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Posts tagged ‘diabetic mommy’

Two and a Half.

To my son,

Good lord you are a cute little person.  You make me stupid with your cute. (And I don’t care if I’m biased. I should be biased; I’m your mother.) I love your tiny hands and little toes and kissable nose and the consistent mohawk that your hair enjoys becoming.  You started grinning back at us in the last few weeks and watching your face crack into a giant smile is my favorite, favorite thing.  All of those overused expressions like “he lights up a room!” were clearly first used to describe your smile.  (Let’s just ignore the fact that you’re only 12 weeks old.  Maybe you’re like Vigo the Carpathian, only the nice guy version?)

Twelve weeks, kiddo.  We’ve been swimming as a family in all your newness for twelve weeks.  Birdy has adjusted to you with excitement and vigor, wanting to give you bottles and hug you and kiss you all the time, even if you are crusty with spit-up.  “I don’t care, mom.  I just want to snuggle him.”  She’s been waiting for a little brother for a long time and now that you’re here, she’s beside herself with glee.  Her first grade teacher knows all about you.  So does the the bus driver.  And anyone we encounter at the grocery store.  Little man, your sister is a fan of yours.  Remember that, because by the time you read these letters, she might be battling you fiercely for rights to the bathroom.  Forgive her, sweet boy.  She’s always been your champion.

We love you, madly and permanently.  That’s a sentence with a full stop at the end.  Actually, I’m going to end that paragraph here.  We love you.

The lack of sleep is a separate issue, though.  Kiddo, for about ten weeks you were not the biggest fan of closing your eyes at night.  Instead, you preferred to burp and grunt and wiggle throughout the night, either wanting a pacifier or to nurse or to be held or to have looong and intense conversations about the recent political turmoil.  I was not okay with the whole routine, and despite showering and getting dressed every day, I was stupid with exhaustion.  I cried in the grocery store because I couldn’t find the counter where you purchase fresh fish.  I got lost trying to bring something into the basement.  My mind was powdered.  Only in the last two weeks have you started to grab four hour clips during the night, allowing your parents to finally surface from the bottoms of their coffee cups.  Thank you for deciding that nighttime was a good time to rest, because we were starting to crack up.

Cozy

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

Breastfeeding is your only source of food at the moment, which I’m very proud of accomplishing because it’s not without significant effort.  (Are you reading these letters as a teenager?  Is it gross to talk about breastfeeding?  If you’re grossed out, skip this paragraph because this discussion is more for the sake of the diabetes stuff.  Trust me.  Come back in a paragraph.)  If I’m not feeding you myself, I’m pumping and trying to build up a stash of milk in the freezer for days when I’m traveling for work.  It’s important to me, for a few reasons, that I breastfeed exclusively as long as I can and I have no plans of stopping anytime soon.  Thankfully, the post-feeding or post-pumping blood sugars have become a little more predictable and I’m not tanking with hypoglycemia all day long.  Considering buying stock in Juicy Juice for a while, though.  And just as thankfully, you take a bottle and bounce back to breast without any issue at all, so that concept of nipple confusion isn’t a factor in our house.  (Yes, I said nipple.  NIPPLE.  I told you to stop reading this paragraph, love.) I’m glad you take bottles without issue, though, because it took you a fair amount of time to get back to your birth weight, and you are still a little on the petite side.

We’ve had a lot of questions about your “internet moniker,” and to be honest, your sister spent almost six months as BSparl before she became tagged as Birdy.  I don’t want to force a nickname on you, but Guy Smiley seems to be what we’re calling you these days.  Your smile is so sweet.  And maybe someday you’ll host a gameshow for Muppets.  Who knows!  The world is your weird, little oyster.

For now, you remain my littlest friend.  My last little friend.  And this month, you’ll take your first work trip with me and I’ll have a chance to introduce you to some of my friends in the diabetes community.  I’ll say, “This is my son,” and my heart will swell with pride when you burp your hellos.

I love you, sweet boy.  Always, always, always.

Love,
Mom

Second-time Motherhood.

This whole mom thing is a little easier, in some respects, the second time around.  And it’s simultaneously harder by a frigging long shot.

It’s easier because my son’s arrival wasn’t as jarring as his sister’s.  Going from no kids to one kid was like WHOA.  Going from one kid to two kids was lowercase whoa.  Chris and I are already six years into parenthood, so we weren’t shocked by the boxes of diapers that stashed themselves in the closet.  (We were slightly shocked to discover what we’ve saved for the last six years, like the stroller.  Blew cobwebs off that sucker.  And the high chair.  Found six year old puffs tucked into the hinges.  Very thankful we saved all of Birdy’s little bird clothes, because so many of them have been repurposed for his tiny butt.)  So all the “stuff” that comes with little babies was expected.  We also knew a lack of sleep was to be expected.  In addition to a marked uptick in discussions about poop.

What people told us about parental reactions to second kids seems true so far, too.  We aren’t as scared to hold him, or to hand him to family members to hold.  The little wobbly head and neck feel familiarly easy to support.  Changing a diaper is business as usual (except for the different set of parts in play, where the fear of being peed on takes a whole new trajectory … quite literally).  We even assembled the crib without too much trouble, despite needing to reorder the hardware kit because that somehow disappeared in the last six years.  Yet we easily found the old bottle warmer.  Whatever, storage wars.

Even recovering from the c-section was familiar, though no less annoying or uncomfortable.  Now, two months later, my scar is light pink and fading and doesn’t feel as if a sneeze would rip it open and send my organs shooting across the room.  (A real, yet unreasonable, fear I had this time around.)  I’m able to walk on the treadmill and go up the stairs without pain.  Feeling more human and better armed to take care of my kids.

But those first few sleepless weeks?  Holy hell, they hurt.  Sleep was not a thing for many, many weeks.  I started to crack up a little, only sleeping an hour at a time.  Add that to the established needs and schedule of the Birdzone and my brain was slowly refusing to think thoughts due to lack of sleep.  I was once again confused about how the hell to snap up his overnight pajamas.  So much so that I ditched snaps entirely and the little guy been sleeping in those lovely sleep sacks for the last two months.  (We have an arsenal of them in rotation, because he has a tendency to tear through them with reckless, spit-uppy abandon.)  I may have cried at random a few times because I was so damn tired.  Thankfully, the little man has given in to sleep for three or four hours at a clip at night, so things are improving.

I also sort of forgot about breastfeeding.  I forgot the sound that the pump makes (that hiss-hiss-hiiiiiiiiss) and how cumbersome it is to use in public.  I forgot about the weird combination of pain and relief it physically provides.  And I forgot about the constant need to either feed or pump.

Last week, I officially started traveling again and for the first time used the pump in public places, like an empty conference room in Boston (thanks, Anna!) and the airplane bathroom.  With Birdy, I was reluctant to do anything breastfeeding-related in public because I was so unsure of myself, but this time necessity dictates my actions, so no time for shy.  On a plane this past Friday, I needed to pump and took zero time getting into the airplane bathroom and pumping for a few minutes.  Same in the airport (thank you, Mamava in the Atlanta airport).  Same at the meeting I attended at the University of Georgia, where I walked onto a college campus with my insulin pump in my pocket and my breast pump in my bag.  So far, we haven’t needed to bring formula into the equation (save for an ounce we needed to administer in the hospital – thanks, diabetes, for the delayed milk arrival and a dehydrated baby), and I’m hoping I can keep up with breast milk production despite returning to work travel.  Traveling with breastmilk through TSA is a hassle, though, so adding that to my already-diabetes influenced TSA troubles makes getting through security its own damn trip. Still working out the kinks there.

However, I do definitively recall the chaos that an infant brought to my diabetes care.  Until just a few days ago, my body was still adjusting to breastfeeding, so weird low blood sugars would come swooping in unpredictably after feeding or pumping.  Jars of glucose tabs were ripped through in record time.  I’m only now starting to even out and predict the hypos, which helps a ton.  But staying on top of things like checking my blood sugar and eating regularly remains tough.  Throw in a broken Dexcom receiver and a suddenly-dead transmitter and I’m in a world of data-free diabetes hurt.  New receiver should arrive tomorrow, along with new transmitter hopefully this week.  Setting an alarm on my phone to check my BG every two hours is helping me stay on top of things, but I’m having an A1C drawn this week and I know it’s going to be a far cry from the numbers I saw before and during pregnancy. I’m actively and aggressively trying to stay on top of diabetes needs despite wanting to shelve all that shit for a while.

But I also remembered that, with a baby comes this strong and steady flow of love.  Like so many other parents, I was a little worried that my heart would have trouble making room for another kid.  I was so, so wrong to worry.  There’s more than enough room for love this time around. This baby boy smiles at me and I become instantly stupid, all washed over with love for him.  He’s been here the whole time, only now I can hug him.

… he’s quite a dancer, too.

#diabetesdancedare party time. We challenge @textingmypancreas @mrmikelawson and Victor Montori.

A video posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

 

“How do you explain diabetes to her?”

“How do you explain diabetes to her?”

How do you explain diabetes to your kid?  I wish there was a strategy, a predictable path that conversations about health and wellness could take, like when my daughter brings out The Game of Life and I want to replace all the normal life stuff with the diabetes versions I marked as milestones along the way.

  • First time checking my blood sugar on my own.
  • First time giving my own shot.
  • Explained diabetes to a new friend.
  • Went to a sleepover and my mom didn’t come with me.
  • Earned my driver’s license and permission to get a car after proving I would check my blood sugar every time before driving.
  • Going to the endocrinologist by myself.
  • Moving out and living alone.
  • Managing emotional and physical diabetes-related complications.
  • Creating a family (this would earn me more people in my little car, right?  “People” being the little matchstick shaped things you shoved into the plastic car.)
  • Living beyond diabetes.

Trouble is, there’s no set path that diabetes takes, even with the best intentions and optimal care.  And the milestones aren’t always triumphant.  I’d be inclined to roll again if I landed on the “Manage diabetes distress pockets” or “Deal with health-related discrimination” spaces.

How do I talk about the emotional stuff tied to diabetes without shuffling those emotions right onto my daughter?  When she asks questions like, “Does diabetes scare you?” or “Are you afraid I’ll get diabetes, too?” I’m reaching to roll again.

How do I explain diabetes to my most beloved Bird?  I don’t.  Not entirely.  We have conversations about normal things, with diabetes built into the context clues.  When she was very small, we talked about how she should not push the buttons on mommy’s pump.  As she grew up, we talked about why I wore an insulin pump and other mom’s did not.  Sometimes conversations about low blood sugars came up and we dealt with those as part of the moment instead of scheduling a sit-down discussion with flash cards and a quiz at the end.

But she’s tuned in, and she notices things.  And in the last year or so, she’s elected herself captain of my support team.  If my Dexcom low alarm goes off, she drops everything she’s going and comes over and wraps her arms around my waist.  I don’t know what prompts her to do this – sometimes I think it’s the vacant look in my eyes when I’m low that makes her feel the need to double-check on me.

“Does this help, Mom?”

“It does,” I say, through a mouthful of candy corn.  “You help.”

If she were to list five things about her mom, diabetes might be on that list.  But it comes with expectations of conferences at Disney World and friends around the world, and sure, there are doctor’s appointments and moments where I need a few extra minutes and sometimes I am distracted by the need to reapply a sensor or prick my finger and all these things that beep, but that’s life with this disease. Diabetes is a cumbersome to do list that comes with a monster under the bed who I don’t often make eye contact with.

But we manage.

Explaining diabetes to her is its own challenge.  But sometimes, through her eyes, she re-explains diabetes to me.

 

Day in the Life of a New (Old) Mom … with Diabetes.

Six years ago, I was adjusting to motherhood for the first time during Diabetes Blog Week, and one of the post prompts was to write about a day in the life with diabetes.  My day in the life was flanked on all sides by figuring out what to do with a newborn, so I chronicled that.

And just before my son was born, I thought maybe – maybe? – I’d be less of a mess this time around?  Maybe I’d have things a bit more figured out, and a day in the life post wouldn’t read like a desperate plea for help?

Once again, ha.

A Day in the Life of a New (Old) Mom … with Diabetes.

6.30 am – Hi, little baby!  Let’s do this feeding/changing diaper thing … again, because it’s not like 6.30 is the first time our tiny tomato goes off.  On the overnight, the baby wakes up around 2.30 and then again around 6, so we’re hardly breaking a fast when breakfast time rolls around.  The main diabetes thing I do at this point is check my CGM graph, because the baby is usually fussing for food, so even the 45 seconds it takes to check my BG is not happening.  (What – did you want me to lie and say I am totally on top of my diabetes stuff?  Nope.)

7.30 am – It takes me about 30 minutes to change and feed the baby, and then I go into the bathroom to clean teeth, find face, etc.  It’s at this point that I should be pricking my finger to check my fasting BG, but my alarm usually goes off (set for 7.30 am, just in case, even though it is redundant when pitted against the baby) and then I have to run back into the bedroom and turn the alarm off so that it doesn’t disturb the sleeping babe.  At this point, I forget what I was doing and am only positive I brushed my teeth based on the delightfully minty taste in my mouth.

7.33 am – Check my CGM graph again.  Showing 60 mg/dL.  I’ll check my BG officially when I go downstairs to make breakfast, but for now I need to get ahead of that low and have something to eat before the breastfeeding aftermath hypo moment kicks in.  Hi, banana.  I’ll eat you.

7.35 am – Time to wake up the Birdzone and get her sorted for school.

7.40 am – “What do I need to do again?”  “Brush your teeth, go to the bathroom, and put your clothes on for school.”  We have the same conversation every.  single.  morning.  Hasn’t changed in two years.  Yet she still wonders what the morning routine involves.  (Note:  now the morning routine involves my head popping off and the subsequent reassembly of aforementioned head.)

7.41 am – Dexcom alarm is still going off, but I drank the half-kicked juicebox that has been on my bedside table for the last three days.  Relieved it hadn’t turned to wine after sitting out that long.  Or maybe I wish it had turned to wine.  #jesusjuicebox

7.45 am – 8.20 am – This is a messy pocket of time during which Chris and I orbit around one another in the kitchen, making breakfast, making school lunch, assembling work bags, finding shoes, checking on baby (who is usually asleep in the bouncy chair in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the circus), etc.  Usually, I check my blood sugar during this time, and most often calibrate my CGM.  At 8.20-ish, Chris and Birdy head to the bus stop and I think about combing my hair.  (I do not actually comb it, though.)

NOTE:  I forced myself to ditch the extra-strength Tylenol prescribed to manage post c-section pain because it rendered my Dexcom useless.  The data from my CGM is beyond instrumental in helping me keep my wits intact in this postpartum period.  Blood sugars are very unpredictable as I adjust from pregnancy insulin rates to postpartum rates, in addition to the chaotic ebb and flow caused by breastfeeding.  I could manage without the CGM, but it’s much, much easier to feel safe and like I have some semblance of a clue when the graph data is streaming.  Dexcom gives me the 30 lives I need on some days, Contra-style.

[And I do have a relationship with Dexcom – disclosures here.]

8.30 am – noon – My intentions are good in this block of time.  I usually boot up my computer and open my email, letting the messages come flooding in.  I read every single email, and in my head, I compose useful responses … that never end up being typed and sent, because this block of time also includes a baby who needs to be fed twice.  I use the breast pump once (to build a supply stash for when I start traveling for work again).  I try and check my blood sugar once or twice more.  I spend at least half an hour coordinating the next round of pediatrician appointments, surgery follow-ups, and attempts at assembling a medical team here in Rhode Island (moving my care away from Boston now that I’m done pursuing pregnancies … more on that another day).  Oh, and there are baby snuggles.  MANY.  Because I did not work this hard for a baby to not snuggle the hell out of him.

So basically, I get a lot of important things done in this timeframe as it relates to keeping my son happy and cared for, but I’m spinning my wheels in a lot of other departments.  That’s okay – it’s Baby Time for the next few weeks/months, and I’m happy about that.

Noon-thirty – Tomato Man and I go for a walk around the neighborhood (using the stroller on days when I’m trending lower blood sugars, and on days when my BG is more stable, I wear him and walk that way).  This walk is necessary because it gets me out of the house and ups my mental health and happiness.

1.30 pm – Hey, lunch would be awesome, right?  I’m still trying to cook more at home/make some vegetable-based options, so my culinary creativity is at a high (despite cooking talent remaining woefully low).  I am not ravenously hungry most of the time, but I do want to snack/eat a small meal every two and a half hours or so (modeling my behavior after that of my son’s).  I’m kind of into protein balls (uncomfortable phrase) these days, and one version I like a lot is a peanut butter/pumpkin seed iteration that’s easy enough on my blood sugars but packs a caloric punch that keeps me from falling asleep.  (Will post the recipe tomorrow!)

2.00 pm – Baby snuggles.  And let’s feed him.  Oh, and snuggle him again. And restock the ever-waning supply of diapers and wipes.

3.15 pm – Use the breast pump.  (Our boy lost a fair amount of weight after delivery, so our pediatrician has been following his weight gain with interest.  We’re back up to birth weight, but our doctor has encouraged us to supplement breastfeedings with bottles of pumped breastmilk in order to ensure the little guy is getting enough.  So when he’s not attached to me, physically, the breast pump is.  Thankfully, he bounces easily from breast to bottle, so we’re thankful he’ll eat in a variety of ways.  Also, if you have dissenting opinions on how babies should be fed, can we just agree that babies should be fed, and leave it at that?)

4-something ish – Birdy’s school bus comes roaring through the neighborhood, and she comes scrambling off it, regaling me with stories about first grade and how much she missed her brother.  “I missed you, Birdy!”  “Yeah, but I missed HIM!”

4.30 – 6.30 pm – Another mangled window of time during which the baby is fed, changed, and snuggled.  Chris usually arrives home in this pocket.  Birdy (and a cast of characters from our neighborhood) rotate from house to house on their bikes, the embodiment of every gang of kids on bikes from 80’s movies.  I remember that I haven’t checked my blood sugar in a few hours, so I do that.  Dinner is assembled.  Dishes are ignored.  Loopy builds a biplane.

7.30 pm – Birdy gets a bath or a shower, and while she’s in there, I charge my CGM receiver or my pump (depending on which one is more depleted).  I’ve been trying to stick with changing my pump site every three days (the reminder for the site change on the t:slim is very useful these days, as I forget my name, nevermind when I last put an infusion set in).  Changing the site is hard sometimes because I hate wasting insulin, and sometimes my reservoir (even half filled) will last four days without any trouble.  I like using every last drop.

8.15 pm – Birdy is tucked into bed.  (When she actually falls asleep remains the mystery.)  Chris and I start to get punchy, realizing we haven’t properly slept through the night in weeks, and we know another long night is on tap.  And then the baby wakes up because hey, it’s getting dark out, and that means it’s time to wake up!

9.30 pm – I look at my email, cry, and shut my computer.  I eat a yogurt and wonder if it’s okay to eat these chickpea things straight from the bag with a spoon.

9.31 pm – I grab a spoon.

10 pm – Medical onslaught time.  As I’m getting ready to close up for the night, I need to take my blood thinner injection (thank you, Factor V Leiden and c-section combination – three more weeks of shooting up and then I’m DONE), my blood pressure medication (back on that as of last week), check my blood sugar, make sure my pump has enough insulin to last through the night, make sure my CGM receiver is charged, and that my bedside table is stocked with a glass of water (breastfeeding makes me dehydrated as eff) and something to treat low blood sugars with.  Baby is fed and changed, and tucked into his proper bed (in our bedroom).

And as I’m about to fall asleep, I realize we made it through another day, and we’re adjusting the best way we know how.  The exhaustion will give way to more sleep, and eventually we’ll be a few months out from life with a newborn and more in the swing of things.  (I know I will miss the warm, snuggly newborn cuddles a ton.)

We don’t have everything figured out, because our son is completely different from our daughter, so what we knew to expect is braided with a hefty dose of “what the hell do we do with that?!” sort of sentiment.  I have realized that all the preparing we did for our second child doesn’t actually prepare us … we’re still hot messes of exhaustion and confusion and hope.

And I also realize that it looks like I’m into some kinky stuff, considering the bag of marshmallows on the bedside table.  Whatever.  When you’re hypo, anything goes.

Releasing the Kraken … Into Our Home.

… he’s definitely not the Kraken.  That nickname will never stick because so far, our littlest friend is mild mannered.  He’s more Clark Kent than Kraken.  (Mixing my superheroes and myths this morning; feel free to blame the sleep debt and my attempt to repay it with caffeine.)

But he’s home, and even though he’s a sweet boy, he’s still an infant and our house is ROCKED by his presence.  My body remains equally as rocked by his escape, and my diabetes management is so confused that my pancreas, were it to have a head, would be scratching it with confusion.

OUR HOUSE:  Remains in the middle of our street, only it’s bursting at the seams with burp cloths and tiny little articles of clothing that require origami skills in order to snap up.  The laundry this little man produces is astounding, as are the number of diapers he rips through … and the number of times he’d like to eat during the course of a day.  For someone so small, the baby came with a lot of stuff.

(But I’m so glad he’s here.  I’ve never been so happy to have my house turned inside out in my life.)

MY BODY:  Is slightly less than a wonderland.  I talked about the c-section and cannot stress enough how different it was from my first surgical birth experience.  When I examined myself after having Birdy, I had a sizable scar and serious gas pain, but didn’t feel as though I’d been put through the wringer.  Ringer?  (W)ringer.  This c-section was very different because it felt busy during (lots of pressure and they actually needed to use the vacuum to assist in removing my son from the womb, poor kid) and the aftermath was not pretty.  I had a lot of bleeding after this one, more than the first time.  I also didn’t get a good look at my scar, etc. while I was in the hospital (they are smart to keep full length mirrors OUT of the postpartum recovery rooms) so I saw the mess for the first time when we came home.

Holy shit, the bruising.  The three or four inches of skin real estate underneath my incision was entirely black and blue and it looked as though I was wearing blue underpants.  I (am embarrassed to say) that I cried when I saw it because it looked so frigging VIOLENT.  Thankfully, 15 days later, the bruising is entirely gone and all that remains is the incredible shrinking uterus and the healing incision, but for the first week or so, I had a hard time checking the incision because it looked so Frankenstein’s monsterish.

And aside from the obvious diabetes stuff, I’m currently taking a blood thinner (thank you, Factor V Leiden) for six weeks, and am also unable to drive for six weeks.  The blood thinner is a little painful but totally manageable (one injection every night – easy enough).  The not driving thing is MAKING ME GO BANANAS because my freedom is entirely MIA.  I’m relying on friends and family for trips to the pediatrician, picking up prescriptions, getting groceries … every little thing requires assistance from a volunteer chauffeur.  And since I don’t want to trouble anyone more than I already have to, I’m placing some screwball orders on Amazon … like for the dry erase board eraser required on my daughter’s back-to-school list.  Or the long sleeve, size 0-3 month onesies for my son.  Or coffee, damn it.  I’m really excited to be able to get back behind the wheel and reclaim some semblance of independence.

DIABETES HEY OOOOH:  I cannot complain about how diabetes did its thing during the 38 weeks of pregnancy.  I didn’t have any tragic lows, there weren’t unmanageable highs, and the lack of pre-eclampsia was an excellent change of pace for this round.  During delivery, even though I was terrified, my blood sugars stayed solid.  And throughout my stay at the hospital, my blood sugars were without issue.  It was kind of awesome, and surely will stay that way forever, right?

HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA … now that my placenta has been kicked out of my womb and I’m breastfeeding a newborn, all kinds of diabetes hell has broken loose.  My blood sugars – once calm and dare I say predictable? – are now pinging and ponging all over the damn place.  My insulin:carb ratios are 1:20 (versus pre-pregnancy 1:11 and during pregnancy rates as low as 1:5) and my basal rate is 0.3u per hour (versus pre-pregnancy of .5u and during pregnancy rates as high as 1u per hour).  And absent the breastfeeding, these rates would probably hold tight for a few weeks until they started to require increasing, eventually bringing me back up to where I was pre-pregnancy … at least ish.

But breastfeeding is its own circus.  The act of breastfeeding does not make me hypoglycemic, but the act of producing milk does, so I’m going low mostly while my milk supply is filling up.  If this was a predictable cycle, I could plan snacks/meals around my son’s appetite and my anticipated refilling, but the cycle isn’t one I can map.  I can’t even guess.  Some times, I go low 15 minutes after feeding him.  Other times it takes up to an hour and a half for the low to hit.  I’m not sure when I should eat, causing my CGM graph to look all Ms and Ws.  If my experience with Birdy helps inform this round, I should have a more predictable blood sugar response around the time that my son is a month old.  Which means that I have two more week of letting my body ebb and flow and get all confused before it aligns to some kind of schedule.

The madness of a newborn added to the mix of an already all-over-the-place family is exactly what we had anticipated.  We’re exhausted.  (While driving home from a pediatrician appointment, Chris turned to me at a stop light and asked, “This is really happening, right?  Like this isn’t a dream?  We’re actually driving right now?”  The lack of sleep is like we’re on the tumble dry setting in the dryer, all jumbled and confusing and warm and is this real life?)  We’re adjusting.  (Birdy is doing her best to make sense of the new little creature in our house.  She loves him.  But I’m on the watch for sibling angst as well.)  We’re grateful.  (Issues like a messy house? Exhaustion? Sore body?  Bring those issues on, because I’m happy as hell to have these as my problems.)  And we’re in love with this little guy, who despite being only 15 days old, feels like he’s been part of the party forever.

 

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