Changes

I am still marveling in the way life changes you (and I'll probably continue marveling for awhile).

It has been my contention since my friends started having babies that new mothers spend too much time talking about poop. Green poop, yellow poop, brown poop, runny poop, exploding poop, poop in potties, poop smeared on walls, poop that smells like a man's poop (which probably earns it a name other than "poop"). I know I told both my sister-in-law and you, SM, that if you don't stop talking about your kids' poop, I was going to start talking about my own. I figured it was just as appropriate. And I maintained that when I became a mother I would not talk about poop unless it was medically necessary (like "OMG, my child has passed purple poop! Should I call the doctor?"). And because I believe in staying true to my word, I am still maintaining that poop talk is off-limits.

In keeping with my commitment, I will not talk about poop or poopy diapers, but I just have to say that I changed my daughter's diaper for the first time last night. I was terrified and I am convinced that I did not do a good job, but I was so happy that I got to do it. I had watched the nurses do it for days and weeks now and only one suggested that I could do it. When she did, I was scared. My daughter is still under three pounds, she's in an incubator on a ventilator and her oxygen levels drop when people touch her. So, I told that nurse to do it herself. Last night, however, a different nurse said, "In about 5 minutes, you can change her diaper and check her temperature." What?!? She did not give me a choice and went on to tell me in the nicest way that I was the mother and I have to get used to doing those things. So, I had to woman-up.

Because she's in the incubator, I had to place my hands into the doors on the side of the bed. I was trying to work quickly to avoid having the doors open for long (germs and all) and to avoid giving her time to drop her oxygen levels. I also didn't want to hurt her (she's so tiny and delicate). I got the new diaper on and the old one off even though she likes to kick, especially when people touch her. Although I unintentionally made her look like a young hip hopper with her underwear sagging off her bottom, it was a nice experience for me. I got to hit a milestone in parenting, do something for my daughter, and have physical contact with her. And although her oxygen levels did go down briefly, they came back up quickly. Maybe she knew it was me.

So, this was not a story about poop--I haven't changed that much--but it was a story about a diaper change and apparently a change in attitude. I still can't believe I was excited about it and excited to tell the tale.

Keep on livin', I guess.

God Got Jokes

Life can be funny. Things you never thought you would do, under the right conditions, become things you would do in a heartbeat.

In my new position as a mother, I have become especially acquainted with this phenomenon. I have always thought this idea of having to wash one's hands to hold a newborn baby unnecessary and a little insulting. Typically I only ask to hold newborns so the parent won't feel that I am not interested in their child; I don't have to hold such young babies. Then, for them to demand that I must go through extra effort to hold their child. . . that's okay. But now, each time I go to the NICU, I must scrub with soap and sponge. There's also a little pick that I must use in order to clean my fingernails. In addition, I have to put on a hospital gown over my own clothes. I do all of this with little thought and no bad feelings. I am actually quite glad to do it. The first time my sister-in-law went to visit our baby she jokingly said, "She didn't even want to wash her hands to hold our baby, but we practically have to take a shower and get dressed to see hers. I know what she has to do when we have another baby!" I suppose I will do so gladly.

The second change in thought also has to do with my baby. I was always ambivalent about breastfeeding. Although DH was insistent that I would (because HE has some say about what I do with MY body), I figured I would try and if it worked, okay, and if not, okay. To be honest, I wasn't that thrilled about the idea of a baby hanging from my breast. Plus, I was formula-fed and I am still intelligent and healthy and I have a good relationship with my mother. But now, while I am not actually nursing, I am providing breast milk for my daughter. Apparently, breast milk is the best thing for a premature baby. She is gaining weight and doing well with the milk and I couldn't be more ecstatic to provide it for her. Don't get me wrong--I'm still not a breastfeeding Nazi, but I'm pretty committed to the idea of doing it now.

Boy, how life can change. As one character in my favorite novel, Mama Day, says, "Just keep livin'."