Luke is one month old today. One month ago David and I were still reeling from a 30 hour labor that ended in a c-section. That Friday night induction that turned into a Saturday morning with contractions coming every minute, the arrival of Rachel our doula, the decision to get an epidural after seven hours of contractions with absolutely no progress on my part (what do you mean I’m still just 1 cm?) the epidural itself, which was one of the most intense and sad moments of my life, fourteen hours of pitocin and four epidurals later a c-section, chronic dry mouth I was sure I was going to die of, and finally a little baby boy with his stomach and lungs full of meconium, David hurrying to stay with the baby while I got stitched up, lying there in amazement that I had a son and still unbelieving that I had had a c-section. Feeding him for the first time, finally finally getting to bed at 5.00 that morning after his first bath, done inexplicably at 4.00 in the morning, but revealing blond golden hair. Those long days in the hospital filled with visitors and still not believing we had a baby. His second night spent in the nursery freaking us out because he was running a temperature and not eating. Many many hours and many shifts of nurses coaxing him to latch on and feed. Finally getting discharged and going home, discovering that autumn had arrived while I had been in the hospital. The joy of being home greatly tempered by days and nights of no sleep and a very cranky baby and a freaked out mother. And then, somehow, we got to know one another. Suddenly you were sleeping for more than 30 minutes, you were recognizing our voices and you were losing that swollen newborn look and filling out into your own. I know your face will change over and over as the months and years go by and you’ll get cuter and cuter, if that it is at all possible, but you are so adorable right now. Sometimes you surprise us with a smile, something you started doing around three weeks. We like to think they are real smiles, but perhaps you are just content or just gassy – both are possible. You are gaining weight like crazy, having regained your birthweight and then putting on another pound in your first two weeks of being here. You shake your head like a crazy person when you are really hungry and you gritch and fuss when you are leading up to being really hungry, but these are all worth it when you finally sigh with content and fall asleep on our chests, your little stomach moving in and out with your tiny little baby breaths.
Archive | November, 2008
I am not sure when I am going to make this blog available for general consumption, but it is Election Eve and I cannot believe we have finally finally finally almost made it to November 4, 2008.
It seems like a million years ago that David and I sat on the couch and watched returns for Iowa come in and I watched Obama speak for the first time. I was sold. Completely sold. David had been talking him up for months, but I chalked that up to the fact that Obama had been his Constitutional Law professor back in law school. (I know! How cool is that?) and I still wanted to support Hillary because I still loved the Clintons. But Obama spoke that night and I cried. For this first time in a very long time I actually felt hope for our country. I actually felt a small flicker of pride in our country, something that had burned out in me in 2000. I felt like this candidate could actually do something for us all. And perhaps it was naive to think that then, and perhaps even more naive now, in the face of this crushing economic failure, but I have watched Obama give countless speeches since January and I have cried every time. Sure the pregnancy hormones probably had something to do with it, but each time I heard him speak I was amazed again. His speech on race, after the Reverend Wright debacle, took on race in a way I had never heard a politician do. His acceptance speech at the convention was the last word in acceptance speeches – gracious, humble and a powerful attack on his opponents. I stressed over every debate, sweating every “um” he uttered but I shouldn’t have worried. He easily carried the day.
So here we are. Here I am. Sitting on the couch with this precious two week old baby sleeping next to me and tomorrow David and I will go vote for Obama because it’s the best thing we can do for Luke, aside from the tangible stuff like yet another diaper change or another round of feeding. It’s our best chance to elect someone who cares about the future of this country and cares enough to fight for our country and our world and by voting for Obama we might be able to change the course of history of the last eight years so that Luke will have a country to be proud of. I want him to be able to grow up with the kind of patriotic pride I had when I was little. The kind of pride that led my sisters and me to hang flags out of every window of our house on the Fourth of July. The kind of pride where the putting your hand over your heart for the national anthem meant something to you, not just an empty gesture like a flag pin because everyone else is wearing one.
I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve, wishing and hoping and praying for that puppy under the tree: half scared that it won’t be there and half-excited because it just has to be there.
Please. Please. Please. Let him win.