They're Here

Around 9am yesterday morning, the doorbell rang.

About 40,000 honeybees were at the door.

They were in two separate compartments of a box designed for the express purpose of carrying bees.

"Are there really live bees in there?" asked the UPS driver over the significant din of about 40,000 buzzing honeybees, looking dubiously at the labels all over the box which read "Live honeybees."

Eric gleefully signed for the bees and brought them inside. He held them up to Emerson's ear so he could hear them buzzing. It occurred to me that a box of live bees would make a great "all natural" white noise machine in the baby's room. OK maybe not.

Eric took the bees down to campus and intoduced them to their new home, the bee houses he had assembled and set up just for them.

The bee dream has been a year in the making and it is exciting to know that right now down on Stanford's campus there are thousands of bees who are doing nothing day and night but make honey for Eric and me to eat (and Emerson when he's old enough to eat honey).

My new skirt

Eric's parents came to visit Emerson (and us) last weekend and in addition to going grocery shopping, cooking dinner, hanging drapery rods, and cleaning the bathroom (and even seeming kind of glad to be doing it since it was helping), Joy taught me to sew.

If she were not such a nice person, I expect she would describe her experience of teaching me to sew as akin to teaching a kindergartner to sew: you have to say things slowly, repeat yourself way more than you think would think necessary and don't assume any sort of proficiency with scissors.

Sewing is amazing because if you do it right, you end up with clothes you can wear. This kind of blows my mind. I think it is similar to when you take city kids to a farm and show them that vegetables come from dirt. Where did I think clothes came from? I don't know. Maybe some sort of special tree that grows mostly in China.

The fruit of my labors was a tea-length turquoise linen skirt. As I wear it around, I want people to know that I made it, but not because it is obvious just by looking at it.

The blog must not die

Must...think about...something...other...than...baby...

....

Oh who am I kidding. It's just not possible right now. Or necessary, really. In fact, I learned from a therapist once that they call a mother's all-consuming focus on her child "maternal preocupation" and not experiencing it is a disorder that can threaten the well-being of the baby, especially early on. So I will take embrace this all-baby-all-the-time time and enjoy it.

But I also made a commitment to myself that this blog would not be exclusively about the baby. Surely things will happen, and I will have thoughts, that are not about the baby. Right?

The answer is yes. And I will blog about them. Starting tomorrow.

Waiting

I haven't left the house much over the last 2 weeks or so, but when I have, it has mostly been to sit in waiting rooms. Or rather, while that isn't why I have left the house, it is the thing I have spent the most time doing while out.

I think waiting rooms are what may have originally inspired the idea of purgatory. Or perhaps it goes the other way around. I'm not sure, never having been to purgatory, which is the original and which the imitation.

Today I was pleasantly surprised by the waiting room (more of a hallway really) at the Department of Vital Statistics where we went to get Emerson officially and legally born in the state of California. It was actually a much nicer place than most of the doctor's offices we've spent time sitting in lately. I was expecting grime, crazy people and an outrageous wait and was disappointed on all three counts. Not bad, City of San Francisco. Perhaps the DMV would benefit from a visit.

One doctor's office waiting room we briefly inhabited last week had a sizeable aquarium installed right in the middle of the room. Good effort, I say, though a little maintenance would go a long way. The glass looked dirty and the water was cloudy, though Eric was convinced it was just "really aerated" not actually full of grossness. Also, as far as I could tell it only had one fish in it. There may have been more in there hiding in the huge coral (maybe they're nocturnal?) but if you can't see them, they don't count.

We like our pediatrician's office because he has a teeny waiting room that you never actually wait in. He has enough exam rooms (or few enough patients, or both) that you are shown directly into one upon arrival...and then that's where they keep you waiting 35 minutes past your appointment time before you see the doctor.

Apparently you can take the room out of the waiting room, but you can't take out the waiting.

The Little Dude Is Here

I may be the only woman who, during early labor, toured both the Jelly Belly jelly bean factory and the Anheuser Busch brewery (they happen to be essentially across the street from each other, oddly enough). This was Friday, March 26th. Eric played hooky and we made a fun day of it visiting local attractions.

It wasn't until dinner when my contractions were six minutes apart that I decided to mention to Eric that I thought something might be happening. I had been worried that as soon as I said I was feeling something, the contractions would slow down or stop and I was eager to get labor going.

By the time I mentioned it at 9pm, telling Eric did nothing to slow or stop them: we were off to the races.

I don't think I was naive about how painful labor would be, I just don't think there is any way to anticipate that sort of physical experience. The good news is that it is also very difficult to remember, otherwise I think the world would have a lot more only children.

A mere 12 hours later, a little after 9am Saturday morning, Emerson was born. He was born underwater in a tub in his room and his father caught him as he emerged. It was magical.

Not more than three minutes after he was born, our doorbell rang. It was three members of the SFPD. Apparently, neighbors had called in concerned about the noise*. Our doula, who had answered the door, assured them all was well and that there had just been a birth. They left, and then came back a few minutes later for some proof that they could take with them. The doula offered them her card and the midwife's and they left.

Here's Emerson about an hour after he was born:

I've created a separate blog to show off photos of our beautiful baby boy. You can check it out here.

We've spent the last week and a half staring at him, hanging out with him, and celebrating like fools every time he squeaks, squeals, eats, sleeps or poops. It is almost impossible for me to believe that he came from inside my body. He is a total miracle and we love him very very much.

*Did I forget to mention that I screamed like a wild animal for a good portion of the pushing phase?