Hannie, my love:

you turned 3 months old this week and to celebrate you got an awesome case of diarrhea. i’m always saying that it’s not a party unless you’re crapping your pants, so way to go kiddo! i think of all the time you’ve been on this planet this was my favorite and most heartbreaking month. you see, the minute i decided i had enough of this stay-at-home mom business and go back to work you simultaneously turned into an actual baby. with a personality! that can do things! and with 59% less fussiness! alas i went ahead with my plan to return to work and place you in day care. this decision that was made before you were born and one that i had no idea would turn me into a sobbing mess.

day care has been a blessing and a curse. you apparently have so much to see and do during the day that naps are of no consequence. thus, when your father picks you up in the afternoon you can barely keep your eyes open. the good part about this is that you have done so much during the day that you sleep like a champ. the downside is that i feel i have no quality time with you. it sometimes feels like a mad dash to get you into bed before you turn into a monster that resembles an infant version of The Incredible Hulk. baby, SMASH! i know that as you get older we’ll probably look back at this and laugh, “remember when we’d fight her to stay awake? yeah, that was hilarious! now where is that baby Ambien?” having you in daycare also makes me feel like a better mother. i’m more patient with you. when it was just you and i at home i would watch the clock and bite my nails until 5 p.m. when your father came home. i then would toss you in his arms, grab a beer from the fridge and sit on the back porch in utter silence for ten minutes. don’t get me wrong, being with you is awesome, but after 10 straight hours of feeding, rocking, changing, doing, talking, singing, swinging, looking, moving i was becoming a lunatic. now i come home, meet you with open arms and try to not let go until it’s time to go to bed.

you are quickly meeting many of your milestones. some are considered “advanced” for your age. you are blowing bubbles, holding your head up, bringing your hands together, and visually track moving objects. my favorite milestones though are your laugh and your ability to imitate sounds. when you start to become tired you make this noise that sounds like “diggle diggle diggle”. the first time you did it i laughed so hard i cried. this made you incredibly happy. now, i can say “diggle diggle diggle” and you will copy me. i will laugh and you will smile and i just want to smoosh you together and eat you up.

this month you will have tubes placed in your ears to drain the excess fluid that has been hindering your hearing tests since birth. this surgery is a source of great excitement and extreme anxiety for us. you are still responding to loud noises and the occasional words and though in my heart i know you can hear, this will give us the solace that we did what it took for you to hear your Grampa sing “Danny Boy”.

puddin’ pop, you are truly a remarkable and awe-inspiring human being. i’m amazed that your father and i created something so beautiful. not that we’re ugly people, mind you.

love,
mama

hi there, you.

they did what?!

i’m showing you my muscle

this kid is so happy, she smiles in her sleep

dear Hannie:

today is Mother’s Day and also the day you turn 2 months old. yeah, i wrote that on sunday. as you can tell having you around means that i do not get much done. the other day your daddy came home and the dishwasher was open, the cabinets were open, dishes were all over the counter. i had started to unload the dishwasher and you woke up for a feeding. you come first in this house. something that was a little hard to get used to as for the past 30 years i have been the center of attention. but, and i will say this a lot, you are totally worth it.

the past month has been hard on all of us. you have been filled with more radioactive material than most people are subjected to in a lifetime. barium swallow tests, barium enemas, x-rays, you name it, you went through it the past month. all in the search to find out why you were projectile vomiting on us and screaming your head off after each feeding. linda blair has nothing on you. after all these tests and no conclusive evidence of a digestive issue i, on a fluke, gave you Similac Isomil soy formula. within 24 hours you were a different kid. whether it was the formula or the fact that you had just turned 6 weeks old and thus your tummy was more mature, we’ll never know. i really don’t care. we were able to sleep for more than an hour at a time. your daddy and i no longer had to take shifts sitting up with you howling in pain. you were happy. we were happy.

although your tummy issues were resolved we still had another hurdle to overcome: your hearing. since birth you have not passed a single hearing test. we were referred to a pediatric ENT (the second opinion one) and he saw that you had an abnormal amount of fluid in your ears. while this isn’t uncommon in babies and usually resolves itself i was a nervous wreck. would you ever hear my voice? your Grampa’s singing? your daddy’s terrible taste in music? i cried for days prior to the fluid diagnosis. once we received the news that this is treatable i suddenly became calm. we would get through this. look, if we have to endure your Grampa’s German drinking songs, so do you. as it stands we are waiting on one more audiologist appointment to determine if tubes will be necessary. however, as i type this i just coughed and CHRIST ON BIKE YOU STARTLED! something you haven’t done since you’ve come into this world. there is hope after all. if not, i am certain that i will have fun learning how to teach you to sign “poop”.

medical issues aren’t the only thing we have experienced with you. this month you are more alert and interactive. you’re not just some fetal blob that lies around the house. you smile a smile that resembles a toothless old lady. and it melts my heart every time. when you smile or grin or coo at us i know that we are doing something right. after a bottle we will sit you on your boppy or playmat and “talk”. our little conversations are usually me making funny noises or faces and you staring intently and randomly gurgling in agreement that “yes, mama, you are completely insane”. your happiness is right in sync with your grumpiness. by god, we better have a bottle sitting at the ready when you are hungry. if not you will whimper and then begin a shit storm of screaming that turns your face purple. i have a feeling that this is a precursor to you holding your breath and stomping your feet because holy lord we didn’t buy you that Polly Princess piece of crap at the grocery store. not that i would know anything about that.

sleeping for you is not that bad. once you are asleep you stay asleep. it is the getting you down part that is a killer. for the first two months you would only sleep in your swing seat placed in our bed. recently we have begun transitioning you to the pack-n-play bassinet in our room. i can’t tell you how wonderful it is to not be smacked in the face by a rogue swing in the middle of the night. eventually we will move you to that expensive wood structure in your room that we use as storage. i think it is called a “crib”.

you are growing in leaps and bounds and i can’t wait to see what the next month brings. i’m hoping it will be longer sleep stretches at night. or a case of beer.

love,
mama

napping with daddy

why yes, i am damn adorable

Sister Mary Elephant

i have two tickets to the gun show

you’re yawning just looking at this photo, aren’t you?

andy rooney look-a-like

yay! a car ride!

the look i get when i try to explain why Grampa is a Republican

our dear friend Kristie of KP Studios came to the house when Hannie was 10 days old to take some photos of her. after a very poopy start Hannie settled down and the following images were captured.

Kristie did a fantastic job and was so sweet with Hannie. i can’t wait to have more photos taken of her!

dear Hanlon,

i am convinced that you will grow up having multiple personalities based on all of the nicknames we have for you. growing up i had one nickname which my parents (your Nana and Grampa) still call me. in fact, they have even addressed mail to me using that nickname. and no, i’m not telling you what it is. at the moment you are currently known as Baby Creature, Hannie Bananie, Squiggles, Squigs, Senorita Fussypants, Chipmunk and T-Rex.

no one tells you how incredibly hard having a newborn is. i think if they did Trojan condoms would be a Fortune 500 company. all the parenting classes in the world do not prepare you for the uncertainty of having a baby. everything with you has been trial and error and i can only thank my lucky stars that you will have no recollection of this time in your life. if you did i imagine that your daddy and i would go the way of Jose and Kitty Menendez. first it was the breastfeeding issues and the fact that my boobs could not keep up with your voracious appetite. then it was your hearing issues which i am convinced that you can hear, you just do not give a shit. and don’t get me started on the gas and fussiness. oh dear god, the endless crying from gas pains. there were nights when i wanted to “go out to get a pack of cigarettes”. there are two things that kept me from driving forks into my eyes and ears: my undying love for you and your father. his consoling and reassurance made it easier to handle what the three of us were going through. you’ll find out later that he is the calm one.

you are nothing like i envisioned. you are more beautiful than the baby i had dreamed of. every day you change just a little. your hands are always searching. i adore when you stare at me with those steel gray eyes. you drink in everything with those eyes. that is when you’re not passed out in your swingy seat. i’m sending a thank you note to the makers of your swing. it has saved us many a night when you were inconsolable and my back ached from walking the floor with you. at one point we moved the swing into the bed with us just so we could get some shut-eye. little battles, little wins.

as uncertain as having a baby can be there is one constant: our love for you. though we are exhausted and sometimes want to pull our hair out you are nothing if not amazing. you are a perfect blend of your father and i (my feet and your father’s everything else). i cannot wait to watch you grow into the adorable little girl i know you will be. adorable and one who knows that talking about poop in public is hilarious.

just a few minutes old and already contemplating world domination.

don’t let the bunny fool you, i am this adorable.

Hanlon does her best “Grampa On St. Patrick’s Day” impression.

you would think that all this kid does is sleep. i assure you, it’s not.

squishy knees! and little hands!

this is why we call her T-Rex.

on monday, march 9th i had spent the morning getting some extra sleep and tidying up the house. my last day of work was the previous friday and i had so many plans on how to spend the next week preparing the house for the arrival of The Manatee! i had an appointment with my OB at 2 p.m. in which i would discuss the possibility of inducing the following monday as it was a.) 2 days after my due date and b.) she would be on spring break with her kids that entire week. i took my time rolling out of bed (and by roll, i mean that in every literal sense possible. i was enormous and ALL belly.) and taking a nice long shower. because this would possibly be my last office visit before D-Day and because of the induction discussion i asked kevin to accompany me to the doctor. i picked him up from his office at 1 p.m. and joked to his boss i would have him back in an hour. you shouldn’t make promises you cannot keep.

kevin and i entered the elevator up to the OB’s office when i felt a “effervescent mist” of wetness. i turned to kevin and whispered “i think my water just broke”. he said “are you sure? maybe it’s just your mucus plug.” yes, ladies and gentlemen, my husband and i discuss the intimate details of my nether regions in graphic detail. we especially like to do this at the christmas dinner table. it makes passing of the cranberry sauce interesting. so there we were, i was leaking whatever onto my favorite pair of maternity jeans and creeping out the orderly riding the elevator with us. we reached the doctor’s office and i said to the receptionist in a hushed, yet excited voice “i have an appointment but i think my water broke in the elevator”. the receptionist calls the nurse and tells me to go ahead to the back. we are ushered into an exam room and i am asked to undress. before i can even put my feet in the stirrups my doctor says “oh yeah, your water definitely broke. i’m calling labor and delivery; you’re not going home today.” kevin and i exchange looks of horror, excitement, and surprise. after nine months of housing The Manatee! we were going to meet her!

cue the phone calls. kevin calls his parents and my parents as i put my clothes back on. i’m in a state of shock. this was actually happening. i then realize something: i haven’t packed thing one for the hospital. in fact, i had joked to my mom the night before that because i didn’t have a bag packed that The Manatee would come just to make me hustle. touche’ kiddo. i start making a mental list of things for kevin to get at the house as the nurse is explaining to us where to get checked in at labor and delivery. i have to ask three times which floor to go to.

labor and delivery is a crosswalk over and 2 floors down. we check in at the nurses station and are directed to the new wing of the hospital. on our way down the hallway we see kevin’s mom’s best friend. her daughter is on the same floor and is about to have a c-section. we wish her good luck and dash off to check in at the other nurses station. all the while my amniotic fluid is leaking exponentially. my head and my Hanes Her Way are swimming. i’m still making a mental list of things i need from the house.

our nurse, Janelle, is in her mid-40’s and is absolutely adorable. i want to skip through a meadow of wildflowers with her. right after i get a bath. she notes to us that our maternity suite is the largest on the floor. i believe her. our room is big enough to host ballroom competitions in and the view out of the windows is beautiful. it is 3 p.m. and the sky is painted with whispy clouds. janelle begins asking us all of the routine questions and starts my IV of saline and Pitocin. i make sure janelle knows that i am pro-drugs and would like to make it through this process as pain-free as possible. i am now all registered, draped, and cozy. i’m not feeling the contractions and think “this is pretty pleasant”. my parents arrive and kevin goes to the house, armed with a list of things to pack and a strict instruction to give cooper a big hug and kiss for me. while kevin is gone my parents and i chat and make phone calls to all the appropriate friends and family. everyone is on stand-by and eagerly waiting for our next update.

an hour or so later kevin arrives with the maternity bag. by this point it is 5 p.m. and the contractions are starting to get intense. janelle reminds me that i can ask for pain relief at any point but i decide i am not there yet. i think i waited all of 30 minutes and realize that yes, i am ready for that shot of Nubaine. in fact, i believe my words were “bring on the drugs!”. janelle administers Nubaine in my IV and i immediately feel a wave of warmth. all i can say in my drug haze is “i feel like Florida”. while the Nubaine took the edge off the contractions it makes me feel disconnected and dizzy. kevin tries to play a Family Guy dvd for me, but i wave it away in frustration. my family and best friends are chatting happily and the pain is making me want to strangle every one in the room. i grab kevin’s hand and whisper “i need something more”. ten minutes later the anesthesiologist arrives and begins prepping me for my epidural. i decide to name The Manatee! “Epidural Goldstein”.

things progress pretty quickly after the epidural. kevin and i were convinced we would labor until the next day, but around 11 p.m. i was dilated to nine centimeters. the night nurse, amy, began setting up the room for the delivery and i quickly began to hate the epidural. i was shivering so bad that my jaw was aching from being clenched. i became very nauseated and threw up all of the ice chips i had been gnawing on for the past five hours. at some point an oxygen mask was put on me.

around midnight it was time to push. i never felt such relief and such pressure in all my life. i was a champ at pushing through the count of 1-6, but around count 7 i became too tired to finish. nurse amy’s coaching voice became like nails on a chalkboard. i would be happy if i never had to hear “push push push push pushpushpushpushpush” again. because of the epidural i had no idea if i was even pushing properly. i just pretended to take a big poo. a big poo in front of strangers. the on-call doctor arrives in his brooks brothers shiny loafers and scrubs and dresses for the main event. this is it. i push five or so times and the doctor looks at me and says “you can continue pushing for another thirty minutes or i can make a little incision and she’ll be here now”. CUT ME DOC!

after one more push our daughter was born yelling at the top of her beautiful little lungs. at 12:23 a.m. on March 10th, Hanlon Elizabeth was finally here. she was placed on my chest and i just bawled. she was so gorgeous. while the doctor stitched me up and i was cleaned, Hanlon was bathed. kevin broke out the video camera and documented her first bath. the doctor tried talking to me but i just wanted to watch Hanlon’s first minutes of life. she weighed in at 7 pounds 3 ounces and 21 inches long. once she was clean and dressed they handed me the little girl who had bounced around in my belly for 39 weeks and 2 days. the little girl who got the hiccups every time i ate a meal. the little girl who made me crave milo’s burgers and brownie sundaes. the little girl kevin and i had tried so hard to get here. life began at this point.

the prospect of my staying home with The Manatee! has never been an option for us. I think it comes down to the fact that we love our Dish Network DVR’s too much to forego the monthly expense. but, because we are responsible parents-to-be and believe dropping The Manatee! off at the local homeless mission would be an awful way to get a head start on life, I have been scouring the city looking for a decent and reputable child care facility. and oh my good christ in heaven there are so many options! in-home, national chain, in-church, family providers, state funded, privately funded: take your pick. with each option comes different levels of care: ratios of teachers to infants can range from 1:3 or 1:5. and while on paper those ratios only differ in 2 children, those are the 2 children who could be taking the teacher’s attention from YOUR child.

kev and I were both raised in child care. I adored my nursery school teachers and if they weren’t all deceased I would probably send them Christmas cards. when I asked my mother how she came to choose the child care facility that she did I expected some heart-wrenching tale about how she desperately wanted to stay home with me and spent months and months of research looking for that perfect place to help raise her daughter. sadly, it was not the Hallmark movie-of-the-week story I had envisioned. it was more of a “we’ve got to put this child SOMEWHERE, ANYWHERE” kind of decision. in fact, the place they had originally chosen closed down suddenly forcing my mother to throw darts at the yellow pages. thankfully the school she found had thoughtful, well educated people running the joint, as you can witness from my ever expanding vocabulary of synonyms for “poop”.

one afternoon kev and I had made an appointment to meet a child care provider near our home. the woman sounded gracious and articulate on the phone. because I had made the appointment while driving home one afternoon I failed to ask any pertinent questions such as how long have you been caring for children, are you sanctioned or monitored by any governmental agencies, will I get need to dodge gunfire coming to and from your location? I was appalled when we reached the facility. it was a house in the worst possible neighborhood of Birmingham. a liquor store was directly across the street with 3 very ragged looking men drinking out of paper sacks. I believe my words to kev were “not only no, but hell no”. we promptly turned around and drove away, dust trailing behind us.

feeling defeated we decided to stop at a local church I had interviewed via phone, to see if we could at least meet the director. when we walked in there was an overwhelming fragrance of baby shit and lysol. the only person in the vicinity was a 400 pound woman sitting in a chair with her eyes glued to a television set while two children sat in high chairs with nothing to occupy them. she informed us the director was at lunch but someone would walk us through the facility. a few minutes later a petite woman with four teeth in her head appeared and swept us through the halls, stopping only momentarily to point out what age groups occupied what rooms. I noticed that in every single room a television was on some trashy talk show or soap opera. in one room specifically, the lights were off, the teacher was sitting in a chair and was telling four children who were huddled under a window sill to “shut up”. I wanted to run as fast as I could to get out of there. I fought back the urge to cry at the prospect that those children were stuck there. did their parents know what they left their children to every day? surely not.

several weeks went by and our search for a nursery to care for The Manatee! was proving fruitless. I was becoming frantic and kev and I discussed at length the option of my staying home with the baby. no one would not provide the kind of care that I could, then again we would be hopelessly broke at all times. it was during one particularly emotional “oh my dear shit what shall we ever dooooo!?” that I received an email from a friend of mine stating to calm the fuck down and call Preschool A (totally not the real name. do you think I would be crazy enough to tell you where I am going to put my child?). so I did. and we set up an interview! and they were awesome! and polite! and oh my god, they are so clean they make you put on hospital booties before you even enter the infant room! there was not a television in sight and all of the babies were either having “tummy time”, being rocked by a swing or by a teacher and there was a musical cd playing quiet lullabies in the background. when we walked out a sense of calm washed over me. this was it.

of course nothing will ever take the place of the care I could provide at home, but atleast I felt we were putting our baby into very capable and caring hands. hands that would foster playfulness and verbal skills and love. and hopefully a vocabulary that does not include twelve synonyms for “poop”.

three days ago I received a letter in the mail to renew my domain subscription and I stood there just staring at the words “cancel” and “final notice” and “never more” and wondered where I should go from here. a month ago kev and I had a meaningful discussion about the future of Pretty Helmet. what it has accomplished for me as an outlet, my dwindling readership, my lack of motivation to sit and write every day, the highs and lows of having my face and my words out there floating around for people to take to heart or twist into something awful. I sometimes picture myself standing naked on a stage in front of an audience with bags over their faces. they can see me and point out my flaws, but I cannot see them and do the same.

with all these concerns churning in my overactive pregnant brain I made the decision that this has been therapeutic for me. as of today I have been one week and four days off of zoloft. the first time in six years I have not relied on medication to make me feel “normal”. I attribute this change to several factors: my aforementioned pregnancy, my devoted and loving husband, a handful of very patient friends and family, and Pretty Helmet.

there are some big things coming in the very near future, specifically the birth of The Manatee. I want to share this with you if you will let me. and I want you to share with me if you feel it necessary. we’ll be a big groping group of sharing.

then we’ll get liquored up, take advantage of each other and not call in the morning.

being pregnant has brought about the oddest series of comments from random strangers. and of all the people you would expect a little sympathy another pregnant woman completely blindsided me this weekend. kevin and i attended a football party at a friend’s house and i was introduced to a lovely blonde who was 21 weeks into her pregnancy. she inquired as to how far along i was and when i stated 16 weeks she told me “i’m more pregnant than you are”.

wait, did i walk into a gestation competition? will there be jello wrestling?

who in the hell says that? this isn’t a pissing contest. or in my case a i-haven’t-pooped-in-ten-days contest. when i brought up this woman’s comment to dmoney she said that the woman was probably just comparing the fact that her child is no longer a “manatee” and is more of an actual baby now. while this justification got me through the next hour of the evening i went home a stewed that it was still a completely inappropriate comment. even if this woman meant that her child is more developed than mine i have to reiterate that WHO THE FUCK CARES?! congratulations, you get to experience the miracle of childbirth five whole weeks before i do. they should give her a cookie, or a medal, or a swift punch in the tit.

and just for comparison purposes, this is the Manatee! at the time of this tete-a-tete:

and crazee ladee’s baby:

oh yes, i see the differences. while the Manatee! is still kind of skinny and would quickly be signed as a top runway model, her baby will be sitting at a fat camp snarfing cheetos and wondering why her mother is an unapologetic douchebag

remember the bone crushing exhaustion i spoke about in the last post? apparently it also causes you to forget that you once gave a shit about all the things you used to give a shit about. like blogging! and posting photos! and doing stuff other than lying in bed pretending you are the first person ever to be pregnant. because my brain has taken on the consistency of my recent craving (Campbell’s bean with bacon soup) i’ll distract you with shiny things! or just some crummy photos.

look! a bump! or it could be all of the aforementioned soup i’ve been consuming. 15 weeks, suckas!

and because i’m in a giving mood, here is another belly shot. stay tuned to next week when i showcase the enormity that are my boobs.

brock had some nasty, smelly tumors removed from his ear about a month ago. apparently they could do nothing about the other 15 pounds of him.

these are kev’s evil dead figurines that stand sentinel on his desk. i assume to give him inspiration when he’s doing our monthly household budget.

this picture is really for my dad, the biggest Alabama University fan i know. roll tide, daddy!

so far this pregnancy has been typical. and by typical i mean awful. that pregnancy glow they talk about, yeah it’s nothing but your skin becoming an oil slick akin to a 13 year old’s face. fatigue? i laugh in the face of that word. bone-crushing exhaustion is a better description. my day involves me working eight hours, eating every three hours, coming home and eating some more, and then falling into a coma with nightmarish dreams. oh, and the cherry on top of this oily, bloated, acne-ed, sleep deprived mound of flesh: i signed up for this shit.

please, for the love of all that is holy don’t call or email me and laugh knowingly and say “oh you silly child with your ten hour sleep a night, it gets so much worse”. frankly i don’t think i could handle that comment and neither could you. because i will come to your house and kick you in the mouth with one of my swollen feet.

and where is kevin in all this gestational wonderment? doting lovingly on his crazed wife. he has become “that husband” sans rushing out to buy a quart of ice cream and pickles. no, he is a smart man who stocks the fridge with every culinary delight my hormonal body can think of.

now, where did i put that tub of cream cheese and pork rinds?