About a Boy

One month ago (and some change), Husband and I packed our bags, left C with my mom, and headed across town before the sun came up, to check in and have a baby.

After the surprise early arrival of Miss C almost three years ago, this scenario was a bit unfamiliar. First and foremost, Husband was actually in town and present for this one. My bags, instead of consisting of a random assortment of yoga pants and lose toiletries thrown in as I ran out the door, were packed after making a well thought out list. The car seat was installed. I didn't leave the ingredients to spaghetti sauce all over my countertops and we fed the dog before we left. It was a strange feeling to be prepared.

We checked in like we were arriving at a hotel. We rolled our suitcase down the hall and settled into our little prep area. Then, I put on a hospital gown and got hooked up to a bunch of fun monitors and it started to feel a little less fun and a little more clinical.

I had a scheduled c-section this time, my second c-section, so I thought I knew what was coming. Apparently, I remembered very little about my first. Having it scheduled instead of an emergency leaves a whole lot more time to be very very aware of what is going on. That being said, it was pretty amazing when they let Husband in to hold my hand. I may not remember much from C's delivery other than hearing her cry after what seemed like forever, but I remember wishing so much that he were there with me.

As I lay there, numb from the chest down, squeezing Husband's hand as hard as I could, listening to a team on the other side of a curtain, all I wanted to hear was that cry - that first cry, the gasp of air and reassuring scream of a newborn. We heard the doctor say, "look at all of that hair" and then, "wow, what a chunk!" Then, there it was - the cry. He was here!

Wilson Arthur Ryan. 8 pounds, 15 ounces and 21 inches of pure joy.

I'm not sure I could ever put into words the feeling you get when you hear your child cry for the first time. There are no words adequate of such an experience. This person has been living inside you for nine months. He has literally been a part of you for all of this time and now, finally, he is out in the world and he is real and he is yours. Really. You get to keep him!

They brought him to me so I could see him and kiss his little head before making us both presentable. Husband got to hold him first - the first of many father and son moments. 

They gave me my swaddled newborn son to hold as they wheeled me to my room; then I got to do something I couldn't do with his preemie sister - I got to hold him against me for skin to skin contact, the first of many mother and son moments.

Magic. The birth of a child is just that. It is awe inspiring, life affirming, mind blowingly awesome. The birth of a second child is made all the more magical by watching your first born become a sibling. Catherine was the first person to meet Wilson. It was important to us that she have some special time just for she and him to get acquainted - the first of many brother and sister moments. She was in love at first sight.

The day was filled with family and friends filing into our room until it was bursting at the seams. I would have it no other way. Wilson was loved before he ever arrived and I'm so grateful that our children are constantly surrounded by those who love them. This is really what life is all about - sharing life's joys with those you love; and Wilson, you are one of my life's greatest joys. Welcome to our world.

Wilson Eve

Dear Wilson,

I can't even wrap my head around the fact that I get to meet you in a few hours. You've been the topic of conversation for quite some time now. We've been planning for and talking about you for so long, I thought we'd never get here; and yet, here we are on the eve of your birth. 

Your Daddy is sleeping beside me. Your sister is sleeping soundly in her bed, holding her baby doll which she has lovingly named Wilson. Your CiCi is here too, getting a little sleep before bringing your sister to meet you for the very first time. Everyone is preparing for your arrival by resting, but I just can't. 

You see, besides the fact that you are quite busy right now, I just can't calm myself enough to sleep. I am so excited and anxious and ready and so many other things, but mostly, I am so very much in love with you that I am restless with anticipation. I am dying to hold you in my arms. I am longing to hear your very first cry, the gasping of air that assures me you are okay.

I can't help but worry, a trait I'm convinced is bestowed upon mothers at the moment of their first positive pregnancy test, but I already know you and I need you to know that I already love you with every fiber of my being. 

I will hold you in my arms soon, my love. And I'm never letting go.

Poetry and Pottery Barn

I'm sitting in the parking lot waiting for Pottery Barn Kids to open so I can pick up Wilson's bedding. I've dropped C off in carpool, driven through Starbucks, and felt I should break up my stereotypical SAHM morning with a little poetry on my phone. 

I have never read this writer, but I found this and loved it. 

"I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
jar of octopus, cuckoo’s cry, 5-7-5,
but now I want a Russian novel,
a 50-page description of you sleeping,
another 75 of what you think staring out
a window.

 "

"Changing Genres" by Dean Young

While I'm pretty sure it's in reference to a lover, I couldn't help but equate it to motherhood, perhaps because we tend to mold things to our own surroundings. 

As I dropped off Catherine this morning, and watched her until she disappeared through the school doors, I drove away with this overwhelming sense of pride and fear and excitement all wrapped into one. I am watching her turn into a little girl before my eyes and it is beautifully terrifying. 

I read articles on how to nurture her into a strong woman. I mix in dump trucks and dinosaurs with babies and bottles to ensure she isn't sucked into a pink stereotype before the age of three. I teach her both the proper way to kick a soccer ball and to bake cookies. When we role play, I tell her she can be anything she wants to be. Sometimes she is a princess, sometimes a cowboy. 

I want her to be comfortable in her own skin, to know she is smart, to know she is kind, to know she is remarkable, but to know enough to be humble about it all. 

I want her to know I am amazed with her every second of every day. I want to write a Russian novel about the curls of her hair, the pursing of her lips, the inflection in her tiny voice as she tells me she loves me, arms outstretched, and says, "give me hug."

I want to spend my days soaking up every bit of her brilliance and my nights recording it all to memory, locking it away so that I may never forget this beautiful, terrifying, mystifying stage of childhood.

But alas, I can't possibly remember it all. I will simply soak in all that I can and hope the Russian novel in my head will stay intact, memories dog-eared for quick reference, for days when I am too tired or overwhelmed to recall the beauty of it all.

Toddler Talk

C has me laughing most of the time, even when I'm trying really really hard to have my stern Mommy face because what she said was inappropriate, no matter how hilarious it sounded in her little voice. So, here are a few of my favorites from my funny little two and half year old.

She knows too much...

The other day, we were running late for school and I sped up to make it through a yellow light. C promptly said, "Mommy, why are you going faster? Yellow means slow down!"

Big Sister

C talks to my belly a lot. She has chats with her baby brother (when she remembers he's in there and not just a bump impeding on her lap space). Overheard the other day:

"Baby, come out and play with Catherine."

"You hear me?"

<looks up at me>

"Mommy, I want to touch baby."

<hands on my belly> 

"Hi, baby. I love you, baby." 

<lays head on my belly>

Formal Greeting

We've been working on introductions and phone etiquette lately.

Overheard at the park:

<Arm outstretched, in handshake form, to a little boy>

"Hi, may name's Catherine. You want to play with Catherine?"

She also uses this method with family, friends, and toys.

Playtime

Playing with toys:

"I sorry, friends. It be okay. I take you home."

"I kiss you. It's all better."

<While pretending her toys are on a rocket (blanket)>

"One, two, three, blast off! To the moon!"

When frustrated

"It's too small. It's too big. I can't do it!"

And just some of my favorite Catherine-isms

"I so excited!"

"It's gonna be so fun!"

"It's gonna be so yummy!"

"Mommy, I love this book."

"I made it. You like it?"

"Great job! Thank you for helping!"

"What's wrong? Are you sad? Just be happy!"

"I do it myself."

"Don't throw ball. We don't throw balls. That's not nice."

Sleep

My family is slowly trying to kill me via sleep deprivation. They are winning.

I stayed up until 1:00 cleaning downstairs. As I headed upstairs to finally go to sleep, I was met with both Husband's bear-like snore and C's crying for her pumpkin. 

That's right. She's sleeping with the pumpkin she painted at school. She is obsessed with it. And because it is a pumpkin, it rolls, usually out of her bed. 

So, I retrieved the pumpkin, tucked her back in, sang a few songs, and left. I needed pajamas, so I dove into the mountain of clean and yet to be folded clothes in the guest/Wilson's room. I was so distracted by my inability to find clothes that I decided to fold some while waiting for C to actually fall asleep again.

That would have been an excellent plan...had she ever gone back to sleep. Instead, we began a seemingly endless cycle of her getting out of bed and coming to find me in fifteen minute intervals. 

I was far past the point of patience and turned into Mean Mommy, which isn't fun for anyone, and pulled out the big guns-the guilt trip. So I told C that Mommy can't sleep until she sleeps and that Mommy and baby Wilson are very tired. Then I told her not to get out of her bed until it was sunny outside. 

She said, "Mommy, I'm sorry," and then made me sing three songs before she would pretend to sleep again.

The guilt trip clearly didn't work as the cycle of visits continued for two hours straight. Finally, at almost 3:00, I picked her up without saying a word, marched her back to her room, stuck her in her bed, kissed her, then turned around and left. 

Mean Mommy is tired.

I watched her on the monitor as she fidgeted with her pumpkin, readjusted her blanket. Then, finally, FINALLY, she fell asleep. We'll see how long that lasts.

Update: it's 3:08. And she's up again. Seriously, why does she hate sleep?!

Silver lining? My mountain of laundry is now completely folded.

Our Son

Poor little boy. He's not even here yet and he's already suffering from second child syndrome. But, even though I can't focus 100% on him all of the time, I am 100% in love with him.

We've had a name picked out for months, but I kept waiting for time to share it. I was waiting for a break in life when I could sit down and tell the world that my son has a name. But, there is never time for anything unless I stay up until 1:00 in the morning. So, here I am. 

Before we knew C's gender, we were settled on a boy's name. She actually took us by surprise because we could not agree on a girl's name at all. So, when we found out we were having a son, we felt like we had a name. Then, we had to question it for a few weeks, saying it aloud, pairing it with his sister's name, writing it at the top of a piece of paper. But, even after all of our "testing," we were settled.

We both come from very Southern stock, so it's no surprise that we wanted to honor our family with his name. We just didn't expect to be able to honor both of our families simultaneously. Somehow, we managed to do so!

In January, we will welcome Wilson Arthur Ryan to our family.

Wilson is the maiden name of both of our maternal grandmothers (what are the odds?). It is also the name of Andrew's uncle, whom we love dearly. 

Arthur is my maternal grandfather's name, as well as my uncle's. Big Daddy is honestly my hero. He is one of the strongest and most selfless men I know and I hope his namesake makes him proud.

Wilson will also share the same initials as Husband (WAR), which I think is really special. There is so much stock in a name. Who will our son become? Will his name help or hinder him in his career? Is it classic? What will it look like in history books?

It is impossible to predict who our son will become; but it is our job to give him a name strong enough to carry him wherever he may go. I cannot wait to hold our son, Wilson, in my arms and call him by his name. I cannot wait to tell him how special he is and how special the people from which he is named are. Most importantly, I can't wait to tell him how loved he is every single day of my life. A name is only the beginning of his legacy.

Baby Wilson, we can't to meet you.

When You're Weary

I have been in a funk lately. Maybe it's because I've seen Husband a total of 24 hours at best over the past three weeks. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted from being six months pregnant and taking care of my very active two and half year old while Husband has to travel for work. Maybe it's because the "nursery" is still the guest room/laundry room and I have no clue when I will have the time or energy to get it all done. Maybe it's because I bought string cheese last week that expires AFTER my due date. Maybe it's because C is convinced there are dinosaurs in her room and incidentally refuses to sleep with the lights off, waking up multiple times throughout the night to tell me about it. Maybe it's because there is never enough time or enough money or enough patience. 

Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe I'm just letting all the little things pile up and drag me down. Regardless, I'm tired, I'm anxious, and I'm losing my cool. 

So, tonight, I'm sitting down for a few minutes to write about it, even thought I still have to pack C's lunch for tomorrow and pack Husband for this week's travels. Because, after watching a poetry reading online today, I was reminded of what makes me happy - writing. I haven't let myself write lately because something else always seems more pressing than my sanity. I have errands to run and laundry to do and a very cute little girl begging me to stop cleaning the kitchen and come dance in the living room (which I do). I forget to count myself as a person instead of something else on my to-do list. I forget to give myself a break, even if it is disguised as a decaf latte and current pop music while C naps in the car.

I forget that I matter too. I think that's pretty easy to do as a mother. It's not intentional. I realize I'm a person outside of my role as mother and wife, but there isn't always time for me. I can't leave whenever I feel like it and grab a drink with friends. I can't just go for a morning run to clear my head. I can't be spontaneous. There are calendars to coordinate and babysitters to hire and prepping for said babysitters to be done, all while feeling guilty for leaving in the first place.

But this weekend saved me from myself. 

I spent two hours Friday night at dinner with friends. Two whole hours. We laughed and caught up and shared ridiculous college stories and I began to feel whole again.

Saturday, while Husband was in Tuscaloosa for the Bama game, I called a friend and asked if she wanted a latte, I drove to her house, and then, as C woke up from her car nap, we scheduled an impromptu park date. It was exactly what we needed. C got to play with her friends and I got to talk to mine. The stay at home mom world can be a lonely place. Yes, I get to spend my days playing, but sometimes I just need to vent to someone else who understands the stress involved. Sometimes, I need to use big words and laugh at myself and relish in the knowledge that I'm not in this alone. 

Sunday, I helped host a baby shower for my sweet friend and was able to spend time with some of my favorite women, including C and my mom (who let C sleep on her for two hours during the shower). 

Ladies, because of you, I found a little piece of myself this weekend. I found the renewed strength I so desperately needed. I am still tired and anxious and so unprepared to welcome a new life into this home; but I'm also happy and I'm no longer losing it when C colors on the kitchen floor or feeds her dinner to Banks. 

And because I have pregnancy brain and can no longer remember anything, I thought I needed a little reminder, at least for the next three months:

I put it on the fridge. No way I'm missing it there.