Episode Of Julia.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia


She turned eight months old yesterday, and I've finally been able to take some pictures that capture her, that do her justice. I owe this baby my life, and I'm not exaggerating or being dramatic. Just trust me. Ben and I call her the cherry on top -- the crowning glory.

The Juliebug is the most winsome baby you could ever hope to see. She's all smiles and sunshine, hugs and kisses. And she's strong, too; already you can see muscle definition in her little arms as she crawls and pulls up to stand and makes her determined little way in the world. This girl comes from a small army of formidable women, and she could be the one who trumps us all. This girl could conquer the world even as she's charming its pants off!

I can't tell you how much she means to me. I bore Ben the sons he wanted, and I adore Sam and Matt. But Julia? She's all for me, the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. It's going to be such a pleasure watching her grow, beautiful and strong. The arc that started with Erika is complete, and this baby girl takes my breath away.

Nice one, God.

Julia At Two Months.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia
She was officially two months old yesterday, and Monday I'm returning to the rat race. I've so much enjoyed these days with her, just the two of us, mother and daughter. When I first brought her home she was a little bundle of nerves and need; today she studies my face, breaks into a smile, and issues a volley of pear-shaped vowel sounds in response to my greetings. I take off my glasses because she seems bemused by them. She pokes out her little tongue, and when I poke mine out too in imitation, she responds and then looks at me like she's just discovered radium -- wow, we can both do that! Good one, Madame Curie, my little science major.

Worried little hobbit. On Friday I went in for a cut and color, preparatory to going back to the work force; girding my loins for battle. I dropped her off at the day care in order to do this, and also so everyone could get acquainted. Our first separation. Two and a half hours later, I rushed back in and found her looking around alertly, not screaming as I'd feared. So? Do you still want her? Should I still bring her on Monday? And the day care lady, bless her, said Oh, she's already found her way into my heart. So, you know, it's going to be okay.

It will. When I started this maternity leave I didn't know how in hell we were going to do this three-little-kids thing, pragmatically or financially. From where I stand now, it looks easy. Rolling off a log. Hectic, sure. But it's all good. I'm okay with it. I think Julia is too. And she's got two big brothers to watch over her every day.

But I'm cherishing these last moments, because that alarm ringing at 5:42 Monday morning is going to be much too real and much too soon. Back to reality. Argh.

Birth Day Presents.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia
Ben gave me an antique gold bracelet for birthing this baby. Isn't it shiny and pretty? These are my rewards for bearing the children of the coolest man on earth: beautiful, foul-mouthed children; dirty diapers; penis jokes; and gold jewelry. Don't tell him, but I would have done it for free. (And yes, okay, that is a purple suede watchband next to the bracelet there. Honestly, what did you expect?)

Also, yesterday I brought Julia to meet her maternal grandmother for the first time. Julia Rose gets her middle name from my mom, Irene Rose. My mom hasn't been feeling terribly well. That's because she has lung cancer and is undergoing chemotherapy, and is also 75 years old, and all of that has a way of wearing a girl down. She's upbeat, you know, but tired. So she hadn't seen Julia up till yesterday. And what do you think she gave her?

She gave her a poem. Now, my mom is a bit of a Renaissance woman. So when I say she gave Julia a poem, I mean that she composed a poem to her, and she wrote it out in gorgeous calligraphy, and also made a painting of a rose, and signed her name, and dated it, and put it in a frame. And she held my Julia and admired her tiny feet. And of course I squirted some tears.

And that's not something you usually find on the menu chez Crumpacker, or here on the Mr. Baby Show. We are all about giggles and grins and dick jokes -- you know that. We don't do tears, not us. But I'm crying some now. I'm not sure if Julia will ever be able to remember her Nana, but my mom gave her something to bring away with her -- a tangible thing, proof positive that she loved her and held her in her arms and thought of her and celebrated her being. I'm so glad she did that. I'm not sure how much time we've got left with Mom, but it's good she leaves footprints -- I want my kids to see her footprints all around them, after she's gone.

The Opposite Of The Baby Blues.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia
Right around the time this baby was about to be born, everyone was cautioning me about watching out for postpartum depression. A legitimate concern, especially in the instance of a midlife mommy with quite a lot on her hands and a persistent case of pneumonia besides. But no one warned me about postpartum elation.

I can't help it; I'm walking on air. This baby is a delight. She's plumping up beautifully, and although she's definitely a hands-on, in-arms type of baby, that's completely okay with me. I mean, I'm not working and the boys are in day care. What else am I doing? She's completely content to nurse or nap in my lap all day long, and thanks to the Boppy, I've got both hands free. I can use the computer, or read the new John Irving novel (which I've just finished, and the critics can kiss my fat Polish ass, because I loved it), or watch some of our innumerable cable channels.

My husband is a peach. My boys are a delight. Our stupid dog is a pain in the ass -- he's our bad dog Stitch, but definitely part of our ohana -- so he's okay too. Furthermore, the baby weight is dropping away like petals from an autumn rose. I gained 40 pounds with this kid, most of it at the tail end of the pregnancy; and at not quite three weeks after the birth, fiddle-dee-dee, I've lost 30 of those pounds. While I don't much recommend pneumonia as a way of life, it appears to be a real bonus in the postpartum weight loss department. And my milk supply hasn't suffered; while I don't have any problems with engorgement or leaking, Julia is peeing and pooping her way through umpty-jillion diapers a day. Perfect.

Somebody pinch me, or slap me. Life seems too good to be true, but it's both all true and all good. Oh, I'm bound to snap out of this eventually and be all surly at some point, but for now, you know, I'll take it.

The Holy Family.
Mood:  lucky
Topic: Julia
Sometimes you have a moment in time that you know you're just going to remember for the rest of your life. It's rare that we get to see them for what they are at the time they're occurring -- or maybe one of the functions of getting older is that you learn to recognize the little stuff that's really truly golden. Either way, it was pretty awesome.

I have pneumonia and am on maternity leave. The result of this is that I was really in dreadful shape yesterday; Ben had to drive the boys to day care and go pick up my prescription at lunchtime, for the simple reason that I was feeling so drained that I doubted my own ability to drive properly. He ended up taking the afternoon off and staying with Julia and me, partly out of worry, perhaps, but also probably because we didn't get to have the Holy Family moment at the hospital -- that quiet time after the baby's birth when everyone backs off and leaves the mother and the father and the minutes-old newborn to just be together.

Achingly sweet. Julia stirred and fussed, then fell asleep curled up on my chest with her head resting on her tiny arms. And me on the bed holding her, and Ben stretched out beside us, with the afternoon sun slanting through the window. No one made a sound. We held hands. I stroked Julia's hair. Ben ran his hands over her impossibly tiny fingers, her tender fuzzy head. Sigh. Time stopped for just a few minutes, and I knew I would never forget that moment. Impossible for a guy and a girl to be so lucky,so surrounded with love, so blessed. Shit yes, our daily life is like a Three Stooges or Monty Python scene, all the noise and messes and cacophony and poop and Sam, I didn't just see you stash a booger in your brother's shoe. It's loud and disorganized and contentious. But good God, it's precious, and don't think we don't know it.

So there it was, our come-to-Jesus moment. Soon enough we were back to flipping channels and making bad jokes and dealing with poop and cooking dinner and refereeing random brawls and so forth. But that's okay, because ten minutes like that is worth an entire lifetime of poop.

Julia.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia


Our friend Don mailed us a copy of the White Album.

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia

Julia, Julia, ocean child, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

Julia, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

Her hair of floating sky is shimmering
Glimmering in the sun

Julia, Julia, morning moon, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

When I cannot sing my heart
I can only speak my mind, Julia

Julia, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

Shifting And Sorting.
Mood:  special
Topic: Julia
This week is an exercise in realignment. It's amazing how many things get shifted and sorted when a new member joins a family; we're still rearranging and seeing where the pieces fall back into place. The process has been surprising, overwhelming, gratifying, frightening and exhausting -- and it's just beginning.

My husband is a fucking saint. As he has so many times before, he's been knocking me out with his strong and steady presence. Did you ever notice how all the fuss is about the mother? Who thinks about the father? I'm thinking about him plenty. The guy is up to his ass in alligators at the office, handling depositions hundreds of miles away and defusing crises by remote control while driving the boys to day care. The battery in the minivan died, Sam had a "dental emergency", I've got bronchitis, and by the way, there's a new baby in the house. And whose bright idea was it to get a goddamned DOG at a time like this? Ben handles it all with affection and grace. He's unbelievable.

Oddly, Matt is taking Julia's arrival in stride; he has a sturdy and practical affection for her, cheerfully moving over so I can nurse her while cuddling him, offering her a pacifier when she cries. Sam is the one who seemed to feel his place in the family threatened, and expressed it by first trying to kick Matt out of the family, then by having tantrums over nothing at all. I'm embarrassed to admit that I handled it with a Disney platitude -- I gave him the ohana speech. You know, from Lilo & Stitch. Ohana means family, and family means no one ever gets left behind or forgotten. I know; I should be boiled in oil, but I'm telling you, it worked -- it made the connection I needed to make. Sam cuddled up to me as I nursed his sister. My family, he said.

Meanwhile, my daughter has an attitude. Yes, I've been saying that for 21 years, but I mean this new one -- this daughter, here. She actually very seldom cries, but when she does, it's the most piercing, pissed off sound on earth. Today we stopped off at the Coochie Doc's to drop off my disability paperwork and in 120 seconds she turned the office upside down -- they hustled me into an exam room to nurse her because she had gone from zero to meltdown in no time at all. I'm beginning to suspect I've got a Wee Angry One on my hands after all.

And for those who are curious, we are sleeping five in a bed, without benefit of sidecar. For the moment, it's working. But, you know, we're still sorting things out.

Half Of What I Say Is Meaningless.
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: Julia


I spent an hour admiring the perfection of her head, her dark dark hair, her seashell ears.

I Hate Paparazzi. Plus, You Know, Take Me Off This Blanket And Stick The Boob Back In My Mouth, Like NOW.
Mood:  crushed out
Topic: Julia