We all know you can order a Butterbeer Latte at Starbucks thanks to the Internet prowess of my sweet friend Diana. We all know life is never as good as it is when Starbucks brings back the PSL in the fall before debuting that season’s holiday offerings in those happy red cups. I could live on Gingerbread Lattes in December.

This year I have been extra tired thanks to my newborn and extra thirsty since he is a voracious eater. Making enough milk to keep up with him means I miss nary a meal nor snack and drink water like a marathoner in the desert. My order of the season has been a Gingerbread Latte and a grande ice water. If I’m being honest, it’s been my order like, everyday. Wanna hang out while I’m on maternity leave? Sure. Meet me at the Starbucks. Pick one. I bet my baby has been there sometime during his five weeks on earth.

One day this week I had polished off a latte after dropping my preschooler off at her school. I went home before another outing to get ready. I was pumping breast milk in the bathroom while fixing my hair. The joy of going somewhere that was not preschool or Starbucks meant I was fixing my hair, dammit! I listened to Christmas music on my phone as the breast pump’s rhythmic sucking seemed to be on beat with Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.”

I looked in the mirror and noticed the bottle attached to my right breast was getting very full, very fast. No surprise. My right cup runneth over quite frequently. Usually at this point I would stop and empty a little of the milk from the right into the bottle on the left. “Old Lefty” is a slow-flow. Surprisingly, the left was keeping up with the right with every fluid ounce. I had no other bottles upstairs with me. I looked around the bathroom for any appropriate receptacle for breast milk.

I spotted my grande ice water on the counter. Well, it was just water. It would have to do. I poured in the milk and kept pumping. I chuckled at the thought of what the barista would think of this.

Later that day my observant little preschooler was “nursing” her baby doll. She looked at me and said, “My baby gets chocolate milk from my breast! I get chocolate milk at Starbucks!”

The one baby item that we have had terrible luck with is the baby bath. For Charlotte, we registered for a pod-like tub. I was sold on the claim that it was “womb-like” and kept the baby warm. I really hated it. I felt like she was going to drown.  It was cumbersome to wash her in it. Supposedly the seat would help her sit up. It didn’t.  Greyson and I felt like we had to have a two man team to bathe her in it. I got duped into buying a $35 glorified bucket. No surprise, we use it as a bucket now.

With Henry we got a baby bath seat to wash him in the sink or the tub. That worked okay for his first few weeks until his cord stump fell off. Now that he is a month old, we want to be able to submerge him and keep him warmer. Plus, the seat doesn’t have rubber stoppers on the bottom and it slides all around. It’s terrifying. Thank God my kids are good sports about the bath.

When Erin at A Parenting Production asked me about a tub review. I was all like, “Please! Yes! I have terrible tub luck.” Getty Products and Karibu sent me one of their collapsible tubs, I was psyched! Just taking it out of the box, I could tell it was very well-made with a sturdy plastic frame. It was already assembled. All I had to do was put the legs down and expand it out. The soft collapsible part reminded me of those collapsible colanders, but thicker and stronger. I love the colors! They sent me the orange one.

The tub is a great size. It’s small enough to fit in the bathtub properly but large enough to accommodate a toddler if needed. I liked the legs and feet of the tub. The legs were sturdy and the feet were non-slip. I really liked the heat indicator plug. It changes color if the water gets too hot.  You can drain the tub by just pulling the plug. After the bath? It collapses again and has a hook to hang on the back of the door or on the shower curtain rod.

I think this tub will be even better when Henry can sit up on his own. As a newborn, it worked fine with me supporting him the whole time. The second time I used it I tried putting the infant bath seat in it. It was the first time I felt secure using the bath seat. The Karibu tub supported it perfectly. Remember, I said it kind of slides around? It didn’t in the Karibu. If Karibu came out with their own newborn sling or seat to go in the tub, I would buy it. The plastic on the bottom of the tub is a little slick, but no worse than a regular bathtub and didn’t seem to be a major risk to me.

You can get the Karibu tub in lots of cool colors on  BabyAge for $50. Do you have this tub? Let me know if you have used the Karibu Folding Bath, or if you have another baby tub you love.

Disclaimer: Getty Products and Karibu sent me a tub, but my opinions come free. Happy bathing! 

Dear Henry,

Welcome to the world, son! You have made us a family of four. You have made us the parents of two children, “somebodies” parents, if you will. You were one month old on Friday.

This month we have listened to your grunts and coos. You are warm, round, sweet and floppy. We have snuggled and gotten to know you. You have snoozed in our arms and looked at us with your dark blue eyes. We love watching you get a little more alert each day. You are a very good baby. You’re not giving Mama and Daddy a ton of sleep at night because you are so hungry nearly every two hours.

You love nothing more than to eat. We have watched in amazement as you seemed to grow by the hour. The doctors have been shocked at how much weight you have gained. You already graduated from newborn to size 1 diapers. You can wear newborn and 0-3 month size clothes, but 3 month sizes will fit you very soon. We are pretty certain you are more than 10 lbs., up from 8 lbs. 2 oz. at birth.

You are already a patient little brother. When your big sister gets a tad zealous with her love and and excitement, you take it in stride, never crying when she kisses and hugs you a little roughly. We giggled when she shared her princess stickers with you. She likes to show you your baby toys, even if you are deep in sleep and can’t see them.

When you were born you had so much hair, including some down your back and on your arms. Everyday you shed a little more and get a little more bald up top. We laugh at your balding and wonder if this means you will be spared male pattern baldness as an adult. We wonder what color and texture your hair will grow in when it comes back.

We are so excited to see you grow and spend our lives with you. Thank you so much for bringing joy to our family. We will never forget your first month. I love you, Henry,  my sweet, sweet boy.

Love,

Mama

The Wait

It was the first week of November again. It was finally getting cold and we had once again hidden from the world, munched on Halloween candy and waited in anticipation for any signs of another baby joining our family. I told my friends, “My babies are born in November. They just are.”  Both were due in October and November 6, 2013 marked 41 weeks of pregnancy with Baby #2.

We still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. We surprised ourselves by getting pregnant the first month we tried. We spent the day before our scheduled induction finalizing name choices. This baby was our little mystery, keeping us in great anticipation until the very end.

We waited for the call to go into the hospital. At 7:30 am the phone rang and it was the nurse. Greyson watched my face fall as I listened to the news that the labor and delivery ward was slammed and we would have to wait. More waiting. I took a deep breath and tried to hold it together until I could call back and check-in midday. I kissed Charlotte goodbye as Greyson took her to school to join the rest of the 3-year-old class. I dressed her in her “Big Sister” t-shirt, praying it wasn’t in vain and we would in-fact have our baby today.

We watched TV. We watched the clock.

I said, “Let’s get out of here.” I wanted to get out, but I didn’t want to get too far from the hospital. The North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh is right across the street from the hospital. We went there to walk around and kill time. I wanted to hold Greyson’s hand and be distracted. A Porsche exhibit was there. Okay cars. Let’s look at cars.

The pic is a little blurry, but this is us a the exhibit. I’m wearing the same holey old college t-shirt I wore the day Charlotte was born. I think it’s good luck.

 We walked through the history of Porsches from decades ago, to today. I learned a little . I didn’t realize Steve McQueen loved Porshes so much. It dawned on me they named Lightning McQueen from Cars after Steve McQueen. I wondered if this baby would like Cars as much as his/her sister. I looked up from a photo of the actor looking rugged on the set of a 1970’s racing flick and asked Greyson the same question we had been asking each other for nine months. “Boy or girl?” “Girl,” he said. “Me too,” I replied. We smiled

Yep. Probably a baby sister. Not that it mattered. We just wanted to meet this kid.  We walked some more.

One of the racing Porsches had the names of drivers on the side who had the privledge of racing that pristine machine. I pointed out one name printed on the side of the car. “H. Haywood” was next to an American flag on the car. My eyes grew large and grabbed Greyson’s arm. We looked at each other with our mouths open. “Henry Haywood” was our name for a boy. We grabbed our phones and took pictures. Was it a sign? Was this a baby brother? Maybe.

I bought a toy car at the gift shop to give to our baby. I figure we’ll tell the baby the story of Mama and Daddy with the Porsches before he/she was born.

We ate at the museum restaurant. I gobbled up my risotto, hoping it would be my last meal and give me energy for labor. We drove home and I called the charge nurse to see if we could get in. I think she heard the desperation in my voice when I asked if she was sure I would be able to get in that day. She gave me no guarantee, which sent me in to the kind of tearful, hormonal fit I had become accustomed to in the last week. Apparently every baby in the county was being born at our hospital today.

I tried to relax and take a nap when we got the call asking if we could be there by 3:oopm. We would be there before that. Make no mistake. If I had a Porsche to get me there faster, I would have driven it but, no infant car seat would fit in there.

The Push

We sat and waited in the lobby, filled out paperwork and waited for the nurse to come and get us. We were finally there and when I got a little irritable at the even longer wait Greyson put on his sarcastic sypathetic face and said, “Hey, I’m here.  Don’t worry. I’m your Baby Buddy.” I fell out laughing. My Baby Buddy. He is indeed the only person on earth I’d want to be with me during labor and delivery. I took my buddy’s hand and went to the room where we would meet our second child.

By this time it was 4:00 pm or 4:30pm. I took my last pregnant photos and put on the gown. It did cross my mind that these may be the last few hours of my life that I would ever be pregnant. Part of me was sad. Part of me did not care and was ready to have this kid. Plus, the bag of Pitocin was by the bed. There was no turning back now.

After some more paperwork, vital signs and fetal monitors, they started the Pitocin and the other bag of fluid they give you for whatever reason. Soon after, contractions started, exactly as they had with Charlotte’s birth when being induced. Happily, my water broke on it’s own and I didn’t need the creepy glove with the tiny hook up there like the doctor used last time to break my water. The worst pain was very localized. Always low on my right side. In the last three years since giving birth the first time, whenever I have the slightest menstrual cramp, it is in my lower right side. That’s when I instantly have labor flashbacks. The pain was exactly as I remembered it.

Seeing Greyson’s face as I grimaced was awful. You could tell he felt helpless. The epidural was welcome. Once again, I can’t remember what the anesthsiologist said, or what he looked like. I just know the prick of the needle in my back was nothing but a tiny sting compared to the pain of my contracting belly. The first epidural attempt was futile. The left side of my body was a little numb, but my hot spot for labor pain remained on fire. Even with heavier doses of the numbing medicine I could still feel serious pain. I knew they were going to have to take it out and do it again like they did for Charlotte’s birth. With her birth, the anesthesiologist blamed it on new catheters but, this same scenario with a second child led this anesthesiologist to believe he needed to administer the epidural again in a different spot. It worked. Thank God. This time, fortunately, I could mostly feel my feet and my legs, unlike with Charlotte’s birth when I was nothing but a torso. Greyson said they should have tattooed my back with the proper place to put in the epidural.

Similar to Charlotte’s birth, it was just another hour and I was ready to push. I couldn’t feel the pain of the contractions, but serious pressure. I was so numb with Charlotte that I didn’t feel the type of pressure I felt this time. When I explained this to the nurse, she checked me and called the doctor immediately. She said, “It’s gonna be like, two pushes and this baby is gonna be out.” I liked her positive thinking, but she was wrong.  The doctor gave the nurse orders not to let me push until she got there. We had a few minutes to sit through the pressure.

The doctor and the nurses in the room were excited to have a delivery where the parents didn’t know the sex of the baby. They told us births like this were fun. I looked at Greyson, “Last guesses, boy or a girl?” “Boy, I think,” he replied. I disagreed, “No, I think it’s a baby sister.” We smiled at each other, knowing we didn’t really care.

I followed the doctor’s instructions to push as the contractions came. I didn’t need instructions. I could feel when to push. Greyson was an excellent Baby Buddy as he dutifully brought me ice water to sip between pushes. I asked for handles to pull on, instead of pulling against my legs. I had better leverage that way. It was about 45 minutes of bearing down and catching my breath, bearing down and catching my breath.

The Arrival

The last push brought our baby out and the doctor held him up for me. Him. I heard the words leave my mouth, quiet and breathless, but with true astonishment “Oh my God! It’s a boy!” Greyson and I looked at each other with open mouths. The waiting was done. The mystery was solved. The name on the Porsche was a sign. He was here. Our son.

I greeted him as I greeted his sister three years prior, “Hi! Happy Birthday! I’m Amy, I’m your mama. This is Greyson, he’s your daddy.”

The doctor put the scissors in Greyson’s hand to cut the cord. He didn’t do this with Charlotte. He always said about fathers cutting the cord, “Um. The pilot flew the plane. I’m not going to help him with the  landing.” The doctor didn’t give Greyson a choice. I watched my nervous Baby Buddy land the plane by clamping down on the scissors and officially separating our son from my body.

He didn’t make much noise until they took him over to the heater. That’s when we took a few minutes to laugh and marvel that we had a son. They asked us what his name is. I said, “Henry Haywood.”

He was 8 lbs. and 1.9 ozs. “8 lbs. 2 oz.” the nurse rounded up when she announced his weight. He was 20 1/2 inches long.

The nurse brought Henry to me, swaddled and sweet. His hair was black and wavy. He smelled so good, so brand new and lovely. He started rooting around and I knew he needed to be fed immediately. My sweet boy latched right away and ate for awhile.

I looked at him, listened to him suckle and felt his warm weight in my arms instead of my belly and suddenly my life felt bigger, our family more complete and I was somehow more whole.

I couldn’t wait to introduce him to his sister and make this little one part of our family. Like mothers do, I wondered what type of boy my baby would turn in to and what type of man we were capable of raising. That’s when I stopped my brain from going too far into the future and I froze time in that hospital room for a moment. A moment when a new member of our family arrived. It was another November in which life got a little better.

It’s true that when you get married you marry your spouse’s whole family. Upon saying “I do,” you adopt the traditions and eccentricities of another family. In turn, your spouse adopts your family too. You know, the large vacations, messy divorces, awkward portrait sessions and holiday meals divided by generation. Ask my husband about sitting at the “kids table” when he was 30-years-old.

There are things to get used to when joining another family. I for one marveled at Greyson’s family and their ability to debate. Debate anything. Seriously. Led, by a father who is an attorney, they had to rank everything. I would compliment dinner. They would ask me, “What was your favorite part of the meal?”  I would say, “Oh! I liked all of it. It was so delicious!” They would reply, “But, what was your favorite thing?” This would then result in everyone ranking their top three favorite side dishes and someone then vehemently defending why the green bean casserole beat the potatoes hands-down.

Greyson says my family on the other hand takes small-talk to a whole new level with politeness. These conversations are between sips of sweet tea because there is no wine with dinner. What would Jesus think? Or, more accurately, what would my Southern Baptist grandparents think? But, he calls us out on the underlying passive-aggressive tones passing between loved ones. I told him he just doesn’t know how to speak southern. Bless his heart.

I consider myself extremely lucky when it comes to in-laws. For some reason they can look past my faults like excessive chattiness, extreme vanity and Internet obsession and accept me into their family. I’d like you to meet two of Greyson’s family members I’ve never met. These are his grandparents, Herb and Llenie.

Greyson’s grandfather and father are Herbert Haywood. It’s where we got Henry’s name, Henry Haywood. I could recite each family story told to me about these two. Sadly, they each died a few months before Greyson and I met. He jokes that they got together in heaven and decided he needed to find the right girl and they brought us together. Every person in their family speaks of them with such infectious affection that I really feel like I knew them too.  It is a very strange thing to feel so connected to people I never met. They are part of my husband and helped make him the man that he is. When I get to heaven I know they will greet me as if I were one of their own. Add to that, they graciously handed down heirlooms to Greyson. One of which was the beautiful strand of pearls I got to wear when we got married.

We got this in the mail from Greyson’s Aunt Debbie this week.

Herbert Haywood’s ring, passed to Henry Haywood. Greyson said he could remember his grandfather wearing it. I tucked it away in my jewelry chest, thinking about when we would give it to him. At 18? His college graduation? I don’t know. I’m just proud my son will have this heirloom from heaven to be connected to loved ones he’s never met.