me--hurrah!).



here's to the new normal....until next week!

Week 1

Once upon a time, 7 days ago...
I can't believe it's been a week. It seems simultaneously to have taken 10 years and 10 seconds - 10 years worth of learning about diaper changes, goopy eyes, baby baths...you name it, I've talked to someone about it. In-depth discussions about embarrassing crevices, breastfeeding, and meconium (if you don't know, you don't want to know) -- all these topics were relatively taboo a week ago, now we're shouting about them on Skype at a volume that is guaranteed to keep our neighbors abreast (ahem) of the new developments. It seems like only last week that Kris looked like this on her way to the hospital, and something emerged that changed things dramatically.

A quick look at the past week (the 10 second version, not the 10 year version):

Friday the 25th - still smiling! They doll Kris up in paper and me in very important person scrubs, and we're off to the surgery. The obsterician, who has kept us in stitches (ha!) with random comments and questionable jokes for several months, introduces his colleague as the person who, "is there to make sure I do this right, for a change." Nevertheless, we let him do the surgery, and he delivers a swaddled replica of Mr. Magoo into our lives......and, lo! we are transformed.

Saturday and Sunday passed blissfully, as we smugly congratulated ourselves on our well-behaved child which didn't wake up and scream during the night, had reasonably easy-to-clean anatomy, and was coaxed to feed with a minimum of agony for all involved. This is now referred to as the Golden Age.

Luckily, they keep Kris in the hospital for 5 nights, allowing me to board during this time, so that we all get to see how Noah developed, matured, and evolved into the full-throated 2am howler. I understand that this is inevitable, but it would have been nice to immediately fly out to California, where the time change would have resulted in a more civilized 11am hour (or two) of inconsolability. Inconsolableness? Whatever the noun, there are a million adjectives to describe this time, few of them charitable. Kris soldiered on, and we relied on the help of the professional staff at the hospital for helpful tips, like, "Just see what works," and "Oh, they all do that."

By Tuesday night, we were facing a trip home the next morning, and viewing with more than a little trepidation the first night on our own. Well. We needn't have worried. Yes, he cried, yes we sang ourselves hoarse and exhausted our meager supply of lullabies, and yes we discovered new ways to calm him and make him cry, but we made it out the other end. And, as Nietzsche promised, we're stronger for it. It didn't kill us, anyway. Yet.