In the Name of Love

I've never spent every waking (and sleeping) moment with one specific person for three weeks straight. Honestly, you would think it would be frustrating to be around the same person that much.

I spend almost every minute of every day with Evelyn. She sleeps in my bed at night. She sits in her pink vibrating chair on the bathroom floor while I shower. And the better I get at nursing, I can even feed her while I munch on a snack of my own.

Sound exhausting? It is. But I wouldn't change a single minute of it. The more time I spend with Evelyn, the more I can see her pint-size personality coming out.

Evie likes attention. I know all babies require a certain amount of attention, but she actually commands it. When I talk on the phone while I'm holding her, she cries. If I hang up the phone and talk to her instead, she's perfectly content. Let's just say I make a lot of phone calls during nap time...

The little lady also likes to dance. After searching for things that make her happy for days on end, I finally figured out that she loves for me to hold her in my arms and take a spin around the living room floor. This is Evie's playlist:

"Someone Saved My Life Tonight" -Elton John
"Time After Time" -Cyndi Lauper
"Piano Man" -Billy Joel
"I Wanna Dance With Somebody" -Whitney Houston
"Angel" -Aerosmith
"The Story" -Brandi Carlile
"We Belong" -Pat Benatar

She usually falls asleep after the third or fourth song, but sometimes it's hard not to keep on dancing. The last three weeks have gone by so fast, and I know these times when she can fall asleep in my arms while I dance with her will be short-lived. Not to mention, it's very liberating to act so ridiculous and not care one bit.

Finally, Evelyn likes to go outside. I think she enjoys the feeling of the hot, humid summer air on her delicate baby skin. Maybe it reminds her of the 98.6 degree cave she lived in for nine months. Still, I can hardly stand going outside in this awful heat, so we compromise. Lately we've been going on a short walk to get the mail every day.

She sees the sights and hears the sounds, happily indulging in the simplicity for a few minutes. When we step back in the air conditioning, her dark little eyes open wide and she stares up at me with a look that says, "Woah, who turned off the hot?"

This is my simple existence. Typing out these activities makes them sound so provincial compared to a lot of the things I used to do, but I don't care. I've happily surrendered the average 21-year-old life for something sweeter.

Bonus: My youth allows me the stamina for multiple living room dance parties every day.

A Humble Existence

For the last three weeks, I've been enjoying every moment with Baby Evelyn. After constantly worrying I was going to break her for a while, I've finally settled into some manner of a routine with my sweet little girl. However, as I'm sure any new parent will tell you, this child has a lot of tricks up her tiny sleeve.

In recent days, Evelyn has decided to repeatedly fooling me into thinking it's a good time to change her diaper, only to immediately soil the fresh one I put on her. I know you may be thinking, yes, Kellie, babies poop in their diapers. And I understand that. But Evie will make a mess in a fresh one before I can even fasten it shut.

I pull off the messy one, thoroughly wipe her down, slide the clean diaper under her hiney, and then, there it is- the telltale bubbling noise that means I acted a little too soon. At least those messes actually make it into a diaper...

Evelyn loves her bath time. She reclines in her little tub while I scrub her down and pour warm water over her belly and just relaxes. But perhaps she is a little too relaxed...

One morning last week, I had just finished giving Evie a bath and she was sitting calmly in the warm water, ready for me to wrap her up in a fluffy, hooded towel. I turned around to grab the towel when I heard it- the sound of a quick flurry of bubbles under the water. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The baby pooped in the tub. Moments before I was going to put a clean diaper on her freshly-scrubbed behind, she muddied the water.

In a comedic chain of events, I plucked my naked little cherub out of the tub, yelled for Roy to come help me, and ran her backside under the faucet before handing her over to Daddy. Evelyn was no worse for the wear.

Aside from the poopy incidents, Evelyn has peed on me twice and spilled countless mouthfulls of breastmilk all over me. And yet, despite her messiness, I wouldn't change one second of the whole experience thus far.

True, my laundry hamper is full of clothes covered in mysterious substances and my garbage can is overflowing with diapers, but that's what I signed up for, right? Right.

Life with Evie

Little Evelyn can't do much yet, but she's a wonderful daily companion. Just for fun, I'm putting up some pictures from our day-to-day life to share the cuteness.

Evie sleeps a lot.

And yawns.

Sometimes she takes a leisurely bath.

Sometimes we go to the store.

And sometimes she likes to read "Vanity Fair."

It's a good life, really.

Losing An Arm

Becoming a parent means acquiring a whole new set of skills. You learn how to change a diaper quickly and carefully so the baby doesn't get too upset, bathe someone who doesn't want to unclench her tiny fist, and creep out of a room very quietly so as not to wake the infant who HATES to stay in her crib.

But perhaps the most interesting skill is learning how to do absolutely everything with one hand, because you always have to assume that the baby will be taking one for herself.

Evelyn spends approximately five to six hours a day nursing. Add to the the fact that she's a total mommy's girl who wants to be held as much as possible, and there you have the loss of my left arm.

For the last six days that I've been a mom, my left arm has been incapacitated by the fact that I'm usually using it to hold the baby. So far, I've learned to go to the bathroom, make Kool-Aid, put away laundry, and yes, type with one arm. I don't mind though. I'm enjoying these precious days when she wants to be so close to me that she can hear my heartbeat. Someday, she will be a rambunctious teenager who, just like that song from "The Grinch," won't want to touch me with a 39 and a half foot pole.

When I gave birth, I had no idea that along with the belly I've been carrying around for nine months, I would also lose a limb I've been using for 21 years. But just like losing your time and freedom when you have a baby, the arm is a happy loss. Right this minute, Evelyn is fast asleep on my chest, giving me a few minutes to stretch this arm and work the small muscle control in my hand before rigor mortis sets in.

I can only imagine that as my daughter gets heavier, my arm will become abnormally and disproportionately buff from hauling the extra weight. And really, what else could a mother ask for?

Hello, Cruel World

Aside from the hospital, Evelyn had never been outside the comfort of home- the place that holds her precious swing, clean clothes, and patient mommy. But the last couple days called for adventure, and so we left the house equipped with a carefully-prepared diaper bag and a prayer.

Little Evie had her first doctor's appointment at 10 on Saturday morning. We woke up at 8:30, which gave me just enough time to feed her, change her, put her in an outfit, throw myself together and still be 15 minutes late.

Getting a newborn ready to leave the house is like rallying a small army. You have to check, double-check and triple-check the diaper bag to make sure you didn't forget anything. You have to feed the baby right before you leave the house so she doesn't get hungry in the car. Finally, you have to strap the baby in the car seat, a task comparable to buckling a mouse into a bicycle helmet.

We made it to the doctor and back in one piece. She didn't cry in the car one bit, just a few shrieks when the doc pried her little eyelids open to check her peepers. Naturally, I felt like I had climbed the highest mountain when I made it back home with a happy baby all by myself. Next it was time for a couple errands.

Mom needs new furniture, so she, Evelyn and I visited a local furniture store to check out some pieces. The baby didn't even open her eyes the whole time. The only attention we got was from one particularly enthused woman who felt the need to glance beneath the baby in my arms at my shrunken belly and remark on how small it is. Um, thank you?

Next we made a quick stop at Target for some essentials. I can't lie, I was excited for Evelyn to see what I believe is the second happiest place on Earth, right after the buffet at Gattiland. We put her whole car seat in the cart and made our way inside. All seemed well until a rather elderly woman decided to ram our cart while we were standing three feet away. I gasped in shock while Mom darted to the cart. "Was there somebody in there?" the old woman asked in her witchy voice.

"Uh, yeah. An infant," Mom replied. The old lady didn't apologize or express one iota of remorse. Personally, I would have been mortified if I bumped into a cart with a baby in it. Not this woman. Though, I have to speculate that she wasn't all the way there because she proceeded to bang her cart into several other fixtures before she left my field of vision. From there, things got interesting.

By the time we made it to the medicine aisles to find the Vitamin D drops recommended by the doctor, Evie was not a happy camper. The jolt in the cart woke her up, so we made a mad dash for the corner of the store for a personal moment. Mom held up a blanket to cover me while I started nursing the baby. From there, we perused the food aisles with a carefully-shrouded baby attached to me. All in all, it was a productive visit to the store, albeit unpredictable.

Yesterday, Evie and I went to visit my dad's house. I'm thrilled to report that my little girl is an ideal car companion. She doesn't cry or fuss, but she does squeak every now and then to let me know she's alive, which is quite comforting when I can't see her.

I know these are just the first of many out-of-the-house trips to come. I've been itching for some "Smurf" ice cream from the Pie and Ice Cream kitchen up the road, so that may be an upcoming trip. Regardless, I know most of my rides in the car from now on won't be solo, and that's just fine with me.

Meeting Evelyn

After three days, I've snuck in a brief moment of calm to indulge in a little writing. My daughter's first days of life have been a whirlwind of immense joy, intense pain, learning experiences and more well-wishers than I can count. Still, I've been recounting the labor and delivery process in my head, hoping to put it into words as best as I can.

I spent the majority of the 4th of July working on a painting that I intend to hang in the baby's room. I started having dull contractions in the afternoon, but after months of Braxton-Hicks, I didn't pay much attention. They started becoming regular, however, around 9 p.m., and by midnight, my mom was preparing to take me to the hospital.

No luck. I was sent home around 3:30 with discharge papers telling me to wait it out and a big sleeping pill to get me through the night.

Deep in an Ambien coma, I slept contentedly for three hours before I woke up with one sharp pain and a feeling that I had peed my pants. "Mom! My water broke!"

One car ride and a change of pants later, we were back in the labor and delivery unit. Throughout the morning hours, my loved ones began to flood the waiting area. And then, a hitch in the plans.

I have been allergic to lidocaine since I can remember, but it never occurred to me or anyone else that it would impede the epidural I had been planning on getting for months. Lidocaine is a local anesthetic and one of the main painkillers used in a regular epidural, so that was off-limits to me. Unfortunately, no one told me this until I was knee-deep in active labor, so the hospital staff spent a decent chunk of time attempting to find a solution. I watched helplessly as they speculated and guessed at what might be the best option and cried when they told me that I would have to be intubated and put to sleep in the event of a c-section. After an apology from the OB and some reassurance, I decided that this baby was for sure coming out the old-fashioned route.

Then there was the pitocin. The doctors gave me this particular drug to speed up my labor, intensifying the contractions in the process. Cue the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life. With each contraction, I grabbed someone's hand (usually my dad or Roy) and tried to take ten deep breaths in unison with that person. By the third breath, I was usually screaming or cursing. (Apparently I said some rather nasty things to the anesthetist regarding the ineptitude of his morphine.) After each contraction, someone would shove a few ice chips in my mouth and I would pass out until the next one. Finally, it was time to push.

About half an hour later, Evelyn Claire came into the world. The pain was profound, but not nearly as much as the joy and relief I felt upon seeing her goopy, purple face. She weighed 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and she is perfect from the fuzz on her head to her jelly bean-sized toes.

When I was in the middle of labor, I would have taken a bullet if it meant getting the baby out that much sooner. But now I look back on the whole day with fondness. I never realized how much strength my body is capable of and how much love my heart can hold.

Three days later- I'm sitting on the couch watching Evelyn nap in her swing. Delivering a baby is a lot like graduating high school. Just when you've reached the top of your game, you endure a rite of passage and then suddenly, you're back at the bottom. Every time she squeaks, I crane my neck to make sure she's ok. Her farts have become an angel's chorus to me because I know her little tummy is working. I can't imagine my life any more without this perfect little creature, even if she does keep me up all night.

Bump Watch- Grand Finale

This will be the last picture I put up of my belly. Two reasons: 1. Baby has reached her birth size, so I won't really get any bigger. 2. She could be born any day now. I'm hoping the next picture I put up is one of my newborn daughter. That being said, behold the enormity...

38 1/2 Weeks

I remember early in my pregnancy when I wondered what I would look like with a fully-developed belly full o' baby. I don't know if it's something you can really imagine until you're there. I'm still amazed by how much the human body can stretch and change to accommodate a growing infant.

This is the end, my friends. I would say that I couldn't be happier to have finally reached this point, but honestly, all I want is to ditch the belly and hold my baby.

Waiting for Labor Day

Babies are tricksters. How do I know? I spent several days this week thinking I was finally going to meet my daughter, only for her to stay firmly rooted in her warm little cave.

On Monday morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. having the most painful contraction I had experienced up to that point. The same thing happened that afternoon, but only one contraction each time. Nothing to be excited about, right? Wrong.

When you're nine months pregnant, you crave nothing more than to feel unbearable pains radiating from your midsection. It's the most masochistic state of mind you can imagine.

At 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning, I awoke with similar pains that weren't subsiding. They lasted half an hour before I called Roy and told him to get to my house in Louisville. I got in the shower, only for the contractions to slowly and subtlely subside. I felt guilty for making Roy wake up and come all the way here for nothing, but there was nothing I could do. Neither of us got much sleep that night.

We spent the next day walking around as much as I could manage to no avail. And so Wednesday passed with no baby.

I'm not a superstitious person, but by Thursday, I was fully convinced that making a big deal about labor would only prolong my pregnancy. So when Roy went to work with my mom on Thursday, I insisted that neither of them call to check on me. If anything happened, I would let them know. (Nothing happened.)

We decided to make a trip up to the IKEA store in Cincinnati that afternoon thinking that maybe getting me a couple hours away from home would tempt the baby to come out. Sure enough, it seemed to work. By the time we were almost home around 10:30 that night, I was gripping the arm rests in my chair, completely immersed in painful contractions every three minutes for two hours. My hospital bag sat in the living room, ready to go, while I focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

Words can't describe how disappointed I was when I woke up in my bed several hours later. My contractions had subsided enough for me to fall asleep.

So today is Saturday and still no baby. The last week is a blur of anxiety, frustration, guilt and disappointment, all strung together by a series of good meals and a successful trip to IKEA.

The guilt may be hard to understand, but trust me when I say it's there. I feel so disheartened every time I make people think something is really happening only for it to stop. I'm sick of the phone calls. I've heard, "No, nothing yet," spoken into the phone receiver more times that I could keep track of. The anticipation alone of wanting to see your baby is exhausting.

A while ago I wondered to myself how labor is possible. When your body is so worn out, your back feels like it might break any moment and you can't even walk up a flight up stairs without getting winded, how in the world are you supposed to push out a baby? Now I understand.

Childbirth relies on willpower, on the idea that you are so excited to finally meet this little person for whom you've been preparing for months that you will surrender your entire body to the process of getting him or her out into the world.

So here I sit, no baby to speak of, still waiting. I'm indulging in selfish pleasures- painting my nails, baking desserts, taking naps- while I still can. But my greatest selfishness of all is probably wanting this baby to come out when I want her to. What a conundrum...