mothers' day in pictures

I've gotta say, after a totally shit week, I really had this one coming. Perfect weather, perfect company, perfect day. 

quick hit: placentas, floor beds and sharing

A few things from around the internet:

My doula and friend, David Goldman, was featured on Peaceful Parenting! He's a great resource for information on the benefits of placenta consumption, and I'm so proud to see him getting some recognition, especially on such a well-respected site. 

Melissa of Vibrant Wanderings wrote a pretty great post on sharing from the Montessori perspective. We like and encorporate into our lives lots of the Montessori approach to child-rearing, but are by no means scholars on the subject. Since Zelda's birth, George has caught a(n age appropriate) case of The Mines, and at playdates it was becoming unclear whether I should force him to share or just let the struggles over toys shake out between the kids. This was just the read I needed, and sparked some great discussion amongst my friends when I shared it on Facebook. Thanks (again), Melissa!

Speaking of Montessori, we finally made the transition from George's crib to a floor bed. He loved his crib after moving into it from our bed, when he was about 15 months old, and it became apparent by his all-night starfishing and tossing/turning that he needed his own space. I was inspired by this (very old) post at Bloesem Kids and this (also old) post at Sew Liberated and, after a little whining about the change, George is nothing short of thrilled about his new bed. Some of his more recent frustrations seemed to be centered around being "unable" to do things on his own when I'm occupied with Zelda, so I'm hoping that this will foster his independence a little and show him that it can feel just as good (or better) to do things on his own. It seems to be working, so, awesome. 

Lastly, we've been doing things like this:

G & Z, same outfit, same age (give or take a few weeks). 

naming zelda

When I was pregnant with George, sometime prior to the 20 week ultrasound that revealed him to be a boy, I started having dreams starring Thomas Pynchon. Not being a huge fan of his, I had no idea what he looked like, so he mainly took the form of other people I knew or his likeness from the Simpsons: a guy with a paper bag over his head. Thomas Pynchon told me, quite insistently, to name my daughter Prairie. "Name your daughter Prairie!" he repeated to me, with no explanation, a few nights a week for a couple of months.

I could go on to tell you why I found this especially magical, why I was so inclined to do as he said, why it was such an uncanny thing to happen, recurring dream-style. But I'll spare you. George was a boy, and I irritatedly wrote dream-Pynchon off, seeing as how he was wrong about my baby's sex.

When I learned that I was (allegedly; I didn't believe it until I saw a real-life vulva) pregnant with a girl, I had a revelation: this was Prairie. Thomas Pynchon hadn't specified which baby I was to call Prairie. I'd been so silly, pissed at that dream-Pynchon for being wrong when he was actually so prescient. We made name lists and eventually narrowed the field to three or four choices. George had a favorite; Nathan had a favorite, and neither's favorite was Prairie. A short list came with us to the birth center, but in my heart of hearts, this baby was always Prairie. Until we saw her. And she just... wasn't a Prairie.

I know lots of people choose their child's name months in advance of his or her birth, and that seems to work out for them just fine. I don't know if they have regrets, or if they waffle upon seeing their baby and think, "wait; maybe this isn't Jayden/Michaela/Prudence." Even though I'd felt that this girl was my Prairie, I hadn't said as much out loud, we'd never announced her name, and I'd really only shared our frontrunners with my close friends. Seeing her changed my mind, and I was glad to be the name-after-birth sort of person rather than a vinyl-name-decal-on-the-nursery-wall-at-6-months-pregnant sort.

George was never on board with any name but Zelda, and when I read my horoscope in early December, seeing the Yiddish name Selig -- the feminization of which is Zelda -- felt providential in a way similar to paper bag-headed Thomas Pynchon informing my name choice. Zelda was in the top three on our list (I have an abiding love for Zelda Fitzgerald, to whom history -- and life, actually -- has not been kind. Nevertheless, she was an amazing talent and complicated woman: both traits I hope my daughter to have) but, more importantly, it was what George had been calling his sister all along. That was sweet, I thought. His first buy-in as a brother. We couldn't very well cast that aside, could we? So we tried it out. We talked about which name suited her best, and choosing any other name felt like usurping astrology and George at once. Plus, it fit. Zelda was it.

Marigold was always strictly a first name option. One Nathan had grown partial to in the final weeks of my pregnancy, when we forced ourselves to nail down three whole possible combinations. Zelda Marigold wasn't one of them, but something happened that hadn't occurred to me as a potentiality: she was both a Zelda and a Marigold.

Marigolds, signifiers of celebration. On the day of the dead, their blooms draw loved ones' souls back to their families. They drape the necks of brides and grooms, form wedding garlands. They treat illness. Their scent drives pests from the garden. They are protective and cheerful, adaptable. Pretty, but not ostentatious. Peppery. It helps, too, that our children's hair is golden. Not blonde, not really brown, but shiny halfway-between. I thought I'd have two dark-haired babes, but one, then two came with the same spun gold fuzz.

I don't know yet if she'll be a Zelda or a Goldie -- if the latter will be akin to honey, or chicken or buster as I call her brother, or if one will eventually feel truer. Either way, though, just as George is the George I knew he'd be the minute we settled on his name, I know we picked right for our girl. I hope she agrees. And maybe there's still a Prairie waiting in the wings.

zelda's birth story

My absence is easily explained in pictures, and I thought several times about simply telling Zelda's birth story here in pictures, just to raise a flag saying we're still here, and all accounted for! But that would be a disservice to her and, kind of, to me as well. It's been nearly three weeks since our littlest made her appearance, and we're still getting the hang of things. Two kids is different. Intense. Our house has been the site of much snuggly hibernation and the accompanying bouts of cabin fever, especially from big brother. 

Truly, as birth stories go, hers is short and uneventful which is maybe the way I prefer it. At 12:15am on January 31st I was still awake, willing myself to sleep as I'd done every night for the preceding, oh...four months. This may be the appropriate time to say that this pregnancy was not particularly enjoyable. As pregnancies go, mine aren't the worst by any means, but the side effects of swirling hormones and another person hanging out in my midsection are insomnia, some pretty bad pelvic pain and the kind of fatigue I could never have imagined had I been forewarned. Of course, my children are a joy well worth the pain and yada yada, you know the deal. Nonetheless, this time around took its toll and I can't say I was disappointed to feel that first contraction at 12:15 on the morning of the 31st. Since George's birth took me by surprise -- I was pushing before we left the house -- I had psyched myself up to set our plans in motion at the VERY FIRST signs of labor, or what could potentially be labor. My midwife concurred; we didn't want a repeat of the haste involved in my last birth, which was accidentally attended by a midwife we'd never met while ours was still en route to the birth center. 

Using the goofy contraction timer app on my phone, I began timing, got out of bed and had Nathan start making calls. Midwife first, then my mom to come over and sit with George, then our doula. My contractions were already 3 minutes apart and a minute long, so I hopped into a warm bath to try and slow things down while my mom made her way to our house. It worked! My contractions got farther apart and I relaxed a little, confident that we'd get to the birth center in time to settle in and labor awhile. Using what little I remember from the Hypnobabies course I took in preparation for George's birth, with every contraction I focused on something -- the bathtub drain plug, if you must know -- and isolated the parts of my body that were working to move my baby down and open my cervix. I did my best to let my body do its thing and my contractions were feeling good. Productive. Understandable. They were uncomfortable, but not yet painful, which reassured me that we would have a more "normal" labor this time.  

My mom got to our house and it was only a matter of minutes until my midwife called to say she was almost into town and we could head to the birth center; she would meet us there, as would our doula. I got out of the bath, got ready (I was grateful that I'd flat-ironed my hair earlier in the afternoon, on a hunch; call me vain) and we gave my mom instructions on what to do if George woke up and where to find breakfast makings if things went longer than we anticipated. I was able to dress myself this time(!), make sure we had everything we needed, say goodbye to my mom and get to/in the car relatively easily. Again, this convinced me that we still had some time. 

After a quick car ride, we arrived at the birth center. One contraction held me up on the ramp to the front door, but once it passed we went in and were greeted by the sweet faces of our doula and my midwife. We chatted for a minute while Nathan put our bag down and Winni, my midwife, asked to check my progress. 

After a quick check, then a double check with a somewhat puzzled look, she declared me "complete." 

Okay, I said. But how dilated am I? 

You're complete, she repeated. Like, you're there. 

I was confused and surprised, but really, really stoked. I hadn't even had what I'd call a painful contraction yet. How did I get so lucky? I asked if I could get in the tub and Winni, who had already started the water, gave the go-ahead. Once in the tub, I had a slightly pushy-feeling contraction, and told Winni as much. She told me to do whatever I felt like (how many OB-GYNs would tell you that?!), and I just enjoyed hanging out in the water for a little while, talking to Nathan and doula David between contractions, which were still coming regularly but were also alleviated by the deep, warm water. I was instructed to put my hair in a bun 

and had a few sips of gatorade before the urge to push came on. My water broke after the first good push, and Winni asked Nathan if he'd like to deliver the baby. He said he would, and she asked him to go wash his hands. As he did, another push came on and Winni called him back, as the baby was already crowning! Winni reached down to turn the baby slightly, and she came out into the water, into her papa's and Winni's hands. She was placed on my chest and covered in a blanket, and, while we stared at her for a few minutes, I forgot to check and see if she was, in actuality, a girl. 

She was. Our baby girl was born at 2:27am, just two hours and thirteen minutes after my very first contraction. Our awesome doula was taking pictures in the dim light, and though they're all blurry, I feel like they really capture the warm, mid-night haziness of my labor.

She was round-headed and fuzzy; cried right away. I delivered the placenta easily and got out of the bath, into a fluffy white robe, then into the big, beautiful bed where Winni checked me and declared me free of tears and other unpleasantness.

Like I did after George was born, I bled a lot. A lot. In fact, I made the unfortunate decision to get up and pee too soon and paid for my ambition with an embarrassing fainting episode. Luckily, doula David caught me on the way down and the rest of my recovery was without incident. After a little checking-out of the baby, who weighed in at 7 lbs, 15 oz and measured 19.5 inches long, our team left us alone to stare at the baby, nurse and take a short nap. By 5am we were ready to head home (but not before taking some photos of Winni and David).

Once again, I consider my labor and birth experience(s) to be incredibly charmed. I've been so lucky to have the midwife I do -- one whom I genuinely love, with 30 years of experience, who hugs us and kisses us and talks about the time she saw Wilco in Barcelona -- and the doula I do -- one whom I whole-heartedly recommend to every pregnant woman I know -- not to mention my partner. Do I feel a little sheepish saying that my labor was easy, and knowing it's not an overstatement? Yeah. But also? You guys, it totally ruled. 

Zelda Marigold, meeting her big brother. 1/31/12

WTB

We bought so much junk we didn't end up using when I was pregnant with George.  (Incidentally, I promise not every post from now 'til February is going to begin with "...when I was pregnant with George" though my recent track record may lead you to believe otherwise.) I've previously said that I feel prepared for this new kid, and, mostly, I do. That doesn't stop me from buying a few pieces of clothing at consignment shops -- retail-related fun has to be had somewhere -- or sewing some diaper covers, but really and truly, I consider us covered. That is, with a handful of exceptions, all of which are owed to experience. 

Cute newborn George who needed about 25% of what we bought him

We have some stuff I plan to use in a different capacity, such as:

• The Kanoe baby hammock. Really cool, nice looking, but George hated it. I'd love to put it up in the living room as a hang-out spot with no expectation that anyone will sleep in it. Then, if napping happens there, it'll be a pleasant surprise. 
• The changing table. It was an amazing re-store score: a metal cabinet that we repainted the perfect yellow, re-topped and have used and loved, but it takes up a lot of room. Room that we don't have to spare. It may find a new life as a station for Nathan's Etsy stuff, or...something.

But there are also some things I'd like to get to make our lives just a little easier, such as:

• An amber teething necklace. I kept meaning to buy one for George, who began teething at three months, popped his first two teeth at four months and didn't stop until he had a full mouth at 11 months old. We had good luck with breastmilk popsicles and Hyland's teething tablets, but there was still some discomfort that I'd like to try relieving naturally with another kid. Plus, those necklaces are just so cute.
• An honest-to-goodness contoured changing pad to stick on the ubiquitous EXPEDIT bookshelf that now houses toys and books. There's currently lots of...ephemera on the top. My plan is to get a hanging closet organizer to attach to the rack we installed, buy some baskets and keep diapers in that. Tucked in the corner, close at hand, and freeing up about eight square feet of floor space.
• A double stroller. Babywearing worked wonders for us, and it goes without saying that I intend to wear this baby, too. I never thought I'd find a stroller indispensible, but in a town where walking is so doable, ours has made a big difference. Snobbery about strollers is a ridiculous and regrettable quality in a person; nevertheless, I am a terrible stroller snob. Extra hilarious when one is simultaneously poor and idiotic about strollers.
• Sophie. All the other kids had one, and George chewed every Sophie he could get his grubby little mits on. We should probably spring for our own this time.
• The No-Cry Sleep Solution. I've heard this recommended by so many parents, and I'd love to try for a sleeping situation -- even if only for naps -- that allows for sleep-time separation. For George's first year, he was only able to fall asleep while nursing and stay asleep at my side. I watched a lot of TV. Pretty sure my time could've been better spent. 

Not too shabby, huh? Just five things, made even more bearable by the myriad I'll undoubtedly get rid of when pulling George's baby stuff out of storage. Does this mean I won't break down and buy one of those natural rubber pacifiers that look so mid-century Scandinavian-perfect? Or a fancy snotsucker to replace the dreaded teal bulb? No. I'm still an easy target. But looking at such a small list of what I generously consider to be "needs" is certainly a load off my mind, and the family's bank account. 

What, if anything, did you buy when you added to your family?