Booger Nights

Whew! What a week.

When I was 13, my mother enrolled me in synchronized swimming. One of the first things we had to do was train ourselves to hold our breath for a long, long time. After about a year of training, I could swim the entire length of the Junior Olympic-sized pool underwater, on one breath. By the time I had reached the end, my body would be fighting for a breath. My chest would heave involuntarily as my lungs spasmed, and when I reached the surface, I would gasp desperately for air. It felt so good to take in oxygen.

That's how I feel right now.

We are coming out of the longest week of my life. Little Bento has been sick, and it's been tough. I know that there are parents out there that have fared much, much worse than we have; after all, Ben had a mere cold, with some complications, nothing serious at all. I never questioned that he would survive, though I often doubted that I would. Still, for a new mom, it was hard, and I know that sooner or later, we're going to have to do it again.

He was feverish, and restless, and he couldn't breathe through his nose. His chest rattled every time he coughed, and he squirmed in my arms and pounded his head on my shoulder over and over again, so uncomfortable, so unhappy. He whined and moaned constantly, except when he was screaming. He dozed lightly, but couldn't sleep. Then he started to throw up. He didn't want to eat or drink. He would finally rest his head on my chest in exhaustion, and stare. That is how we spent the week: in the glider, or on the couch, or in my bed, with him sprawled across my body.

I would sit up when he cried and whisper in his ear: "Shh, shh, it's okay, momma's here, momma's here." "I'm here, baby, I'm here." It hit me: I had no freaking clue what I was doing. I told my baby it was going to be okay, so I had to make it okay. It was one of those defining moments for me, where I realized that I am someone's mother, and that this hard job was not one that I could pass on to someone else, or leave behind when it got too difficult. I had some help, thankfully, but the lion's share of fretting, and worrying, and soothing, fell to me.

What a monumental responsibility.

Today, for the first time in days, Ben smiled and giggled, and bounced on his toes when I held him upright. My baby is getting better.

I'm so glad this week is over.

Lemon Drop

It's a new year and Ben is over six months old! He's truly in a renaissance phase right now, as he's laughing and babbling all day long, knocking down milestones left and right, learning and discovering with every passing second. It's exciting and fun, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't at all sad.

I'm beginning to understand what people mean when they say that motherhood is bittersweet. Every achievement, every new accomplishment, is another day away from my squishy newborn. Every first is the last time I'll see it as a first. His first Christmas -- gone. His first roll-over -- gone, too. The first smiles, the first laughs, they've come and gone and they were celebrated; there have been many smiles and laughs since then, and they all give me a kind of heart-stabbing joy, but they're not the same as the first. Even the pregnancy firsts -- the belly movements, to be sure, but also the swollen ankles, the stretch marks -- I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm sad that they're gone too. (Oh wait, the stretch marks are still there. Lucky me.) If I'm fortunate enough to be pregnant again some time, these same things won't be firsts anymore. They'll just be there.

We've already put a big box of clothes in storage. He no longer naps in his swing, and so it's been put away too. Before it went into storage, I turned it on one last time, and listened to the soothing music, and remembered the hot summer days when my tiny baby would swing away to the strains of tiny flutes and perhaps an accordion, with the faint creaking of the swing apparatus in the background. He was so small that his legs didn't even pass through the harness straps; we could strap him in, swaddle and all. I'd never heard that melody before we had this swing, and now I will never forget it.

He has been sleeping in his own room, in his crib, for over a month now. He used to sleep in our bed, and then he slept right next to me in his bassinet. I loved to hear his snoring next to me, and the sound of his fingernails scratching on the sides when he woke up. He moved into his room with no protest at all, and doesn't seem to miss us at all, even though I miss him like crazy.

These days he bounces in his Exersaucer. He bounces in his Jolly Jumper. He bounces at our Lullabies and Lap Rhymes class. He bounces when we read stories. He sits up and grabs things, scratches the mat with his fingernails to feel the texture. He's got two teeth. He eats (some) real food, throws the rest of it on the floor. He screams when he's frustrated, when he's angry, and when he's had Quite Enough. I put him in his crib to nap or for night time and when he wakes up he's on his stomach and has rotated 180 degrees. The other day he picked his Bumbo up off the floor and held it in the air over his head. Amazing.

He's charming and disarming, with a ready laugh and a quick smile. His eyes sparkle when he's happy, and he flirts with the ladies in the grocery line.

He also wakes up many, many times a night (as do I), pinches and bites me when he's nursing, and did I mention that he wakes up several times a night?

I wish I didn't have to go back to work, but I miss my friends. I want to spend every waking minute with my amazing son, but then again I like not wearing stretchy pants every day. Every day with Benjamin is a joy, but it would be nice to spend time with people that don't drool on me continuously.

Decisions, decisions.