The Quiet of the Night

Anyone who knows me knows that I follow instructions precisely and do not deviate (one of the many reasons Casey is a much better cook than I am). So, following the advice of a complete stranger (Baby Whisperer) who I have entrusted the health of my children to, we have religiously fed Chase (in his sleep) at 10:00 PM every night since he was born. Truth be told, 10:00 PM has felt awfully late at times. In the early days, we even had to set an alarm so that we could wake up to feed him (how old are we?!?!). Now that we have adjusted to life with two active little boys, staying awake has seemed much less difficult and for the most part, I have taken over this feeding.

This is going to come out wrong, but feeding Chase in his sleep is my favorite part of the day with him. Feeding time is supposed to be an incredible bonding experience between baby and parent, where you gaze into each other's eyes and smile and coo. That is not the case with Chase. I may have mentioned before, but since he turned about 3 months old, the little guy does not particularly care for drinking bottles (and that is putting a positive spin on it). He will eat oatmeal and pureed foods all day long, but he just gets flat out angry when you try to get him to drink a bottle. Who knows why, but he screams and flails around and cries and mostly just refuses to drink. So instead of being a wonderful time for bonding, it is stressful for Chase and whoever happens to be feeding him. It is really quite strange since he is probably the happiest, most laid back baby at all other times of the day. He just hates to drink (oh, if only this would last through the college years).

But at 10:00 PM, he will peacefully drink to his little heart's content. And it is then, as Riley sleeps in the next bedroom and Casey and the dogs are relaxing and the whole house is quiet, that I finally get my bonding time with my sweet little boy. I get to breathe in the scent of him and examine his delicate little features and daydream about the kind of little boy he will become and be so very thankful that the baby I have worried about non-stop for the last year and a half is healthy and full of life. It is the only time of day that I have the luxury of being 100% devoted to no one else but Chase and I love it.

Sadly, as with most things, this phase is about to come to an end. If I am honest, he no longer needs this bottle to get him through the night without waking up, but I have been clinging to it; partly because I believe he needs the extra calories that he loses out on when he makes it impossible to get liquids into him during the day, but mostly because I am going to miss this time with him terribly...

Zoo Day

The boys' school was closed yesterday in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. [Side note: Last year on this day, when Riley was off from school, I took him to a friend's house in the morning to play while I went to an ultrasound to determine how Chase was faring and if he had survived the first trimester. Amazing how much changes in a year.] We decided to link up with Riley's same friend and his mom (Nicholas and Rachel) and head to the zoo. It was a perfect day for the zoo -- blue skies, bright sun, about 58 degrees. Riley had fun running around with his friend, and loved the "aminals," particularly the big daddy lion named Riley. I don't think Chase noticed the animals much, but absolutely loved spending the day outside. With the exception of when he was eating and sleeping, he did nothing but smile. He is such a laid back little guy (well, unless you are trying to make him drink a bottle, then he is a combination of a bucking bronco and a screaming hyena).

Funny though, the best part of this excursion to me was the time spent in the car with my two boys. Funny how they had the exact opposite reactions to the day: Riley spent the entire car ride to the zoo (which takes about an hour) in great anticipation, talking non-stop. Chase, on the other hand, slept the entire time and didn't make a peep (bless his heart). On the way home, Riley was absolutely exhausted and stared into space in complete silence for about 5 minutes before falling asleep. Chase was geared up and I delighted in hearing him squealing, kicking his feet and thumping around for about 45 minutes before he too fell asleep. I spent the entire 60 minutes thinking about how lucky I was to have such amazing little boys, and how grateful I was to have been able to spend the day with them.

Another side note, this one about the car ride: The whole ride there as Chase slept and Riley talked, I kept thinking how unfortunate it is (in my opinion, at least) that some kids do nothing but watch TV in the car. I love getting to talk to Riley during this time, when neither of us is distracted and has nowhere else to be. It is fun listening to what he is looking at out the window and answering his many questions. It was adorable talking to him about his friend and what they would do at the zoo. The car chats are one of the only times I truly get a glimpse at what makes him tick and of the little boy he is becoming. I cannot wait until Chase's voice will become part of these car chats too.

Kitchen

After enduring a year and a half of a kitchen that was lacking in pretty much everything, we are delighted to finally have a comfortable, functional space. Our refrigerator is in the same room, our pantry isn't musty, we even have a dishwasher. But truly, the best thing about this new kitchen is that it allows us a space to have some quality family time while preparing food, having some drinks and cleaning up. This was extremely apparent last night. Chase, unfortunately, was already in bed, but had been happily playing in his exersaucer in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared and eaten, which was a huge deal because he couldn't even be in the old kitchen with us since it was too small for his carseat or his toys. But anyway, for probably 30-45 minutes after dinner, Casey, Riley and I sat at the new island with the dogs at our feet and listened and sang to music. No distractions from the TV, no toys needed, just an iPad, a speaker and us. We took turns choosing songs, with Riley's song needing to be repeated at least 3 times as he is trying so hard to learn the words. If Chase had still been awake, it would've been one of my most perfect moments in our new house. Even without him there, it was a special time that I hope we will be able to duplicate.

Chase

Where do I even begin? Chase is almost six months old now, and I think I could probably count on one hand the number of times he's been mentioned on this blog. I would love to blame it on being busy. To an extent, that's true. The past 12 months have been crazy at work and trying to keep up with two boys, two dogs, home renovations, etc. has been draining to say the least. But there is really a whole lot more to the story, and when my boys are older and perhaps reading this blog and reflecting on their young lives, I do not want them to think that Chase's entrance into our lives was somehow trivial or unimportant. Quite to the contrary, his addition to our family has been such an emotional experience for me that I've had a really hard time writing about it. For those of you who do not know, in February of 2011, just two days before I was to go spend a eagerly anticipated long girls' weekend in Amelia Island, Florida celebrating the upcoming wedding of my close friend Ellen, I had a routine OB visit to check on our growing baby due to make his/her appearance on our fifth anniversary. My belly was growing nicely, the baby had had a strong heartbeat at the previous visit weeks earlier, I was feeling nauseous constantly and there was no reason to expect that anything was wrong. Casey had a conflicting appointment at work, so I went to the appointment without him. The examination was going along well, everything was checking out right, and then came the time to check the heartbeat. Couldn't find one. No big deal, the baby was probably just difficult to find since he/she was still so small. But "so I could see the baby and feel better," the doctor sent me for an ultrasound. I had had enough ultrasounds at this point that I knew immediately that something was wrong. And then the ultrasound technician put her hand on my shoulder, said "I'm so sorry" and left the room to retrieve a doctor. We had lost our little baby. Again. Telling Casey was the hardest thing I have ever done. I don't even know if I was able to get the words out, but I'm sure he knew from my sobs over the phone what had happened. A few hours later, I had a D & C (surgical procedure to remove the baby and cells), and I was released from the hospital in time to pick Riley up from school. I remember being so incredibly grateful that we had decided to wait to tell him about the baby "just in case." We may have hugged him tighter that day, but besides that, he would've had no reason to know that anything was wrong. Two days later I left for that much-needed girls' weekend. When I returned, I had another "routine" visit with the OB to go over the pathology report from the D & C and to talk about post-miscarriage issues. We had been through this before when the miscarriage prior to Riley occurred, and I was expecting nothing different. And that's when the doctor hit me with a bombshell. Unfortunately, no, this had not been a miscarriage. As it turns out, I had had what's medically referred to as a molar pregnancy. In my case it was "partial" meaning that there had been a living, breathing baby, but the placenta had turned into a tumor, ultimately causing the baby to die. Believe it or not, this was actually a blessing in disguise. The pathology report also revealed that the baby had an entire extra set of chromosomes, a fatal genetic defect. It is possible that if circumstances had been different, I could've carried the baby to full term, and he or she would've died during childbirth or shortly thereafter. I really cannot thing of anything much worse. I mention all of this as background for what has been my internal emotional struggle since then. It is not something that crippled me on a daily basis after the initial shock, but part of the deal with molar pregnancies is that because a tumor was present, it is possible that cancerous cells existed, and it's also possible that they could multiply even after I was no longer pregnant. Therefore, I had to be tested for the presence of cancer for months and during this time, under no circumstances could I get pregnant to replace the hole in our hearts. Sitting in the lobby of my OB's office on a weekly and then monthly basis watching glowing, excited pregnant women coming and going was a constant reminder of our loss. Finally, in October of 2011, I was deemed cancer free and we were told that we could start trying again if we wanted, but that it would probably take months for us to get pregnant, if we were able to get pregnant again at all. So imagine my surprise when halfway through our Thanksgiving vacation in Barbados I couldn't seem to shake the seasickness I experienced during a snorkling trip. Of course, we were in Barbados, so it's not like I could run over to the local CVS to pick up a pregnancy test, but I just knew. I told Casey sitting next to the pool in Barbados on a gorgeous warm sunny day. We were both excited but reserved. I kept thinking, what if there's something wrong with the baby because we got pregnant too quickly? What if the massive amounts of Mr. Steven's rum punch that I consumed during the first half of our trip was too much? What if the baby has an extra set of chromosomes again? What if, what if, what if... We kept my pregnancy a secret for months. My obviously growing belly was no doubt whispered about at work, with our families, with our friends, but the topic was off limits. Even Casey and I didn't talk about it much with each other. I can't speak for him, but I just felt like it would be easier to pretend like the baby didn't exist than to endure the heartbreak of losing another one. Maybe if we didn't talk about it, the loss wouldn't hurt so bad if it happened. Fast forward about nine months. We had made it to the third trimester. The pregnancy was going well. We finally had the courage to tell Riley that he was going to be a big brother. And then it dawned on us that this baby was almost here and amongst other things, we hadn't even set up a nursery, he didn't have a name, we hadn't bought a single baby supply, I hadn't packed any hospital bags. Maybe it was a case of second child syndrome, but I think more likely we were still waiting for the inevitable. Or at least I was. The night before my scheduled c-section, I barely slept a wink. Three things were on my mind: a co-worker's sister had lost her baby for unknown causes two days before her due date, a friend from Junior League whose baby was due three days before Chase was in the hospital saying her last good-byes to her baby who had been born with an extremely rare and entirely inoperable brain tumor and I was terrified that our little guy would suffer a similar fate to one of those babies. It was not so. Sweet baby Chase was born in an extremely uneventful c-section on July 17, 2012. He started screaming instantly and I was so relieved that I could barely breathe. Casey told me he was perfect and started crying. I'm not sure if they were tears of joy or relief or both, but that was all the reassurance I needed. He had made it. He was healthy. Riley loved him instantly. I couldn't have asked for more. What I didn't expect was for the fear to linger. I think the loss of our second baby took a much larger toll on me than even I realized. For months now, I have kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Chase slept too much as an infant, I was certain that he was dying. When he had a messy diaper before he could even finish his bottle literally every single time he ate for the first 4 weeks, I just knew that he had a serious intestinal problem. And until very recently, as he has continued to be on the low side of every growth chart for weight, I have been certain that there was something seriously wrong. Casey and our pediatrician have told me over and over and over that there is nothing medically wrong with Chase, and I knew they are right, but I just kept thinking that our amazing, healthy family is just too good to be true. But then it just hit me one day recently. There is no need to dwell on what happened in the past. I cannot change it. There is, however, every reason to be grateful for what I have. And what I have is an amazing husband who has supported me even when he didn't know how fully I was struggling, two incredible, happy, healthy little boys full of smiles and personality, two goofy dogs who brighten up even the darkest of days, and one little guardian angel for EACH of my boys who we may have never gotten the chance to meet, but who are a part of our lives each and every day as they protect every sacred moment we get with Riley and Chase. And with all of that said, let the resumption of the blog begin. I have a lot of catching up to do. And besides, these boys are just too funny and sweet and amazing to not write about.

Be Careful What You Say

It is becoming abundently clear that we need to watch what we are saying at all times because little ears are listening. I noticed this first with music -- Riley singing "...cold beer on a Friday night..." or "...so here's my number, call me, maybe." On the drive to school this morning though, he had me in silent hysterics. The car in front of me stopped abruptly and then was going super S-L-O-W as it proceeded. And of course I was annoyed, although I didn't say anything. Then, from the back seat in his sweet little voice I hear, "C'mon, folks!"

Sweet Big Brother

I know I talked in a prior post about how special the evenings in Maine, when Riley and I would "help Chase sleep" were so important to me. I did not realize that they were special to Riley too. Back at home after our vacation and back to our regular routine, Casey was in charge of getting Riley ready for bed while I was feeding Chase and putting him down. Not long into this, I heard Riley crying, saying, "But Daddy, I help Monny* put Chase sleep." It was so sweet, and alone in the dark in Chase's room, I got teary. Tonight it struck me that although I think Riley enjoyed that time with me, he also geniunely liked feeling like he was helping Chase. By the time Riley was in his jammies and ready for bed, I had already left Chase's room. When he saw me, Riley got a very puzzled look on his face and asked why I wasn't helping Chase sleep. I explained that Chase was such a big boy now that he could put himself to sleep without our help anymore. I'm not sure who is more disappointed, me or Riley. I will miss those sweet times together with my two boys. *Yes, Riley still calls me "Monny". After reading one of these blogs, Casey realized that I loved having my own special label and started referring to me as "Monny" and Riley picked it back up. I love it!

Maine Adventure - Week One

Last fall, when we were throwing around weeks that we'd like to be at the cottage at Drakes Island, we tried to get our usual week which includes Labor Day weekend. As luck would have it, no one else wanted that week or the week following, so two weeks were reserved for us even though we were certain we'd only be able to use one of tehm since taking two weeks off of work is out of the question. A few months later we found out I was pregnant with Chase. A few months before Chase was born, Casey suggested that we do as we had done when Riley was a newborn -- drive the whole family, including the dogs, up to Maine, Casey would stay for the long holiday weekend, then fly back to North Carolina to work for a week, return to Maine the following weekend, and then stay for the entire next week. My initial thought was "no way". I remembered how hard it was being alone with an infant and two dogs for an entire week and how tired I had been. I especially remember the end of the days when I was so exhausted that I had to set an alarm clock so that I could stay awake for Riley's 11:00 PM feeding. And that was without an extremely active 3-year-old boy to keep up with all day long. In the months to follow, I continued to give the idea some thought. I did what any female would do -- I asked friends with two or more young kids if they thought I could handle it and if they would attempt it, we over-analyzed it, and they concluded that it would be nuts to attempt it. Which is what led me to decide that I was going to do it. As we got closer and closer to Chase's arrival, I began to think that I was, in fact, crazy to think I could pull it off. And then when Chase arrived and I remembered just how exhausting a newborn is, and how they have their days and nights confused, and how very little "regular" sleep the parents of a newborn get, I was almost paralyzed with fear. So, two days after sweet little Chase came home from the hospital, I began working in earnest on training him how to sleep. I will be the first to admit that I was a complete sleep-training nazi. He was on such a highly-regulated schedule that I would flip out if Casey tried to do anything the slightest bit out of line with what the books said. I vividly remember one night when Chase was screaming and not easily being soothed. Casey picked him up out of the crib and said he was going to take him for a walk (exactly what he did almost every night when Riley was a baby with absolutely no complaint from me). I snapped at him and said, "I am not going to have that luxury in Maine in the middle of the night. It's not like I can leave Riley alone in the house." Valid points, but still. To his credit, Casey (probably thinking I was completely irrational) agreed to try to find alternate ways to calm Chase down and get him to sleep that did not require leaving the house. And slowly, over the course of a few weeks, we figured the little guy out enough to be able to soothe him in his own bedroom. Still, when the time came to leave for Maine, I will admit that I was dreading that first week alone with just the kids and the dogs. I was pretty sure I could make it through the day, but was afraid that it was going to be just too difficult at night to put two kids down by myself, especially since Chase needed me (or Casey) to sit in his room with him for 30 minutes or so as he slowly fell asleep, putting his pacifier back in every time he dropped it and immediately woke back up screaming his head off. But you know what? Bedtime, the time of day that I thought was going to be absolutely horrible, turned out to be my favorite time of day and my favorite memory of our week alone in Maine. Sure, walking the boys and the dogs on the beach and watching Riley delight in all of the things the beach offers (sea glass, shells, rocks, sand castles, tidal pools, seagulls, etc) was incredily fun. Strapping Chase to me in the Baby Bjorn and taking him and Riley and the dogs to play in the ocean and jump over waves in the evenings was one of the purest forms of joy I have ever experienced. Putting Riley in a wetsuit and letting him play in the pouring down rain on a chilly day while Chase, the dogs and I sat in the shelter of the garage and watched him have a blast for hours was more fun than I possibly could've imagined. But those night times that I had so much dreaded were some of my most contented moments as a mother. As I was feeding Chase, Riley without argument or attitude would go to his room and get himself dressed for bed. After Riley was in his jammies and Chase was fed, changed and swaddled, Riley and I would sit on the bed in Chase's room, iPad in hand, and watch the Red Sox or the Cubs and "help Chase sleep" as Riley called it. The dogs, exhausted from the day's swimming and beach walking, would lie at our feet on the floor next to the crib. The first few days, it took about 30 minutes of Riley and I very quietly sitting in Chase's room watching baseball to get Chase fully asleep. On those nights, Chase would scream and cry and pitch a fit, clearly overtired. As the week went on though, we had to spend less and less time soothing Chase, leaving Riley and I with more and more time before his bedtime to have a some quality time together doing what he loves most, watching baseball. We'd talk and cheer and give each other high-fives, and when I'd eventually tell him it was time for me to leave, he'd give me a hug and a kiss and tell me he'd miss me. And then I would close the door, go downstairs, clean up from the day, and make Chase's bottles, exhausted but recharged. And when that was done, I'd pour myself a glass of wine, help the dogs who were either too exhausted or getting too old get into bed, and read a book with two of my favorite companions snuggled next to me until it was time for Chase's 10:30 pm feeding. And after Chase was back into bed, I would say a quiet thanks for two amazing little boys and two wonderful dogs who allowed a day without my husband in a place that is so special to him to become so special to us too.