House Christening Fail

Well. Our first night in the house was... not great. Instead of Christening the house the traditional way, I Christened it on Sunday night by running to our shiny master bathroom (tripping over many boxes and stray hangers on the way) and ... vomiting. B did the same thing to the powder room toilet this morning around 5 am. I am keeping a very close eye on Mia who is so very sure to come next, although, I'm hoping she gave it to ME and we just didn't notice amidst the teething and moving angst. Because really, where else would we have gotten something like this except the dreaded daycare plague?

So, things haven't exactly gone as planned with the whole unpacking thing. Things went swimmingly with the moving of the stuff though, since evidently B is a moving MACHINE and had made two trips from the apartment to the house by the time Mia and I woke up last friday morning. Motivated by saving money on the movers, he probably took at least a dozen trips back and forth between the two places (which are NOT close by, I should add) in my Insight with the back seats folded down. 6 boxes at a time, and everything but the furniture was in the house by the time the moving truck got to the apartment on Sunday. 2 1/2 hours after that, and all the furniture was at the house, too (another score, because we paid by the hour, with a 2 hour minimum). 

The former owners wanted to stay in the house for a couple of weeks after the closing because they couldn't close on their new house immediately. After some negotiations, the agreement was: Leave the fridge, stay two weeks. In my (and my parents') mind, this seemed perfectly reasonable and fair. Evidently, they felt their fridge was worth far more than their (or OUR) convenience. They didn't take the fridge, but they did take a couple of things that in my opinion is clearly a FIXTURE (Hello -- I remember something from Real Estate Law) such as a bathroom cabinet, a toilet paper dispenser and towel rack. When I asked our realtor to ask for the bathroom cabinet back, their response was "No, you already got the fridge. You can buy a new bathroom cabinet yourselves, it's from Target". Not the point, but thanks, assholes. 

Anyway. I don't have many pictures to show, since the house looks like hell. (See above involving the Vomit.) But I do have two pictures of things I am awfully proud of:

CABINET SPACE! This cabinet holds all 12 of our red wine, white wine and champagne flutes, half of which were still in their original Crate and Barrel packaging from our wedding. 

The washer/dryer! B, Mia, Swarley and I all watched the first 8 minutes of the inaugural load, like a bunch of fools. Swarley barked, Mia "whoa"ed and B and I wondered how could so little water wash the clothes?

Anyway, I'm all better now. Poor B is at work feeling miserable since he has been off since Friday, so he can't take an outright sick day, though I hope for his sake that he can get out early. This afternoon, my office closes at 1pm, so I am off to the old apartment to clean up as much as possible and bring the final items over. More pictures as soon as there are no longer boxes in them!

Thanks For Your Patience

I exist. Just have had a crazy schedule with some doctor and legal stuff. And I know for all you MILP's "legal stuff" is everyday. But not for this stay at home mommy. So prepping for it (aka working myself up over it) sent me into a reclusive tailspin. I hope to be able to post more when I'm past a bit of it. I'm also having an outpatient procedure done for my lower back as well as bed sore pain, tomorrow, Thursday morning. This means there will be a 50/50 shot I think that while Frenchie is enjoying a nice vacay I can pick up my slack and write a bit. In scenario "A," If I'm feeling good but lying around while Tybalt is at MIL's because of my restrictions, I should have time to write. But if there are any hiccups in the procedure (I've never done this one before) and I feel miserable or horribly doped/high on pain meds, trust me it's best for us all if I don't wrote in that which we call scenario "B."

Strep o'clock

I feel like my blog posts of late revolve around looking forward to the weekend and the various diseases and infections that Mia brings home from daycare. So, for that reason, I am not going to dwell on the fact that Mia, B and I all three tested positive for Strep, are all three on a total of four different kinds of antibiotics, and all three had to take two sick days following a sick weekend. I won't even get into the story where I had an allergic reaction to the first antibiotic I was prescribed (shortness of breath, hives on my palms), having to catch the Minute Clinic nurse just before she was leaving to please give me something different, don't make me wait until morning THANKS! I'm also not going to dwell on the sinus pressure headache of the ages that I am currently experiencing, since the strep bacteria which gave me the most painful sore throat I've ever experienced has migrated up to my sinuses, despite being back at work because, let's be real, nobody can miss an impromptu 5 days in a row off work. Being back today makes it 4 (2 vacation days for my anticipated long weekend last week, and 2 sick days because of the Strep).

Instead, I'm going to show you a few pictures of how we were able to ignore our symptoms for a day, and entertain my high school friend J for the 36 hours of her visit. (She was supposed to be with u for four days, but she had a family emergency and had to delay her arrival from Thursday to Saturday -- everything is OK now, and it ended up being for the best, disease-wise)

Mia is visibly miserable, although we did not have confirmation that she was also in awful throat pain until Monday at 8am, which is when the pediatrician opens. I was stopping in every restroom between SharkReef at Mandalay Bay and The CocaCola store (not pictured) next to the MGM Grand to spray my throat with Chloraseptic, infinitely more times than the recommended amount of 1 spray every 2-3 hours. It was more like 3 sprays every hour, but you know.

 By tuesday evening, Mia had been on her antibiotics for 36 hours (me, day 3, Brian 35 hours) and was feeling well enough to earn her first evern baby time out. 2 minutes on a chair without getting off for deliberately knocking over a speaker after repeatedly being told to leave it alone and understanding perfectly.

Time Out, misunderstood as the "Mama won't let me get up game".

Warning: Probable TMI

**Advance warning: moments of weakness and probable TMI lie ahead. But if you are a mother or "to-be" it may be worth it to read.**

I wish I had been able to breastfeed. Even if only for a little while. Hell, even if only once. Maybe they would have handed me my little Tybalt in the postpartum room, I would have nursed once, and decided it wasn't "for" me. Or I might have tried nursing and found I literally physically couldn't. Or assuming it went swimmingly, maybe I nursed for a few months before weaning so Romeo could help in the middle of the night. Or imagine, what if I breastfed, loved it, Tybalt loved it, and instead of blogging at 1am right now, I was up nursing a 20-month-old still?

Point is, well, what is my point? I guess it's that I simply wish I could have tried it. Add it to the looooooong ass (excuse my French) list of newborn/mother experiences I feel I was cheated out of when my heart failed and I didn't even live with my son until he was 3 months old.

When "we" were pregnant Romeo and I discussed the breast vs. the bottle over and over again. It was perhaps the singular biggest decision I just could not make up to the very end. We knew that we wanted to know the gender in advance, we had a name chosen, for medical reasons (my back implant) we had decided on a c-section. It took a while to pick his exact bedding, but I knew I wanted a teddy bear motif, and I graphed out far in advance where all the furniture would fit best. I had picked his first stuffed animal and the outfit I wanted him to come home in. But how he would be fed? I just couldn't decide. And it wasn't really ever going to be a joint decision, which perhaps should have even eased some confusion and made it slightly easier. I mean how many things do you and your spouse agree on instantaneously? When it's not a joint decision it usually goes faster. Of course I looked to Romeo for his opinion, "Would he feel left out if we didn't bottle feed?" "How would he feel about me nursing in public?" "Would he be disappointed if I didn't choose to breastfeed, because all the books say it's best." And summarily he said he would support whatever I chose. But it truly was me who couldn't decide.

I knew the health benefits, yet for every article you read promoting it, there is another "consoling" you and saying your baby is potentially just as healthy on the bottle, and don't worry-- it's not the end of the world. Some even saying nursing is overrated. I also read that nursing helps prevent postpartum depression because of the chemicals released. This was to me perhaps the biggest item swaying me to nurse. With my history of clinical depression I knew that statistically I was more likely to suffer from postpartum. I was encouraged nursing might help. On the other hand, if it didn't I would still be nursing, yet unable to take my anti-depressants because of doing so, which would lead to a bitter conundrum. Perhaps I would be better off simply taking my meds and not nursing. Honestly not just for my sake, but Tybalt's as well. I knew that a depressed me wouldn't help anyone. Then there was the issue of father and child bonding. There is much literature about its importance, of course, but specifically of the fact that great bonding can occur by being involved in the feedings. If nursing, daddies should be awake at midnight as well, changing diapers and getting baby back to sleep. But some mothers choose not to nurse apparently on purpose so that Daddy can do the actual feedings and bond that way.

The closest I/we ever got to a decision is that I would plan to nurse. Assuming it went well (and I felt sane) I would go "breast only" for a few weeks to months. (My stamina without sleep, if or when I felt the need to start my meds again, and whether Romeo felt he was bonding enough yet or not, would determine whether it really was weeks vs. months.) But eventually I would start to pump and it would be bottled so Romeo and I could share the feedings, bonding, and lack of sleep.

But even though that was my "final plan" I still hemmed and hawed. Part of me didn't even want to nurse, as guilty as I felt about that, I sometimes had no interest. It wasn't just the reasons that perhaps I shouldn't (meds/ Romeo's bonding) it was, "Do I really want to?" "Do I want to have to whip a boob out in public?" "Do I want to not be able to get a babysitter for the first however many months?" "Do I want my breasts to be human refrigerators?" Ever since Romeo and I had dated he had been enamored with my breasts, as I am well endowed. In all PAINFUL honesty, I wasn't thrilled at the idea of my breasts being under "new management" and turning into my child's rather than my husband's. Romeo had been my first. (Okay, not the first to enjoy my boobs, I had fooled around as a teenager with a couple boys. But he was my first "real" sexual partner.) As a young adult I suffered from horribly low self-esteem due to my obesity. However with weight usually comes large boobs, and it was definitely true in my case. You could even say "BEYOND definitely true." Especially compared to my small framed female teenage counterparts. So the boys I fooled around with weren't really into me, except for the bonus of my top half. And I couldn't describe it while pregnant and trying to decide, and I still don't know if I truly can, but where I let those teenage boys just fool with my mind because they really only wanted to fool around with my boobs, Romeo... I don't know... treated them as a prized possession. I genuinely adored him adoring my breasts because I knew he adored the rest of me as well. He had loved the person first. I guess I was terrified that once he saw "his" boobs turned into breasts in the scientific sense--feeding and sustaining life, he would feel differently. (Not to mention the shape I have heard breasts take on after having nursed a child.) And while I was brave enough to bring these concerns into our conversations about the ultimate decision, and Romeo assured me he would not be deterred and his opinions about my body would not change, I just still had my doubts.

So, I still had not made a firm decision. The only clear picture in my head was that I wanted to nurse Tybalt the very first time. After I gave birth, when the nurse asked, I would say "Sure!" and my little boy would be placed on my chest and I would nuzzle him and I would try. [Insert pause for me crying right now as I think about what I didn't get to do.] Anyway, I figured after that I would either follow "the plan" or else if really still unsure, I would take it day by day, feeding by feeding.

But as [bad] luck would have it, I had an emergency delivery 3 weeks early, went into cardiac arrest on the c-section table, nearly died, was in hospitals and rehab facilities for 3 months, and only saw my baby about one evening a week (from what I consciously remember with all the drugs). He lived with my in-laws and was very lovingly hand-fed via bottle by them and Romeo. I didn't get to live in the same house as him until he was 3 months old. And because of complications and extended home nursing, I didn't come out from the basement and really know him until he was about 4 1/2 months. I wasn't strong enough to be full-time mom and sole caretaker (of course with Romeo, I just mean without MIL) until we moved into a new apartment and Tybalt was 6 months.

His feeding choice was not mine. It never became mine. Actually, I can't even begin to describe to you the joy I had when he was 6 months old, we had moved into our new apartment (we terminated our old apartment lease when it was obvious we had to be at my in-laws for my home nursing care and we were paying rent on an apartment no one was living in), and anyway, the joy I had in going to Target and actually choosing which canned formula to buy for my son! It sounds insane, I know. But my MIL or Romeo did the shopping when I was recovering, and they just bought the brand that the hospital had sent home samples of. Finally, I was the one in the baby aisle and I could choose.

But that's all the choice I got. And there are nights, like tonight, when my husband has fallen asleep and I can't yet, that I daydream. I lie in bed in the dark, my hand will graze my breast or my nipple as I roll over or some odd motion, and my mind drifts to 2 years ago, and how VERY, VERY, EXTREMELY SILLY I was for ever doubting I wanted to breastfeed. And I sob as Romeo snores and saws logs.

If only I could have done it, just once. Just once, God. Why couldn't you have given me just once?

Please, if any of you reading are a mother-to-be, or know one: Nurse. Or tell them to. I am not a "granola, crunchy mom." I'm not extolling the health benefits and everything else. I'm not telling you to nurse your child until he is old enough to unbutton your shirt himself. I'm just saying try it. For me.

Look, I know we are a small blog and not read by many, but if you can share my story with anyone, please do. We as humans are not omniscient and often don't even know who needs what help, so maybe you should just share it for the sake of sharing, and it will find and touch the person in the universe that it was meant for. Share the link on Facebook (the Internet is a powerful thing), copy and paste it in an email, heck-- print the screen and snail mail it. If it will be of any help-- perhaps to a woman who is still on the fence, or maybe you nurse now or have decided you are going to and need help defending your position, etc, whatever the case! And if you do choose to share it, and/or it does help you or someone you know (in any way at all) I'd be thrilled to know. So PLEASE email me at julietcap702 at gmail dot com, or even leave a comment here. I'd like to think my regret is not in vain. That as cliche as it is, when God closed that door of choice on me, sharing my story is the window he opened. Perhaps it's the point.


**Again, my apologies for the moments of TMI, vocab, etc, in this post.**

Whatnot Wednesday #2

Not much to talk about today, but I promised a "Whatnot Wednesday," so I'll take a deep breath and see what comes out...

• Tybalt is sick.  Sick babies/toddlers suck.  Period.  He HATES having his nose wiped, with a passion.  And right now he needs it wiped about every 10 minutes.  On top of that, he has an eye infection and needs eye drops.  1 drop in each eye, 4 times a day.  The first day he had no clue what he was in for, and so because of that it was actually much easier than I expected.  Since then?  For crying out loud!  The kid squeezes his eyes shut so hard that when I try to pry his lids open they flip inside out.  It's gross, makes me feel mean, frustrates me, etc., all at once.  And can I ask, why are Moms the ones just EXPECTED to give the medicine?  For all of Romeo's good qualities, on this one he doesn't even offer or try.  Tybalt's been sick more than once and every single time I'm the "pharmacy."
• I'm still sick.  Ugh.  Taking my meds, so shouldn't be contagious anymore, but still don't feel well.
• I'm reading a "new" book right now.  I wish I could just curl up in bed, start reading, and not stop until it's done.  It's the first in a series that Romeo and his roommate discovered in college--this one is called "Big Secrets" by William Poundstone.  There is also "Bigger Secrets" and "Biggest Secrets."  It's really interesting; all about trade secrets.  Like the first section of chapters is on highly classified recipes such as KFC, Coca-cola, etc.  Now I'm in the "Money" section that reveals how money is pressed, what secret messages are printed on it, and such.  There are upcoming sections on popular magic tricks, hidden messages in music (i.e. records due to when the book was written) and other neat things.  The book was written in 1983 which also provides some chuckles because not all the products are still available, or like I can't compare the U.S. currency as it describes it because there have been quite a few revisions since then.  But it's still a very good read.
• I do believe I'm addicted to Macaroni and Cheese.  Specifically Kraft.  I hate myself for it, because it's steering me WAY off my diet, but in the last few weeks I've had it at least once a week, and the last 3 days I've had it every day.  Do I get a pass because I'm sick and/or dealing with a fussy sick kid?  I hope... but I doubt.
• Side note--the best version of Kraft Mac'n'Cheese hands down is any of the "shape" versions, like Disney Cars or Sponge Bob Square Pants.  I don't care which shape version I buy, but the shapes both sauce and noodle consistency is much better than the plain old stuff.  Runner up is "spirals."  No matter what, Kraft is the best.  Only in a pinch will I do store brand, I have learned during this kick.  I bought it once a couple weeks ago for the price difference--not worth it.  Now mind you, this is just comparing the box make-at-home stuff.  Country Crock pre-made tubs in the refrigerated section are in a different class all to themselves (though I still think Kraft "shapes" win with an ever so slight margin, but it's like comparing apples to oranges) and of course I'm not even going to get into restaurant Macaroni and Cheese.  Any food that I don't have to make myself probably wins no matter what, simply for that fact, lol.

Sigh, it's time to be done when I'm assessing carbs so strictly.

"See" ya later.

Ah, what a refreshing feeling!  My brain has been cleaned out a bit!  Interested in participating in "Whatnot Wednesdays" yourself?  Follow the hyperlink button at the top of this entry to link to E at her blog "Every Day The Wonderful Happens," and find out more!

Illness Spreading Like Wildfire

I know I've been an absentee blogger.  Unfortunately I've been horribly sick with migraines last week and now this week both the stomach flu (103.1 fever--yay!  Not.) and a respiratory infection.  I broke down and went to the doc yesterday who diagnosed me.  She says the "colds" I've had off and on for a couple months have led to stuff staying in my head and chest and getting yucky and infected.  And apparently the migraines were a symptom too.  And now Tybalt is sick as well.  Hoping it's not the same thing, but I worry it is and we'll have to take him for antibiotics and such of his own, just like Mommy.  So, we'll see what happens and once everyone in my house is in the clear, I should be back up and running here.  At the very least, I promise another one of those fun "Whatnot Wednesdays" soon.  In the meantime, please excuse my absence.  I don't know how other "mommy bloggers" never skip more than a day or two.  I mean, between the kids themselves, occasional household bouts of illness, after-school activities, errands, and sometimes just needing to hide alone with a good book or take a nap--what's a mom to do?  Sigh, anyway, guess I'm just not one of them.  Sometimes it's too much for me.  In the mean time, Happy Early Valentine's Day, everyone!  (Romeo and I will be celebrating twice.  A small date on Tuesday due to "budgetary constraints" and a nice night out the following Saturday where we'll not have to look at the prices on the menu, we'll exchange gifts finally, and be able to order a cocktail or two.  I'm actually not too disappointed that the actual February 14th will be small and have no gift exchange--I mean who else gets to say they had 2 V-days?  Okay, admittedly, maybe I am a touch disappointed and am just trying to talk myself out of it.  But so far so good.........................................................................kinda?)

In the interim, some cute pictures of my kid, because, well, just cuz I feel like it, I guess, lol.

What A Difference A Year Makes--Our Christmas Card 2010--Tybalt is between 3 and 4 months old here.

Christmas 2011.  Trucks and extra railroad pieces from Santa!  16 months old.

1. Take your hand.  2. Hold over me in this picture.  3. Proceed to enjoy looking at my adorable son as he reads. 

Bedtime Story With Mommy.  15 months.

Tybalt Outside Church, He Was Being A Little Loud Inside.  15 months.

Playing Piano with Daddy. Please God, I hope he really does play piano, or some instrument like Daddy.

16 months

16 months.  Blurry, but I love the tongue out.

Daddy and Tybalt Outside the Lion Exhibit at MGM Grand Hotel and Casino.  16 months.

"Hey, Mommy, Nice Camera!" 17 months.

"Cheese!"  17 months.

Intrigued By His Reflection In His Mirrored Closet Door

Bedtime Ritual--Brushing Teeth With Daddy.  17 months.

For the record, we did finally get his hair cut a few weeks ago, even though it was probably anywhere from 3-7 months late.  Mommy had a hard time with the first haircut.  It was even harder than I thought it would be.  But I couldn't handle him being mistaken for a girl anymore, plus on his really bad hair days I felt like a horrible mom for not having done it yet.  Actually, the above few 17 month pictures are from the night before the big cut so we could also document how long his locks had gotten.  Anyway, I've coincidentally saved that story (and photos with his cute short hair since then) for a future post.  So, you'll just have to enjoy his curls (and in some cases unruly "mop") in these pictures for now, and wait patiently for more!  :)

Whatnot Wednesday #1

Well, it's here!  I'd like to make a big announcement: Whatnot Wednesdays are beginning here on "Mommy and the Sin City!"  This is an idea and trend that is the brain child of the author (we'll call her "E") of the blog "Every Day The Wonderful Happens" and Frenchie and I are excited to take part.  I encourage you to become familiar with this author's entertaining blog about life and motherhood.  I promise you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll get sucked in!  Cross my heart, hope to die, never tell a single lie!  But for now, do me a favor, and at the very least follow the hyperlink I've included with her blog title, or click on the button above, and read some of her weekly "Whatnot Wednesday" entries.

The idea is exactly as she describes: it's "like a neti pot for your brain."  In fact, it is very much my PREFERRED style of writing.  (I don't do it often, because many times my OCD overtakes me and I proof-read EVERYTHING and thus what could be a 15 minute blog post session turns into an hour and a half--sadly, I'm not kidding.  It's often why I go days or weeks without writing-- because I over-analyze everything I write!  But with these Wednesday posts I'm going to try to let myself breathe.)  In Whatnot Wednesday posts not everything is in "perfect paragraph form."  Not every point transitions perfectly into the next.  Not everything has a backstory, or further explanation.  Why?  Because it's not about any of that.  Rather it's about writing what's been bubbling up to the top of your brain.  Letting your fingers graze the keys and see what is transposed by them.  Allowing yourself to just write/talk/get "it" out.

So, here goes, my very first Whatnot Wednesday!

• Tybalt is walking.  Finally.  Man, Romeo and I have been worried.  The pediatricians (his original and the new one we don't like and so are finding yet another new one to replace) have said he should be walking by 13 months.  Now at almost 17 months he is finally, albeit gingerly and tentatively, walking. He started taking a few steps on New Year's Day, stopped for a week or so, but is now crossing our small living room.  He doesn't walk in any other room or any one else's house, but hey, it's a start.
• I'm watching QVC's "In the Kitchen With David" as I type.  I would normally NEVER do that, because I prefer to solely focus on the writing.  See, I'm already allowing myself some wiggle room with this type of post!  Yay, me.
• Speaking of QVC--I'm an addict.  There, I said it.  Sometimes I order, sometimes I don't.  But I watch it.  Alot.  Frenchie has talked about some of her Guilty Pleasures?  Well, QVC is definitely one of mine.
• Romeo came home sick yesterday from work.  This worried/frightened me for two reasons.  1) Romeo is NEVER sick.  Literally.  Okay, occasionally a sniffly nose and tickly throat, but even then he never admits it.  I always just realize a couple days later that we are out of Kleenex in the house.  We actually tease he's the carrier monkey.  I have a weak immune system and get sick all the time.  If anyone is sick at his office I am bound to get it.  I don't know how it happens; I never have physical contact with the co-worker, and Romeo doesn't either really.  But I guess sharing an employee restroom or something must be enough, because he passes the germs on to me.  Yet he doesn't get it!  So for him to come home sick wakes me up and makes me worry about him.  It means he must REALLY be feeling near his death bed.  2) I have an irrational fear anytime he comes home early.  It started with my youth.  My dad lost his job a couple of times, and I remember once in particular.  He came home in the middle of the day, and my mom (I'm guessing from her experience when he was fired/laid off the time before that I'm not old enough to remember) FREAKED THE HELL OUT.  Seriously.  We lived in a condo, on the second floor, and had large living room windows that faced the street.  She heard a car door close, saw him, then opened our door and saw him walking up the stairs to our place.  Holy. Crap.  It was not a good day.  So anytime I hear Romeo's key turn in the front door lock midway through the day, my stomach drops.  Until I know he's there for an unexpected lunch, or forgot something-- anything innocent--I start to tremble and feel like I'm going to puke.  (In a weird fortunate way, he was the one puking though yesterday.)
• I said I was watching QVC while I typed and that I normally never would.  I have to admit about 45 minutes ago I did put it on mute.  Baby steps, baby steps.  And 45 minutes shows how long I've been typing, proof-reading, and re-typing.  But again, baby steps, right?  :)

Ah, what a refreshing feeling!  My brain has been cleaned out a bit!  Interested in participating in Whatnot Wednesdays yourself?  Follow the hyperlink button at the top of this entry to link to "Every Day The Wonderful Happens," and find out more!

The Birth Story

I've mentioned my pregnancy induced health problems before, but for some reason I felt tonight that I needed to touch on it again. Maybe sub-consciously I need the therapeutic aspect that "getting it out" can bring. And I started to write what is now this blog post as part of my bio page. But I quickly realized it was much too complicated and lengthy to be part of my basic bio. So, here it is as a separate blog post. On another note, check out my new official bio page! Click on the "About Juliet" tab in the upper left! :)

My pregnancy wasn't difficult, but it wasn't easy. I have a bad back and it exasperated it. But aside from morning sickness in the beginning, my back was my only complaint for about 7 months. Because I'm obese my ob-gyn was even thrilled that I LOST weight in the beginning and then stayed steady until about month 5 or 6. But gradually the weight creeped up, until about the 7.5 or 8 month mark where it exponentially added up. And around the same time I was gradually having more and more trouble with my breathing. Simply catching my breath at first but then not being able to breath if reclining at all. Exams and x-rays and hospital stays and further tests all occured but there was no fluid in my lungs, no super high blood pressure or other signs of complications such as pre-eclampsia or eclampsia.

At 37 weeks my son was delivered via emergency c-section due to bleeding (still unknown as to whether it had anything to do with all the other symptoms or my final diagnosis), and I experienced heart failure on the table. I was diagnosed with post-partum cardiomyopathy. It is a rare but life threatening condition in which the pregnant mother's heart expands and causes the mitral valve to not properly control the blood flow. And all my symptoms during pregnancy? Common symptoms of cardiomyopathy. But there is no clear testing guidelines currently in place to check for the disease because of it's rarity and unknown cause. It is unknown why any woman ever develops it. Why pregnancy causes it in any woman. I was an in-patient for three months. The first few days I was touch and go in ICU. I have no memory of the first two months due to heavy sedation. The silver lining? My beautiful, healthy, blessing of a son, Tybalt.

The First Known Picture Of Mommy And Son (I Have No Memory Of It)

Tybalt Visits Mommy (Again, I Was Sedated And Don't Remember)

Family Picture When Mommy Is Finally More Alert (And Allowed To Get Fresh Air!)

A Few Days Before Mommy's Discharge

Shhhh!

Whenever anyone would ask how I, Romeo, or Tybalt were doing, my husband and I would only half-jokingly say that Tybalt was the one who came out on top. I was horribly sick; my husband was horribly stressed. Tybalt however, was healthy, happy, and had round-the-clock love and affection from his grandparents, my in-laws. And it took an additional three months of at-home (read: my mother-in-law's home where my husband moved us into during the whole hubabaloo) rehab once I was released from the hospital, but once I was back on my feet Tybalt probably thought he had four loving full-time parents between me, Romeo, Grandma, and Grandpa. This kid won the lottery when it comes to love and attention. Even then though, I spent as much time bonding with him as possible so he would know who Mommy was.

A Tradition Is Born! Tybalt and Mommy Kiss At 4 Months!

When Tybalt was 6 months old, I was able to be alone with him and take care of him all by myself, so Romeo and I found a new apartment and moved out of MIL's basement. Our "baby" is now 14 months old and I have been full-time Mommy for about 10 months. It feels...different. Wonderful but weird. Because while we have permanently and properly bonded at this point I still feel like I am playing catch-up to some extent. And I wonder if I always will feel that way because of the first months and milestones that I missed.

And now, just for fun, some more pictures of my beautiful baby boy:

One Of My All-Time Favorite Pictures. Look At Those Rosy Cheeks and That Smile!

Mommy And Tybalt Venture Out Into The "Real World" Alone Together

Tired Of Trying On Clothes!

My Son, The Flirt!

Crazy Towel-Dried After-Bath Hair

His New Specs!

"Hello, Mommy!"

First Birthday

My son turned 1 today. And honestly, I'm just not sure how I feel about this. I'm digesting it slowly.

I think I'm supposed to be completely and utterly excited and perhaps if anything allowed just a twinge of anxiety. Instead I seem to be feeling the opposite, meaning mainly anxious with just a hint of excitement or joy.

It's not that I'm not happy he is growing and thriving. I am! I am extremely proud that my son is a healthy and well-adjusted now-1-year-old child.

But where most other moms amidst a time that is primarily celebratory might allow themselves only a moment of reflection at the loss of their child's "baby-hood," my reason for anxiety is much deeper than that. And that's why I think I have more of it.

When Tybalt was born I got sick. VERY, VERY, VERY sick. He was born via emergency c-section and my heart failed on the table. I was diagnosed with peripartum cardiomyopathy (aka postpartum cardiomyopathy) and was an inpatient in the hospital for 3 months. The doctors and nurses couldn't even assure my husband initially that I would live through the first 24-48 hours. That's what I mean by VERY, VERY, VERY sick.

I will write more about my health/heart problems and the hospitals and rehab centers when I'm not so exhausted, I promise (the birthday has proved to make for an extremely long weekend). But the cliff-notes version you need to know in order to understand why my son's birthday is so bittersweet to me is this: Because I was in the hospital for 3 months once my son was born, I missed the first 3 months of his life. My mother-in-law basically raised my son as a newborn. It's 3 months I will NEVER get back.

AND I'M ANGRY. I'M MAD. I'M PISSED. If there's another word for it...miffed, hurt, etc., I'm it.

Where some mothers would be glad that the sleepless nights are behind them by the time their child reaches their 1st birthday, I spend my own sleepless nights ravaged with sadness and depression that I missed his mewing cries to be fed, his desire to nuzzle my neck at 2am, and yes, honestly, probably many moments of feeling "I JUST WISH THIS BABY WOULD GO TO SLEEP NOW, BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND!!!!!"

And it's not just the midnight feedings and sleepless nights that I was denied and miss. There's also everything from poopy diapers, to his first pediatrician appointment, to even getting to dress him in all the little tiny outfits we were given at the baby shower. Sleepless nights are just one example. I missed EVERYTHING. So many things that most other first-time mothers take for granted.

So, now, when my son is 1, I am exuberant he is healthy and that I am as well. And while it's not a year I would want to live over again in the sense of difficulties and fighting for my life, it is however a year full of experiences I missed and wish that I could be granted somehow. It makes me so incredibly sad that I only got 9 months of his first 12.