Heroes

I'm not sure that it would be an exaggeration to say that the doctors and nurses who treated Beckett in the ER on Friday saved his life. I know they told me that if I had not brought him in when I did he would have stopped breathing. Pretty scary.

I'm thankful it's over, but the whole experience made me see how lucky I am...how many truly wonderful blessings there are in my life, my sons and husband chief among them.

It also made me deeply appreciative of the fact that I live in a city that boasts not just one, but three, children's hospitals. Amazing.

I guess technically, now, there are really just three different campuses belonging to the same hospital, Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. However, each facility began as a unique children's hospital or medical program in its own right. Egleston was your basic children's hospital that was founded by a wealthy man who was his mother's only surviving child, his four siblings succumbing to early childhood diseases. Hughes Spalding was a hospital for the children of African-American families who could afford to pay for healthcare; and Scottish Rite began as a rehabilitation facility for children of all races whose families could not afford long stays in other hospitals.

Few places actually even have a dedicated children's hospital, leaving kids to receive treatment from doctors and nurses who aren't always trained to treat their small patients.

Both of my boys have been treated in the Egleston ER now and Brendan has had surgery at Scottish Rite. I can't imagine their having to go through that at a hospital catering to adults. It's such a scary thing, yet all the caregivers at Children's really are focused on helping the children through the process. And their parents as well.

I don't think I dealt with one person, from the intake coordinators to the doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists, who was impatient, short-tempered, or ugly. I certainly have met doctors, nurses and others like that in the hospitals I've been in as a patient. It was so calming and refreshing not to have to deal with anything extraneous when my son was sick.

I hope we never have cause to visit Children's again. But, I'm very glad to know it's there. I'm also glad to know that it's there even for families who cannot afford routine healthcare. We're very fortunate to have insurance; not everyone is. And for those families, Children's provides close to $80 million a year in medical care that it doesn't recover.

When she was sitting with me in the ER the other day, the hospital chaplain suggested I remember the words of the hymn, What a Friend We Have in Jesus as a comfort while sitting with my sick child.

I say, what a friend we have in Children's.

Mysterious Ways

What a very long week it was and most of it for naught.

My mother-in-law has never kept Brendan overnight. That was all about to change last weekend, but, alas, it was not meant to be.

My mother-in-law works at a school and was or is on spring break this week. She offered to watch both Brendan and Beckett so that Scott and I could have a very much needed weekend away. I made last minute travel plans to a resort on the Outer Banks, scheduling a romantic couples' massage in a spa overlooking the Currituck Sound. We were looking forward to the nine hour drive so that we could talk and listen to music without interruption. I was looking forward to sleeping late and for two days not having to do anything for anyone else but myself. And really, mostly, just looking forward to talking to my husband without having to stop every five minutes to say, Please, say excuse me. or No, not right now. Please wait just a minute while I talk to your dad..

We had made all the arrangements and were so excited. All I had to do on Friday after dropping Brendan off at preschool was come home and pack our suitcases. One for us, one for the boys.

But there it was...that nagging wheeze that Beckett has had off and on since January. He had a little bit of it Thursday night, but Friday morning it was so loud I could hear above the car radio. And he just didn't seem like himself. My hungry little caterpillar only took 4 oz. of his bottle when normally he wants a full 6 oz. on top of nursing.

Mother's intuition said I should take him to the pediatrician just to be sure before leaving him with my mother-in-law for the weekend. So, after dropping Brendan off, I popped into the pediatrician's office. It's right around the corner from the preschool. I asked the nurse to listen to him and five minutes later we're in the exam room. The doctor comes in listens for a minute and tells me I will not be going on vacation after all. Two breathing treatments later and the doc is telling the nurse to call an ambulance to come take my little guy to the children's hospital. Whoa! This was not what was supposed to be happening!

They were supposed to tell me I was overreacting and that he was fine!

I talked the doctor into letting me drive Beckett the 10 min. to the ER. We were there until 3 p.m. when they finally admitted Beckett to the hospital. He had four breathing treatments in the ER and was put on oxygen. They could never get his blood oxygen level to stay above the 80s without oxygen. The wonderful ER doc told me that if I had waited just a few more hours to take Beckett to the doctor that I would have had to call 911. It was all very scary.

Of course, my initial reaction was disbelief and I'm sure the doctor thought I was a terrible mother for asking him if he was sure we wouldn't be leaving and that I wouldn't be taking my trip. The first trip alone in 5 years. The last time Scott and I took a trip alone together was to NYC in May 2002 and Brendan was conceived on that trip.

In fact, I know the doctor must have thought I was a terrible person because despite how nice and consoling he was to me, becasue he did have the chaplain come in to talk to me....a woman much younger than myself with no kids who had the audacity to ask me if I was mad at my baby for getting sick!

Now, they may have had her come in because of the seriousness of the situation. Scott and I were at one point discussing whether or not we should have a priest come from our church to baptise and anoint Beckett. But, it felt like they had her come in to talk to the crazy lady who was disappointed that her trip was ruined.

Still, I wasn't angry at my child and can't believe someone would think that. I was angry at the nice Presbyterian chaplain for suggesting that and angry at God for his terrible sense of humor. In hindsight, though, I realize that God may have actually used this to save Beckett and his brother from something even worse.

After spending Friday night and most of Saturday in the hospital, Beckett was able to go home Saturday night around 8 p.m. He was doing much better, but we are having to give him breathing treatments at home every 4 to 6 hours.

When I called my mother-in-law to tell her we were going home from the hospital, she was in tears from pain. She has kidney stones and was in such acute pain that she didn't remember talking to me when I called her yesterday to check on her.

I am terrified to think what could have happened if Brendan and Beckett had been in her care. I'm sure she would have probably called my sister-in-law to come help her, but you just never know.

It sure is strange, though, that this respiratory virus kind of came back out of nowhere, optimally timed to keep us from going out of town.

Very, very strange.

There's Always Someone Cooler Than You

So, while visiting Keziah's blog, I saw her Visual DNA and was intrigued. Naturally, I had to get my own. Here it is:

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

I'm surprised at how accurate the analysis is. It's just a fun little thing to do. Of course, it really bugs me that none of the apostrophes show up in the text. What's that all about? Is someone apostrophobic?

Ghost World

I haven't blogged much about this because it's such a personal issue (as if breastfeeding isn't?). That said, I kind of feel like I need to mention this, even though I feel much better today.

Beginning at about four weeks post partum, I started having some serious emotional issues. Emotional as in I couldn't stop crying and felt crazed. I felt as if my world were caving in. The baby was fine. He was great. A sweet and gentle little soul who was, and still is, really, easy breezy. We had no trouble with sibling issues, although Brendan did suffer a stomach virus the second or third week of Beckett's life.

Eventually, when I had my melt down and ended up so sick a few weeks ago, my doctor prescribed an anti-anxiety medicine. It seems to be working or did. However the last several days I've been very emotional again. Yesterday, I felt as if my body were an empty shell and I (my soul or being) was floating outside of it, watching all that was going on, but not really feeling anything at times. When I did feel as if I were present, all I could do was cry. I was also very anxious and stressed out. Brendan wanted to climb on me while I was working on my computer and I had to tell him to get off of me because having anyone touch me made me feel like crawling out of my skin.

I know that when a baby is weaning your hormones can get out of whack again. I wonder if Beckett's little nursing strike initiated that process.

Speaking of which, we saw his pediatrician yesterday. She is one of the leading breastfeeding advocates in our area (won't give out formula samples or coupons, etc.) and she thinks it's time for me to give it up. She told me that she thinks I need to stop for my own sanity, that the hormonal changes caused by breastfeeding are not good for me and that I just need to make the decision to wean and get through the difficult emotional phase that accompanies it.

I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe that's why I feel so empty.

Rufus Is a Tit Man

Beckett, however...not so much.

It's hard for me to believe that this is happening already, but sadly, my baby boy seems ready to wean. He'll be three months old in two days. It's too soon. I'm simply not ready. But he is, pulling away, struggling, getting angry and frustrated each time I put him to the breast. For the last three days, every time I've tried to nurse him he has given it a lame, half-hearted effort, nursing but a few minutes before patently rejecting me and the nourishment my body offers up.

Before having a baby, I never realized what a complex, challenging, and emotional act breastfeeding could be. I had never known anyone who breastfed their babies or if I did, I never paid much attention. When I got pregnant, I read copious volumes on breastfeeding. I received instruction from our doula who even brought a doll for me to practice with. I thought nothing could be more natural than a mama nurturing her tiny babe with her own mother's milk. And, of course, I believed that breastfeeding was the right and only way...everything I read said so. Everything I read said what a terrible mother I'd be if I gave my child formula.

Of course, it probably goes without saying that I had trouble breastfeeding Brendan. He couldn't latch on, I wasn't producing milk. He became jaundiced and the pediatrician had him on formula before we even left the hospital. We struggled for 12 weeks of me feeling like total shit because I was a failure as a mother. At least that's how I felt because my body wouldn't do the one thing I thought should come so naturally. And the La Leche League told me so. Not in those exact words, of course. Actually, what the LLL representative told me when I called for advice was You're poisoning your baby by giving him formula. The alternative? Not give him anything other than the tiny bit of milk I was producing and eventually my milk would come in.

Finally, on the day he was baptised, the day he turned 12 weeks old, Brendan flat out refused to take the breast again. I was a little sad as it was a bit of a surprise. I was committed to continuing to try. But, after the long struggle, it was also a bit of a relief. I still felt like an abject failure at mothering, but at least it was over.

This time the breastfeeding has gone smoothly and been a joy despite the fact that I have had to supplement. This time the problem wasn't that my body didn't cooperate, but rather that we just had a very hungry boy whose metabolism required more nourishment than I could provide. We made it for two full weeks before adding formula to our routine. Beckett has nursed well and seemed content up until this week. Now, here we are, right at 12 weeks, and the little man suddenly seems to look at me the way I look at Brussels sprouts.

I feel like I gave it my best try this time and unlike with Brendan, I am planning to try nursing him one last time, a chance to say goodbye to a ritual, a gift, that has meant everything to me. I no longer feel like a failure as a mother and I am grateful to God and my baby for giving me that.

Still, knowing he's my last, it would have been nice if he could be my baby just a little longer.

That Party

You know....The Ultimate Blog Party over at 5 Minutes for Mom. Drop by, listen to some tunes, meet some new friends, say hey to your hostesses with the mostest, Janice and Susan, and visit for a while.

You can check out the best mom-owned stores, a vast array of mom blogs covering wide-ranging lifestyles and interests; get tips on organizing your home and life; and much more, of course. You can even add a link to your own blog if you like.

So, come on. What are you waiting for? Join the partay!

Xmas in February -- The Perfect Post Awards

This month, for the first time, I am participating in the Perfect Post Awards, put on by Lindsey at Suburan Turmoil and MommaK at petroville.

The purpose of the PPAs is to recognize all of the fantastic writing being done by bloggers across the Internet. The idea is for each participant to choose the one post that most moved her or him the previous month. It can be a post that made you laugh out loud, made you cry, moved you to action, or got under your skin in some way.

My selection for February's Perfect Post is The Maggie List, over at championable.com.

I think there's so much snarkiness out there on the Web (and the world in general) and it just gets old. I really get sick of cynicism and sarcasm and everyone's efforts to be the coolest kid in school. It's just really nice to see someone being honest and sincere, talking about real feelings, and appreciating the gifts that have been given to him.

The way Rich talks about his wife Maggie in this post made me so happy. It made me stop and think about all the really wonderful things my husband does and is and helped me remember just how lucky I am to be loved and to have someone to love.

It would be nice if we never needed to be reminded to appreciate the good things in life, especially the good people who love us no matter what. But sometimes we need a little nudge. And I thought Rich's celebration of his love for Maggie was just a really perfect reminder for the rest of us, and the perfect post for the month when we celebrate love.

Solitude Standing

Wow! I can't remember the last time I experienced this... Practically alone and relaxed in my own house, listening to music of my choosing at this time of the evening. This is generally the most stressful part of my day...the getting dinner, getting boy ready for bed, adults trying to talk to one another about their days and relax, time of day.

Scott's working late. Brendan's fed, bathed, and in bed (almost asleep, I think!). Beckett's napping peacefully after not napping all day! I have a pan of penne al' arriabata with sausage simmering on the stove, garlic bread in the oven, and a salad with a lemon and olive oil dressing on the table. I'm sipping a glass of shiraz and writing. My house is mostly clean. Not perfect, but better than it's been since Beckett was born. It's all good. Mostly.

I do hate that Scott is having to work late for him. He's been working incredibly long hours as his team gets ready to launch a new product.

But, I am thankful to have this moment of peace and calm for myself right now.

They are few and far between.

Girl Blue

I never even realized I wanted a daughter until I heard the words It's a boy!. The first time I heard the words, when I was pregnant with Brendan, I was elated. I knew I wanted my firstborn to be a boy no matter what.

Still, I came home and took the little blue dress my mother had saved all those years out of my cedar chest and sat on the floor and cried, knowing in my heart that it would never be worn again.

Almost exactly one year earlier I had lost a baby, having a miscarriage at just 10 weeks. My doctor performed a D & C and sent the tissue off for analysis to determine what had caused the miscarriage. One of the things we learned was that this baby had been a girl. Apparently, the girl of dreams I didn't even know I had.

When I got pregnant last year, my hopes battled against one another. On the one hand, I had never really visualized myself having a daughter. I'm not really a girly-girl, and my own relationship with my mother was a roller coaster of angst that always left me envying the relationships my friends had with their mothers. When I saw myself with a child, it was always a sweet, loving little boy. But, usually only the one. Yet, there was some sense there of wanting to experience raising both sexes. This, despite the fact that I hate Barbie and princess stories, and the whole nine yards that's wrapped up into having a girl these days.

But when I again learned I was having a son, I was happy. Really happy. Happy that Brendan was having a brother. Happy that I had experience with a son. Happy that I didn't have to start from scratch. But, at the same time, I was heartbroken.

Sons really love their moms in a way that daughters never will. But daughters need their moms in ways that sons never can and I'm never going to know that.

I will never get to decorate a room that doesn't involve planes, trains, automobiles, diggers, bulldozers, insects, lions, the Atlanta Braves, Falcons, or sports in general.

I will never experience dance lessons. Or help my daughter learn to wear make-up. Or hear about a first crush.

I will never help my daughter pick out a prom dress. Or buy children's shoes that are any color other than white, brown, red, black, or grey, or used for any purpose except to learn to walk or run up and down a field or (hopefully!) basketball court. If I'm lucky, I can get them both into a pair of saddle shoes at Easter. Just for something different.

I will never help plan a wedding for my daughter. I will never get to see her try on a wedding gown for the first time or have anyone to wear the wedding gown that still hangs in my closet. I will never put the pearl necklace I wore at my wedding around her neck.

I'll never get to see Scott whisper sweet, funny, words of wisdom to his only girl just before he walks her down the aisle.

My daughter will never call me and ask me what to do about a colicky baby or ask me to be with her when she has my first grandchild.

The best I can hope for is that my sons marry girls who like me and invite me to be a part of their lives in some way.

Good luck with that.

(And all of this just because a friend had her fourth baby last week. The third girl. Named one of the perfect beautiful names on my short list.... Clare.)

Reasons Why

After 2 1/2 hours in the ER at the Children's Hospital, Scott asked Brendan who his valentine was. Without missing a beat, Brendan gushes Mommy!, looking at me with his big, gorgeous blue eyes and smiling a smile that could melt Antarctica. Then, he runs over and gives me what he would characterize as a ginormous hug.

Somehow, that makes it all good.

Big Brother

Yesterday did not go quite as planned.

We spent three hours in the ER at Egleston Children's Hospital so that we could learn Beckett has a cold. News we've known for over a month now.

I took him to his pediatrician yesterday because he was wheezing. His doctor has always told me that if the child is wheezing or pulling in at the rib cage when he breathes, you should bring him in. So I did. After examining him, the doctor decided to do a breathing treatment. Nothing changed. She told me his lungs sounded terrible and she wanted him to go to the ER for a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia.

The whole process was actually much smoother than you imagine going to the ER will be. There was one thing that impressed me more than anything else about it all, though, and that was how well both boys did.

During the breathing treatment at the pediatrician's office, Brendan asked me if Beckett was scared and then proceeded to hold his baby brother's hand for at least five out of the ten minutes he had to wear the mask. When I sang a lullaby to comfort Beckett during the treatment, Brendan joined in, making up his own words as he sang along.

Scott met me at the hospital, originally planning to take Brendan home, but he was so well-behaved that the two stayed, adding comic relief to what would otherwise have been a long and boring process.

Brendan did so well and was so patient waiting that the nurses and technicians were jumping over themselves to give him stickers and little gifts. And he was such a sweet big brother that he asked his dad if he could share his stickers with Beckett.

I never knew or imagined that love between siblings was so organic and would come so naturally to a child. But with Brendan it has just blossomed ever so magically. I can only think of one moment of jealousy from him since Beckett was born. Otherwise, he has been sweet and funny and helpful as much as a child his age can be.

I am in awe of their love for one another. We're starting to see how Beckett reacts to his big brother...ocassionally annoyed by having someone touching him and in his face, alternately amused by his brother's antics. In fact, Beckett laughed at his brother, out loud, for the first time on Tuesday night. I didn't get to see it because I was out meeting with a client, but Scott got to see it and told me about it yesterday.

It's all very cool. Being an only child I had no idea how this whole sibling thing works. I've seen too many siblings who don't get along and wondered what the magic secret to loving siblings is. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it just happens. Maybe, like with any love, it's chemistry. I don't know. But it sure is cool to see it blossom before your very eyes.

Shot of Love

Valentine's Day has never been a huge deal to me. I'd much rather celebrate my birthday or a friend or loved one's birthday or an anniversary of a special occasion.

Scott and I have always done small, sweet things for each other on Valentine's Day, the grand gestures reserved for occasions unique to us and our relationship. Like last year, when on the 10th anniversary of the day we met, he recorded a version of my favorite Beatles' song, Michelle, and gave it to me.

On our first Valentine's Day, when we'd been dating slightly less than one month, Scott brought me three yellow roses in a small vase along with a mixed tape of music he felt passionately about: Allen Toussaint on one side and Blind Willie McTell on the other. I loved it! It stands out for me more than any other Valentine's Day gift I've ever received or given. In fact, I can't really remember any others even though I know lots of other sweet things have been done for me on Valentine's Day along the way.

Still, music is so much a part of our relationship and when he shares music with me, it's...well, it's the thing I love most. It makes me feel a part of him because music is not merely a part of Scott's life or somethign he does, it is simply who he is...an amazingly gifted musician.

He's been in various bands for a long, long time, singing and writing really great songs the whole time. Right now he's working on an album and it's really great.

Anyway, my plans for sharing music with him this Valentine's Day got shot down, but I hope the fact that I don't have a gift for him is made up for by this...

Yesterday, I took a CD to a local coffee house that has music on the weekends and now Scott is booked to play there next month. I'm excited! Obviously, this isn't a gift. It is something Scott earned by virtue of his talent and the work he has put into creating new music. It was also something I wanted to do to be a part of this exciting, creative process. It took me way too long to get around to doing it, but I'm glad I did.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all! I hope everyone feels loved today! I love you all!

The Shape I'm In

If I ever doubted the connection between the body and the mind (which I didn't), I would now be completely convinced that the two are inextricably linked. Of course, I have long understood how the two are intertwined, but because I generally use my powers for good and not evil, it hasn't really been an issue for me.

Unfortunately, caught in the snare of postpartum depression, my addled brain has been stuck in a negative cycle, fixating on one negative issue after another: I'm old. I'm fat. My life has no meaning. I thought I'd be fulfilled as a mother, but I'm not and therefore I'm a terrible person. My life is slipping away from me while my husband is embracing his life and making amazing things happen. .

My thoughts swirl in a massive tangle of fear and anger. And then, with no warning, I'm knocked totally off my feet by the worst illness I've had in over ten years. As someone who rarely gets sick, it was quite a shock. I kept thinking I'd be better in a day or two. A week later, Scott and I were discussing who we could get to come help take care of me and the boys because I was so sick. At the doctor, I was diagnosed with the flu, a sinus infection, an eye infection, and naturally, an outbreak of fever blisters just to put the icing on the cake.

I wanted to die. Already depressed, being sick felt like the nail in my coffin. It's so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you can barely lift your head. And for someone like me who can fight through anything... It's really unnerving to feel so weak and desperate.

I'm mostly well now. I've been on antibiotics for 10 days now. My doctor also prescribed something for anxiety. He thinks that having a newborn and not getting enough sleep, not eating well, and having so much on my mind did my immune system in.

I can't really tell a difference yet. Maybe a little. Things don't seem quite as dark and dire. I am still having trouble getting everything done. We still don't have a schedule or routine established. I still feel exhausted. And like a failure as a wife and mother. And I do feel like I'm having a midlife crisis.... Who am I? What is my purpose in life? Have I screwed everything up?

But, I am trying to break free of my negative thinking, to focus on positive goals, to love my adorable new baby and be present for him and his brother and my husband. I keep waiting for the moment when I'm going to snap free and feel genuinely happy again, when life is fun again.

It's coming. And boy, am I ready.

Lost in Space

I'm still not used to the fact that we are now a family of four.

Today, I got our new insurance cards in the mail. When I opened the letter, I was confused as to why four cards fell out. Fortunately for me, the first one I picked up had Beckett's name on it, so the issue was resolved rather quickly.

Who would have thought it would take this long to adjust?

Today is the Greatest

Well. Actually, Saturday was the greatest.

Saturday was my birthday. And it started off not feeling all that special at all. But, because I have such a thoughtful, amazing, totally awesome (that phrase should tell you how old I am!) husband, it turned into a really delightful day.

I have had a lot of bad birthdays in my lifetime, or at least a lot that started off rough. I've had many that started off in the most pathetic manner you can imagine and turned out to be really fantastic. I've actually probably written about it before. When I was a kid, I never had a party. Not once, until I turned 18. That year, I planned my own party. I invited four or five of my closest friends to my house, we ordered pizza, and played Trivial Pursuit. Whoo-hoo.

So, let me just say that I am a big fan of the turnaround just because I've experienced it often enough to know that what starts off as a mess can end up being beautiful. Still, I never expect it.

Saturday really just seemed like any other day. I took Brendan to his friend Joseph's party that morning and was planning on my in-laws coming to keep both boys for a while Saturday evening while we went out. Originally, they were going to spend the night meaning that Scott and I could stay out as late as we wanted. I planned to invite some friends to go to dinner and out dancing or to a show with us. Then, on Tuesday, Scott's stepmom called to say they had to leave our house no later than 10 p.m.

Okay. So, no show, no dancing.

By Friday, I was feeling pretty bummed about the whole thing. Happy that we'd get to go out, but accepting that it couldn't be anything special because of the limited time we'd have to celebrate.

Well, leave it to Scott to make it one of the best birthdays ever.

He took on a full-fledged shopping spree. We went to Lenox Mall and he gave me three hours to go to any clothing store and buy anything I wanted. I had trouble engaging in the process. I took my time. I looked at price tags and tried to be conscious of the cost. But still! It was so much fun and such a sweet thoughtful gesture.

I got a gorgeous A-line wrap dress at Ann Taylor (my all time favorite store!) that Scott picked out for me. It's the perfect thing to wear to Beckett's baptism. I also got a very feminine sweater and a sharp wrap blouse that I can't wait to wear. I need to lose a few more pounds before it looks perfect, but what a great incentive to move quickly on that front.

I also got a softy-soft sweater from The Gap, some sexy heels from 9 West, a blouse, a book, some Aveda Comforting Tea, and Aveda Hand and Foot Lotion.

It was, hands-down, one of the best birthdays ever. Not because of the clothes. That wasn't the real gift, though it's a luxury I appreciate deeply. It was awesome because I got to spend it with Scott who acted as my personal shopper and focused solely on me for the three hours we shopped while he helped me pick out things that flattered my body and indulged my desire to feel like a beautiful, sexy, complete woman and not just a sweatpants-wearing, minivan-driving mama.

I am a lucky, lucky woman to be loved. In this way. By this man.

37 rocks.

These Are Days

Exhausted. Crazed. Bi-Polar even.

The last 16 days have flown by, shrouded by a veil of tears, fear, sickness, and a brutal burst of sleep deprivation.

It would be so easy to focus on the negative emotions I'm feeling right now. The baby blues are a bitch anyway, but add the bruising winds of outside forces to the gale, and boy... It can sure seem like God or someone else has pulled the rug out from under you and you're lying ass over elbows up to your neck in the mire.

Now, all that said I just want to say how thankful I am to have such incredible friends right now. We have had meals brought to us every night for the last week by friends from my MOMS Club. My friend Laura came and cleaned my kitchen, vacuumed, folded laundry, and watched the boys while I ran to CVS.

Our friends the Foleys went to the drugstore for more Pepto and Jello in the midst of Brendan's stomach virus this week. They had also offered to have Brendan come over for a playdate with their little boy before he got sick.

My friend Susan has outdone herself with her graciousness. She has taken Brendan to her home for several playdates, taken him to a puppet show, brought us dinner three times, and went to the grocery for me when Brendan first got sick this week. Amazing.

Another friend, Jennifer, also cleaned my kitchen when she brought us dinner. She and Lucy (of the Foleys) also offered to help decorate my Christmas tree when I was in tears because we weren't going to have a tree.

I feel so blessed to have such an amazing group of friends, most of whom I barely knew a year ago.

I wonder, when I look back how I will remember this Christmas, the year my darling baby boy was born. Will it be the worst? The one where my son didn't gain weight and the stresses of life started pulling at the seams of my joy? Or will it be one of the best? The one where friendships were sealed, where love was made stronger by being forged in the flame of a difficult situation?

I wish my crystal ball weren't broken. I wish I knew. Right now, my heart says it's the latter and I simply have to trust my heart.

Welcome to the World!

Beckett Dylan surfed into the world at 2:18 p.m. on Wednesday, December 6. He weighed 7 lbs, 12 oz. (exactly the same size as his big brother) and was 20 inches long.

He's gorgeous, if I do say so myself, and amazing. He's a world of difference from his brother. He has slept a lot so far, although I haven't. I have a weird sort of insomnia where I can't relax when I should.

The labor and delivery were amazingly fast and trouble-free. I went in Wednesday morning for my weekly check and learned that I was leaking fluid and was already at 4 cm dilation. Next thing I know, it's "Go directly to the hospital, do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

I arrived at the hospital at 11:25, at 11:45 they had me hooked up to a Pitocin drip. At first the contractions were very mild, but with every incremental increase in the Pitocin, the contractions became much more intense and by 1:30 when Judith, my midwife, checked me, I was at 6 cm. She told me it would be about two hours until I was ready to deliver, one hour if were lucky.

Just then, the contractions really started to go into overdrive. I was beginning to freak out, but Judith and Scott and our nurse, Missy, just kept telling me how wonderful I was doing. Scott was sitting on the bed behind me, rubbing my shoulders and back while Judith massaged my legs. I kind of started to lose it and could tell I was entering transition when I suddenly felt like I might need to push. I told Judith and she checked me and I was 9 cm. Thirty minutes had passed since she last checked me and I was at 6 cm. They quickly broke the bed down and got me on my back and the fun began.

Roughly four pushes and Beckett came flying into the world. He immediately began grabbing everything he could get his hands on. It took forever for me to deliver the placenta and my midwife had just paged the OB when it decided to come out. So, it seemed like I couldn't hold my darling for an eternity, but it was very cool because they did all the baby exam stuff right in the room instead of taking him to the nursery.

He barely cried and still has only cried two or three times, once when he was hungry and once with a tummy ache.

I love him. Naturally, I do. But, I am just so happy about the way he came into the world and our first few days together. He's nursing like a champ and even though my milk isn't in fully, he's trying hard to help me get it in. It's so different than my first few with Brendan. I just feel far happier and more confident in my abilities.

Really, all I can say is that I'm relieved that he's finally here and happy he's such a wonderful baby two days into the journey.

Beautiful Wreck

Saturday was a great day! Scott, Brendan, and I attended two parties together, a birthday party in the morning and then the MOMS Club Christmas party around dinner time. After that, we brought Brendan home and left him with his favorite babysitter and went to a wonderful grown-up Christmas party at the Tula Galleries. The party was hosted by our friends Mark and Ginny and their friend Melanie and was a benefit for Toys for Tots.

The party was great. It was so nice to put on a pretty dress and heels and feel like a woman, instead of someone's mom. I was shocked and flattered by the number of compliments I received from total strangers. Several people told me I was beautiful and glowing. It was really, really nice. And totally unexpected.

Of course, it would be wonderful if that feeling could last. By yesterday I was back into my spiral of anxiety. I have worried about everything from money (I'm being blown off by my editor at ADL again) to how to care for a newborn to how having a newborn is going to affect my sanity and marriage to Brendan's reaction. It's non-stop. The only time I let go of my negative thinking was while Scott and I watched Prime Suspect 7 and The Wire. Within 15 minutes of starting The Wire, I fell asleep, but woke for the second half of it. But when I got in bed, my mind wouldn't stop. Finally, Scott suggested self-hypnosis and walked me through a relaxation exercise. In minutes I was fast asleep. I used the same technique again when I awoke with ligament pain at 4:00 a.m.

At the moment, I realize there's not a lot I can do about any of this. I have to take everything a day at a time. Maybe even a moment at a time. I'm hoping that all the tears I've shed the last few days can be attributed to a hormonal shift as my body gets ready to deliver this baby. I never felt like this while carrying Brendan but fell apart following his delivery, so hopefully, I'll be happier and more stable following this birth.

If nothing else, I will have to hold it together in order to help Brendan with his transition. Last night he overheard his dad talking to MeMe about the logistics of when she should get here and where she should go, etc. He started freaking out and saying that he didn't want her to come, he wanted to stay with his dad if I wasn't here. He asked me, "Mommy, who is going to protect me?"

It just killed me. All I could do was hold him and cry silently. After holding him and thinking he was okay, I stood up to go cook supper and he started wailing and sobbing, clinging at me. Again, I just held him and walked around with him. It took around 20 minutes for him to settle down. I just feel awful for doing this to him.

I know he'll get over it and in the end he'll be so blessed to have a brother. But as a mother, it breaks my heart to see him so scared and upset. And I know exactly how he feels.

Scott gave me some wonderful advice. He reminded me of how his first few days at his new job were really difficult for him. He reminded me that he couldn't eat and had to throw up because he was so upset that he wouldn't have as much time to spend with Brendan. He thinks that I'm going through the same thing and reminded me that although he was right, it has worked out. He makes the most of the time he does have with Brendan and Brendan seems happier and closer to his dad than ever.

So, I guess our weekend -- like the rest of life -- was filled with joy and sadness. Ultimately, it's all good. Simply life, rich and full.

My Angel

I was told at my midwife appointment last Wednesday that if I haven't gone into labor on my own by the following Wednesday they will strip my membranes. Sounds like fun stuff. Given that warning, we've been trying to kick start labor ourselves the last few days. I've eaten more than my share of Thai curry, Mexican, and egglpant. We've walked. I've drunk raspberry leaf tea. And still nothing so far. Yet, we know that it will be relatively soon and I think Brendan knows, too, though we haven't been real specific with him.

It seems like ever since that appointment, Brendan has been on a crusade to be as cute as possible. Sadly, I can't even remember half the funny, wise, and profound things that have slipped off his tongue. But there have been several things.

Yesterday, as we were driving home from his friend Lyle's birthday party, Brendan says from the backseat, "It's wonderful to relax in the sun with a lollipop."

This morning in the kitchen he asked me if Mao, our orange tabby cat was a girl. Of course, he knows that Mao is a boy cat, but said he wished Mao were a girl because as he put it, "Mommy, you need a girl you can talk to and we're all boys." It was all I could do not to cry. I've never said anything to him about that, but it was so sensitive and perceptive of him. I have been feeling a very strong need for someone I can talk to about something specific, and obviously a baby daughter would not be what I need at all, but strange that he chose that turn of phrase.

I'm sure he's feeling some anxiety on part of me and Scott and knows something is going to happen soon. He has told us he loves us repeatedly (and happily), but has also asked us if we love him, which gives me pause. Still, he seems pretty happy and has been very well-behaved lately, aside from refusing to apologize to his dad for throwing something at him when he was angry one night. That aside, he has been behaving very well and has just been so easy the last week or so.

It has been enough to make me think it might not be so hard. I imagine I'm kidding myself. I remember how hard it was with just a single newborn. Mostly because I felt so isolated and jealous of my husband for getting to go out into the real world. I remember how much I hated my body for not doing what I wanted it to do...for not producing the milk needed to sustain my baby...for not shedding the weight I put on while pregnant. I imagine that feeling of jealousy will be exacerbated this time and my depression deeper, though I hope not. I'm afraid of not having any time to exercise or the wherewithal to prepare healthy foods for myself and family. I know what grand ambitions I had last time and they all fell through as I fell into a spiral of hopelessness. This time I have no such grand plans. I just want to survive and thrive.

I hope I can just focus on my new baby boy and his darling big brother and get through.

Home is Where the Heart Is

It occured to me today -- as it does every so often -- that I have lived in Atlanta for as long as I lived in the small Tennessee town where I grew up. It brought me to the question of where is home? I used to think of Nashville as my home, but I haven't lived there since I was 18. The longest period I lived in Tennessee since leaving for college was for one three-month semester break in 1989. When I went back there for my mother's funeral in 2001, I felt like the proverbial stranger in a strange land. All that was left for me there were memories, some good, some bad, but nothing tangible I could hold on to or ever think about going home to again.

Here, in Atlanta, I have a life that I built for myself and in conjunction with a wonderful partner. We have created our own traditions, and now that we have a child (and another to be here any time now), we continue to find ourselves creating new ones all the time.

I can't really think of any traditions my family established when I was a child. Isn't that weird? And sad?

But the things we're doing, the rituals we're claiming as our own are so special and exciting to me that they more than make up for anything I was lacking. And really, they're little things that I never even thought of as becoming traditions.... Going to the same Christmas tree lot where kids from our neighborhood work and picking out our tree each year; going to Rich's (Macy's) Lenox Mall and riding the Pink Pig before Christmas; spending every Christmas Eve with our family, going to Mass, then coming home to stay up all night putting presents together and out under the tree.

They're small things. But things that I hope will help create a foundation of love and meaning in our children's lives, and in our own.

I look forward to learning what new traditions we'll create. What our boys will come up with on their own as the years pass. Which they will embrace and which will fade out over time.

Home is where the heart is. My heart is here, in Atlanta, Georgia, with Scott, Brendan, and Beckett, where it was always meant to be.