A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
A friend of mine gave birth to her second baby boy six weeks ago. Her first son is three days younger than Hooper. We met up at the beach the other day and while the boys fed each other blueberries and goldfish, us mom’s discussed the return to the newborn stage. It’s hard for me to imagine enjoying the newborn stage all over again. I watch Hooper now and he’s so entertaining and lively and enjoyable. When I think of newborns, I think of a parasite attached to my tit, long sleepless nights, and constant kink working outing. Do I sound cynical? I sense that I do. Anyway, in talking with Lisa, I realized that there is magic that accompanies giving birth. You see, when you birth a baby you are not merely bringing a human being into the world. You are also birthing a maternal bond, a maternal instinct. It dawned on me that I cannot feel it now because it has not yet taken place. I trust greatly that with Van’s arrival will also come a re-found love for all things fully dependent and cuddly and vulnerable. That’s what I saw in Lisa, anyhow, and it’s a beautiful thing.
So while the boys played peek-a-boo around the trash can and chased birds and exchanged hugs, I thought about what’s just around the corner. And an inner excitement started to reside where there was previously only fear.
I’m no pro in knowing what to include in that little suitcase planted at the front door awaiting those infamous words of, “Honey, it’s time!”. I had no plans of even going to hospital the first time around. To be honest, I hadn’t even showered the morning I gave birth. Instead, we hightailed it downtown to our appointment with the backup OB, in his office, and were prompted to go directly from there to the hospital. I had nothing. The following are some things I would have brought…
Toiletries/ overnight stuff // Clothes to bring the baby home in // My labor tunes (keep in mind the hospital may or may not have an iPod deck or a CD player, so pack your own) // Labor snacks // Purse // Granny panties // Camera // Birthing ball // Cell phone and charger
I can tell you from having nothing that it didn’t really matter. The experience is so solidified in my mind as being incredibly momentous and empowering that I can’t say I lost much by not having my pre-determined labor tunes playing or even having it all captured on camera… and for those who know me, you know I have trigger finger. Point being, you and your support team are all you need. Keep it simple.
There is a bond that only siblings have the privilege of knowing. My sister and I didn’t always have the most in common growing up and we fought often. We are 19 months apart. But once we became adults, our friendship flourished. She’s taught me a lot about life and myself and it’s because of my relationship with her that I look so forward to the friend Hooper will soon have for life in his brother Van. My sister came out to visit over the weekend to celebrate my birthday and watch the US gymnastics Olympic trials. We joined my parents Saturday evening at the Huntington Library in Pasadena for a picnic and tunes from the roaring 20’s. It was a splendid evening. I laughed so hard I cried, I think we all did, compliments of the face juggler app on the iPhone. I highly recommend checking it out. Here’s some shots from our Saturday evening.
There’s no better way to celebrate the 4th of July than to dress up in patriotic gear. With that said, here’s a red, white, and blue edition of Style de Hooper. Happy Birthday, America.
Vintage shirt: Flea market find
Vintage shorts: From etsy seller littlereadervintage and man have they gotten worn a lot. The elastic waistband has allowed Hooper to wear these for what feels like eons. Total score.
Get the look: Try this shirt, or this shirt, or this shirt, or this shirt. Try these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts. You can buy high-top Converse here.
Wishing everyone a safe and happy 4th of July!
As a side note, I want to thank everyone for the responses to Hooper’s birth story. I received a lot of verbal and written encouragement and ya’ll reminded me that I am capable and strong. Thank you too for those of you who shared your own stories. They left me inspired.
We hit up a local flea market the other weekend and came home with some awesome finds, mostly for Hooper and Van, of course. Here’s some of what we picked up:
A slew of vintage clothes. I refuse, by the way, to pay more than $5 for any piece of children’s clothing. I drive a hard bargain, but I usually end up with what I want.
These silly stuffed animals, two for $3.
Vintage Nike sneakers, $8 and high-top Converse, $5.
Vintage potholder and kitchen towel, $5.
Vintage Golden Books, $2 for both.
And a couple records, because we rarely leave anywhere without a few.
There has been some moody days this past week. I chalk it up to being displaced while our kitchen was being re-done, then moving back into a dust ball and having to reorganize everything, and oh ya, being 38 weeks pregnant. Almost. There. I remember questioning a few weeks ago if it was “easier”, for lack of better words, giving birth the first time because I didn’t know what I didn’t know. Ignorance is bliss in so many situations. Now I know the pain and subsequent recovery I am in for and I no longer question what is better because I’m pretty sure ignorance was bliss.
Can I share too much information for a second? If you don’t want to hear about the gory preparation for birth, stop reading. I’m terrified of tearing again. I had a stage 3 tear the first time around and recovery was nothing like I expected it to be. I prepared myself mentally for a natural labor and feel like I passed that test with flying colors. But those two weeks following delivery were incredibly painful. My back hurt from my inability to stand or walk upright. I was hunched over all the time and going from a sit to stand hurt like hell. To help prevent tearing this time around, I’ve started doing perineal massage. It’s not fun, hardly the highlight of my day, and just a little reminder of the pain that’s around the corner. I told Willy it feels similar to sticking your fingers in your anus and stretching it from side to side. Sorry for the awful analogy, but it’s only fair that these husbands of ours have some idea of what we have to go through. Honestly, I felt like evening the playing field and actually giving his asshole a little stretch. The first time around I fooled myself into believing that my gymnastics history and ability to do the splits in all three directions would help facilitate labor. Um ya, not the same muscles involved. Not even close. Willy has a friend who claims he read a study about labor pain being equivalent to a man being kicked in the nuts. Over the last few weeks, as I’ve been stretching my perineum, this proclamation has bothered me more and more. Can you imagine if they offered epidurals for men who have been kicked in the nuts? Or coaches to help men through the pain? What a dumb study. In any case, I digress. I’ve been moody this week and a bit resentful that I alone have to go through the pain and recovery that is labor. But truthfully, I’m just terrified. And yet, at the same time, I’m anxious for Van to get here on time… Time is of the essence, you see, because as soon as I go past my due date, my birth plan is subject to change. Again. (You can read Hooper’s birth story here). Sure, it was emotionally exhausting to go so far past my due date the first time but the worst part was that my birth plan went out the window. So I’m struggling with an inner tug-o-war: For a lack of an equivalent analogy, I’m like a man begging to be kicked in the nuts sooner rather than later. And that’s where I’m at.
Physically, there is a venomous snake apparently living in my right upper inner thigh and every now and again he likes to bite me in my groin. The pain is so sharp and unrelenting. It stops me in my tracks and I involuntarily make a face that makes my vegetable eating face appear as though I’m actually enjoying them (I hate vegetables). Willy and I went to the Dodger game the other night and I’m pretty sure the usher there was certain I was in labor. It took the entire first inning just to get to our seats. My midwives have assured me that this is normal and I’ve read of many others that describe the same pain. I know he’s far down there, I feel the pressure, I just wish he’d get off whatever nerve he’s on.
When I first saw the current collection from More of Me Maternity, I’ll be honest, I wanted to stay pregnant forever. I’ve never seen such a flattering and stylized collection of maternity clothes. I boycotted maternity clothes completely with my first pregnancy, with the exception of a dress I had to purchase for a wedding I attended when I was 36 weeks. And I hated it. This time around, I’ve made due with many of the clothes I already had in my closet but did manage to add a pair of maternity jeans. But let me tell you… If I were rolling in dough… Let me stop there, because there is no dough floating around these parts to be rolled in. But, I will say that I have done some digging and have found two affordable alternatives to one of the MoMM maternity dresses I had been swooning over. The best part, aside from the price tag, is that they aren’t even maternity dresses… Meaning when the bump is gone, these fellas can still hang delightfully in my closet. Not bad, right?
