I would like to say that life has gone back to normal in the karenika household but that would be a lie. I know that we will be establishing a new normal now that our household accomodates three, but I am assuming it will not look the way it does now.
The good news is that he has gained a lot of weight and is happy and healthy. No major or minor problems, thankfully. The bad news is that mommy is exhausted most of the time. She spends her days in her pink pajamas, eating, feeding baby, sleeping, working, and doing laundry. She has lost some weight but has a lot more to go and her back is better than expected but still in quite a bit of pain. While she is pretty patient with David, she’s short the rest of the time with the rest of the people in her life. She knows that’s due to exhaustion and it will go away. David spends his days eating, sleeping, peeing, pooping, and spitting up.
I had promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those moms who constantly talks about her baby and that might be why I’ve been avoiding updating the site (that and a complete lack of disposable time). For the last three weeks, my life has been not much besides my baby and I assume it will be that way for at least a few more weeks before I start regaining some of my adult brain cells. I will start reading normal books again and having interesting thoughts again but, for now, I’m only concerned with the little one, making sure he’s well fed and all around satisfied with the service he’s getting.
So if you’ve been waiting for new photos or some thought-provoking entries (and I know it’s been a long time since we’ve had those) hang in there, they’ll be here in a while. I’m just a little busy enjoying the miracle of life.
It has now been two weeks since David has joined our family. There are so many little things that he does which I want to document daily but between feeding him, working, changing him, and sleeping, I seem to have zero free time to even brush my teeth. But I do think it’s important to document these precious days that will go by so quickly. I am open to suggestions on the most efficient way to do that. I will try to do regular updates here soon again and I promise it won’t be all about the baby, I just need some consistent sleep first.
When we found out that I was expecting, my doctor calculated my due date to be February 8th. The pregnancy.com website calculated it to be February 5th. When we did the 17-week ultrasound, we were told February 2nd. So when the 2nd and the 5th came and went, I was pretty depressed. As much as I wasn’t experiencing the bloating that comes with the ninth month, I was ready for the baby to come out so I could see the creature I’d been carrying around for months.
On Monday, the 7th, we went for our doctor’s visit. My doctor was scheduled to leave town on the 12th and if the baby didn’t come by then, we were guaranteed to have a different doctor for the birth. One that we never met. So we decided to induce the next night and got an appointment for 7pm. As soon as we left the doctor’s office, I felt terrible. Obviously the baby wasn’t ready to come and forcing him/her out because I want to have my doctor present sounded so selfish suddenly.
Jake and I spent the next four hours talking about whether we should induce or not. We knew all might go well but we also knew that inducing meant a higher chance of c-section and more drugs for the baby and possibly a much more painful labor. We decided that there were going to be many decisions where we were going to have to put our kid before us and there was no reason not to start now. So we went to bed knowing we were going to call my doctor the next morning and cancel the induction.
At midnight, my water broke. I was sleeping and felt it all oer the bed, it was the weirdest feeling. I called the hospital cause I wasn’t sure it was my water. They said to come in and they would let me know. We got to the hospital at 1am and they said my water had indeed broken and I wasn’t going anywhere. I was only 2.5cm dilated and normally they don’t admit you in the hospital until you are 4cm except for when your water breaks. I asked that we wait as long as possible before they give me medication to induce and was told they could wait six hours. They sent me up to labor and delivery and hooked me up to the machines. The night nurse, Heather Bacon, was awesome and helped us relax. Around 3:30, I told Jake he should sleep just in case it’s a long night/day. At that point, my contractions were more regular but still painless. Within an hour, I went from no pain to acute pain. I couldn’t breathe or move. On the way to the bathroom, I’d have two contractions, and three more on the way back. Heather came in to check on me and see if I wanted medication and I said not yet.
Another hour later I was in so much pain that I finally woke Jake up. As I was talking to him, Heather came in again and I asked her to check how far along I was. She said I was 5cm and could get an epidural if I wanted. We discussed it for a while and finally at 6am, I got an epidural. Whoever says epidurals hurt must obviously have not experienced labor. I was in so much pain at that point that I felt literally no pain from the epidural and as soon as he put it in, my pain disappeared. It was like a miracle.
An hour after the epidural, I was already 9.5cm so they called my doctor and told me to start pushing. Two hours and fifty minutes later, our little boy was born. The pushing wasn’t a huge amount of fun but his head full of hair was very encouraging and helped me push.
All the horror stories I had heard about labor turned out not to be the case for me. The breastfeeding was a bit hard the second day since David didn’t want to swallow. But we’ve got it down now. I had very little to recover from so getting back to normal wasn’t a long way. I worked on Monday before David came and we checked out of the hospital on Thursday, Friday morning I was working again. People had told me it would be impossible to work with him at home and so far that hasn’t been true either. Thankfully, none of the things I feared came true.
All in all, labor was less painful than 9 months of pregnancy and David is such a peaceful, wonderful baby that we feel blessed and overjoyed every minute of every day.
David – Born: Tuesday, February 8, 2005, 9:51am – 6lbs. 13oz. – 20.5 inches.
Baby, Mommy and Daddy are all doing wonderfully. More unpdates in a few days.
Since the baby still hasn’t decided to grace us with his/her presence, I decided to take a long walk yesterday. Walking is supposed to help the baby decide to come and it was a lot more appealing to me than castor oil, which is also supposed to help the baby along.
During my walk, I started thinking about how much time we spend judging people. From the smallest things to the most significant. We spend hours criticizing other people’s lives, their clothes, the choices they made for a career or a partner. We criticize their taste in books or music. Their hair color or the way they arranged the furniture. It’s almost as if we get off knowing other people’s lives aren’t as ‘good’ or ‘appropriate’ as ours.
I’m not talking about major tragedy here. There are some people who seem to really enjoy that, too. But for the most part, any decent human tends to feel sorry for an individual who is genuinely suffering. I’m talking about people who look down upon others for listening to Britney Spears. Or for reading Sidney Sheldon. Or for wearing certain clothes or shoes. As I was walking around yesterday, I began to wonder what motivates people to judge others that way.
Who decides that one singer is “better” than another? Who decides that being good at math shows a higher level of intelligence than being artistic? Why and where were such conclusions made? Does it make a person feel better to know that their musical taste is “superior” to others’? I truly don’t understand why we do this? When did it start feeling good to bash others? It makes me sad that children who are born not knowing any of this will eventually learn and have to adapt to the society in which they are raised.
This is why I ended up leaving my home country and environment. Not only did I not fit in, but I couldn’t foresee a situation in which I ever would. Isn’t it sad that because everyone has to be the same, we miss the opportunity of learning from each other? The chance to expand our horizons? If I only hung out with other computer programmers, I would have never learned the joy of sign language or graphic design. I may not be nearly as talented in either as some others are but I still get to appreciate them thanks to the people who love them and have opened my eyes.
Even if I didn’t care to learn certain things, why can’t I let people do what they like to do without making value judgements. Why is it funny to make fun of people’s choices? As someone who’s been judged a lot in her life, I have decided to be extra careful in making judgements of others. I am going to make a huge effort to watch my value judgements and to stop them. I will listen to myself more and destroy all my stupid preconceived ideas until I instinctively give people the benefit of the doubt and the respect they deserve.
I owe that to the little girl I used to be.
Well I just entered my due week. I am sure you’re sick of reading about the baby and honestly, I want to write about other stuff, too. I am reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell and it’s a fantastic book and it’s making me think a lot and generally those kind of books generate a lot of blog entires for me.
However, I am so big and contracting so much that I can’t seem to function much anymore. You try sleeping with a big, hard rock attached to your stomach and let me know how it goes. Part of me is scared of all the changes life will bring with this baby and that part knows that I should prolong labor as much as possible. While I might not be able to get sleep now, at least I don’t have a baby that completely depends on me. (Actually, I already do but it somehow doesn’t feel as real).
The other part of me can’t wait to finally see the little thing that’s been living in me for 9 months. I’d lie and say I am all calm about labor but I am scared shitless. Actually, I am scared shitless of the whole thing. I tend to enjoy predicatability. I don’t mean that I am afraid of unknown things cause I’ve ventured into the unknown many times in my life. I moved to the US for college all by myself. I lived in Japan for six months not knowing a word of the language and hating all the food. I left my cushy Wall Street job for a teaching job I believed in and then left that for a city I’d never seen in my life. I’m not afraid of conquering the unknown. In general.
This time, it’s different. This time it affects more than just me. Or Jake and me. I am bringing this little creature into the world because I wanted to and regardless of his or her wishes, she or he will hopefully live for a long long time in this world because of me. I will get to decide how s/he begins life. I will choose the first few friends. The first school. The clothes and experiences this baby will have until s/he is old enough to make decisions. That’s a huge load of responsibility.
In my mind, having a baby, and then a child, means that I am now fully subscribed into the land of the unknown. As opposed to venturing there every now and then, I will be taking permanent residence there. That might be exciting to a lot of people. It’s a bit scary to me. I couldn’t imagine doing it for a better reason but, it’s still quite overwhelming.
I am hoping that the day to day life will leave me with little enough time that I won’t ponder the weight of this too often. That, and the hormones finally leaving my body, should help, too.
Baby is not here yet.
I haven’t been able to update because my parents came to town on Sunday and we’ve been running errands galore since then. We’ve taken what used to be Jake’s room and then became an empty room and made a complete baby room out of it. It has a crib with a mobile, matress, sheets and bumpers, drawers full of clothes and a changing table, a bed (which was there for guests and will stay there) full of stuffed animals and toys. Two vibrating bouncers, a baby monitor, a playpen thingie, the stroller, a closet with diapers, nail clippers, thermometer and baby medicine, books, video tapes, and a box full of toys. Most bought and all set up in the last four days. I also have a rocking chair with ottoman in the living room and a pack’n’play with crib and changing table in the bedroom.
We have packed our hospital bags which are to be finalized today. I’ve made 5 hospital CDs for labor. We bought the bestest camcorder: JVC’s Everio which was something we drooled about but didn’t think we could get. Presents are so wonderful. The camera is packed and so is the camcorder. The birthing ball is blown up and pillows are ready.
I’ve already read the first six chapters of The Baby Book and watched The Happiest Baby on the Block with Jake. We made a list of possible names for girls and boys. We’ve cleaned up the rooms and washed all the baby clothes and toys we received. We bought extra detergent so we don’t have to leave if we generate baby laundry faster than we can go out. I don’t need formula since, hopefully, I come equipped with the baby food. I do have to eventually get a pump but we’re going to wait a bit on that.
My doctor’s out of town until Monday so I hope the baby can wait that long, but otherwise we seem to be all set. Or at least as set as we’ll get. Now all we can do is wait and hope that labor isn’t too too bad and much more importantly, that the little one is healthy.
We’re waiting for you anxiously, little baby.
I am an avid reader. If the excerpts and the 50 books links aren’t enough to convince you, let me assure you that, under normal life circumstances, I read one to two books a week. I love reading and I’ve loved reading ever since I was little. So, it was a bit odd that when I got pregnant, I didn’t rush to buy all the books on the subject or visit the plethora of websites that giver advice and information.
My first hesitation was statistical. There’s a higher than average chance of having a miscarriage in the first three month of a pregnancy, especially with the first pregnancy. Thus, I told myself that I didn’t want to get excited and caught up in all the reading. That felt like a pretty legitimate reason not to buy anything.
Once the first trimester was over, I was so busy throwing up that I didn’t want to get up from bed, let alone go out to buy books. So another two months passed and I still hadn’t read a word about being pregnant or the baby growing inside of me. (Not to lie, there was one website I went to ocassionaly which told me what week I was in and what that meant.)
On Month Five, once the puking stopped, I decided it was time to go out and purchase some books. Since my pregnancy was already almost at the end of its second trimester, I didn’t want to spend too much time or money on pregnancy books. Instead I bought books on the baby’s first year, teaching sign language, helping your baby sleep, etc. I bought only one pregnancy book that was supposed to be fun. I came home and read that one first.
After 60 pages, I had to put the book down and I never picked it up again. The same thing happened this week when I attempted to read our Childbirth Preperation class book. I can’t seem to get through these materials. A jaded person might claim it’s because I am not excited about the baby (which is definitely not true) or I am in denial somehow (which is also absolutely false). I am no longer feeling bad about not wanting to read. I’ve decided it’s healthier not to read.
There are about 10 pages in each of these books that tell you what a “normal” pregnancy/birth is like. The rest of the several hundred-page book talks about things that can go wrong. Or it talks about things that will definitely happen and that aren’t pleasant. Like bleeding or severe cramps or acute pain. While it’s a good idea to know enough to be able to differentiate between the normal and the abnormal, I am not sure that knowing the details of how painful labor might be will help me go through it more smoothly.
I figure that at this point the baby is big enough that it will hurt no matter how the baby comes out. I also know that the six-week class gave us more than enough information on what to expect, what’s a bad sign, and when to goto the hospital. The rest is stuff I don’t need to know.
I am going to stick to baby books instead.
As a child, I often wondered what made someone an adult. When was the magical time that you crossed over from being a child to being a responsible adult? My mom looked liked an adult. She acted like an adult. Her face, her conversation, even her toes were those of an adult. At the time, I figured once I was over my teens, I’d be an adult, too.
As the years passed, I didn’t feel like an adult and I didn’t think I looked like an adult. Not the way my mom did. Even though I discovered that she can behave like a child, too, I still thought my mom was more of a “grown up” than I was. College didn’t change that. Neither did moving into my very first apartment. Neither did getting a full time job and making more money than she ever did. It felt like maybe I was never going to grow up.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe crossing over the threshold to having my own kids is when I cross over the threshold to becoming an adult. This is officially the time when I am going to be much more concerned about another living being than I am about myself. Not that there aren’t times I put myself after Jake or my family or a friend. But this is permanent and it’s constant. This little baby, and later the child and even the adult, will always come before me. I will have to learn to push other people away kindly but firmly to protect the well being of my baby. I will have to learn to make major progress on my “hangups” because now they are affecting an unsuspecting third party who never signed up to deal with my issues. Even if I don’t feel it, I’m going to have to learn to act the part of a grown-up. It’s all a bit overwhelming and scary. What if I mess it up?
I know what everyone says, “all you can do is your best.” But this is a huge responsibility. It’s not something to be taken lightly. I think my mom always looked like an adult cause she had us very young. She was only 21 when my sister is born. She learned to grow up very quickly. Over the years she adopted and looked the part of a grown up. And now it’s my turn. And I plan to take it seriously.
Though I still don’t think my toes look like a grown-up’s.
I don’t have much to say today. Or at least I am not in the mood to say it so I thought I should point you to Oso’s thought-provoking post on happiness. It’s worth the read.
I commented that I tend to be less happy when I’m free and he replied that he does that, too, but it’s mostly due to avoidance. I agree with him partially. Sometimes there is a genuine issue brewing under and in that case it’s really a bad idea to avoid it and repress it down further so it’s harder to recall next time. Some stuff gets represed so much that we don’t even know it’s there anymore. That’s bed news cause it is bound to come up eventually and it’s not a pretty picture when it does.
Having said that, I do think that sometimes it’s best not to have too much time to think. There are times when I have nothing better to do and so will take a small thing and blow it right out of proportion. I will spend a huge amount of energy stressing about it and I will make myself miserable. All this not because the issue really warrants being sad, but because I have too much time on my hands. How pathetic is that?
The good news is, once the baby comes, too much free time won’t be a phrase I can utter until the baby is in college.
One of the saddest things for me is to realize when a friendship has deteriorated so much that all of our conversations are empty. It’s one thing to acknowledge that it’s over and stop calling each other, but an entirely different ballgame when we continue the appearance that all is fine but we both know it’s not.
Recently, I’ve begun to notice that some of my oldest friends have become such acquaintances. We can talk for 50 minutes about absolutely nothing. And I don’t mean that in the nice way where you are chatting about the random fun stuff you did that day. I mean in the way where you both know the conversation is dragging. You’re not saying anything of substance and the conversation will never leave the realm of “fakeness.” I know that I should let go of this friendship regardless of its history. I know we both already have. But it’s so hard to take that last step.
To admit that sometimes things just fall apart for no reason and when people don’t stop to recognize or address it, it gets to a point where there’s no turning back. Where you wonder what held it together to begin with. Where you can’t remember the beginning, only this very sad ending.
Having these conversations physically pains me. But at the same time, I am loathe to let go for some reason. I don’t want to admit it’s over. It’s as if my admittance will make it end.
So I just sit there and play along.
Since Jake and I moved to San Diego a year and a half ago, we haven’t made a huge number of friends here. It’s a combination of a lack fo effort and lack of circumstance. We both work from home. My office has a total of seven people and he works for himself. Having come from huge Wall Street firms, our current setup isn’t condusive to making work friends. We attempted to go to a few meetup events in the beginning but just got lazy.
This is why I had assumed that I wouldn’t have a baby shower. I figured I wouldn’t have anyone to invite. But four different people offered to throw us a shower and in the end we had fifteen people over on Saturday for the baby shower. It turns out we have more local friends than we thought. It’s amazing how little things make you realize the day to day things you take for granted.
Major thanks go to my friend Cynthia who really did 99.9% of the work. To Ashlie who surprised me and came all the way from St. Louis just for the shower. To Jess and Chris who, even though they didn’t actually get to make it since the weather was extremely uncooperative, had intended to drive all the way from San Fran for the day. And to Stacey who drove down from Palm Springs in torrential rain. And to everyone who came and intended to come.
It appears we, and our soon to be, are luckier than I ever imagined. We are surrounded by amazing people.
We’re down to four weeks left. Fact is, only 5% of pregnant people actually deliver on their due date. So most people say that our potential delivery period is somewhere between two weeks from now to six weeks from now. Either way, it’s coming sooner than we can imagine. The most popular question I’ve been asked latety is: Aren’t you curious?
Don’t you want to know if it’s a girl or a boy?
Of course I’m curious. This baby has been growing in me for over 8 months now and I am curious about all of the details. Does s/he have long legs? Are all the organs in the right place? Everything ok with the limbs, the brain, the eyes? Will s/he have blue eyes like Jake? Will s/he have colic?
I am desperately curious to meet my baby. I pray that all is well and she or he will be born and live to be very healthy and happy long after I’m gone. I have a million worries and another million hopes. And in my list of ‘things I really hope for,’ gender isn’t number one. It isn’t even in the top ten.
When I seriously sit down and think about it, I’ve decided that I don’t have a significant preference of gender. I know some pretty awful women and some pretty awful men. What I care about much more is that our baby turns out to have a mild and pleasant personality. That she or he is a moderately easy baby and child. That we do right by him or her. Those are the things I care about. I’ve met enough atypical examples of each gender that I know having a girl doesn’t guarantee any information about the sort of girl we’ll end up with. And same goes for the boy. We already have too many assumptions on the toys our kids will like or the life they will lead depending on the gender they are and I want to make sure I don’t fall into the typical pitfalls.
So when I am honest with myself, it really doesn’t matter to me what gender the baby is. The main reason I am annoyed we don’t know is because, in English, I have to refer to the baby as ‘it’ since we can’t justifiably use he or she yet. Whereas, in Turkish, we don’t have gender-specific pronouns, making the ‘it’ equivalent not such a derogatory word to use. This is one of those cases where pronoun ambiguity would be in our favor.
So, any premonitions? Girl or boy? (Oh, and we’re 99.9% positive that there’s only one so don’t even go there!)
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projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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