Can the first year be over yet???

All the books, all the experts, all the other parents say it over and over again, like a broken record. "The first year of having a baby is the hardest". It couldn't be more true...or at least I hope so. When you, as a couple, are used to the spontaneous lifestyle, the late evening BBQ's, the nights out, the movie date nights, the staying in bed in the morning - and then you throw in a baby, who winds up dictating your every move, it can be a rough adjustment. I've had to look at my husband as not just a spouse anymore, but a father, and vice versa. The evenings are no longer considered "wind down" time after work, but a mad scramble to get the baby bathed and fed and then asleep. For us stay at home moms, the adjustment can be even more difficult. Feeling isolated from the outside world, often feeling lonley and disconnected. Where girls lunches and break time gossips used to be, is now the place of playmat time, baby talk and nursing and rocking to sleep. For us unlucky ones, whos children don't even come close to sleeping through the night, we have begun to understand more clearly the term of being exhausted. Throw in a colicky baby and my case of spinal meningitis, and you have a tough fucking year. All those books, experts and other parents also say "but it's all worth it and you won't change it for a thing". And that, too, is true. Having a child has been the most amazing thing I've ever done. Being fortunate enough to stay at home has given me the chance to build an unbreakable bond with my son. Have a colicky baby who cried nonstop for months taught me a level of patience and stregnth I thought I could never obtain, and will make any other baby I choose to have seem like a piece of cake. Having been diagnosed with spinal meningitis when Vincent was 3 months and my ability to still take care of him by myself showed me that I can do anything. It has made me more proud of myself than anything else to date. You have to find the beauty in the madness. The hardest times are also the most rewarding, and show you just what kind of person you can actually be. A strong woman, a good mother, and a loving wife. Although it's difficult, you have to look at that glass...take a good long look at it and you have to decide whether it's half full or half empty. The way you look at that glass will define your life, and especially your attitude as a mother. My glass is half full...today at least...

Fighting (un)Fair

Note to self: After being up all night with a teething baby, do not attempt to talk rationally to your partner at 5:00am. World War Emily vs. Anthony began at 2:00am, after Vincent had already been up crying multiple times. As I huff and buff while getting out a bed again Anthony mutters "Emily...chill out, he doesn't feel good". Ok then, why don't you, dear husband, get out of bed and do something about it? Oh that's right! Vincent is only calmed by nursing in the middle of the night, which last time I checked, can only be done by the person with boobs. So, I did, as I have every single night since his birth, get up out of bed and tend to my son.

By 5:00am, Anthony was getting ready to walk out of the door for work and I was exhausted. Not only had I been up too much during the night, I awoke to the number one unwanted visitor: My period. The cramps started instantly! Then...as if I was in the mood AT ALL, Anthony tries to grab my boob! Seriously!

It remains a blur as to who threw the first blow (figuratively speaking), but what exuded was a battle of words consisting of frustrations we have both been feeling but never saying. Name calling followed, and then of course I cried. I HATE when something like that happens. I have to learn to fight fair, take the gloves off and realize, when it comes down to it, all we have is each other, and we can't turn our backs on each other. Although a make up took place via telephone on his way to work, a fight like that leaves wounds. I have spent this day regretting things I have said, and yet trying to get over the things that were said to me. We have to remain in this together. We have to take the time and talk with one another so an explosion doesn't take place at 5:00am. The stress of trying to raise a baby can sometimes tear a couple apart. The sleepless nights, the arguments over who does what and who works harder (um...ME), can takes it's toll. We have to try to remember what this is all for, our family, and I will (try) to fight fair...

Support

After an exceptionally difficult day yesterday with my wild child, I sought support online, and I found it! After growing almost resentful of other moms with their "easy" babies, I realized I am so not alone. I found a support group online called "Raising the Spirited/High Needs Child". They gave 12 traits of the "high needs" child:

1. INTENSE
2. HYPERACTIVE
3. DRAINING
4. FEEDS FREQUENTLY
5. DEMANDING
6. AWAKENS FREQUENTLY
7. UNSATISFIED
8. UNPREDICTABLE
9. SUPER-SENSITIVE
10. CAN'T BE PUT DOWN
11. NOT A SELF-SOOTHER
12. SEPERATION SENSITIVITY

Vincent fits into every single one of those categories. I realized it is nothing that I am doing wrong, and I realized that I am not alone. Other moms out there grown resentful, cry from sheer exhaustion, and barely make it through the day without nearing a complete and total mental breakdown. The fact is, although everyone has their struggles when raising a baby, having a high needs baby is different, and often way more difficult. Although there is nothing I can do to change my baby, I can learn to accept it and to make the best of it through other mother's stories. The tough news to take is that most of these high needs babies never get "easier". They take these personality traits with them through the toddler years and beyond. I know I have my work cut out for me and I know I will continue to have days when life just seems to damn overwhelming. But I also know that the same characteristics that make Vinnie "difficult" now, will also be the same traits that mold him into a driven young man. As far as having another baby goes, still on the fence on that one. Vincent requires so much, and probably always will. I am trying to deal with the disappointment I feel in raising an only child, since I always imagined having two children, but I am dealing with a very unique baby - one that simply requires more energy than the average baby. Some days I feel so lonley and sad that I just want to curl up and cry, but I don't have that luxury. I have a tiny little man that is waiting for me to play peek-a-boo with him or take him for a walk, or feed him breakfast. I am so lucky to have my mom who has been a constant support system and helps out whenever she can. Everyone said the first year of raising a baby is the hardest and I am hoping that in three months, when Vincent reaches his first birthday, days will get a tad bit easier - at least in some ways. I need to let go of the anger towards the mother I see casually strolling her baby around the block, or the mother in the grocery store that have her hair styled and her make up on, or the mother who cleans the house while her baby sits contently on the floor playing with toys. I need to accept that that is simply not my life, it's not my situation. And I need to make the best of it. If I can't brush my teeth until noon some days I need to just go with it and realize it could always be worse. I have a healthy, active, beautiful baby that means more to me than anything else that has ever been on this earth. He is my sunshine, my life. And although somedays I could very well lose my mind, I wouldn't change my son for anything. His wild spirit keeps me on my toes and, frankly, sometimes makes me bust up laughing!

Money Wars

Ah. The infamous dollar bill. The object we all allow ourselves to become slaves to. The dollar bill. The ruler of the world. The infinite matter in which we base many decisions on. The dollar bill.

So it is. Decisions are to be made, in a time when I am simply not ready to make any decisions at all. The dollar bill. Can't get it out of my head. Should I, shouldn't I? The question weighing on my mind so heavily is one which every mother goes through....should I return to work? Baby will be eight months old this month. Before he was here, I thought eight months was pretty old for a baby, a perfect time to think about going to work part time. But he is so small still. Still so dependent on one constant factor in his life: Me. His mommy. We can hardly stand being away from each other for more than an hour.

The dollar bill. The monetary objects we all strive for, whether we admit it or not. Would I like to buy a house? Yes. Would I like $50 jeans from Lucky Lu Lu's? Yes. Would I like to splurge on matching Enduro mothercycles for the Mr. and Mrs.? Yes. Would I like to give my baby everything he wants? Yes. But at what price? Am I willing to trade this for that? With tons and tons of hard thinking the answer is clear. Vincent doesn't care about the number of toys he has sprawled on the floor and he certainly doesn't care whether I'm wearing designer clothes. And frankly, when would the Mr. and Mrs. ever have the time or opportunity to ride around on our matching bikes? Am I willing to trade such valuable time for some ridiculous price tag or even more ridiculous mortgage? No. I look at him and I couldn't bare to miss one second of his tender little life. He needs me now just as much as he did when we left the hospital. I am not ready to go back, and I don't know when I'll ever be.

I'm taking it one day at a time, but for now, the answer is simple. I choose him. I choose him over anything else that has a pricetag. He is priceless. His gorgeous little face is more valuable to me than the face of any dead president. Hands Down.

JUST DO IT

The sun is shining ever so brightly in my livingroom window as I write this. It makes my eyes squint a little but not enough to want to close the blinds just yet. Vincent sleeps peacefully in his crib and I can hear his near silent moans and sighs through the baby monitor. I think about catching up on the shows I have dvd'erd (that's a strange word, eh?), but the idea of the mind numbing activity already has me bored. I've been spending countless hours trying to organize Vincent's photo album. It is my goal to have a photo album for each year of his life. I go through large stacks of disorganized photos and look closely at the changes that can occur in a mere week of an infant's life. I count my blessings and try to not take a single moment of his life for granted. His changes are astonishing. His growth is mind blowing. I blink my eyes and he is smiling, I blink my eyes and he starts to laugh, I blink my eyes and he's sitting, rolling over, nearly crawling. He is one week away from his 6 month birthday. Can you believe it? I cannot.

The other day I wrote a letter to an old friend. I signed my name and tossed it in the mailbox. Suprisingly enough, I don't regret it. Yet. See, this old friend use to be a best friend, and then an enemy, and then an aquaintence. It has been a complicated, weird situation that I had many unresolved issues over. I got a lot of my chest - and at the risk of sounding corny, I feel as though I finally received the closure that I have desperately been seeking for years. A final goodbye. No blood bath. No war of the words. Just goodbye and good luck and best wishes. And then nothing more. I want to let go of bad vibes. I cannot afford to have them. If I want my young son to thrive in an happy environment, I cannot harbor ill will towards anyone. Nor do I want to. I want happiness to overwhelm me. Is that too much to ask? I want it all. Is that too much? I don't care. It's my new attainable goal. To be everything to everyone without exhasting myself. Sound like a big job? You're probably right. And I very well might fall on my face, but it'll all be worth it.

I will say "I love you" even more than I already do. I will kiss my baby even more than I already do. I will forgive when forgivness isn't asked of me. I will wipe my slate clean and soak in each tiny moment as if the sun won't be here tomorrow. Negativity only brings you down. Down in a hole where only misery loves company and it's a hard hole to climb out of. I will be placed firmly above ground, above water, but not above anyone. It feels good to know that I can start fresh each morning. I can look at my husband and tell him "thank you", I can call my mom and say "I owe you everything". I have every opportunity to make each day special. So do you. So do it.

Oh baby, baby, baby

Vincent is now a week past his four month birthday. Life gets better everyday. Seriously. It's no suprise to many folks that life in the Macri house was a struggle for awhile. Vincent was a very high needs, colicky baby, who wiped every ounce of energy from my body. Now, he's just like my perfect little angel. All the books kept saying that colic will end and that most colic babies turn out to be very happy, healthy babies. I questioned many of those books and I think even threw one across the room once! But they were so right. He wakes up in the morning and smiles at me, laughs with me, puts his little tiny arms around me and hugs me now. It's totally completed me. Hands down, the best thing I've ever done in my life is sleeping soundly in the other room, as I stare adoringly into the baby monitor screen in the livingroom.

This morning I woke up and was so amazed by how much he's changed. I could barely see the tiny newborn that I brought home in his face. He's like a completely different boy. So big! He is over 17 lbs and is ridiciously strong. He has started working on sitting (so far we've clocked 10 seconds!) and he is now able to stand holding onto the couch or coffee table and play with toys. I watch him learn things everyday. The little things that mean so much. Watching him learn to grab something with both his hands, or to watch him realize action and reaction. I am so blessed to be able to stay at home with him and watch each one of these little miracles. I don't want to miss a single second.

We've finally mastered a pretty good routine. For the first three months there was a lot of chaos. I didn't know what to expect each day. Now we have it down. We have nap time, play time, feeding time, our daily walk, our evening bath. It feels so good to have things under control. It just feels right.

Vincent is about to outgrow his co-sleeper and I am desperately afraid of what is coming next. I know it's almost time to put him in his own room, in his own crib, but it breaks my heart a little and I'm not sure if I'm ready. I love being able to sneak a peak at him in the middle of the night, or to pull him in bed and cuddle him if he needs it.

We started our mommy and me classes last week, so I think it will be positive for Vincent to be around other babies, especially the older ones so he can learn from them, watch them and mimick them. And it's nice to talk with other moms and gain more perspective of this crazy thing called motherhood.

I just wanted to give everyone an update on our little lives.

Life's rad.

I'm stoked.

Grateful Prisoner

This is me,
Drowning in a lake of fulfilled promises,
Embodied by the clever soul
Of a wise, old mother.
Fondly stroking the head of my infant son,
Singing lullabies in the darkness of the night.
The only light that shines glows from the candle I hold for him.
It's like I've loved him for a thousand years.
Magic little fingers, interlock with mine,
Giving hope to a hopeless world,
Making life a privilege.
Large eyes that follow my every movement,
Exhibiting the most purest of trusts
Convinces me that I am his world, as he is mine.
The best of me illuminates in all of him.
My boy.
My love.
I am a grateful prisoner,
Locked contently behind bars,
Bars made solely of love, purity, trust, honesty, and the future.
There is nowhere else I'd rather be.

Cha Cha Changes

For those of you who may have read my previous blog of pure desperation and hopelessness will be pleased to hear that things are looking up. Vincent is coming out of his colic period and has turned into the most adorable little boy EVER! Of course he cries still, but it's for a reason and I am quickly able to solve the problem, by a clean diaper, a little snack, or simply a nice warm hug from mommy. His evening bouts of screaming fits have turned into smiles, laughs and coos and finally some much needed bonding time with daddy in the evenings. Things are going so much better. Everyone that said it'll end, it'll end, it'll end...they were right. He is a perfect plump little boy who is now in the 95 percentile for his weight (over 14 pounds!) at only 11 weeks. And speaking of him being 11 weeks, that means by set return to work day would be next Wednesday, so I made my final decision to not return at this time. I look at my son's face and I become frantic just thinking about leaving him. And speaking of leaving him....that has become more difficult these days because he has decided he no longer wants to take a bottle. Who can blame him, right? But this limits any break I'd like to take to no more than two hours, if that.
I feel so close and so bonded to my baby. It is the most indescribable feeling. I look at him and still want to cry. He has already grown up so fast. Looking back at pictures of when he was first born, he doesn't even look like the same baby. In only 11 weeks he has completely transformed into a little boy, and not a newborn baby.
His sleep patterns have not changed too much. He still awakes often but I have mastered side lying breastfeeding which makes those midnight feedings so much easier (half asleep).
It's so funny how much life has changed. In such a short time. My life is hectic. I am tired. I am overworked and extremely underpaid (think $0.00). But I am in love. In a way I never thought possible. Being a mother to this precious little boy is the best job in the world. When he looks me in the eye and smiles ear to ear, that's it. I'm done. It's over. And it's only just begun.

O' Happy Days

A few days ago I arrived home from a trip up to see my sister and her baby Lucy up in Chester, CA. It's a town where there is one stoplight and an abundance of friendly faces. 10 hours in a car with my parents and my baby had me scared, but it worked out beautifully. Baby Vincent was a peach. Either slept or smiled at Pooh the entire time, only fussing at me to pull over and feed him.

I spent 8 days basking in 85 degree weather, laying in a hammock with my son, walking to Pine Shack to gobble a brownie sundae or drink a glass of lemonade, making delicious dinners, even running through the sprinklers at a nearby park. It was perfect. I cuddled and cooed with my niece, watch her grow in just 8 days. Listened to the babies laugh, and listened to the babies cry. Chatted with my sister who I knew I missed, but it became painstakingly clear just how much.
Days were spent reminiscent of a paperback English novel, complete with large straw hats, except the woman (me, my sister and my mom) tended to have a more colorful vocabulary.
I came back refreshed. But sad. I missed my sister, I missed Lucy. I longed to watch her grow day in and day out as I do Vincent. I missed having a house full of noise, yelling, laughing, cooking, one big family, all stuffed under one roof, driving each other crazy, bitching, smiling, loving each other tens times over.

My family is the dearest thing in my life. I am one of a lucky few.

The light is shining through...

I have found the light at the end of the tunnel.
This morning my beautiful son looked me straight in the eye and smiled at me for the first time. It felt as though my heart was going to explode. And through tear blurred eyes I got to see about 9 more smiles in a row!
He is the light at the end of the tunnel. He is so worth it.