More BBQ please

kims, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

My Goddaughter Olivia turns 1 this week. The Koreans celebrate this event by throwing a huge party. We were treated last weekend to a tasty meal at a Korean restaurant in NoVA - I am really getting addicted to this Korean BBQ concept. The whole Kim family dressed up in traditional attire (handmade) and Olivia's Mimi carried her around on a silk pillow for most of the event (I think traditionally they wouldn't let her feet touch the floor). They all looked beautiful. Made me wish I had some sort of cool getup like that, or a reason to wear it. Olivia's big moment came when she was put down on a rug and had to crawl to the other side where there were a variety of objects lined up. What she went for first would determine much about her life - kinda like a horoscope. She went for the money first (I think her parents had been practicing with her). She also went for yarn (which means she will have a long life) and a golf ball (no idea what that means). Unfortunately, there are no more huge Korean-style celebrations scheduled until Olivia turns 60. I hope to be around for that!

baby acne

baby acne, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

Time to bust out the Clearasil. BABY ACNE strikes again. Poor Arden. Fortunately she's too sleepy to notice that she has the complexion of a 13 year old. It brings out the Mommy Dearest in me - just when she's ready for her big introduction to society, I want to sequester her for a few more weeks, because - gasp - she's not PERFECT! I find myself compelled to point out to strangers in the grocery store that, yes, my daughter's face is covered with the most pop-able constellation of whiteheads you've ever seen. The pinkie fingernail on my right hand has grown disproportionately long compared to its mates (primarily because all the other nails tend to break before I get around to cutting them). I find this "Coke Nail" useful for picking at my children's eyes, ears and noses. I have to refrain myself from popping my daughter's cute little zits - but I can't stop thinking about how much fun it would be!

Scott and I were treated to the most delectable chicken pot pie tonight, delivered hot from the oven by our friend Susan. I scooped myself a giant serving and sat down with a stack of magazines, thinking that we would catch up on our reading while our newborn slept quietly in her bassinet and our 18-month-old peacefully ate his chicken and noodles in his high chair next to us. Clearly, I was on crack. Seven minutes later, two bites into my slice of pie, I am sitting at the table jiggling a fussy Arden in my left arm while Sawyer is using his plastic wagon as a step stool to climb into my lap. Only it has wheels and has rolled out from under him, leaving him suspended like a bridge between it and my thigh. I am attempting to hold him up with my right arm, looking longingly at my potpie and my magazine. Both children start wailing in unison, and I look across the table at my husband - who is staring back at me with saucer-wide eyes - and it hits me: 'Oh my God, we have TWO children.'

Running on empty

I am relishing those newborn moments right now where my little one snuggles up on my chest, curling herself into a fetal ball so tight that I can imagine how she must have looked inside of me. While, believe me, I'm glad she's on the outside now, I've grown so used to having a passenger on board these past 10 months - I poke on the cavernous abyss of my belly (think deflated balloon) and I feel a little sad. I miss my sidekick (kicking at my side), reminding me when I've had too many onions (ooh heartburn) or one too many glasses of water (stepping on bladder). Sure she's sweet, sleeping so soundly in her bassinet. But she's her own person now. Our physical connection is gone. It's not something new moms discuss, or even think about all that often. That bundle-o-joy spitting up sour milk and squawking in the middle of the night should more than make up for pregnancy but, still, I catch myself absent-mindedly rubbing my stomach or pausing to wonder why I haven't felt any movement recently. Leaves me feeling kinda lonely. Weird, huh?

Over my dead body.

Mothers: Please refer to page 738 in "What to Expect in the First Year." Ewwwwwwh! (no judgment).

Angel?

Angel, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

I knew from the womb that our little girl would have a strong personality. It's strange to me that you can know such things before the baby is even born. Sawyer's movements always felt to me like exercise, a gerbil in its wheel. Some nights, lying in bed on my side, he'd bounce up and down on the mattress beneath me just to get a giggle. It was no shock when my first born turned out to be a bit of a clown, and very very active.

Arden, on the other hand, was slow to start moving, and then each motion was determined and purposeful- a jab to the ribs, a kick to the kidney, an adjustment to get more comfortable. A true believer in energy conservation. Thus far, Arden has been a mellow child. She sleeps most of the time - four to five hour stretches at night - and can hardly finish a meal without passing out. That and pooping every thirty minutes pretty much sums up life with newborn.

But do anything to upset her comfort like, God forbid, SHIFT her unexpectedly when she's sleeping in your arms, and she lets out what can only be described as an ear-splitting shriek (Scott calls it the pterodactyl yell, I liken it to a screech of a very angry eagle). One singular blood curdling cry will make you wonder whether she's human at all. I should record it and sell it to sci-fi film producers. Fortunately, it ends as abruptly as it begins, primarily because its so effective at making you stop whatever was upsetting her in the first place. It does not bode well for her good hygiene however, bringing, as it does, a certain angst to sponge baths and diaper changes.

She has redeemed herself, however, by flashing me several brilliant smiles. I don't care what you say - neurologically impossible, whatever. I know the edgy downturn of a smile that says, 'Hey, I'm just trying to pass a little gas here.' These Arden smiles are like, "Hey, mom, that clicking sound you're making with your tongue is absolutely hilarious," or "That's so funny, how you are trying to eat my hand."

I think, perhaps, Sawyer's comedy routine has found its perfect future audience.

Thank you note

Dear Uncle Ross and Aunt Niki,
Thank you so much for the burly John Deer wagon. It was the best surprise ever!


When the big box arrived yesterday night, I "ooooh-ed" over it and begged daddy to open it. He said there were lots of parts and gave me a tire to play with. But when I woke up from my nap today, there it was - IN THE KITCHEN - waiting for me. I knew exactly what to do because I saw the picture of the boy on the cover of the box.


Daddy pulled me up and down the hallway a few times and then took me for a walk around the neighborhood. As we pulled away, my face was consumed by a giant smile. This is exactly what I needed this week - a special surprise all my own.
Love,
Sawyer.


p.s. Please tell Mom and Dad to comb my hair when they get a chance.

And then there were two.

on her due date, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

When Sawyer walked into the hospital room to visit us, I hardly recognized him. He seemed, suddenly, so big and so old. With the flick of a wand, he wasn't my baby anymore. I had no idea that would happen. The nurse had warned me. It happened with hers. But I didn't understand what she meant until my firstborn pranced into the room with his comedy routine. It was like looking at a stranger. (His head is so big. He barley fits in that size 4 diaper. He's so heavy. His shoes are so clunky. When did he start doing that?) He wouldn't even come near me and the baby, clinging to my mom frantically as she tried to put him on the bed with me. He played peekaboo through the bed slats, but that's as close as he wanted to be. In an instant, I felt like all the love and energy I had been pouring into this little person for the past 18 months got sucked up into a vortex and was hanging, suspended, above us, in delicate limbo. My sole focus in the 48 hours from the time I had walked into the hospital to the time Sawyer appeared had been toward the little helpless amoeba in my arms. And, suddenly, I wasn't sure how I was going to create enough love, space and time for two.

Nearly a week later, I'm still not sure. The thing about having two children is that you don't divide your love in half, you double it. But, for me at least, it hasn't been instantaneous. Sawyer has accepted Arden, warily. Every day she's here he seems to embrace her more. We've placed a little stool near the pack-and-play so he can climb up and peer into the bassinet. He points and says "sister." I have no idea if he understands that concept, but it brings crocodile tears to my eyes (then again, everything does these days). He brings me her burp cloth when he sees it carelessly lying more than five feet from me. And in the biggest test of them all, he found Arden's Nuk sitting in her bouncy chair without her. He picked it up and first ran it over to her bassinet. Not finding her there he ran to me, found her snoozing in my lap and reached up to put the Nuk into her mouth - all without trying to suck on it himself. Success! He's completely forgotten his own addiction. (She doesn't seem to love the Nuk as much as he did.)

I find, now, that I have to make time for one-on-one with each kid. I need to get down on the floor with Sawyer and focus completely on him. I also have to kick back with Arden, just cuddling her when she's not fussing, eating or getting changed. And then there many moments when I am juggling them both, feeding Arden on the couch while acknowledging Sawyer's latest triumph.

It's a delicate thing, all that love, swirling above us in a giant vortex, multiplying, apt to come crashing down at any moment, engulfing us.

Five on Five

bw hospital, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

Welcome Elinor Arden Pierce
Born January 5, 2008
7 pounds 5 ounces
20 inches

Click HERE for more photos.

The Birth Story
One thing we can already say about Arden is that she's got great timing.

I was terrified that she might arrive during the holidays. I wasn't ready, and I really didn't want the birthday competing with Christmas. Happily, she waited. After returning home from the holidays, I got the car clean, the house organized, the new nursery set up, Sawyer moved upstairs into his new room, the last load of laundry complete, a major meeting at work under my belt, the bills sent off, the bags packed and lined up by the door and a list of instructions for Sawyer and the dogs set out on the kitchen counter. I was officially ready. When I went to bed Friday night, my mom had just pulled into town for the weekend. I hadn't even closed my eyes when I felt the first contraction.

Only, I wasn't really sure at the time that it was a contraction because it didn't hurt. I sat there for half-an-hour before I asked Scott to check the clock. Was it possible that I was really having contractions five minutes apart . . . no, three minutes apart? Scott insisted that I call the doctor. I felt like an idiot calling, 'I think I might be in labor.' It's the second time around. I'm supposed to know, right? She told me that it was best to get in the car since we had an hour-and-a-half drive and I didn't have time to wait around and figure out if I was really in labor. She told me later that it was the sound in my voice that tipped her off. Even as we pulled out of the driveway, I felt like the whole thing was just in my head. But, as soon as we got on the road, everything intensified. I was feeling strong contractions every three minutes (I only told Scott about every other one because I didn't want him driving any faster).

We pulled into the Emergency Room just after midnight and waddled up to the front desk, Scott holding me up by my arm as I breathed through a contraction.
We asked the receptionist for directions to labor and delivery.
"Are you pregnant?" She asked me.
I just stood there, huffing and puffing, bewildered. "Um, yes."
"How far along are you?"
How far along do you think I am lady? Can't you see I'm in labor? I'm at the end!
By the time I got upstairs and hooked up to monitors I was having contractions less than two minutes apart.

I was thrilled that my Kilmarnock OB was on duty at the hospital in Richmond that night and would have the opportunity to deliver my baby after seeing me through two pregnancies. I kept telling her how glad I was that she'd told me to start driving.
I made the decision early to get an epidural, even though I wasn't in that much pain. The doctor broke my water to speed things up and by the time the medicine man arrived I was 6.5 cm dilated and no longer able to talk through my contractions. An hour later, the nurse came in to roll me over (keeps the butt numb on both sides) and I told her I had a strange feeling south of the equator - like something was sticking out of me. She checked it out and reported that the baby was, in fact, on her way out at that moment and if I could just squeeze my legs together and not push for ten minutes while she went and woke the doctor up and set up the warming bed, that would be great.

Um, right.

While I really wanted our Five to be born at 5 a.m. on the 5th , I could hold her in no more. With two big pushes, and one pull (by me), our daughter entered the world at 4:44 am. All told, the labor lasted less than six hours from the moment I started counting to the moment my baby was lying all goopy and purple on my chest.

My first reaction was that I'd given birth to an Inuit. She's got a head full of jet black hair, dark skin and long slits for eyes that almost never open I can't figure out who she looks like, but I'm confident that we've given her the perfect name.

Many people have asked us how we came up with Elinor Arden Pierce. Elinor is the name of my godmother, my mother's best friend from high school, who has truly been like a second mother to me. She is both beautiful and brilliant, and I hope my daughter will take after her. Our family has a middle name theme - so we will call her Arden. We liked the name for its strength. It's Gaelic and means "from the valley of eagles" - it's also used in Shakespeare to describe a thick forest. Arden has the strangest little cry - not unlike that of a baby eagle - and a heart-shaped tongue, so she is already a like a little forest creature, living up to her name.

We can't wait for you all to meet her.

Overheard (In my own kitchen)

SP: How did your doctors appointment go today?

RP: I'm two-and-a-half centimeters dilated.

SP: So, this is really going to happen?

RP: I am really going to have this baby, yes.

SP: I mean, you're not going to undialate.

RP: Uh, no.