In Gratitude for New Life

It is with great joy and much gratitude that Trevor, Jack and I announce that a new baby will be joining our family in May, 2013.  The depth of my gratitude comes from what was one of the most frightening days of my life.  I apologize that so many of you will hear this joyful news on Facebook, but there are parts of this story which will be hard to retell so I hope to share the joy of our new baby with you in person as soon and often as I can.

Last week an ache started forming in my calf that actually caused numbness in my foot.  It felt like a strained tendon or muscle and I dismissed it as such. I borrowed crutches from a friend and just did my best to limp around on it hoping that it would go away.  It was by chance that I stumbled on an article about deep vein thrombosis while researching sources of calf pain.  The article warned that calf pain could be a sign of blood clots forming in the deep veins of the leg, typically affecting only one leg and sometimes causing numbness in the feet.  I have known for years that I have a genetic mutation in my blood that makes it more likely for clots to form.  Pregnancy increases this risk greatly.  It was then I began to panic.  Clots that break free in veins can cause pulmonary embolisms, miscarriage, strokes, and death.  I was to have a routine checkup with my midwife on Thursday and I called to move it up to Wednesday.  Amazingly, she had an opening. 

I went to work Wednesday morning and did my best to move around and stay calm.  When I finally pulled into the hospital parking lot that afternoon, I let out a huge sigh of relief.  I knew that no matter what happened, I would be in a place where people would take care of me and my baby.  I told the nurse who checked me in that my immediate concern was for my calf.  The midwife came in and asked me questions about how long the pain had been there and what it felt like.  She ordered an ultrasound of my leg for 4:30 that day.  Before I left she wanted to check for the baby's heartbeat.  Looking back, she must have known that the danger was real because she seemed adamant that she didn't want me to leave before I heard the heartbeat so she performed an ultrasound on me.  There, on the screen, was our little 7 week old baby whose heart was beating strong and steady.  She printed the photos for me to take with me.

At 4:30 I had an ultrasound of my leg and the technician confirmed that 3 blood clots had formed in the veins of my calf.  She called my doctor who ordered me to be admitted to the ER immediately.  I called my mom to tell her I needed her to come.  I called Trevor who knew I was going in for the ultrasound.  You have to go get Jack, I said.  I'm on my way to the ER.  In his ever calm way, he said he'd be on his way.  We have never been so late to pick up Jack.  When Trevor arrived, he hugged him and wouldn't let go. 

In my room in the Labor and Delivery unit, they began asking all sorts of scary questions.  They inventoried my jewelry.  They asked me who could make decisions on my behalf if I was unable to.  They asked me if I wanted to fill out a form outlining my medical decisions.  I cried and cried.  I cried for missing Jack and Trevor.  I cried for fear that I was a ticking time bomb whose clots could break free at any moment.  But I also cried in gratitude that I was in a hospital where people could help me heal.  The first night I was there, I awoke from a deep sleep and looked at the clock- 3:40.  The next day my mom told me that Jack woke up around 3:45 in the morning crying out Mama!  Mama!  He finally feel asleep at 4am which is when I fell back asleep too.  If there was ever a doubt of the bond I share with my boy, that night confirmed it for me.

They began injecting me with a drug called Lovenox which acts like a blood thinner to keep new clots from forming while helping my body clear the ones already present.  I will inject myself with this drug 2 times a day for the rest of my pregnancy and for 6 weeks after delivery.  I will take a baby aspirin every day for the rest of my life.  Jack did end up making a trip to the hospital and he ran around the room gleefully playing with everything he could reach.

On Friday night, I was released from the hospital which was truly amazing because at first, no one knew whether it would be a few days or a few weeks that I would be under hospital care.  I was greeted at the door by Trevor and Jack.  Tears sprung in my eyes as I looked at the faces of the people who are most precious to me as the reality of all that could have been washed over me.  I thought of all the times I rubbed my leg or hit my leg while it was sore.  All the times when those clots might have moved but didn't.  I was so grateful to my midwife who knew to take that ultrasound so I didn't leave that office fearing for the life of my baby.  I was grateful to have healthcare that allows me to heal myself without breaking my family.  I was grateful to the friends who we did confide in during this ordeal who supported us and told us that they would do anything we needed them to.

Life will slowly return to normal for me.  I will be monitored throughout my entire pregnancy to make sure we're both safe.  They will run labs to make sure my blood is at a good level.  I can already walk around on my legs again, nearly completely free of pain.  My body is healing itself while it grows my baby.  Your prayers, happy thoughts and good wishes for the rest of the pregnancy are welcome and appreciated.

We are so excited for the gift of our new baby.  Expect plenty of excited and happy updates in the weeks and months ahead.  My due date is 5/5/13, three years to the day when I found out I was pregnant with Jack.  Life comes full circle for us if we're lucky.  And my little family is feeling incredibly lucky tonight.

The Dark Night

As a mother, there are so many stories of violence and aggression in the world, that sometimes I worry that the fear and anxiety they cause may swallow me up whole, especially now that my baby is becoming a little boy- a little boy filled to the brim with curiosity and a spirit of exploration.  Right now he has no concept of how dark and lonely the world can be.  Within the confines of his minimal exposure to life he sees only goodness.  His day care report cards speak of a little boy who hugs and kisses everyone.

The domestic terrorism that occurred in Aurora, CO on Friday stings me on so many levels.  I continue to struggle in processing them all, so when life is joyful, I live it, when life is sorrowful, I write it.

My very first job was at a movie theatre.  Movie theatres have always been a sacred place for me.  Growing up, my dad struggled finding activities that would please both his sons and daughters across an 11 year age span so movies were always the answer.  Going to the movies is still one of the things I enjoy doing the most with my dad.  I remember fondly watching Shakespeare in Love with him and then talking for hours about literature.  Recently on a night when Trevor and I found ourselves blessed with a babysitter, on a night we could have done anything, we took in a double feature at the movie theatre near our house.  Walking into the theatre from the street, I felt the blast of cold air and the smell of popcorn wafting in the air.  Those feelings trigger deeply held happy memories of long ago days with my siblings and dad.  Looking up at the massive screen, sitting in an over-sized chair, eating popcorn from an over-sized bucket makes me feel like a kid again. 

I remember the first time I flew in a plane after 9/11.  It was December 23, 2001, just 3 months after that unspeakably tragic day.  I flew from NYC back to Michigan after my internship was over.  Suddenly something that had always felt so special seemed fraught with danger.  All of the security in the world couldn't take away that feeling that we were all in an incredibly vulnerable position sailing thousands of feet above the air.  I don't know when we will make it to the movies again.  Nights out are few and far between these days, but I know that looking at that dark room with the steep aisle will feel more foreboding now and less inviting.  Tiny exit doors will feel insufficient if danger arrives.  These feelings may subside, but for now they feel raw and deep.  That is what makes the events of July 20 acts of terrorism.  The vicious ripple effect that they cause through the fear they instill.

********************

We all know by now that there were children & babies (as young as 4 months old) in the theatre that night.  As quickly as the details of that night emerged, the shock and anger at the nerve of these parents who dragged their children out at midnight to see a violent movie erupted.  I admit, I had those thoughts at first.  I had those thoughts until I saw an interview with the very young mother of the infant who was in the theatre that night.  It was difficult to make out her words through her sobs.  She talked about running to escape, about her young daughter tripping and falling and of her certainty that they would all be killed.  Her only plea to those running near her was to make sure her daughter got out safely, even if she had to stay behind and face the bullets.  I am a mother and I can say this on behalf of so many of us.  We often make foolish decisions, especially when we are exhausted, suffering from all forms of depression that frequently happen after pregnancy, and struggling with a sense of severe isolation.  That may cause some of us to wrap up our babies and head to a movie theatre late at night hoping that we feel human for just a little while again.  None of us could ever fathom that we'd be faced with such horror, forced to push our own children out of a theatre to save their lives at the cost of our own. I learned something very valuable from my rush to judgment of this very young, terrified mother.  We all live with the choices that we make for our babies, good and bad.  To be held up to such impossible criticism and judgment at a time when I am certain she is vilifying herself for bringing her children to Theatre 9 that night is unnecessary and undermines the need for all women to empathize with the choices we make as mothers.

My wise and wonderful friend Bobbie put it best when she wrote this response to a blog entry about ending the judgment of these families:

As parents, it's natural to point at things that "could have been prevented" in any bad situation. If we didn't think that way, if we really and wholly understood the chance of accidents that cannot be prevented happening to us and our children, we would be incapacitated. It's human nature to find things that you would do differently (or never do) to convince yourself that those tragic results could never happen to you and your family.

She so brilliantly summed up what I know we all do.  We all assume these things could never happen to us.  In the same way the parents of the young girl who was killed in the Tuscon, AZ shooting shouldn't blame themselves for taking their daughter to a grocery store that day.  These parents can't blame themselves for what happened to their children.  Whether it was a good or bad choice to bring a baby to a midnight showing of a movie is not up for debate in the court of public opinion right now.  These mothers will punish themselves long after the blogosphere quiets down.

But there are moments when I see the light through the darkness.  As the stories of the 12 victims were told, three stood out to me.  At least three young men died in the attack when they threw their bodies over their girlfriends.  I am certain more stories of heroism and courage emerge.

How strangely surreal it is that this massacre took place at a movie about heroes rising in a cold, dark world.  For that is exactly what happened on July 20 in Aurora.  Even in such a dark night, when for many of us the instinct would be to run, others stayed to protect and defend.  There are superheroes among us if we pick through the rubble of a devastating story like this to find them.  And it's in that faith that the grief I feel as a mother at the atrocities of this world won't swallow me whole or paralyze me with fear.

God grant me eyes to embrace the light, wisdom to learn from the dark, the ability to be present and active in my child's life to educate him on the full spectrum of who he shares this world with, good and bad.  May he learn these lessons slowly and over time.  Help me keep him a child for as long as I can.  Help me navigate these waters with faith.  Help us live every day of our lives.

Amen.

On Father's Day

On April 1st 2011 I returned to work after 12 weeks of maternity leave.  It was a Friday and the office was very quiet.  No fanfare, lots of hugs and about 800 emails to go through.  That afternoon I got a photo sent to my phone of Trevor and Jack.  It was Trevor's first day as a stay at home dad.  The plan was that he would stay at home with Jack all summer before finding a permanent day care solution in the fall.

The best laid plans...

On April 2nd, a Saturday, a letter came in the mail from the Woodrow Wilson Teaching Fellowship organization notifying Trevor that he had been awarded a Fellowship to earn his Masters in Education in just 1 year while teaching in an "at-need" school.  It is an extremely prestigious award, an honor, a blessing, and...oh...we had 2 weeks to accept the offer because classes started at the end of May.

I probably wasn't easy to live with those first couple of weeks after returning to work.  On one hand I was ecstatic that my wonderful Trevor was being honored in such an incredible way.  On the other hand, one of the ways in which I had mentally prepared for returning to work was in thinking that Trevor was staying home with our baby all summer.  I tried my best to celebrate him and push aside the fear that our baby would be left in some stranger's hands all summer.

Well we found an incredible day care 2 minutes from our house and my younger sister, in an incredible act of selflessness and love, moved in with us to watch Jack 2 days per week forcing her to spend the rest of the week at her job with no days off. We all made it through our first trial as a family.  It's hard to believe that was over a year go.

Tonight, Jack and I attended an awards ceremony for the 2011 Woodrow Wilson teaching fellows.  On a beautiful outdoor patio, Jack and I got to watch Trevor accept an award from his professor and mentor Marcia.  I watched as he was interviewed by the local paper talking about the past year- the ups and downs.  He held Jack as he was being interviewed and halfway through, Jack started squirming and doing back flips in Trevor's arms.  Trevor just kept on talking the entire time in a perfect display of how he's spent this past year- juggling his family commitments with work and school.

Trevor has worked a full time job all year in what is arguably the toughest profession for no pay.  Every morning he gets up at 5:30, packs Jack's lunch, checks a few emails and is out the door by 7am.  Now that he's directing a summer production, we eat by 5:30, he gives Jack a bath by 6:00 and is reading his bedtime stories by 6:20 so he can leave for rehearsal by 6:40.  He's back to bed by 10:30 only to do it all again the next day.

But that all ends tomorrow because he has finally reached the end of the school year.  And next week, a full year later, he will be a part time stay-at-home dad while he wraps up work on the 2 Masters Degrees he will earn this year.  I write all of this because I don't know how much our friends and family know about what Trevor's given up this year.  A social creature by nature, he's missed out on parties, bar hopping, movies and video games to study and work on his thesis, play with Jack, or spend an evening catching up on 20 hours worth of TV shows on our DVR with me.  And as incredible as all of that is, I read something tonight that brought a tear to my eye.

Each fellow wrote about one of the highlights of participating in the Woodrow Wilson Fellowship.  This is what Trevor wrote:

What is important for everyone to remember is that even though these are called "at-need" or "at-risk" schools, every single one of these students is a unique, driven, and wonderful person in their own right.  The moment we start treating these children like statistics, is the moment we lose our humanity.

I read that at dinner while speeches were being made and I'm glad I was wearing sunglasses, lest the Provost think I was crying at his speech.  I looked at Trevor.  He is the father of my son and he wrote that.  I gave my children the best gift anyone can receive- a loving father. 

I cannot wait to see what the future holds for our little family.  Trevor, you are on the precipice of so many great things.  I have watched you direct dozens of adoring children at the Civic, 2 of whom went on to be nominated for acting awards.  Every Saturday for 6 weeks you got into the YMCA pool and taught Jack to swim.  I see Jack's curiosity and voracious love of books and thank God for seeing to it that those little parts of you came straight through to our baby. 

This summer you have the precious time with Jack you had to give up last year.  My heart is happy thinking of the adventures you two will have together.  

But for tonight, you deserved every accolade, every kudo, every handshake.  You, my dear are going to make this world a better place and I am so honored to have a place by your side to watch it all unfold.

Happy Father's Day to the world's greatest dad.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

I majored in theatre in college. In doing so, I carried out a tradition that started with my maternal grandmother. Acting is in my genes. My great-grandfather performed skits in his basement in front of a camera. Footage that has been miraculously preserved for over 60 years. But the person from whom I really caught the bug was my mom. She was my acting coach in high school. I vividly remember us sitting outside of the Gilmore Theatre Complex in the spring of 1997 practicing my audition monologue for WMU. I got in on my first audition. I put that dream aside after college to focus on more practical things, like getting a full time job and figuring out who I was. In the summer of 2005 I auditioned for the first time in over 3 years. The play: Taming of the Shrew. The place: Celery Flats. That role led me to Trevor and we all know that story by now.

Tonight I have just put Jack to bed. The only sound I hear is the occasional dog bark from outside and the sound of 2 competing ticking clocks. Trevor is at Celery Flats, the most beloved place I know directing Shakespeare in the park. I sit in a quiet house and I don't quite know how to feel about it.  It's been over 2 years since I performed onstage. There are many reasons why, but first and foremost, I don't know of the show that would be special enough to take me away from Jack at night. But there is an exhilaration that comes with performing that is hard to find anywhere else. It doesn't compare to parenting. That would be like saying, I really love my sister, but I also love long walks along the beach. The love you have for your sister and the beach don't compete with each other, they comprise two very unique and distinct aspects of who you are. But while you can walk along the beach with your sister, it's very hard to rehearse for a show with a toddler.

I have written at length about the wonder of being a mom. It's the best thing I've done and has brought me more fulfillment than 10,000 plays ever could. But here's the thing about parenting. The thing that no one really wants to talk about for fear that they would appear ungrateful for the miracle of their children. The sacrifices that parenting demands can make you feel like parts of you are being stripped away and sometimes you don't quite know who's left. How do you think the "mom jean" phenomenon emerged? No one who remembered who she was in college would wear those things!!

So, for now I say goodbye to theatre and it is such sweet sorrow. The wonderful thing about theatre is that it will always be there. I know this time with Jack won't. It's an easy decision in my head, but in my heart I do miss that part of me who was an actress- who felt vivid and alive in a way that I don't always feel anymore.

In the summer of 2010, pregnant with Jack, I went to Celery Flats and sat in the audience for the very first time. After 5 straight years of performing, I was now playing the role of 3rd row center. The play: Romeo and Juliet. I watched with rapture as the lines tripped off the tongues of the actors, while swords clanked together, while fireflies danced around the stage above our heads. Shakespeare feels like a brother to me, a legendary brother who died before I was born, who left me this amazing legacy. Watching his work performed in that space is like being home. I was only 3 months pregnant. I rubbed the little bump and hoped that somehow the words were washing over him so that he'll love Shakespeare someday too.

So much changes with the arrival of a baby. Bodies change, schedules change, priorities change. Cabinets get safety locks on them. Toys, books, and gates start appearing throughout your entire house.  Your home is taken over by a 2 foot tall ball of curiosity and mischief.

Right now there are crumbs all over my dining room floor, tiny hand prints are embedded in the dust on the bookshelves (you will know how much time I spend with Jack by the amount of dust in the living room), an exersaucer and a pack & play (two things I never even knew existed 2 years ago) clutter up my kitchen and bedroom.

Right now Trevor is getting a reminder of who we were.

I am constantly reminded of who I am.

It's hard. No doubt about it, these choices are hard.

So for tonight, God is my director and I am cast in the role of "Mom". I read my lines with enthusiasm. I give the animals in "Where's Spot" special and unique voices. I gently sway around the room with a sleepy Jack while I sing lullabies and make up my own choreography.

For tonight, I am the star of this show.

Audience: Jack

The play: My Sweet Sweet Life

This play will run for quite some time and the audience may grow. There is no program, no critic, no intermission, no lights, no special effects, no costumes, NO MOM JEANS.

Just me and my baby and a wishful prayer to keep those parts of me that blossomed in the years before becoming a mom sacred and alive, even if it means reading each book as if Shakespeare wrote it himself.

Spot, Spot, wherefore art thou lost?

Emerge from thy basket and greet the young Jack

Who most passionately awaits your return.

Curtain.

Jack at Celery Flats Amphitheatre, October 2011

Finding Spot

wean/wēn/

Verb:

Accustom (an infant or other young mammal) to food other than its mother's milk. Accustom (someone) to managing without something on which they have become dependent or of which they have become excessively fond

Last night Jack went to bed without nursing.  He has done this before, but never while I'm at home.

Oh boy.

We have been weaning in earnest for a while, but the nighttime feeding was the last one to go.  Lest you think I'm weaning because I think a 16 month old is too old to nurse, let me assure you, I don't.  I probably had a lot of opinions about moms who nurse their babies past 1 year, but that was before I had my own.  I am weaning for me, because I need to re-align my body.  No, I'm not pregnant, but I feel strongly that I need to get some things back in balance that have been out of balance before I become pregnant again.  Taking care of yourself as a mother is one of the most challenging things you can ever do.  I get that now.  In addition, Jack is starting to let go of it too and I'm following his lead.  It will be slow going, I don't have any deadlines, we'll go as long as we both can and then find new ways to bond.

We struggled a lot with nursing in the beginning.  I remember when Jack was 3 weeks old, Trevor and I went to the Bronson Breastfeeding Center to let the nurses there teach me how to hold him and coax him into a proper latch.  She weighed him and marked it on a piece of paper- right down to the ounce so she could weigh him after he ate to see how much milk he had gotten.  I remember the feeling of having him nurse correctly.  There was no pain and I could hear the faint sound of milk rushing through his tiny gummy mouth and into his belly.  The nurse left us alone for awhile while the 3 of us sat in the tiny room amazed at why we didn't seek help sooner.  When she returned she weighed him again.  I remember vividly the sight of tiny legs kicking on the scale.  "3 ounces!  Great job mama!"  It brings a tear to my eye recalling that moment when I said to myself- You can do it.  You have built this cathedral called Jack and you can feed him too.  Everything you are is all that you need.

I have nursed and pumped in all sorts of places- 

• the backseat of my car
• standing in the hallway outside of a restaurant while a gaggle of female family members created a perimeter around me
• in various beds
• in a single stall bathroom trying ever so delicately to keep the pump balanced on a sink
• in my workplace's well equipped lactation room where, separated by a partition, I would talk to other moms doing the exact same thing, talking about our lives and our children

But it wasn't always breastmilk gymnastics.  We had many more times together, quiet times when nursing became a meditation for both of us, when heart rates slowed and breathing quieted.  When we both experienced the most familiar and comforting thing in our little world- the aspect of our relationship that had been there since the very beginning.  For my friends who couldn't or chose not to breastfeed, there is nothing here that doesn't apply to you.  Skin to skin contact comes in many forms.  I could have just as easily laid his cheek on my chest at the end of the day and we would have experienced the same peacefulness.  

Breastfeeding has been one of the greatest blessings of my life and I will miss it.  A lot.  One could even say, per the definition of weaning, that I've become excessively fond of it and I'm the one who's weaning more than Jack.

So what will I miss?

I will miss the way that his little hand would reach up and twist my hair or pat my cheek.

I will miss the way his little eyes got excited when it was time to nurse and yes, he would sometimes even giggle a little, he'd be so excited!

I will miss the time we shared in the evenings when the whole house was quiet except for the sound of Trevor upstairs washing dishes while Jack and I had our time together (these Gen X dads are so evolved, I love it :)

What will we gain?

I will experience my body again.  For 2 years I have shared it with another person, growing him inside of me and feeding him.  I have felt very disconnected from myself in many ways, although in other ways I have felt like the truest version of myself.  I will miss that paradox, but I am also freeing myself of it.

Jack will gain a nighttime ritual that will carry him through beyond his toddler years and into childhood.  One that will involve a lot of reading with his dad.  

Jack has a new favorite book- "Where's Spot?"  It's one of those square shaped board books and this one has flaps that open up revealing hidden pictures.  Jack takes great delight in opening up those flaps.  Trevor bought a bottle of Elmer's Glue for the times he gets a little too excited and rips one off.  After the 100th reading of this book we decided it was time to add to the nighttime reading collection.

Last night we took a trip to Barnes & Noble and TJ Maxx (TJ Maxx has some of the cheapest kids books in town fyi!).  We must have purchased 20 books between the two places.  I was looking at something on the shelf and heard Trevor say "Hey mom, can we get this one?"  I looked over and Jack was holding a book with two bears on the cover that said "I Love My Daddy."

I cannot express what my feelings were in that moment. 

I thought of the hundreds of nights that Trevor has so faithfully done the dishes and sorted the laundry so that Jack and I could nurse.  I recalled the thankfulness my heart felt every time I walked into the kitchen and saw all of my pump equipment drying on a bottle rack.  He never asked for praise or thanks for these great gifts.  He wasn't giving me clean bottles, he was giving me precious time with my baby.  Now it is my turn to give him that time.

Last night I curled up on the couch, a huge dinosaur stuffed animal as my pillow.  Trevor brought out "Where's Spot", "Spot Goes to the Park", and "Spot Says Goodnight".  I placed "I Love My Daddy" into the pile.  Trevor had nearly finished the "Daddy" book when Jack jumped out of his lap and into mine.  Just when Trevor was starting to feel rejected, we both realized that the only reason Jack came over to me was because "Where's Spot" was sitting on my lap.  Once the book was returned to Trevor, Jack climbed back into his lap.  

There were tears that first night weaning, tears and triumphs as all three of us committed to a new routine.  Jack won't ever remember these nights, but I hope that the closeness we've shared has cemented a feeling of security and love into his heart.

So where's Jack's spot?  It used to be on a pillow nursing with me.  Now it's nestled into his dad's lap reading stories as the still damp hair from his bath dries up and curls around his ears.  

Life is one long series of hellos and good-byes.  I think what matters the most is how you spend the time in between them.  For those nights we struggled, bonded, cried, and loved, I am exceedingly proud of both of us.

Good-bye to nursing.

Hello Spot.

Baby by Numbers

2 years ago you were a flicker on an ultrasound

2 pink lines on a stick

2 of us, dad + me, built you from all that we had, all that we had to give

1 part me

1 part him

1 whole you

1 dark, cold night brought you to me

7  hours of labor and there you were

2 years have come and gone and we've both changed so much

2 breasts have fed you for 

16 months

69 weeks

483 days

8 white teeth have burst forth like shiny buds in a soft pink soil

2 brown eyes that get bigger and wiser every day

2 feet make pap pap pap sounds as you run across the hardwood floor

10 long lean fingers delicately pinch at food laid out for you on a tray

1 mama sits in a dim room while

1 dad puts you in bed

10 fingers tap out a poem for

1 sweet boy

1 sweet boy

The Other Times Vol. 2

Over on the couch, Jack sleeps soundly, bundled up in a blanket next to his dad.  "Big Bang Theory" is on TV and the only other sound in the room (aside from Howard Wolowitz) is the soft hum of this laptop.  It's peaceful tonight.  But last night was a very different story.  For this is a tale of a virus, some yoga pants and the night I most likely flashed my neighbors.

Jack didn't have dinner last night.  Trevor and I commented on how his little daycare report card mentioned that he was very hungry all day so we shrugged off this little blip on the "our kid is totally normal and healthy" radar and went on with our night.  We bathed him, changed him into pajamas and Trevor said, "I'll take care of the dishes if you want to nurse him downstairs."  I suppose I should mention here that, oops, I have not yet completely weaned my son.  I knew there was something I forgot to do!  And since he hasn't yet learned how to tie a little napkin around his neck, walk up to me and unbutton my shirt, I'm still ok with nursing (especially considering my nipples are like titanium now).  So we nurse and it's a very peaceful way for both of us to end our day.

There we sat in our little nest, the dim light of a lamp creating a golden glow.  Why is life always so wonderful before it's so incredibly horrible?

I heard the garage door open and my sister Mary peeked down the basement stairs.  She had decided to pay us an impromptu visit for the night.

"Shhhhh.  Jack's sleeping."

He stirred in my lap and tossed and turned.  Mary AKA "Bean" quietly came down the stairs.  I looked down at Jack, something was coming out of his mouth.  My sister noticed also and said "Oh!  Jack's spitting up."  And then...oh then...

At this point, I would kindly ask you to open up a new window or tab in your browser and play this music for ultimate effect.  I can wait...

I saw Jack start to vomit on the pillow.  "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

This must have startled him because he turned his head toward me and a fire hose of puke came raining down on my chest, shoulder, arm and...oh, did I mention I was nursing at the time?

"BEAN!  BEAN!  HELP ME!"

Our Lady of the Most Excellent Timing or the Most Unfortunate Timing, depending on how you look at it, took Jack into our basement bathroom to wash him off as best as she could.  Meanwhile, I sat on the couch, paralyzed, arms outstretched like a scarecrow while pieces of banana? bread? apples? fell onto my lap and bounced onto the floor.  The pillow Jack had been laying on was completely drenched.  Trevor poked his head downstairs while Bean and I looked up at him.  "PUKE!!!"  He sighed.  A sigh that says "this night was going way too smoothly."

Trevor came downstairs to bring Jack to the bathtub.  I remember saying "Take him to the bath!!!  Babies never puke once!!!  Goonies never say die!!!!" (I didn't actually yell that last one, I just didn't want you to forget)

St. Mary of the Defiled Boppy took the pillow and placed it on a towel on the basement floor.  With all the gracefulness of a marionette, I attempted to rise from the couch with all of my pieces attached to me as to not create a bigger mess.  I threw my tank top onto the sloppy Boppy.  I walked into our kitchen with my arms folded over my chest (remember when I said I had been nursing?) and looked right out the kitchen window onto the street.  My head whipped over to the open curtains in the dining room and living room.

"BEAN!!  CLOSE THE CURTAINS!  QUICK!!"

She ran throughout the downstairs leaping over chairs to close the drapes for me so I could wrap my hands in paper towel mittens and clean up.  I ran into the bedroom and immediately disrobed only to find myself standing there naked with nothing to wear to go back out into the kitchen.  I spied a pair of yoga pants on the floor and pulled them on yanking them over my chest like so many grandpas on the beach with shorts pulled up to their collar bones.

I checked on my little family- Bean sitting on the toilet, Jack in the bath and Trevor kneeling next to the bath.  I did a little jig for them in my makeshift yoga pants jumpsuit and then went back to the basement and into the shower.

At this point, feel free to stop listening to Carmina Burana, the night got calmer from here...

The night ended much like it began.  The soft glow of the basement lamp, Jack sleeping softly, but this time in Trevor's arms with a plastic wastebasket at the ready, which he used...3 times.

The bug made it's way out of his little body over the course of the next day and 4 outfit changes later, his little body finally got a reprieve.  He never lost his smile or his happy spirit.  Throughout the whole ordeal, he only cried when it first happened.  I don't know how he does it, how he stays so happy in the face of such unspeakably smelly horror, but he does.

We learned a lot from our last Pukepocalypse and it showed in how few towels we lost and how we kept that trash can nearby.  Not that there weren't some rookie mistakes- never get naked without an exit strategy.  You won't always have pants that stretch up to your collar bones lying around.

Even in the other times, the times when you just want to cry, it's so calming to look at this little person who's confused as hell about what's going on, who just keeps smiling because to him it's all just some exciting new adventure.  It's also a new adventure for you, so you just keep smiling too.

There is magic in the peaceful times, the soft glow of a lamp, cuddling your baby to sleep.

But some of the funniest, most unbelievable memories lie in the other times.