Calming down

Life is calming down a bit and getting into more of a rhythm with babe.

He's generally doing pretty well, although he's gotten little bugs from having older brothers and sisters more than those older brothers and sisters did when they were babes.

He feels a lot like a firstborn in some ways, since we were so out of the baby habit. Because of that, it's nice to delight in his babyness. It's also refreshing to see a baby through the other kids' eyes. I always remember more about them when they were babies while I'm caring for one.

He looks like his own individual self, of course, but I see little family resemblances, and it's amusing to parse those out. He has Paul's long fingers and the 10-year-old's mouth. They all have similar eyes, which the 13-year-old likes to complain to me about: "You gave us all your small eyes."

Rituals

I'm trying to get my little rituals down again. For one, I like to make at least one pitcher of my iced green tea every day. Now that six of us drink it and four of us really like it, I need more.

The babe's favorite ritual is a tiny little shake. He doesn't like the larger bouncing motion that other kids liked; it's a really quick little vibration. The 15-year-old says it's because I jogged with him.

Falling down

Here's a first, even for my klutzy self. I fell while carrying the baby.

My footwear was only slightly inappropriate, although I will be retiring those shoes for a bit. The big issue was there was a step down that  I didn't see. It's hard to describe, but it was a step that gradually appeared. I was walking around an outdoor art exhibit. The base it was on stayed horizontal, even while the rest of the area around it went slightly downhill. Where I fell, the step down was about three inches, which was enough to throw off my balance.

The babe was sleeping, and I was carrying him like a football with my left arm. I landed particularly hard on my left knee and then my right knee and right hand caught the rest of me.  He didn't touch the ground.

And -- surprisingly -- he didn't even wake up.

My left knee has a big ol' scrape and I ripped my tights. But it could have been worse.

Plan news: I guess I should've expected this, but I'm hungry again. That's what eliminating a meal will do.

Weighing in

I did my first weigh-in since having the baby today.

I'm 22 pounds heavier than my lowest weight, which isn't terrible considering I just had a baby. Most of my clothes still fit -- although not the jeans and not button-up tops. With the nursing, I look like I've had (bad) surgical enhancement.

So this is another Day 1. I'm losing the equivalent of a meal in extra calories.

No more TV

We gave up our cable at the beginning of the year. It was turning into background noise. We were all watching too much. The quality, too, was questionable. I mean, "Storage Wars" is vaguely amusing, but none of us needed to be spending that much time on it. We have missed it a little because of college basketball season -- but we'll survive.

The last week has been busy with a lot of things. Our 17th wedding anniversary was Saturday, and that was pretty lowkey, what with the insatiable and car-hating baby around.

I haven't had a baby who despises the car as much as this guy. Or maybe some of it is I have more places I have to be at at certain times. In some ways, it's a great thing, as it keeps me home more. The kids are doing more schoolwork, and I'm going through our pantry instead of buying a lot of groceries.

On Sunday, he was baptized. It was just our family and the godparents' family, so that was lowkey as well.

Thirsty!

The babe is doing a lot of nursing and a lot of sleeping. Because of that, I'm drinking a lot of water, tea and milk as well. The babe is always hungry -- and I'm always thirsty.

I also have a big stack of books I'm going through, but I'm not going to do even perfunctory reviews until I've finished them.

Christmas responsibilities: Paul has been taking over a lot of my duties, particularly on the many days off he got in January, thanks to stock market holidays. He has spent a lot of time with the homeschool moms at our weekly park day.

He came to me yesterday, sheepish, saying that he was going to do more for Christmas next year. He got to listen to all the mothers complaining how their husbands do nothing and that getting ready for holidays is a lot of work. It was apparently eye-opening.

Resolution plans

I know the new year is a big time for resolutions and that some people have success with them. I never have.

When I succeed in making positive behavioral change, it happens without a big formal announcement. I didn't even tell Paul when I gave up sugar, wheat and flour on Oct. 21, 2007.

My plans for this year do include getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight -- which is unsurprising. Since I haven't weighed since giving birth, I don't know how far off I am -- probably somewhere between 10 and 20 pounds. I really shouldn't be worried about it for a couple more weeks.

But, at six weeks postpartum (next Friday), I'll weigh with Tiffany and go back on the plan for non-pregnant women. That's next Friday. I'll also get a pair of inexpensive jeans that fit, as all the ones I have now are too tight -- and I got rid of the ones that would've fit a long time ago.

Murphy's Law and jury duty

I'm one of those weirdos who has always wanted to be a juror.

I have been called to jury duty a few times -- always when there was No Way I Could Possibly Serve.

The first time was when my eldest was a newborn. I was also called four years ago, right before we moved back to L.A.

After that, I had about three to four years where it would not have been that inconvenient for me to serve, but I didn't get called, of course. If I had been called even three months ago I could have served. But I didn't get called then, of course.

Today, however, I got summoned.

SuperFreakonomics and Loving Frank

One side effect of spending so much time feeding the babe is my reading has increased.

SuperFreakonomics is just OK, although it's an interesting gee-whiz kind of read. I've heard a lot of the stories before.

Interesting tidbits: 1) The infamous Kitty Genovese case in New York City, where a crowd of people ignored a woman's cries for help as she was murdered, had probably been greatly exaggerated. The initial attack happened at 3:30 am and was over quickly. Moreover, people had called for help. Genovese had walked away from the first and it was likely that both police and witnesses didn't realize she was in more danger.

2) A bank employee, who developed an algorithm to identify potential terrorists, discovered that one characteristic of terrorists is that they don't buy life insurance. Which I guess isn't surprising.

Loving Frank is novel from the perspective of Frank Lloyd Wright's second wife. I'm generally not a big fan of reading about adultery, as I get irritated with people making stupid decisions -- oftentimes stupid decisions that initially seem innocent. But the book is another entertaining read, and, since it's fictionalized, it doesn't seem real, even though the story is based on the architect's real-life affair.

I'm getting to read more to the 7-year-old as well. Of course, I couch it as "reading to the baby" as the 7-year-old is my one child who doesn't like to be read to -- or at least likes to pretend he doesn't like to be read to.

Chicken soup!

I've found the secret to making amazing chicken soup, even with factory farmed chickens.

Here it is: First, I've been roasting the bones after removing the meat and before boiling them.

Then, I use my crockpot and cook them for at least 18 hours.

I have a lot of chickens lately because my sweet friends have all been bringing me food, and there have been a ton of roasted chickens.

No Midnight Mass

One of our family traditions is to go to Midnight Mass.

But not this year.

Some of the kids were too sick and I was too tired to make it.

One of the (many) reasons we like to go at midnight is the church isn't packed. I've got my space issues, particularly with a new baby, whose behavior is unpredictable, and I hate it when we get stuffed into pews like sardines.

So, we went to 7:30 p.m. services instead -- and that Mass time is even more empty.

Things I don't care about anymore

1) Looking fashionable. Frumpville, here I come. I suspected I'd be going there, but it's amazing how quickly I Just Don't Care anymore. It has to be biological.

Seriously, when I have a yummy-smelling baby to keep happy, my perspective is just a little different. As it should be.

Of course, it's still only three weeks postpartum.

The 13-year-old is benefiting from my changes. She now has a bunch of cute dresses, dresses that I cannot breastfeed in and that fit her.

2) Following the diet. I know, I know -- what is up with that?! I haven't gone off plan, but it requires a lot of habit and a lot of self-talk. Cookie dough as well as completed cookies were tempting me far more than they have in the past.

Sleep when the baby sleeps

I've been doing a better job at sleeping when the baby sleeps.

I told Paul this morning that I was embracing the "Christmas isn't a deadline, it's a season" philosophy.

"You always do that. What else is new?"

OK, fine -- but this year I have an excuse.

Babe is doing well. He got another weight check (and he saw a pediatric resident, who was -- of course -- better informed about breastfeeding). My regular guy is well into his 60s and he's a high-ranking professor at one of the local medical schools.

'Don't let him use you as a pacifier'

The babe has been eating and sleeping a lot, as he should be.

I've been happy with how he's doing, and it's gotten even better lately. It seems like new babies are almost constantly wet -- and continually wetting through their clothes. He hit the "wet" stage in earnest around the middle of last week, which means he's getting plenty of milk.

He had only made it to his (wrong) birthweight earlier in the week when I took him to the new pediatrician. I had to take him to a pediatrician instead of our typical family doc because the family doc stopped offering all the vaccines for infants and his office staff couldn't handle the paperwork.

Not to bash doctors, who have a lot of pressure on them and who have gone through so much training, but it's an irritation when I get Really Bad Advice from them.

This new guy, for example, was full of complete and total misinformation about breastfeeding. That's one area where I generally feel confident in my expertise. I edited a publication on the subject for eight years, working with doctors and lactation consultants and veteran breastfeeding mothers.

These are among the gems this guy told me:

1) Don't let him use you as a pacifier.

Sorry, but pacifiers were actually invented as fake breasts, not the other way around. Frequent nursing establishes a supply, a supply that I will need for the next year (at least).

2) Nurse only 10-15 minutes on a side.

Then what to do you do with a hungry baby? Oh, a pacifier, of course!

I'm not anti-pacifier, although my eldest wasn't willing/able to use one, and I didn't bother trying with the younger kids. But I don't understand the desire to push the use of one, particularly with a semi-slow-gaining infant.

Paul thinks I should find a new pediatrician. He actually laughed out loud when he heard what the doc had said.

I'm not sure it matters. It does create a bit of a moral dilemma for me -- in that I feel bad for not trying to correct some of the misinformation. After all, this guy is dealing with plenty of new moms who don't know he's full of it. At the same time, I'm not sure there would be any point to it.

Food!

With my newly speedy metabolism, I am hungry again.

Of course, what I eat can be (and is) often bizarre. Right now, I'm in an Oatmeal Phase. I eat it baked with a little coconut oil. Or cooked with a ton of water and then milk added.

Salads with my homemade vinaigrette have also been appealing.

Both of those things are super-easy to make, even with a babe on my arm.

What's next?

For the next six weeks, I'll eat as though I'm still pregnant. At six weeks, I'll go back on the regular version of the plan.

The greatest thing about being postpartum is that I have a jacked up metabolism. My belly is still a bit bigger than normal; otherwise, I can tell I'm pretty close to my pre-pregnancy weight.

The bra I bought a few weeks ago is too big in the band now, now that my belly isn't pushed up so high.

The same yet different

It's like Groundhog Day here. I remember downy baby heads that look just like this one. Eyes that focus with sharklike intensity, seeking milk. I remember getting hit with hormonal changes somewhere between Day 3 and Day 7 postpartum where I turn into a sopping mess of tears for no apparent reason.

What's different: Having to explain hormones to a poor 7-year-old who isn't used to a mom who cries, let alone to a husband who isn't used to a wife who cries.

Fortunately, it is now Day 10 -- and all that is pretty much over.

But this was Day 8.

Paul: Kathleen, are you crying?!!

Me: Yes, and it's really, really silly.

Paul:  What's wrong?

Me: Well, his umbilical cord just fell off, and I didn't get a picture of him with it on.

Paul: You are silly.

With the last baby, Paul had oh-so-helpfully decided it would be good to start a new job and move right around my due date. Which meant I was relatively alone, away from people I knew, when I now had four children under the age of 8. This time, I have tons of help, as it's nearly eight years later.

Plus, my friends are all bringing food over. Paul is amazed. He has seen me make plenty of meals for new moms, but we've never been fortunate enough to get quite this level of post-baby care.

Lucky

Poor Michelle Duggar. A miscarriage at 20 weeks isn't fun for anyone, even if you already have a bunch of other kids.

I've been incredibly lucky on that front. Five pregnancies. Five births.

This one made me more nervous than the others, of course, and I had enough contractions throughout the pregnancy that I was frequently worried that it was going to end. It turned out, however, that that was just what was normal for this one.

Baby arrives!

Here's my eldest with my youngest!

Baby arrived on Friday. His birthweight is -- weirdly -- pretty much undetermined, as the scale in the delivery room said 8 lbs. 9 oz. at birth and the one in the nursery read 9 lbs. 2 oz. eight hours later. My milk is good, but it's not that good.

He looks like all my other babies. He doesn't have Paul's chin cleft, which three of the others have.

Delivery went fine, although there were some scary elements. When my water broke spectacularly (a first), there were some signs that baby was in a bit of distress, so I went to the hospital earlier than I might've otherwise. During labor, he was fine. I had chemical labor enhancement (my choice), so it was definitely my most intense labor, as it progressed from halfway there to ready-to-push in 10 minutes (which would normally take three to five hours). The OB did great, and I was happy I stuck with her.

When he came out, the NICU team was there, but he was fine.

I'm happy he's here and healthy.

I had been wanting to post this funny video while I was pregnant, but I also didn't want to post anything that had the slightest bit of mockery of healthy babies before this one got out safe! So, here it is.

Oh, and the baby's name? He's named for a martyr and saint -- the patron of throat ailments, of all things. There's also a famous French mathematician and Catholic philosopher from the 17th century who shares his first name.

Fashion police

One of my mild worries about going through the whole pregancy/childbirth/breastfeeding cycle again was that I was going to backslide into living in the town of Frumpville again.

Now, I don't regret my days there, as when you have lots of little people with lots of very intense needs, anything beyond basic grooming and just getting dressed and showered in the morning is gravy.

But I've had a good four years of indulging in a higher level of self-care, including eating very well -- and dressing well (for me). And that has been nice, too. I'm a lot healthier, and my husband is happier.

Since I have teenagers, though, even once the baby is here, I probably won't be able to slack on the self-care as much as I had in the past. At least, not without getting a bunch of crap.

The other day, late for the doctor, I needed to find something that a) fit and b) was clean. So, I dug into a bag of my hand-me-down maternity clothes, many of which I haven't worn -- for size or style issues.

I found a big, longish, sleeveless jumper-type dress, which I threw on over a shirt. I knew it wasn't a particularly great outfit, but -- heck -- how much do I really care at this point?

When I got home, my 13-year-old told me I looked just like a pregnant Michelle Duggar. Now, I think Michelle Duggar is sweet, but she's no fashionista. She has modesty standards that far exceed mine.

So, clearly, when I visit Frumpville from now on, I am going to hear about it. I have Fashion Police now.