The First Thanksgiving

Ahh, Thanksgiving ... my 2nd favorite holiday of the year.  From the food and family to the football, I just love every second of it.
Elvis and I got married in 2007 and our parents graciously allowed us to host Thanksgiving that year.  The food was - of course - delicious (Elvis is an outstanding chef!), and everyone was a good sport, but honestly the best way to describe the whole affair was "crowded."  Our 1-bedroom apartment just was not designed to accomodate 7 people comfortably.
So, for the next three years we dutifully went back and forth between my parents' house and my in-laws' house for holidays.  Elvis and I are both very close to our families, so even though it was inconvenient and kind of expensive we'd spend Thanksgiving Eve and Christmas Eve with his folks, and then get up early the next morning to make the trip to my parents'. 
Last year when I announced my pregnancy, I also announced that we would be hosting Thanksgiving and Christmas again this year.  No ifs, ands or buts.  No way were we going to subject our baby to all those trips.  As much as we love having 2 days to celebrate our 2 favorite holidays, it was just time for a change.  So, back in September (that's right!  I plan ahead!) I began drawing up plans for how to arrange furniture.  I took "inventory" of all our cookware, serving pieces, and fall decor.  No way was Henry's first Thanksgiving going to be remembered as "the year we had to eat in shifts" or some stupid thing.  Nope.  I rounded up 7 seats and arranged them thoughtfully in the living room.  I thanked God that I had 8 place settings, which meant that we could all eat off our beautiful wedding china.  And then the call came: my grandparents (who ALWAYS go to Houston to spend the holidays with my favorite aunt and her family) will be in town this year, and have no plans.  Aunt Bunny is renovating her kitchen, so there'll be no elaborate Thanksgiving feast this year.  So, it was back to the drawing board.  Now I have to find room for 2 more seats around the table, and - worst of all - I'm ONE place setting short. 
So, even though we may indeed have to eat in shifts, we'll all be together, warm and cozy in our home.  We'll all eat a delicious meal, enjoy some good football, some of us will doze comfortably after eating too much, and - most importantly - Henry will spend his first Thanksgiving surrounded by the 9 people who love him most in all the world.  If that's not something to be thankful for, I just don't know what is.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween 2011 was, as you may imagine, a pretty big deal at our house.  As far as holidays go, Halloween has always been pretty low on my list of favorites.  I prefer the ones that include pie and extended family.  But I do like dressing up, and I LOVE babies in costume.  So it was with great excitement that we began to discuss our child's first Halloween costume some weeks ago.  I'd seen some sickeningly cute costumes, and was hoping to talk Elvis into letting me buy one.  I was partial to the octopus costume I saw online.  How cute is that?  But then my amazing hubby came up with something even better.  In the grand tradition of both our families, Henry's costume would be home-made, and would put all the other babies' costumes to shame.  The weekend before, we went out to buy the pieces and put it all together.  After the hot glue dried we put the baby in his costume, and thus began the laughter.  I hope when he's older, he appreciates the creativity and isn't weirded out: for his first Halloween, my beloved son was a 2-headed baby.

At the last minute, Elvis and I decided to dress up as well, and so the four of us (King Henry VIII, Jane Seymour, Hank and "Hazel") piled into the truck to go out.  We didn't go door-to-door for candy, but we did walk up and down San Antonio Street to show off our little monster.  Sadly, our costumes seemed to outshine Henry's, or maybe people just couldn't see his 2nd head.  Either way, it was a bit anticlimactic.  I was hoping to get some hilarious reactions when people saw our little mutant, but he really only got one: one lady reacted, thinking he was a doll (he IS ridiculously cute, I admit).  The important thing, though, is that Elvis and I had fun, and we made some precious memories to cherish forever.  And hey, there's always next year!

Remember me?

PLEASE excuse my excessive absence.  I've just started a new job (it's part-time, but I've been working a lot lately to make sure I know what I'm doing) and our internet has been spotty at best these past few weeks.  Calling customer service isn't helpful, but going down to the Time Warner building magically did the trick.  Let that be a lesson to you: when they transfer your call to 5 different customer service reps, it's time to hang up and get things done in person!

Our First Night

One of my favorite parts of pregnancy was setting up Henry’s nursery. We picked out a theme (sea creatures), painted (blue, of course), built furniture, and had my grandfather repair and restore the cradle I slept in when I was a baby. My beautiful and talented friend Kellie lovingly painted an alphabet to teach him his letters AND animals. We put up shelves and filled them with books and toys, and spent hours getting the curtains hung up straight. It is, if I may say so, an absolutely gorgeous bedroom for an absolutely gorgeous boy. And he has spent roughly 15 minutes sleeping in it. Having read that months 1 and 4 are the highest risk for SIDS, I was just afraid to let Henry sleep in his own room. It comforted me to wake up and hear his breath and his little sleep coos, knowing he was fine.

All that changed last night, though. Since Bubba-zubs (that child has more nicknames than he’ll ever know what to do with!) has passed that 4-month milestone, we decided it was time for him to inhabit that beautiful room we made for him.  He ate a huge dinner, surprised himself with a giant burp, and drifted off to sleep as usual. Elvis put him down in his crib, turned on the monitor, and closed the door. He slept quietly for about 10 minutes, and then began fussing. His fussing quickly turned to all-out shrieks, which was pretty frustrating. Typically, Henry is a very calm and content baby and only cries when he’s hungry (even then, he gives great hunger cues). So his serious wails were pretty heart-wrenching. We went in and I picked him up to nurse him back to sleep. Elvis read him another bedtime story, and oh-so-slowly he drifted back off to sleep. I very slowly laid him down in his crib, kissed his beautiful forehead and wished him sweet dreams, and held my breath. He was out like a light that time.

I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep without the gentle white noise he’s provided these past 4 months, but I too was out like a light. I slept through the night, and when I woke up this morning, the hardest night of my motherhood (so far) was over! We made it! And it can only get easier from here … right?

How Do I Love Thee ... ?

All the books and knowing mothers in the world didn’t prepare me for the overwhelming, all-consuming love I feel for this squirmy, adorable little man I birthed 4 months ago. I never wanted to be a mom when I was growing up, in part because I just never really liked kids. To tell the truth, I still don’t. Children are fine on a case-by-case basis, one at a time. But I was never the girl who got all googly-eyed at the prospect of a houseful of kids. Then Henry was born, and all my non-maternal instincts flew right out the window.

I, who cherish sleep like some women cherish chocolate, cheerfully hop out of bed before sunrise every morning to feed and comfort the newest love of my life. I, who am so uncomfortable with "bodily unpleasantries" that Elvis never even heard me pee until after we were married, have been messed on now more times than I can count. I’ve cleaned Henry’s bodily waste off of clothes, bedding, furniture, my own hair & skin, and – once – the wall (the kid has great aim. I’m so proud). I, who am completely skeeved out by feet, worship and kiss the pudgy little toes of my child, loving each precious piggy individually with an intensity I couldn’t have imagined even 6 months ago.

I never thought I could love another person so wholeheartedly, so unreservedly. I always want to be next to him, enjoying his smile, inhaling his sweet baby smells, and kissing his perfect upturned nose. I wake up in the night, wishing it were permissible to wake him up and hold him, just to see that toothless grin spread across his face at me and feel his sleepy body curl against mine.

He changed my life completely in a single moment, simply by being. Talk about a miracle!

A Birthday Miracle

This, really, has nothing whatsoever to do with motherhood, but it’s a good heartwarming story and I’m going to share it anyway.

My husband’s first love in life was baseball, and I’m glad to say they’ve still got a healthy relationship in spite of the steroid years and the Giants’ fluke World Series win last fall. So each year, his parents get us 2 tickets to go see the Philadelphia Phillies (his beloved team since childhood) play the Houston Astros, which are the closest NL team to us. This year we decided to go to a day game on a Wednesday afternoon. Elvis took a day off work, and we packed up the baby and all his supplies (my favorite aunt lives about 30 minutes from Minute Maid Park and was just dying to babysit), and hoofed it over to H-town. We’d just gotten to the park and were making our way inside when I reminded E that our tickets were in his glove. I guess "reminded" is the wrong word, since he swears I didn’t mention it. Needless to say, in the 40 or so yards we’d walked between exiting from the car and stopping to take a picture in front of a giant Sun Drop mural, the tickets were simply gone. We panicked for a few minutes, and then decided to go to the Will-Call office. My MIL had paid for the tickets on her credit card, so maybe – just maybe – they would see we hadn’t made it up and would let us in anyway. After all, the park was empty. We don’t call ‘em the Lastros for nothin’. Before we could even get to Will-Call, though, we had a run-in with fate.

Two older gentlemen who had obviously overheard our plight had 2 tickets that they were just going to give us. We were, of course, suspicious off the bat. Why on earth would anyone give away two perfectly good tickets to a baseball game? Especially to Elvis and myself, who were sporting Phillies tshirts and hats. It turns out they were company seats (read: free) and neither of the mens’ wives had wanted to go to the game. The seats were in the 23^rd row behind the home team dugout, which basically means they were … FANTASTIC seats. These gents were just going to enjoy the extra leg room, but instead they absolutely made my husband’s birthday. No catch, no strings. The guy wouldn’t even let Elvis buy him a beer to thank him for saving the day. He just wanted to talk some baseball with someone who knew something about the subject, and boy did he pick the right guy! Elvis reads baseball statistics books for fun during the summer. He can tell you with no hesitation who pitched in any World Series game in history, how many innings, and what the final score was. I mean, he really LOVES baseball.

The Phillies ended up beating the Astros 1-0 that day (we got to see Roy Halladay pitch his first complete game shutout of the season!), but the greatest part was the kindness of 2 strangers. It warmed my heart and made me so thankful that I will be raising my son in a world where people still go out of their way to take care of one another. What a wonderful birthday gift.

Grandparents' Day

Sunday is a really big day around our house. It’s not just the 10^th anniversary of September 11, but it’s also Grandparents’ Day! I was blessed with 4 wonderful grandparents, only 2 of whom are still with us. They have always been so loving and supportive, and they always get a very grateful phone call on Grandparents’ Day. But what makes this year so special is – obviously – Elvis’ parents and mine are grandparents as well.

Henry is the first grandchild on both sides of his family, and his grandmothers in particular have done their best to spoil him rotten. They both have a tendency to hog the baby, taking days off work just to hold him and gaze into his sleeping face. His grandfathers are only slightly less enamored, and have to be content with whatever leftover baby-holding time there is when they can pry Henry out of grandma’s hands. He is also the first great-grandchild on both sides. It might have been easier to say that Henry is a very well-loved child, and is incredibly lucky to have 4 loving grandparents, 5 great-grandparents, and a great-great-grandmother. Elvis and I are also very lucky to have all those extra hands and years of experience to help out.

I don’t know what we’d do without the incredible love and support of our parents and grandparents, and I really hope Henry appreciates everything they do for the three of us. I know I do!

Happy Grandparents’ day!

Banned Books Week

I am a second-generation Bibliophile. When I was a newborn, my mother read me her favorite book: Margaret Mitchell’s timeless masterpiece, Gone With the Wind, which began my lifelong love affair with books (and, I believe, set me up to be a shameless flirt in my teens and twenties). Ever since I could remember, my favorite activity has been to hole up in my room with a book. I spent much of my pregnancy immersed in the world of King Henry VIII and his wives, my hands rubbing my belly gently as I read to my baby about this larger-than-life man who would be one of his namesakes. I believe with every fiber of my being that reading is the closest we will ever come to real magic. A book can take you anywhere, teach you anything, and transform your life. I’m so grateful to my mom for passing on her love of reading to my brother and me, and I’m grateful to both my parents for raising me to stand up for what I believe. And I believe wholeheartedly in the power of reading.

In 2005 my dear friend and fellow bibliophile Lindsey introduced me to the American Library Association’s Banned Books Week. Censorship has always been a particular pet peeve of mine, but the thought of actually banning books from libraries really threw me. Are we not, each of us, capable of making up our own mind about what we should or should not read? It seems to me that this type of censorship is clean contrary to the principles of individual liberty upon which this great nation was founded. If I feel offended by the words, themes, or images in a book, it is up to me a thinking adult simply to choose not to read it. Obviously our children can’t always make those decisions for themselves, but that’s where we as parents come in to help them make appropriate choices, and – sometimes – to help explain the things they’ve read. We do the same with TV shows, cartoons, the internet, and video games, so why on earth would we do anything different with books (that have actual educational value)?


So every year around this time, I become an active participant in Banned Books Week, which is all about celebrating the freedom to read whatever we choose. This year, the dates are September 24 – October 1. Buy a book or check it out of the library (this is also a great time to get a library card if you don't have one, or update your information if you haven't been in awhile), but let your voice be heard somehow. Visit ALA.org for more information, and to find your new favorite book.

"Indeed, perhaps we do the minors of this country harm if First Amendment protections, which they will with age inherit fully, are chipped away in the name of their protection.”
Judge Lowell A. Reed, Jr., American Civil Liberties Union, et al. v. Janet Reno (No. 98-5591)

All the Single Ladies ...

This is a shoutout to single moms everywhere. I don’t know how you do it, ladies. The two of us are handling things fine, but … well … there are 2 of us. For the first few weeks of our new life, Elvis and I lived in shifts. I’d get up early in the morning to tend to Henry’s needs while Elvis slept, and he would stay up late into the night to let me get a few hours’ sleep. Let me tell you, it was very convenient to be pumping in those early weeks, so that I COULD take a few hours "off" each day to maintain my sanity. It also helped that Elvis’ parents live about 5 minutes away, and that my mom took a few days off work to come help after we brought Henry home from the hospital. I do my best to take care of my son, and I feel pretty confident that I’m doing a good job. He’s happy, healthy, alert, and you can practically hear him getting fatter by the second. But there’s no way I’d have survived those rough first couple of weeks without a LOT of help, support, and love from Elvis. He made my pregnancy such a pleasure, and he continues to uplift and encourage me every day. In more ways than one, Henry and I both would be lost without him.

I have known a handful of single moms in my time, and I know that each one is an amazing, smart, strong, wonderful woman. I could never have imagined how difficult motherhood could be, but now that I’ve experienced it, I stand even that much more in awe of these incredible women. I hope your children appreciate the hard work you do every single day, and I really hope you know just how fantastic you are. Go mommies!

The Breast Moments of My Life ...

Apparently, August is International Breastfeeding Month. How appropriate, then, that my precious new son finally figured out this intricate dance this month. Henry was born June 6 (he earned his first nickname, D-Day, before he was even born!), and one of the only things I remember from the foggy moments right after his birth was our first of MANY unsuccessful attempts at breastfeeding. The nurses bathed him, wrapped him up, and settled him in my arms to see if he would take my nipple. He didn’t, and thus began a painful ritual that would last his first few weeks. I stayed in the hospital with my angel for 5 days (his ineptitude at nursing brought on a terrible case of Jaundice), and not once did he get a good latch. I spoke with lactation experts several times a day, and began using a breast pump just to have something to feed my baby. When we were discharged we went home with a few bottles in tow, and a determination to do what it took to feed this hungry little man. Even though he didn’t nurse, he seemed to enjoy the breastmilk I pumped for him, and gulped it down like a greedy, adorable little piglet. Two weeks after he was born, my parents, brother, aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandparents set up a weekend outing in nearby Gruene, so that everyone could enjoy the baby. Unfortunately, the bed & breakfast they’d booked didn’t allow anyone under 18 on the premesis, and so our pump-and-feed routine was disrupted. After not being able to feed Henry all day, my milk supply all but dried up, and I really began to fret. I just couldn’t produce enough to feed my son, and I felt like the World’s Worst Mother. Lucky for me, I got some great advice from an old friend whose son had also had difficulty nursing. She suggested a nipple guard, and it worked wonders. I don’t know what it was about that stupid little bit of silicone, but Henry latched right on and never looked back. I was pleased he’d figured it out, but still a little bit saddened that he was so disinclined to nurse au naturel. He loved the nipple guard, but woe betide me if I should try to sneak a real nipple into his mouth. He’d scrunch his little face up and begin wailing, and it began to feel like a personal affront. Each time the baby latched onto that faux nipple, it hurt my feelings more deeply. All I wanted was to breastfeed this beautiful little miracle, the way God intended. My husband assured me that I was doing a great job, and obviously Henry was growing like a weed, but I still resented the hell out of that nipple guard and the bond it was forming with my son.

One afternoon Elvis and I were lying on the bed with the baby, nipple guard at the ready for whenever he woke up hungry. Slowly his slate-gray eyes opened, and his little mouth started working. As I reached for the guard, my nipple brushed Henry’s cheek, and was finally – unexpectedly – granted entry. For the first time ever, I fed my baby directly from my breast, and it was as if I was able to let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. It was a little bit painful at first, but it felt so natural and so comforting. As I sat there feeding my tiny angel, he reached out an arm to curve around my breast as if to say, "Sorry Poppa, this is mine now."

"Good stuff, Mama!"

Henry is almost 3 months old now, and has been nursing au naturel for about 3 weeks. It’s been a long, exhausting, emotionally painful journey (for me, at least!), but no matter how exhausted I am, I delight every single time he latches onto my nipple. I’m so proud of my body’s ability to create and sustain life, and I take pride in knowing that I’m providing essential nourishment to my beloved boy, as well as the physical and emotional closeness that we both need. I know that it won’t be too long before this precious a deux ritual comes to an end, so I do my best to savor these sweet moments.