This is how she rolls.

Essie rolled over for the first time today. I decided to give her some tummy time since she was full of freaky energy and tummy time usually works some of that out by making her furious. Seriously; I have a hard time dealing with putting her on her stomach sometimes since doing something purposely that will make your baby cry kind of sucks. (Also I am not a fan of the twee name 'tummy time' but that's what the professionals call it and it kind of just rolls off the tongue.)

ANYhow; tummy time. I put her on her stomach and turned away for a few seconds to grab a toy to put in front of her to give her something to look at. I turned around and there she was on her back, her expression totally saying, "What just happened?"

I was amazed, so I put her on her stomach once more. She immediately rolled over to her back and looked pleased with herself. I flipped her, she did it again. We waited for Andrew to come back in to the room from having his shower and I showed him. She took a bit longer the last time since she'd tired herself out a bit by this point (yay) but she did it and we had to accept that we have a baby on her way to mobility. Yikes.

She's pretty much exactly on track with this milestone for her adjusted age, so that's nice. She has also, as Andrew put it, discovered 'loud'. She's started screaming conversationally, not just to indicate she's upset. Actually; she doesn't scream to indicate that she's upset, so this is very new for all of us and extremely so for our neighbours at 11:30 last night! Whatevs, she shut up pretty quickly once I gave her a bottle and snuggled her to sleep but I have noticed that her most active, frenetic behaviours usually start when she's getting tired. She doesn't really want to get tired, so she starts kicking her legs like crazy and talking and shooting her arms around. Then she gets frustrated because damn, she's tired, and her eyes get all red and she's kind of irritable while her eyelids are drooping shut. It's cute, but here's hoping it doesn't get worse!

Also she is growing out of her clothes at a rapid rate except for one onesie that I mentioned to Andrew today. It's a magic onesie that seems to be growing with her and getting looser on her rather than smaller. She's wearing it right now! Honestly I suspect that it's just cheap material that is stretching out a bit, but I like the thought of a magic onesie. She'll always have something to wear!

Owie. But also some stuff to be grateful for.

I haven't written in a bit because I had a week from hell and haven't felt much like getting out of bed, much less writing. At first I was all, 'Oh, I won't talk about it, it's so unladylike and so very unbecoming,' but on second thought I don't really care. I'll still try to use euphemistic language so as not to offend anyone's delicate sensibilities, but other than that ... hah.

So I've been having a week of uterus pirhanas and it's been driving me insane. Since having Essie PMS has been twice as bad (maybe more, since it wasn't something I suffered from much before and I considered myself lucky.) My usual depression/anxiety combo kicks into extreme overdrive and I feel like the world is ending and there is no hope for the future for anyone, ANYONE. So far I've been thinking I'm lucky since I'm not having 24/7 postpartum or anything like that, but the week leading up to the event is quite ungood in my brain. And during the actual event? Phyisical pain like crazy.

It's tiresome and I do not want. It's yet another reason to add to the list of countable blessings with regard to having a happy, low-fuss baby. If I felt like this and had to deal with hours of screaming or sleeplessness I'm sure I'd be looking for bridges or tall buildings right quick, but Essie is so very, very good. I also often feel awkward talking about that, like I should somehow not bring it up in case I'm perceived as bragging and thus alienating anyone reading who has to deal with a baby with colic or whatnot, but I have to give this kid her props. She's posessed of an extreme good nature and I appreciate her for it every single day. Taking it for granted? Not over here.

So, that's my last couple of weeks emotionally in a nutshell. LUCKY for me there was some extreme goodness in there. My family threw me an awesome baby shower last weekend. La hosted it and did all the prep work and inviting and whatnot (because she's so incredibly awesome and beautiful.) It was full of moms and aunts and uncles and cousins and sisters and in-laws and nieces and nephews. It was co-ed (obviously) and was a BLAST. It was also hot. Really, seriously hot. Essie spent the whole time in just a diaper, even though I'd originally dressed her in a sweet pink sundress and sandals. Most of the rest of us wished we could sit around in just our unders, but it just wouldn't have been right so we all stayed clothed and envied the freedom of pink, innocent babies.

Speaking of pink, innocent babies here she is sitting in her brand new Bumbo at the shower:



SO CUTE. She's got her frog in there with her to help her fit a bit better since she's still just a teeny bit small for it. Not for long, though!

Admittedly maybe it's SOME kind of science.

I think that upon finding out I was pregnant I, more than anyone else, was curious to see how I responded to motherhood. I don't mean the overall, lifelong experience of it. What I mean is the very fact of having a child. I wondered what my reaction would be to the actual baby that popped out of my womb.

For most of my adult life I didn't have a desire to go forth and procreate. I never really did, even as a kid. I didn't play house with the whole, "I can hardly wait to grow up and be a mommy," sort of thing going on. I think I played the parts of daddy, kid, cat and dog with enthusiasm equal to that of the mommy role. The 'baby rabies' was a foreign concept to me as I reached my twenties. I liked kids, I just didn't feel the need for any of my own. I also didn't choose to spend much time around them. I babysat for my entire teenage career, and did so even into college, so I tried to avoid getting involved in children's ministries at church. That wasn't a popular choice and I did end up getting pressured into it from time to time, but I tried my best to stay out of it.

So ... yeah. I've just never been that 'someday ... a baby' person. Getting married did not equal having kids. Being an adult didn't either. It wasn't something I was going to jump into recklessly.

At times when I found myself doubting that choice I tried to picture myself with a baby. It was less than convincing. The baby was always very conceptual. Chubby, roly-poly, wispy-haired and warm with vague features. It was just some baby. I didn't feel anything emotionally significant when I imagined that baby. It was like any number of babies I'd seen and while it was appealing in an infant way, it didn't make my heart jump or my ovaries twitch. I'd heard and read about parents who didn't feel a bond with their baby when it was born and I wondered a bit if I'd be like that; that I just didn't have that instinct in me.

And then Shaughnessy was born. I spent her first 30 hours away from her, flat on my back being pumped full of magnesium sulfate and unable to visit the NICU until I was off it. I couldn't tell physically that I'd given birth since I'd had a c-section and was still medicated against any pain, and I hadn't yet seen her with my own eyes. I worried that I wasn't connecting with the fact that I'd had a baby, and that I didn't feel enough emotion regarding the whole situation. Yes, I was being very hard on myself in a very turbulent time, but I couldn't grasp what had happened and it concerned me a LOT. I thought I was already failing the parenthood test.

The next day I met my daughter. And while there wasn't some instant, mind-blowing connection that opened up the floodgates of motherhood and swept me away on a tidal wave of maternal instinct, there was something just as surprising to me. I met her and instead of feeling that neither-here-nor-there feeling I had toward the conceptual baby of my imaginings I realized, "Oh, it's YOU!"



It wasn't just some baby after all. It was Shaughnessy. I recognized her. I saw her and knew her as my daughter and that was that. Of course, that didn't make things easier. No; it made everything more difficult in the most amazing way. I was terrified of losing her as quickly as I'd gained her. I hated that her nurses had the freedom to handle her any way they wanted to while I had to stand by and watch and get permission to do any little thing. I lay awake in bed imagining all the horrible things she'd had to endure so far and the potential things I'd been told could go wrong yet. I wanted to be the one caring for her and protecting her and comforting her and sustaining her.

Basically, I felt like any other parent of a premature baby. But boy, oh boy, did I feel it. Any worries I had about not feeling enough for her were erased very quickly.

So, my deduction is this: It's not rocket science. Babies are not conceptual. They are YOUR FRIGGING BABY and even if you don't like kids in general, you're still very likely to feel something pretty strong for your very own child. While there may be parents who don't have an initial bond, I'd be willing to bet that they do form one sooner rather than later and it ceases to be an issue.

Of course, this is all coming from the perspective of the mother. I was hopped up on hormones, magnesium sulfate, pain meds, blood pressure meds, fatigue, hunger and fear. I'm going to have to quiz a few formerly-childfree dads on their reaction to their newborns; especially dads of premature babies.

Angry and sad.

With Shaughnessy's birth has also come the emergence of the 'Motherbeast'. The Motherbeast personifies all the primal, raw feelings of protectiveness and nurturing that have flared up in me. It's overwhelming, to say the least, and sometimes kind of scary. Seeing my daughter endure all the things she's had to endure so far in her tiny, short life has been like poking a stick at the Motherbeast and I get truly angry. There's so much frustration and helplessness in having a preemie that you just want to BLAME someone, take it out on someone and make them FIX it. I literally want to resort to violence at times, and I'm surprised at myself.

Which brings us to the other side of things. Because when I'm not feeling the protective fierceness of the Motherbeast, I'm feeling the frightened guilt of a puppy who knows it's done something bad and that there's a reckoning coming. I did it wrong. I didn't carry my baby until she was ready to come out. My body was so inhospitable that I couldn't make it a safe place for her to stay. I FAILED her and she has to suffer for my inadequacies. Isn't someone going to punish me for that?

It's been drilled into me by many people (doctors, psychiatrists, social workers, nurses) that these feelings of guilt and shame and self-blame are normal, that every mother who suffers from pre-eclampsia has the same thoughts. Intellectually I am thankful to know that. Emotionally, it's hard to hang on to it. I know that my part in this wasn't easy, that it wasn't my fault, that I could have died from the pre-eclampsia as well and that having Shaughnessy when I did saved both of us. But I visit the websites that tell me how she should be developing in my womb, still safely tucked away in a warm, pain-free environment until being born a fat, healthy full-term baby and I mourn that for her. And for me. And for Andrew, who has had a painful few weeks and has had to juggle work, illness, worry and stress around all the hospital business, not to mention having to quarantine himself away from his brand-new daughter almost this entire time. He hasn't been able to comfort himself with sitting at her bedside, giving her hand-hugs, holding her from time to time. He's had only pictures and my reports on her sweetness to satisfy his paternal instincts and it's just not enough.

I know this will all get easier. We'll look back on this time as difficult but necessary, and it'll seem like such a short blip in the bigger picture of her life. Right now, though, it's fricking hard.

Baby Jeanes has moved from Riverdance to STOMP.

Andrew FINALLY got to feel some substantial kicks from baby Jeanes. We were sitting side by side in bed doodling around on our respective laptops when I suddenly felt a series of no-kidding-around kicks that were quite different from the usual more subtle sensations. I grabbed Andrew's hand and put it where I thought they were strongest and he felt at least three good ones.

I've felt kind of guilty about being the one to feel all the baby sensations, silly as that is, so it was really nice. Yes, I'm doing all the heavy lifting of the carrying and growing of our kid but I'd still like to share the positives of the experience with Andrew and the kicking is definitely the fun part. At this point.

It's comforting that Andrew thinks I'm noticeably showing because I've had more than a few people say that I'm not showing at all and that pretty much just makes me feel like I must be a TOTAL fat-ass or something. (Don't worry if you've said it to me; I overreact to pretty much everything lately, OK?) Andrew is the one who sees me without my clothes so he's the one who can tell the best, I realize, plus I'm still wearing regular jeans that stretch so they probably inhibit the belly, but I just kind of want to look verifiable-y PREGNANT already. If I'd started out wafer-thin there'd be no question at this point, I realize, but at least I've gotten to wear my regular clothes for a good long time, right? I'm down to just a few shirts at this point, and Maysie was sweet enough to send me home with some of her maternity clothes to try out the other night so those plus some shopping on my part should have me set.

On a related note I have to find a pretty maternity dress to wear because our beloved friends Colin and Jen are getting married next month! Hooray! I'm so excited to go and take part, and I hope that the deities of maternity wear will smile upon me and have a dress in existence that will satisfy my needs. I'm not one hundred percent sure what those needs are at the moment other than it being a-line and able to contain my ridiculous pregnancy boobs. Oh, I have not complained here about my boobs and I'm afraid to start because they might sense it and go even more insane. I am afraid of these breasts.

Hmmm. What else? I guess not much else pregnancy related. We went to St. Catharines and Niagara On The Lake over the weekend to visit Jerome and then go to dinner with Andrew's Nana and Grandpa Bill. Seeing Jerome was super awesome fantastic, as always, and we totally fell in love with his house. It's seriously the kind of house we'd love to raise our kid in, just the right size for our needs and freaking gorgeous besides. It has CHARM, people. CHARM. I hope you love your house as much as we do, Jerome!

After that we went to NOTL to see Nana and Grandpa Bill. We met them for dinner at a restaurant/hotel/spa that is quite nice and even though I shouldn't have I ordered the prime rib for dinner. I had to because it came with Yorkshire pudding and ... come on. Yorkshire pudding! I ordered it rare and the chef was obviously incredibly good at his job and sent me a perfectly rare piece of meat. The problem was that it was also an enormous piece of meat and I could barely eat half of it. So I had to take it home and reheat it, at which point it was no longer perfectly rare. Sob. Oh, but my life is filled with tragedy.

Then we came home. The next night (Sunday night) we went to Maysie and Dan's and had delicious homemade pizza and a night full of excruciatingly depressing episodes of Battlestar Galactica. Depressing or no it is the best show on TV, so it's totally worth it. Uh, to me. I had pre-watched the episodes on my own at home so didn't break down bawling every few minutes when we were with the friends, but I assure you that I cried my face off in private. Pregnancy hormones FTW!

Moody me.

So, um, Andrew didn't get the ultrasound shots scanned on Friday but he'll try to today, promise!

I really must be feeling more energetic and happier now that I'm feeling much better physically. Dan commented on it when we were at their place for a Battlestar Galactica night (must catch up since the new season starts so soon!) I was thinking about it and yes, I think it's true. Except that I'm also still hormonal and prone to sudden mood changes, something that happened on our way home from said delightful evening.

When we left Maysie and Dan's place it was snowing out but it wasn't deep or anything. We walked to Bathurst to catch the streetcar to Bathurst station, something we normally do since it's a shorter walk. Now, this snow wasn't the lightly falling, pleasant kind of snow. It was small and mean flakes that drove persistently against us, borne on an unpleasant wind. The kind that stick all over your clothes and collect on your hair like a white blanket and then instead of brushing off bond to your hair and clothes, then melt there.

As we were walking to Bathurst we saw a streetcar go by. This isn't uncommon so we were prepared to wait for the next one which usually doesn't take too long and we were optimistic, borne as we were on the high of having had a great night with friends. The streetcar stop is situated so that hopeful cab drivers pull up constantly right in front of you and stare at you a bit until you either shake your head or just look disinterested and this happened quite a few times. We briefly discussed grabbing one since the weather was so bad but it's expensive so I suggested we should wait. So we did. We waited and waited. And waited.

The snow got meaner and meaner, coming down more heavily, and the cold combined with the inescapable annoyance of the flakes against my face got more and more uncomfortable until suddenly I couldn't take it any more. My stoic resistance to spending cab money suddenly and completely transformed into disgust and major frustration at the discomfort we were experiencing and I said we should take the next cab that came along. Andrew readily agreed, thankfully, and even though it then (of course) took a bit for a free cab to come along we got one and got in. Phew!

Now, I'm an emotional person, something I readily admit, but even I am a bit bemused by how very quickly my moods can change on a dime these days. One minute I'll be humming along, thinking about how cute my cats are and what I'm going to be eating for dinner later, the next I'll be welling up with tears over how radically our lives will be changing and worried about whether we'll be prepared. Then I'll think to myself that we won't have a choice and it'll all work itself out and I'll feel better and eat a banana. Then I'll feel the baby kick and get overcome with the total weirdness of growing a human in my very own body.

So, I'm all over the map, but managing to keep it together for the most part and remind myself a lot about how I have to keep it together for this kid since ain't nobody else going to mother it for me! (Despite the apparent need my sisters and mom have to grab it and hug it and smother it with love, I'm sure they don't intend to keep it after it starts crying or wetting itself. And besides; I might turn out to be okay at the mothering thing after all.)