Tuesday evening, a magical thing happened. I put Cami on her changing table, like I do so many times during the day, to change her diaper. I was rambling on to her about who knows what when suddenly, she locked eyes with me, and broke into a huge, open-mouthed smile. I freaked out and started shrieking, “I saw that smile! I saw that smile!” in a voice so shrill all the neighborhood dogs started howling.
She’s been smiling since day one, but it happens most often in her sleep and usually seems unintentional. The smile is more of a grin, a gentle upward tug at the corners of her mouth. But this was different. Her eyes were smiling, her mouth was open and she was looking so intently at me I couldn’t believe it was just a coincidence.
I felt such a rush. After 5 weeks and 6 days of happily pouring out my love to her, the smile felt like the warmest thank you. The most wonderful sign of acceptance. Cami smiled at me because she likes me and thinks I’m funny.
She’s done it a few times since, and each time I responded with gleeful hysterics. Wednesday, I put her on her Gymini and when she looked in my direction, I stuck out my tongue. I was rewarded with another huge smile, and I swear she laughed. It was a tiny, “hee hee,” but it was so cute.
So, of course, I ran to get the camera. By the time I got back, her mood had changed a bit:
I put the camera away. I decided it was more important to fully enjoy these first smiles, instead of watching for them through the camera lens. I hope we’ll have plenty of opportunities to take pictures of her smiles in the coming weeks and months and years.
We experienced some other “firsts” in the last week. Cami took her first overnight trip. We stayed with Alva in Fitzgerald, then traveled to Moultrie to introduce her to Grandma Lou:
And of course, we had to get her all dressed up. So cute!
Cami didn’t sleep very well at night during our trip, but I think that may be my fault. She usually sleeps in her room, but we had her with us in her pack-n-play. During the night, she started cyring so we brought her into bed with us. Every 30 minutes of so, she’d start fussing again, and I’d stick the pacifier in her mouth. Over and over again.
When the sun came up and lit the room, she started fussing again and I opened my bleary eyes to put the pacifier in her mouth one more time. That’s when I realized something: she was asleep. The poor thing. All night long, she’d probably been fussing in her sleep until I jammed the pacifier in her mouth and woke her up. It was dark! I couldn’t see!
Another first – Cami had her first bottle yesterday.
Lee enjoyed feeding her, and it went very well. I almost felt jealous for a brief second, seeing someone else feed her, hearing her make those yummy eating noises – but it faded quickly. Instead I felt love for my husband and my child, watching them share a special moment together. They both make me feel like a lucky girl, and give me lots of reasons for smiles of my own.
Hello sweet Camille! You are snoozing soundly in your pack-n-play, giving me a little free time to write you this letter. I was thinking about some of the cute things you do, and wanted to write them down so we’d always remember them.
Whenever I feed you, your little hands just love to keep moving. My favorite is whenever the hand underneath you when you’re eating plays with my ribs. You’ll gently grab my side and wiggle your fingers repeatedly. Sometimes, if you are particularly hungry, you’ll stretch one hand toward me, palm up and fingers outstretched as if to say, “Back off, I’m busy here.” Occassionaly, you’ll just extend your pinky finger as if sipping on some nice earl gray tea. And every once in a while you’ll shoot me a bird, and I can imagine you saying, “Thanks for having the jalapenos mom. What were you thinking?” Sometimes when I feed you in bed, you’ll kick your little feet on my belly. It’s strange feeling you like that from the outside! I also LOVE IT when I’m burping you on my shoulder, and you turn your head toward my ear. You make all these cute baby sounds and it’s like you’re telling me a secret. Your sweet, warm baby breath is on my cheek, and sometimes, if you’re still hungry, you’ll even kiss me all over my cheek. I know you’re looking for food, but I can still enjoy your kisses, right?
You are growing so well, and so beautifully! Within the past week, you’ve moved up to the next size of diapers, and you’re now also wearing your 0-3 month clothes. I haven’t packed away your smallest newborn onesies yet, but I know I should. Soon. Just not yet. In a few days, I plan to introduce you to your first bottle, to help you get ready for when I go back to work.
Your growth makes me feel great, because it seems to be proof that somehow we’re doing okay at this parenting thing. I’ve decided it must be really hard to be a baby. I used to think it was easy – I mean, you get cuddled and fed and diapered and all you have to do is look cute.
But in reality, you spend almost 10 months in your own personal watery spa, never feeling cold or hot, hungry or thirsty or tired. Then suddenly, your entire universe is changed irreversibly, and you have to learn to breathe, sleep all alone, eat, and poop. And man, you do not like to poop. I never realized it’s a learned skill, but it is. Meanwhile, you must be wondering why your tummy hurts when you have to go and why turning red in the face and screaming doesn’t always do the trick.
I have discovered something that – I’m almost hesitant to say it – seems to really calm you down when you get upset. I’m hesitant to say it because I’ve only tried it a couple of times, and maybe the success has just been a fluke. We’ll know soon enough. I’m reading a book called “The Happiest Baby on the Block,” and the author endorses several strategies for calming babies when they get fussy. The first is swaddling. And we’re not talking about just tucking you under a blanket. This is a serious baby straight jacket, and I have felt a twinge of guilt both times I’ve wrapped you this way. It doesn’t look comfortable – it looks kind of mean. But both times, you have quieted down immediately and stayed calm for as long as you were wrapped. You’re wrapped up right now, looking like mommy’s sleepy baby burrito:
You also like white noise. I’m told both swaddling and white noise remind you of the comforts of being in my belly. I was downstairs today washing dishes, and I heard you upstairs getting very upset. Your daddy quieted you, and I wondered how. I got my answer when I went upstairs a few minutes later. He had the white noise blaring from his alarm clock, and you were laying on our bed, swaddled, sucking your pacifier, and looking very at peace with the world.
My biggest fear is that you’re too hot. It’s still so hot here, and our air conditioner can’t keep up in this old house. I don’t even want to tell you how bad our last electric bill was – I nearly got a heat stroke when I opened it. But I keep checking to see if you feel warm, and you seem fine, so for now I’m putting those fears aside.
Okay – time to go pick you up for some cuddles. I enjoy writing to you, but why spend more time on the computer when I can play with you live and in person right now?
I love you sweet burrito baby.
Atlanta is a great place to visit. Lots of fun restaurants and clubs, malls and even an Ikea for goodness sake. I can understand the appeal, but it’s just not my speed. I can’t stand sitting in traffic, and I would have a hard time leaving Savannah’s marshes, parks, and beaches for Atlanta’s concrete and highways.
But I have a new reason to dislike Atlanta. It is a friend vaccuum. It is sucking up all my friends.
We already have lots of family and friends living there. My brother and his wife are there. Some good friends from college are there. About a year and a half ago, a couple living in Savannah moved to Atlanta because the husband was offered a great job opportunity.
One of my best friends at work has been flirting with the idea of moving to Atlanta, and about a month ago the flirting turned into to something more serious. She’s moving there at the end of this month for a better job.
Then, the hardest news of all. Our good friends Nikki and Andrew (and of course, precious Nia and Nate) are probably moving to Atlanta in October. Andrew was offered a promotion, and I don’t blame them one bit for taking the opportunity. But the selfish part of me wishes the promotion could somehow keep them here. Nikki and I have been close for a while, and I have looked forward to Camille growing up with Nia and Nate. I know we’ll still see each other, but it won’t be as easy to decide to spend a Saturday together at the park or the beach.
Another couple we’d befriended in Savannah moved to St. Louis about 2 years ago. We just found out today they’re probably moving back south – to Atlanta!
I wish we wanted to live in Atlanta. Since I work for the state, most job promotions would lead me there. We would live closer to my family, yet not much farther from Lee’s. I have a feeling there’s a much better chance Dave and Erin would end up in Atlanta than Savannah. Now all I need is for Anna and Jason to tell me they’re ditching Portland for Atlanta, and I’ll scream. I swear.
So, we’re feeling a bit lonely since most of our social group has left town or will be soon. We’ve been thinking of ways to recruit new friends, but I wish we could just keep the old ones nearby instead. I’ve even thought more about Atlanta, trying to decide if we’d consider moving there to be closer to all these people.
But I stand firm – I love living in Savannah. I love the culture, the landscape, the ocean. It’s big enough to have a Target, but not so big that I have to fight traffic to get to work. We envision raising our children here, our SUV full of sand and sleepy kids after a day at the beach. We want a boat so we can take them out on the water to fish, swim, and enjoy the salty air.
So for now, I guess we have to work on my master plan to win the lottery and buy a plane. Then Atlanta, and so many people we love, would only be a quick trip away.
Yesterday was a day of many firsts for Miss Camille Grace. It was her first trip out-of-state. She felt her first raindrop. And we seem to have survived our first large public gathering. It was a good day.
Lee’s Great-Grandmother Mimi is celebrating her 100th birthday, so we went to Jacksonville for the big celebration. Cami finally got to meet her Uncle Dave, when he and Erin met us there. It was so good to see them.
Camille was a perfect angel. She slept the entire 2 and a half hour drive there. She slept through the entire party, despite being handed around from person to person. She slept all the way home. We saw her pretty blueberry eyes a few times during the day, but for the most part she napped.
I was very proud of her. I was standing in line to get hors d’oeuvres when a woman asked, “Is that your little baby?” (Erin was holding her at the time). I said yes. “She sure is beautiful,” the woman replied.
She was all dressed up in the same outfit she wore home from the hospital. It’s made of a lovely white fabric, and it survived three or four diaper changes unscathed!
The most difficult part of the whole adventure was watching people touch her and wondering if their hands were filthy. Our pediatrician recommended we wait until Cami was 6-8 weeks old before exposing her to germy crowds, but we didn’t want to miss this big event. I had hand sanitizer in the diaper bag, but as she was passed from person to person I didn’t want to constantly be running behind her waving the hand sanitizer around. So I sat in my seat and worried about it, wondering if I was a terrible mother for letting dirty hands touch my child. I nearly lost my composure when a cousin, about 9 years old, started playing with her hands and kissing her face. All I could think was, “School has started! He spends his days in a classroom full of germs! And he’s kissing my child!” But I didn’t want to freak him out by pouncing on him, screaming and flailing my arms and telling him to BACK AWAY FROM THE INFANT. I did ask him to use hand sanitizer, but it may have been too late. He’d already touched her hands. So, I did the next best thing – I put hand sanitizer on Camille’s hands. I don’t know if my doctor would recommend it, but it made me feel better momentarily.
We enjoyed showing her off immensely, and I know she enjoyed spending nearly every moment being held and cuddled. What a cutie.
Hello sweet Camille, and Happy 4 Weeks and 1 Day since your birth. I began writing to you yesterday and wanted to post an entry exactly one month from your birthday – but I’m learning that sometimes I have to put things off because you need me. That’s okay, I’m happy to be needed, and I need you too.
I can’t believe you’re already a month old. It has gone by quickly, but at the same time, I feel like we’ve learned and grown a lot. You are such a sweet baby, and I’ve enjoyed seeing even more of your blueberry eyes lately during the day. You still sleep a lot in the daytime, but when you’re awake these are some of the things you really like:
-Eating
-When I sing old showtunes and hymns to you – bless you for being so kind to tolerate Mommy’s singing
-Cuddling with your Daddy
-Your pacifier
-When we read books to you
-Riding in the car
-Swinging
-Being held
Here are some things you do not like:
-Pooping
-The hours between 9 p.m. and 11 p.m. So far, that seems to be your only really fussy time.
-When your pacifier falls out of your mouth
Although you’re our sleepy girl most of the time…
…this is what you looked like the other day after I had my first caffeinated coffee in ages:
You are such a sweet girl, and your Daddy and I love you very much – so you’ll have to forgive me when I turn into neurotic mom. It’s just that you’re so important to us and I don’t want to mess you up. About a week ago, I started reading up on what to do to help babies get into a more regular sleeping and eating pattern. You were still up much of the night, and I have trouble sometimes deciding if you’re crying because you’re hungry or just because you need a good cry. So I looked for advice in my baby books, on the internet, and from family and friends.
There is no shortage of advice on the subjects of infant sleeping and eating. The problem is, the advice is completely contradictory, and ranges from giving you everything you could possibly want until you’re a teenager and can handle routine, to laying down the law and letting you cry an awful lot so you’ll learn routine at a very early age. And every variation in between.
What makes it so difficult, is that proponents of every method often indicate if I don’t follow their advice, I am putting you in MORTAL PERIL. The people who think I should respond to your every whimper believe if I don’t, you’ll grow up to be a despondent, distrustful child because you were neglected as an infant. What really stabbed at my heart was when one “expert” said babies who are left to cry for prolonged periods tend to laugh less. IF I LET YOU CRY, I AM STEALING JOY FROM YOUR LIFE.
However, some of those who think I should let you cry it out indicate if I don’t teach you routine and structure immediately, you will grow up to be an unhappy, out-of-control person. One day when you’re a teenager, I’ll tell you to clean your room, and you’ll tell me to get lost and you’ll leave the house in a rage and knock over a liquor store. All because I didn’t let you cry it out when you were a baby.
So I stressed out about this for days before talking to my pediatrician who said I need to feed you on demand at least until you’re 2 months old. So for now, we’re taking this approach: we respond when you cry. We make sure your diaper is clean, you’ve been recently fed, and the cat is not biting or suffocating you. We let you cry a little, but not for long. I know there will come a day, and probably very soon, when I may have to let you cry for a while because you need to be taught routine. But for now, my doctor says I can cater to you without spoiling you. For now.
And the last few nights, you’ve rewarded us well. You’re beginning to sleep more at night, and last night you slept the whole night in your crib and went for almost 5 hours without waking. When you finally stirred at about 5:30, I was so happy to dash into your room and scoop you up for a feeding. Then you snoozed some more until 8:30, then you woke up and your Daddy brought you into our bed for some quality cuddle time. I think the morning is one of my favorite times with you. You’re still in your pajamas and still a little sleepy which makes you extra-cuddly. You’re usually pretty hungry so you eat well, and afterwards you’re content to lounge about for a bit and we stare at each other while I play with your feet and nibble on your fingers.
The clock says you should be getting hungry about now. You don’t always care what the clock says, but I am trying to maintain a little bit of routine here. I guess I’ll get you out of your swing and see if I can wake you up a bit.
Thank you for being a resilient baby, and forgiving your Mommy and Daddy when we don’t always know exactly what to do. You’re growing bigger, stronger, and more beautiful every day, so we must be doing a few things right. You are loved little one!
Our sweet baby still has her days and nights mixed up, sleeping soundly when the sun is shining, and ready to party when the moon is up. We try to maximize her awake time during the day, hoping she’ll be good and sleepy when nighttime comes. So, most days she spends a little time with her new toy – a rockin’ Gymini.
It’s a brightly colored mat on the floor with lights and music and tons of toys dangling from overhead. Some of the toys have crinkly ears or spin. She’s still too little to interact in a big way with all the toys, but I think she’s entertained by them nonetheless. She seems to like looking at the mirror, and at whichever toy is hanging nearby:
Sometimes, if she’s hungry or sleepy, it’s all just a little too much. Like when this elephant tried to play with her when she was tired:
But I still think her favorite is when her Daddy holds her and makes the toys talk to her:
Lee swears she was reaching for some of the toys the other day. I swear she followed the elephant with her eyes yesterday. Genius!
Sweet Camille Grace, thank you for quietly snoozing through yet another meal in a restaurant. We just got back from Moon River (technically your first trip to a bar – though we headed straight to the restaurant portion), where we took our friend Andy who is visiting from L.A. This was your third foray into public dining, and (just as the two previous outings) you were wonderful. You slept peacefully the entire time. I know there will come a day when this will no longer be the case, but thank you for being such an angel. I thought we were going to have to protect you from the strange man who came over wanting to peek into your infant carrier – but he just congratulated us on such a beautiful child and went on his way. Who can blame him for wanting to see you? Still, your daddy kept a hand on the carrier as the man walked by again.
I was thinking the other day about all the crazy nicknames we call you, and I thought I should write them down so we will remember them. I also thought you might like to know why we picked your name, Camille Grace.
Neither name is a family name. We tossed around a few of those, but none of them stuck. One day, your Daddy and I were driving from Mobile (on a business trip) to Gulf Shores, and we started coming up with baby names. We didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl at that point, so we came up with tons of each. When I said, “Camille,” your Daddy thought that was such a sweet, unique, and beautiful name. I did too. We also liked shortening it to Cami, so it was a name with options.
We cosidered several other names too, but kept coming back to Camille. Once we decided on it, we went to work on your middle name. Your Daddy was the one who came up with Grace. I just love the name, and I also love the meaning. My middle name is Joy, and my parents named me that because they say I brought joy to their lives. It seems fitting to give you the middle name of Grace, because you are a gift from God, a blessing of beauty and charm for which we are very thankful.
But it was our pastor, Dr. Finley, who sealed the deal on your middle name. For several weeks in a row, he’d talk about grace during the church service. It might have been a quick mention during a prayer, or a focal point of the sermon – but each time I’d elbow your Daddy and grin, thinking of you. One Sunday, the prayer was full of references to grace: “God, thank you for your Grace…” “We are full of Grace…” (quite literally for me), “We are saved by your Grace…” and on and on. When we left that service, your Daddy and I decided it was a sign. Your middle name should be Grace.
The next Sunday, instead of paying attention to the sermon, I used my Bible’s cross reference guide to find examples of Grace in scripture. I like Ephesians 2:8, “For it is by Grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” You are a gift of God, you have saved us in many ways, and we can’t take full credit for making you (though I am awfully proud that we had something to do with it).
The Sunday before you were born, the sermon was all about Grace. The pastor also gave us the preview title of the next sermon (part of a series about Grace) called, “What is the Size of Grace?” I remember when I heard the sermon title I wondered if we’d know by then what size you were. And we did. The size of Grace is apparently 7 pounds, 3 ounces.
I hope you like your name. We wanted to give you a name that was beautiful, but strong. Unique, but not strange. Once we chose your name, I found myself doodling it all over everything, like a high school girl. If you flip through my notebooks at work, you’re sure to find Camille Grace written in cursive in the margins of many pages.
As for those nicknames – some of them are a bit strange. Over the last three weeks you have frequently been called: Cami, Camibear, Cambear, Cambot, Cambot 2006, Cam-a-lamb, Cami-lamby, Cam Cam, My Cam Cam Dancer and Camtastic. Aside from Cami, you’re most often called Camibear.
Your other two nicknames are taken from your actions instead of your actual name. Sometimes we call you Turtle, because you love to do this stretch where you purse your lips, furrow your brow, and stretch out your neck like a turtle coming out of her shell. Sometimes we also call you Tery, short for pterodactyl. You have this half-cry/half-squeal that reminds me of a pterodactyl baby, and I started calling you Tery before we even left the hospital.
Speaking of, I hear some Tery noises coming from the bassinet, so I should probably wrap up this letter. You were such an angel to let mommy and daddy eat with Andy, so I want to be sure you get a nice, peaceful meal when you wake up too.
I love you sweet Camibear.
I’ve thought to myself many times over the past 2 weeks, “what do people do if they don’t have good families?” I know there are people who have babies every day with virtually no support system at home, but I’m so grateful I’m not one of them. My family has been beyond fantastic, and Lee and I are so thankful.
For the first week and a half after Camille’s birth, my mother stayed with us to help. She cleaned, did laundry, cooked, and wouldn’t even let me near the kitchen. I think I microwaved one hot dog during that time, and she seemed a little displeased that I would dare cook for myself. But the best gift was the late-night company. When Camille would cry, mom would meet me in the nursery and talk with me during the feedings, helping keep me awake and sane. I loved our midnight chats. Then if Camille continued to cry, she’d help me think through some techniques for calming her. If nothing worked, she’d take her into her bedroom for some Nana-Cami bonding time and send me back to bed to catch up on sleep.
Then Granddaddy came and joined us, and spent an entire day scouring our house clean. He met us in the nursery during some late-night cries, and I enjoyed watching how my parents interacted with Camille. I learned some techniques, like the Granddaddy carousel. He’d hold her close and bounce her gently while walking in a small circle. She’d calm down right away.
When they left, I was terrified, but reinforcements were on the way.
Grammy came to spend several days with us. She cleaned, did laundry, and cooked so much food. Before she left, she cooked several meals for us to put in the freezer for the days to come. She kept late-night vigils with me, and I enjoyed the time spent talking together. If Camille wouldn’t settle, she continued the grandmother tradition of taking her to bed for some bonding time so mom could sleep.
Friday was our first full day with no grandparents, and we survived. But we sure do miss them. Not just for the help (which was wonderful, especially after having surgery), but for the companionship. I feel the literal distance between us more acutely than before. I’m already looking forward to our next visits.
And while I have been learning great parenting lessons from all the grandparents, I have been amused at some of the differences in our child-rearing philosophies. Some of the differences are because the safety rules have changed. Others are just differences of opinion. For example, I was going to try to avoid pacifiers for a little while, because I didn’t want Camille to become so dependent on them that I would have to get up every 20 minutes during the night to put the pacifier back in her mouth if she spit it out. But our first night home from the hospital, when Cami had to spend the whole time on that photo-therapy bed, the grandmothers decided a pacifier was in order. I didn’t protest, because I was so upset about the Bili-bed I would have given her anything – a turkey dinner, a Barbie dream house, a pony – if I thought it would provide comfort.
But even when we were done with the Bili-bed, the grandmothers always seemed to have a pacifier nearby. At first, when Lee or I would walk into the room, the pacifier would suddenly disappear. But after a while, they quit trying to hide it, and looked pleased as Camille happily sucked her pacifier despite my concerns. I’m still undecided about the pacifier issue, but at 2:30 in the morning I find myself reaching for it. And yes, she sometimes spits it out after 20 minutes and cries. But her pediatrician is actually in favor of pacifiers, and the grandmothers felt very vindicated to hear this.
I think the grandmothers had a little bit of a hard time with the new safety rules about crib sleeping. Because of the risk of SIDS, babies need to sleep on their backs with NO BLANKETS in the crib. I guess there is a chance babies could get wrapped up in them and suffocate if they’re not old enough or strong enough to pull away.
When we were babies, we slept on our bellies with blankets tucked around us. One night, Cami was crying and I opened the door to the nursery to find Grammy standing over the crib with a fleece blanket in her hands, leaning toward baby. She stopped when I walked in, looking a little guilty, and whispered, “But she is cold!.” The grandmothers gave in to this rule though – because I would just worry too much if she slept with blankets.
I’m sure some of my rules are overboard. But that’s why grandparents are so important – to provide some spoiling despite my new-mom mania. I’m already expecting to come home one day when a grandparent is babysitting, and find Camille sitting in a bathtub full of chocolate sauce, with a mello-yellow in one hand and pixy-stix in the other. Spoiled rotten. Cami is going to love her grands. In fact, I think she already does. I know I do.
Until a couple of days ago, we’d only been able to give Camille sponge baths. But she has now graduated to a big girl bath, and last night we tried a tub bath for the first time.
I expected her to protest a bit – after all, it’s something new and different. But instead, she really seemed to enjoy it and didn’t cry even once. I’m not sure how great of a job I did actually getting her clean because I was so worried about dunking her head in the water, but it was a good first attempt.
Here’s a picture of her getting toweled off. I think she liked this attention from Daddy as much as the bath.
Hello sweet baby. For the first time in nearly 40 weeks, as I write you lie snuggled in a loved one’s arms, soundly sleeping. It’s August 1st – our due date – a box on the calendar I’ve dreamed of for a long, long time. Thankfully, you made your appearance 13 days ago, and I was so happy to meet you.
Over the last 13 days, I’ve loved each of your smiles. I’ve nibbled on your adorable feet and melted when you curled your strong fingers around mine. We’ve danced and played, and we’ve cried some too. We’ve both been learning a lot, and sometimes when you’re crying I tell you how sorry I am that I don’t always know how to fix it. But when you’re sleeping peacefully, or when your precious blueberry eyes are open and looking at me, I think we’ll be just fine. Be patient with me – I want to the best mommy for you, and we’re still learning. You are such a gift, an answer to prayer, and I am so thankful for you and I love you very much.
I don’t want to forget all the details around your birthday, so I’m hoping these pictures and this timeline will help us remember.
July 18th, 2006
8:45 p.m. – I get this email from Nana and Granddaddy:
“Please remind Camille that tomorrow should be her “birth” day according to Granddaddy and Nana.”
Nana and Granddaddy were in Atlanta for a Chicago concert, which meant they were already much closer to Savannah. For months, they’d been saying that July 19th would be a perfect day for your birth, because they could just drive on down the rest of the way. And since Nana had to start back to school August 1st, an earlier birthday would mean she could spend more time with us.
8:58 p.m. – I send this photo to Anna, who’d been receiving my weekly belly updates. This was taken just a few minutes earlier, to mark the beginning of week 38:
9:12 p.m. – Your Daddy sends several emails to our friends to work on a “phone tree,” getting our plans in place for notifying friends when the big day arrives. Allen comments that he wouldn’t mind getting a 3 a.m. wake up call, to which I type this prophetic response.
“You all are too cute. How about 3 a.m. tonight? That works for me. Now if only I can convince baby…”
10:31 p.m. – I get this email from Anna, in response to the photo:
“OH, BABY! She’s definitely riding lower than before. Hopefully that means she’s headed out! I get up every morning and check my cell phone for a message from you. I’m getting impatient, too.”
July 19th, 2006
3:00 a.m. – I wake up with an upset stomach. At first, I blame the Mexican food Daddy and I ate the night before. As I lie there, the pain gets worse, and like many previous nights, I wonder, “could this be a contraction?” But it doesn’t feel like what I imagined. I imagined a tightening all around my stomach. Other friends described them as starting slowly and building all day as they accomplished last minute tasks like showering, packing, even baking cakes and all sorts of things.
Instead, my pain is concentrated very low and very intense. I think, “there’s no way I could bake a cake right now. This came on too quickly to be contractions – it must be really bad indigestion.”
I pace in the bathroom for a while, occasionally peeking in at your sleeping Daddy, trying to decide if I should wake him.
4:30 a.m. – I tap your Daddy on the shoulder and ask him to wake up. I tell him how I’ve been feeling. “Just for fun, let’s time these pains to see if there is any pattern to them,” I say. I don’t want to be silly and stay up all night timing indigestion – but after an hour and a half with no relief, I feel like we should do something.
The first contraction we time is about 30 seconds long, with about 6 minutes in between. The next 2 are about 45 seconds long, coming at 2 and a half minute intervals. Your Daddy wakes up a bit more.
4:40 a.m. – We call Dr. Pettigrew. In a sleepy voice, she tells me to come into the office when they open at 8:30 unless the pain gets to be too much. Neither of us is sure I’m in labor, and she reminds me that first babies usually take a long time to appear.
But the pains continue, and I’m becoming more certain they must be contractions. If they’re not contractions, something else must be wrong – because it’s just too much for indigestion. Your Daddy starts gathering things in bags, and stops to snap a photo of me mid-contraction.
6’ish a.m. – Daddy has packed the car, and we sit around the living room timing the contractions. There is no reliable pattern, but they do seem to be coming quickly. I’m already thinking about an epidural for pain relief, and not sure about waiting for the office to open at 8:30. One contraction lasts 90 seconds, and 30 seconds later is followed by another 90 second contraction. “Okay, that’s it,” Daddy says as he stands up. “We’re going to the hospital.” I’m grateful, and he helps me to the car.
7 a.m. – We get to the hospital, and your Daddy calls family to put them on stand-by. I’m still worried the nurses will tell me I’m making it all up and that what I need is a Rolaids and a nap. The triage nurse in labor and delivery asks, “What brings you here this morning?”
“I think I’m in labor.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I think I’ve been having contractions since 3 a.m.” I don’t sound convinced, and neither is she.
“You’re way too talkative to be in active labor,” she says, “but we’ll check anyway.”
A few moments later, we’re being admitted to the hospital, dialated 3-4 centimeters and definitely in labor. “You fooled me,” the triage nurse said. I’m proud. And very excited.
Your Daddy and I get settled into room 368, and I’m getting more and more uncomfortable. The nurse checks again, and I’m 5-6 centimeters. I know the pain will only increase, so I ask for an epidural. The procedure is strange and frightening, but more psychologically painful than actually painful. And the results are great. Here’s a pic of me enjoying a popsicle, blissfully pain-free thanks to the epidural:
Grammy and Nana and Granddaddy arrive, all very excited and very ready to meet you. We talk, and we wait, but it’s not long before the nurses clear the room because we’re getting ready to push.
1:30 p.m. – The nurses say I can start pushing, so we do. Your Daddy is wonderful, counting to 10 during each push to give me a goal. He tells me how well I’m doing. When the pain returns, he helps me breathe.
We’ve been pushing, but you seem to be stuck, so the nurses have me try all sorts of different positions. Your Daddy promises he still loves me no matter how crazy this whole thing must look. I’m getting tired, but still determined.
4’ish p.m – Dr. Pettigrew starts talking about a C-section. No matter how hard I push, you seem to be having trouble descending. Fortunately, your heart-beat is still strong and you seem to be tolerating labor well, but I’m running out of energy. But I’m not ready to move to plan B yet, so I just think about you and how much I want to see you, and I keep pushing.
6’ish p.m. – Dr. Pettigrew returns, and after all this time she says we haven’t made any more progress. It’s time to agree to a C-section. I cry because I’m worried about you and I’m worried about me. I want to bring you into the world as naturally as I can, but I also don’t want to subject you or me to any more hours of pushing. It can’t feel good to you, and I’m exhausted.
6:15 p.m. – Your Nana and Granddaddy come in the room to tell me they love me and that they’re proud of me and that it will be okay. We say a prayer.
6:30 p.m. – I call Nikki. She had a similar experience about 7 months ago, and I want her reassurance that everything will be okay. She says all the right things and helps calm my nerves.
7:00 p.m. – I’d been listening to your heart-beat on the monitor all day, as a welcome backdrop to all the events. But suddenly, my brain zeroes in on the sound, which is changing. Slowing. The steady beats are gradually slowing, and when I tell your Daddy he runs into the hallway to tell a nurse. They don’t seem overly concerned, but I am terrified. After everything, after all this time, I just want you to be okay. The nurses have me change positions, and your heart-beat rebounds. They think you probably rolled onto your cord and compressed it a bit, which they assured me happens all the time. I’m still shaken, and am relieved when they immeditaely roll me toward the O.R. Suddenly the C-section seems like a great idea. I need you to be born so we can know you’re okay.
I admit, the C-section is scary for me and for your Daddy too. I can’t see what the doctors are doing, but I know, and I am in a fog of exhaustion and fear.
7:29 p.m – The only clear moment I remember from the operating room. At 7:29, I hear you cry. The sound is beautiful, piercing through everything else. “Is she okay?” I whisper? “Yes,” someone replies. I don’t remember what else is said, I just remember your cry. Dr. Pettigrew lifts you above the blue tarp so we can see you, and your Daddy takes your very first picture:
The nurses examine you, then swaddle you in a blanket and hand you to Daddy. He brings you near me and we have a brief moment to say hello. You are beautiful.
Daddy follows you to the nursery while I head to recovery. Your precious feet are coated in ink as you make your first stamp on the world:
As I sit in recovery, the nurse and I listen to every sound in the hallway, waiting for the sound of your bassinet rolling toward us. Finally, your Daddy pushes you into the recovery room, and we enjoy spending these moments together. Your Daddy and I cover you with kisses.
We are moved into our own room, and your Daddy takes this picture. I look a lot more tired than in the earlier photos, but I’m so happy to be holding you – my healthy baby girl.
The next few days in the hospital, I am shown so much love. Your Daddy is amazing, not even hesitating to take care of me no matter how difficult the task. Your Aunt Erin massages my swollen feet. Your grandparents take shifts being at the hospital with us in case we need anything. Your Uncle Jeff and Aunt Michelle come from Atlanta to be with us. You’re one of the first babies Uncle Jeff has ever held, and you’re an angel for him. You two look very sweet together, and I look forward to all the great relationships you will have with all our family.
Saturday we bring you home from the hospital. It is surreal- but wonderful – walking into our house with you, knowing this is where we will grow together as a family.
The first couple of days at home are especially difficult. You have to spend your first evening and night on a special photo-therapy bed to help you get over jaundice. I cry to see you strapped into the device, and I’m forever grateful to Nana and Grammy for taking shifts to sit up with you through the night. The next day, I’m relieved you’ve made a lot of progress, and we can stop the photo-therapy. “I can throw the Bili-bed in the trash?” I ask the doctor. He laughs. No, I can’t throw it in the trash, but I can give it back. We don’t need it anymore.
The next day, we begin having a really hard time breast-feeding, and my heart breaks when I hear your hungry cries but can’t seem to help you eat. Then we are rescued by a very nice lady at another hospital who helps us work through the problem. You eat contentedly, and I am so happy.
Your Daddy and I love taking pictures of you, like this one as we cuddle one afternoon:
Sometimes, I think you get tired of all the picture-taking. I call us the paparazzi. This is what you look like when you’re really hungry but your Daddy and I are still clicking more photos:
Your Daddy is already such a good Daddy, and I’m excited about the bond you two are growing. Just look how peaceful you are sleeping on his shoulder:
Sweet Camille, as you sleep, know you are loved very much. Sweet dreams angel.
