Welcome, Tree!

Hoothree (also known as Baby Tree, also known as Tree Slide) made his appearance two weeks ago. It was a proud milestone in my journey; a redemptive hospital birth. It was the hospital birth I had planned with Hootoo: minimal interventions, medication-free, using various labour positions and birthing anywhere but on my back. And to boot, Hoothree is handsome and perfect and healthy.

Worth it. Photo credit to Jennifer Lynn Photography.

Having three Hoos in the house is choatic, but our house is full and contented. So what if Hootoo is eating jam straight from the jar? Who cares if they watch a little more Octonauts than they should? This is the time of our lives and we're loving it.

Holy Hiatus

Whoops. Sorry, Hoos. We've been out living life together over the past year and a half. Blogging was booted to the bottom of the pile. Hootoo, you're three. "Mama, I'm three." Then,

Hootwo, you're ... almost twenty months. Almost two. Wild. The last time I wrote, you were ten WEEKS. Your hair has evolved from ginger, to an envious platinum. You say words. You make signs. You're the master at mimicking animal noises.

At best, you're both hilarious. Dad and I have a large vase propped on the mantle, where we write on cards memorable moments or phrases you each create. We'll review them on Christmas as presents to ourselves. At best, you're both creative. Hootoo -- your imagination is out of control. It's great to watch. You both adore the Avengers, even though the sole exposure comes from stories in Golden Books. I think that Hootoo can cite the collection off by heart.  At best, you're both so loving. Always remembering two things before you leave one of us, or before you sleep at night. You both love to snuggle close, at meals, while reading, whenever we're sitting. You love Amma, Afi, Uncle Gucky, Aunt Ashleigh and Gram. You love your dogs, and Bew Bew kitty. "I'm good with kitties, Mama." 

At worst, you're beasts to be tamed. Your minds are growing, as little people you are learning and exploring. Three is a challenging age for you, Hootoo, because you want to be an independent superhero -- not realizing that you're just a little boy. You abhor getting your hair brushed, or combed, or cut. It's out there, freestylin', and that's okay. Mama always has to collect you from your carseat when you come home from school. That's okay, too. You're learning what words are kind, and which ones can only be said in the bathroom. You can melt at the sight of a broken bar, if your brother glances at the toy in your hands, etc. (See: asshole parents). Hootwo is fiery, too. But only when tired. That's okay. It's genetic. Mama is a terror when she's pooped out.

Mama is also tired because she's growing your sibling. You don't know it yet, although I'm not sure why we haven't yet told you. Hoothree will be here in the Spring of 2016. Then, a blog post will show up once in a decade.

xo

Mama

Letters to Hoos - Quick Update

Eeps! It's been a few weeks since my last post, but I've got a legit excuse. Hootwo is just around ten weeks of age now. You are such a blessing. You're cooing all the time, smiling big smiles, and continue to protest being anywhere but in our arms.

Hootoo is a little man. Holy God. You're saying phrases now. They're hilarious:
"Can I help?" also, "I can help?"
"I did it!"
"Here you go!"
"I'm stuck!"
"Mama, I sleep!"
"Daaaa-daaaa, where arrrre youuuu?"
"Sun shining?" A hearty rendition of Let the Sunshine In must promptly follow.

 You also have some great one liners.
"Try?" in Hoot-speak: give me your food.
"Hands?" means: let me make a watery mess of myself and the kitchen counter. You rub your hands ferociously in case we didn't understand or get to to the sink fast enough.

Three men and a lady. I wouldn't have it any other way.

xo
Yo Mama

The Difference a Birth Makes

It happened -- my home birth. It was everything and nothing I expected. My Mom had just left the house, and I started feeling some abdominal discomfort. When it continued with some regularity I started timing the sensation: five minutes apart, sometimes seven or ten. Dad and I went to bed. After an hour of laying there awaiting sleep, I rose and walked around the house.  For the next four hours, I spent time sitting, squatting, standing and sleeping in the bathroom. For as uncomfortable as I felt, each contraction -- as I decided they had become -- did exactly as it was supposed to do. It was a wave of pain. A beginning and end. A pause in between. Temporary, purposeful, and part of the process.

Around four o'clock, my water broke. Right there. There it was, a clear puddle on the floor. My first thought was, This is really going to happen. Right here. Then: Thank you. That feels so much better. Then, shit. This is going to happen, very soon. Call the midwife. Wake up Dad. Without even timing it, I instinctively knew that Hootwo was going to be on the scene quickly. I could feel that he was closer to the exit. It was exciting.

The ladies arrived, one by one. The dogs barked at each arrival so I could tell from upstairs that the support was growing and I was relieved to host them. They provided such encouragement and practical help. I loved these ladies already, but the feeling of unity as women for one goal, as other women were doing in that moment all over the globe, as they have in my lineage and in history, was so present. In retrospect, I needed my midwife, doula and labour support more than I realized; benefited so much from their expertise, care, and mostly, their presence.

5:14 a.m. I pushed for the second or third time and you answered without hesitation. Evelyn caught you, and after a brief moment of staring at you, heard Andrea say: Danielle, take your baby! I was stunned and needed that prompt.  I think I pulled you through my legs, and we sat down on a birth stool. Cue skin to skin. I remember realizing you were still tethered (like you should be), and Dad cut the cord. It took you a few minutes to transition. I think it you were as surprised how quickly you arrived as I was. You nursed, we sat, placenta expelled, move to the bed.

You're here!

Ah, bed. Cozy. Fresh sheets. Dad's snuggled in, too. The ladies are busy. I'm focused on you, and I realize I'm tired. You nurse again. Amma and Afi arrive, and they're so excited to meet you. Hootoo wakes up and meets his little brother, welcomes him with a soft hug. Baby! Baby! Yes, your baby, too.

During the night, I was visited only once by the thought, Can I do this? I don't know if I can do this. I took a deep breath, said some mantras out loud, envisioned sleeping in my bed with my new, healthy baby ... and the thought never came back. After I sent that doubt to rest, the whole experience was an adventure. HONEST.

It was everything I expected because of what I knew from the benefits of home birth. It was nothing I expected because I expected moments of feeling overwhelmed, anxious, stuck. I did not expect the reality of it actually happening in the privacy and comfort of my home. From previous experience, it was hard to picture. I didn't expect to experience this degree of empowerment. I feel blessed that I was able to have this experience. I understand how it's not appropriate for every mother and baby, but it was perfect for us.

One week later: you've surpassed your birth weight. You breastfeed like a champ. (Unquenchable thirst!) You love to snuggle upright on our chests. Your facial expressions are hilarious. You've made great memories with Amma, Afi, Uncle Gucky, Aunt Ashleigh, Adam, Annie, Gram, and your adoring brother.

Welcome, Hootwo.

Thank you so much to my amazing husband, and these wonderful women.

xo
New Mama

Letters to You Hoos - Bedtime

Lately my favourite time of day is your bedtime. After dinner, we'll snuggle on the couch over an episode of Elmo's World while Dad runs the bath water, load the tub with your crayons and the empty shampoo bottles for colouring and water play. Sometimes, Hootoo, you lay on your stomach and "kick! kick! kick" your legs. Sometimes you laugh and want to sing songs. Sometimes you just cry because you've had a long day and don't want to wash your face. Regardless, when you're lifted out of the bathtub and into our arms in a big towel, you normally get heavy eyes or put your head on our shoulder. You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, and you've just started brushing your teeth with real, big boy toothpaste. Thanks, Raffi!

Gingers fighting gingivitis.

We plop you on the bed and read a book while dressing you in your diaper and pajamas, put Thieves Oil on the soles, slather cheeky salve on your nose and cheeks, and rub lotion on your arms and legs. So pampered! After a book or four, we'll say, "Let's turn on your machine!" and you pop up and walk to your room to click on some white noise. Dad gets a goodnight hug, Mama gets a goodnight hug, and one of us will sit and rock with you for a little while. You snuggle upright, with your head on our chest, and fall fast asleep! Sometimes Dad will hum you a song, and you're sure to hear Moon River each night with Mama.

Lately, it's been harder for me to snuggle because of your brother. At forty weeks, he's the size of a watermelon, but we make it work. Sometimes, when you're falling asleep on my chest, Hootwo will kick or move and it makes me smile to think of my two boys together. Hootoo, you don't really understand yet that your brother will soon be on the scene, but you're going to love having him. You love your friends, and always point at any baby in the room.

We've had lots of great memories lately, aside from the daily moments like bath time. Christmas has come and gone. We started a new tradition of Christmas pajamas, book and holiday movie on Christmas Eve. Of course, this year's movie featured Elmo, and we learned all about Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, and Christian traditions. Part of Amma's gift were two books about the birth of Jesus and the animals in the stable, and you really enjoyed reading them. We had a lazy day together and it was great.

Amma and Afi, Justin and Ashleigh, Adam and Annie will all be here at various times in the next two weeks for a visit, hoping to catch a glimpse (or a glimpse of the catch) of Hootwo. In the meanwhile, we'll all be entertained by your antics and sillies.

xo
Yo Mama

Listening to: Lucius – Don't Just Sit There

I'd Rather - M. Gray

A recent post from my friend Gretchen reminded me of a poem shared in Childbirth Education classes that I adore:

I'd rather be a mother
Than anyone on earth
Bringing up a child or two
Of unpretentious birth.

I'd rather nurse a rosy babe
With warm lips on my breast
Than wear a queen's medallion
Above a heart less blest.

I'd rather tuck a little child
All safe and sound in bed -
Than twine a chain of diamonds
About my foolish head.

I'd rather wash a smudgy face
With round, bright baby eyes -
Than paint the pageantry of fame,
Or walk among the wise.

Letters to Hootwo - Busy Body

Hey baby. You are already so much busier than your big brother. We're in for it. I'm fairly certain you know the sound of Hootoo's voice: you get your dance moves on when he's close to you and babbling. We try to explain to him that you are coming, that there is a baby in my belly and that you will be here soon, when the snow comes. He doesn't get it. He just jabs a finger in my bellybutton and laughs.

You're 31 weeks old now.  We're hosting a party next weekend in anticipation of your arrival. It's going to be great, I'm sure you'll hear the crowd and the action. You've been treating me well, that works in your favour. I'll be keeping track on who is my favourite child, so you'd better start banking points now. Hootoo has a head start. 

Love you big,
xo
Yo Mama