Here We Are

It's been thirty days since he was born and twenty four since my last surgery and I can almost kind of pick Aston up the way that I want to.

Recovering can suck it. Still, it's PROGRESS, right?



(I guess I could have bothered with some lip gloss or something, but we're tooling around the house for the holiday weekend which also explains how awesome my bedhead looks. Holy. old. fart. But! I am making up for it by planning hella vacays on Pinterest for the fall.)



p.s. My camera lense broke this week as did our irrigation system, our dog gate, Andrew's zoom on his phone, and the brakes on our stroller. Do not touch me, I am contagious. And expensive, apparently.

Shammity Sham Shams

You probably never noticed the corduroy floor pillows I threw under the crib in Aston's nursery. I never pointed them out because I kind of die from their ugliness. I used to love their broken in comfortableness, but now, no. They're spent. They've been bugging me.

So. I bought these.





I paid $3.95 for both of them instead of $39.00 a piece. Found them at a thrift store across town a couple of months ago, original tags still on. Could hardly believe my luck. Machine washable, too, just in case a certain somebody diarrheas across the room. Anyway. Not bad, right?

In your face, Pottery Barn.

The Birth Of Aston, Part 1

At exactly 8.45 this morning Aston Robert Wood turned four weeks old. It's hard to believe.

No one told me how much I would love being a mother.

The photos below were from the first few hours of our journey together, some of the happiest moments I've ever experienced. It was an amazing and humbling and life altering day. Unfortunately, in the end, it was nightmarish. Around the time that the last of these photos were taken I began to realize that something had gone terribly wrong.

If only we knew then how right I was.



Humungous thanks to La Dolce Vita Studio for their extraordinary work capturing these images.

I hope to be able to finish writing down the story of Aston's birth some time soon, and I'll be posting it here. Please understand that I am in no condition to have visitors which is why I am trying to share pictures and details when I can. Thank you (sincerely) for all of the kind notes, words of support, and offers to help. I apologize if I haven't gotten back to you, but thanks to marathon milkings I am slowly working my way through my inbox and should be caught up around the time that Aston is headed to college. Maybe longer. Kid loves his tata juice.

Four Weeks

likes: milk. peeing in the shower. milk. espn sports center. more milk.

dislikes: hiccups. socks. swaddling.

hobbies: stroller riding. car riding. bjorn riding.

talents: laughing. toe touching. rolling to one side. sleeping.

exceptional talents: projectile pooping.

Crunchy Crab Rangoon

Made these. They're good. Eat them with this.





Crunchy Crab Rangoon

3/4 cup crab
2 tablespoon Hellmann's Light Mayonnaise
8 ounces low fat cream cheese
1/2 tablespoon lemon juice
2 green onions, chopped
24 wonton wraps

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Apply cooking spray to muffin pans and press the wonton wrappers into cups. Spray tops with cooking spray. Bake for three minutes. Mix the rest of the ingredients together. Remove the wontons from the oven and fill each with the crab mixture. Place back into the oven for another five minutes. Top each with a few extra chopped green onions and serve immediately.




p.s. With me still primarily parked in bed, Andrew introduced me to American Ninja Warrior this week. Have you seen it? I am OBSESSED.

Andrew Model Two Point Oh

Andrew. January. 1980.



Aston. May. 2012.






I have nothing else to say.



p.s. Remember this? Freaky close, right? What do you think?

Poop Face

We were told babies have bowel movements six to eight times a day. THAT IS A LIE.

From the time Aston wakes up he poops, pees, eats from the left tata, poops, eats from the (lazy) right tata, pees, pees again before you can finish changing him, then farts after the diaper is securely closed just to get you to check one. more. time. And as soon as you do?

Hiroshima.

Then it's eighteen more hours of rinse and repeat. I am not kidding.

(The upside of all of this is that he sleeps for six hours a night.)

All of that to say that if we hadn't sprung for the BumGenius we'd probably be twenty grand or so into disposables by now. A few of you asked if the cloth diapering is working out and I can solidly say that it sooo is. Would totally recommend.

We also started making our own detergent at home, which is way less ambitious than it sounds. I love it because it works just as well as the liquid stuff I've been buying at ten bucks a pop, and I think lasts for, like, three decades or something.

So let's hope the Mayans got their dates mixed up.



(I won't bore you with a recipe since you can easily find a bazillion on Pinterest.)

Fresh Blueberry Cake

After nine months of barfing and two weeks of starvation coupled with a tube down my throat, I've finally started the insanely satisfying process of eating and digesting food (sort of) normally.

While cake might not seem like the most logical place to start, it's two steps up from my first choice, a Dirty Martini with Baked Cheetos.

Don't look at me like that.




Fresh Blueberry Cake

1/2 cup Smart Balance 50/50 Butter Blend, softened
2 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 cup Truvia
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup all purpose flour
2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 cups fresh blueberries
1/2 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter with lemon zest, sugar, and Truvia until light and fluffy.

Add the egg and vanilla and beat until combined. Meanwhile, toss the blueberries with 1/4 cup of either flour, then whisk together the remaining flour, baking powder and salt.

Add the flour mixture to the batter a little at a time, alternating with the buttermilk. Fold in the blueberries.

Grease a 9x13 inch baking pan with non-stick spray. Spread batter into pan. Sprinkle batter with remaining tablespoon of sugar. Bake for forty minutes. Let cool at least fifteen minutes before serving.

(Inspired by this recipe.)




p.s. See that rogue sock?



That's Aston hitting up the milk bar as we headed out to walk to Starbucks this morning. All by ourselves. Three days ago it took me twenty minutes just to walk slash crawl to the end of our driveway, and the pain was so intense that I cried the entire time. So yeah. This was a ginormous humungous deal.

The Good Stuff

I wouldn't be exaggerating if I told you that Aston's birth completely traumatized me. I'm not at the point where I can talk or write about it without becoming pretty upset, which is why I haven't shared much about what happened. I will soon, though, because it's important to me to remember, I just need a little more time to process it so that my recollection consists of more than a string of four letter curse words.

I hope you understand.

In other news, we're finally home from the hospital and we're settling into our new roles as parental types. After hearing every postpartum horror story during my (very difficult pukefest) pregnancy, by the time I gave birth I was wholly expecting colic and cracked nipples and no sleep or showers or public outings and hair and clothing perpetually covered in spit. I also thought that I'd feel somewhat conflicted about being entirely responsible for the needs and well being of an essentially helpless person. One who I'd never even met.

Well. I'm happy to report that I was wrong. I was so so so so wrong.

Aston sleeps like a champ and keeps most of his bodily fluids inside of his dipes. He breastfeeds easily, even after my body began to fail and I went nearly a week without any food or water. (Miraculously I continued to produce milk, and even more miraculously Andrew held him up to me or pumped while I was unconscious in the hospital.) I am completely enthralled with his baby smell and his chicken legs and the way that he stares at me with his big blue eyes in the middle of the night when he's eating. I am ridiculously in love with him. Like to the point that if he projectile poops I holler to Andrew to get the video camera because Aston is being so. hilariously. adorable. I HAVE BECOME THAT MOTHER.

Anyway.

Here are some pictures of our past couple of weeks at the hospital. La Dolce Vita Studios came down from Tennessee to photograph his actual birth, these are just a few shots that Andrew and I managed to capture when I wasn't in surgery or throwing up or spending forty five minutes trying to make it from my bed to the bathroom. Which was ten feet away.

They're not stellar quality, but I don't care. These images are precious to me.



















p.s. Oh, and this happened, too. That's an ice cream cake that Andrew brought to me in bed. Yes, I am a lucky girl.

"And in the end, I realized that I took more than I gave, I was trusted more than I trusted, and I was loved more than I loved. And what I was looking for was not to be found but to be made."

Day Nine

The very first thing I did when they removed the tube from my nose and throat.

I Should Also Tell You About How He Grunts When He Poops Which Is Adorable

Today marks my sixth day in the hospital.

If only I could tell you how much I miss simple things like my own pillow and hot baths and fresh peanut butter bars and pooping without relying on a tube threaded through my nose. If only I could tell you how life changing this week has really been.

Instead I'll tell you about how Andrew dressed Aston in a bright yellow onesie paired with black skull faced socks today. (Because, really, who wears that?) I'll tell you about how amazing Aston smells. How the nauseating cliche about falling instantaneously in love with your baby is one hundred percent true for me. About how Aston squirted breast milk directly into his ears while laying on my chest five minutes ago. About how perfect he is. I'll tell you all day long about how unbelievably perfect that burrito is.

I won't tell you about the number of desperate looks I've seen on Andrew's face over the last few days. I won't tell you about how he cried. How he promised me a vacation, dinner out at my favorite steakhouse, a new diamond necklace, fifteen new diamond necklaces, if I could just hold on, just hang in there, just stay with me stay with me stay. with. me. as I covered yet another room in a fresh coat of pea green bile.



I won't tell you about those things because I want you to know that we're fine. I'd rather tell you about Aston's baby butt and how it's to die for. I have another surgery tomorrow and a few more days at the hospital and then I'll be back. And better. And remembering that the complications we've had could have been so much worse.

We will get through this. Just a little while longer.