Finley's First Christmas

We tell Finley how lucky she is all the time. Generally, it's in context of, "you're lucky you're cute or we'd sell you to the gypsies," or "you're lucky your parents love you enough to overlook your appalling sleep habits." Sometimes we even announce to her that she has "won the parental lottery," by way of making ourselves feel less like totally inept new parents.

But this Christmas, Seth pointed out, she was really, truly lucky. She got to spend the holiday with all four of her grandparents at the same time- something neither of us had ever gotten to do, and definitely an anomaly for an Army brat. It was really special.

Finley actually got a whole week of Christmas, having traveled to the mountains to hang out with baby-whispering Grandma Jayne, while Dad and Grandpa Tony bear hunted and Mom went back to work. From the looks of things, she had an excellent time:

I arrived on Christmas Eve, beyond grateful to have been able to go back to work without having to worry about Finley (and to get time to clean the house and grab a few extra hours of sleep, to boot!) We all had a wonderful, relaxing few days sleeping in and admiring the view and the unseasonably warm weather. Finley, of course, basked in the glow of being surrounded by this many adoring fans.

The best part was my parents' arrival (after a day of hiking, of course) up the steep and windy road in their tiny hybrid, for Christmas dinner. We all sat by a roaring fire, hung out, and pored over pictures from Missy, Sara, and Ben of their Christmases. We're used to not spending Christmas all together, but missed them madly just the same. Especially since kids make Christmas so much more special, and our nieces and nephew are priceless.

Finley, unlike her cousins, slept through the unwrapping of presents entirely:

but we have high hopes for the baby bjorn bouncer she discovered the next day. And she loves all of her books. We maintain that kids can never have too many!

No bears were (unfortunately) harmed in the making of this holiday, but Christmas champagne and Mom's cinnamon rolls made everyone feel better.

I'm back to the grind now, but Finley gets another couple days with her grandparents and Seth's still on winter break. Not quite ready to let Christmas go, I refuse to take down our tree (citing a trumped-up fascination with the lights by a marginally interested Finley.) We also took her to see the lights at the LDS Temple, one of my favorite annual traditions.

There are too many terrific family photos to narrow them down much, so my two favorites are candidates for photo of the week (I think it's hilarious that Finley looks ready to scream in the otherwise-sweet one of Mom and I). The rest are here.

Our New Normal: A Work in Progress

Seth turned in his last paper Tuesday. Pulled his last all-nighter Thursday. Took his last final Saturday.

And on Saturday night I went to Michelle's Christmas party for a couple hours by myself. Sunday morning, after a lazy morning in bed for all three of us, I drove to the Container Store, did some shopping, and picked up lunch. It was amazing. I felt semi-normal, for the first time since the tornado that is Finley joined us. (An extremely rare "sleepy" photo is at left. Extremely.)

Seth's end-of-semester deadlines have been priority for both of us for the last month or so, and he's done an incredible job juggling school responsibilities with new fatherhood. But all-nighters and the impossibility of studying at home with a tiny terrorist on the prowl have meant fulltime baby duty for me, and it is indescribably terrific to have my teammate back. I cannot reiterate often enough that this is a two-person job! (At minimum.)

Today I went back to work. I'm incredibly lucky that I didn't suffer the crawl-under-your-desk-and-cry trauma endured by most of my new-Mom friends. Thanks to Seth's Christmas break and the lifesaving arrival of Grandpa Tony and Grandpa Jayne, I got to leave Finley and Seth asleep in bed rather than suffer the gutwrenching daycare dropoff.

And Seth saved me from the tears that still threatened at just the right time, texting me a hysterical play-by-play of his morning with the little tyrant. (Apparently, she began "not cooperating" with the plan to sleep in shortly after my departure.)

Grateful for daddy-daughter time (not the least of which reasons included Seth finding out the hard way that his little angel does not always behave like the sleepy snuggler he usually comes home to), I enjoyed my first workout (minus the ridiculous office Christmas run/shuffle pictured at right) in 6.5 weeks. I also savored a deliciously silent, uninterrupted cup of coffee before introducing my mostly-male office to the breastpumping/ milk storage ground rules. So that should be interesting.

This particular phase of the Niemans' adventures seems to be characterized by near-constant adjustments, so in keeping with that theme, it's back to work I go- in search, once again, of our "new normal." Here goes nothing!

Photo of the week: yes, I did take nine pictures of my kid's face while pooping. And the result is awesome.

Christmas Came Early (Read: A Day Off)

Christmas came early for Seth and I... Mom and Dad gave us the best present ever. (Especially because at least one of us knows that we don't need any more stuff. Ten guesses which one.) They gave us a day off.

We had had big plans for this year's Army-Navy game, as it's our sacred annual tradition (and always a blowout weekend.) We had made those plans, however, before we realized 1) exactly how tiny a five week old is, 2) our (alert, precocious, incredibly active for a newborn) kid is not what anyone would call an "easy baby," or all that much of a sleeper, and 3) breastfeeding is a giant, limiting pain in the ass. So the logistics got complicated, and I was about ready to scrap the whole thing and watch the game with Finley from the couch.

But Mom and Dad insisted on taking her overnight and, after a rough (read: sleepless) week, I was only too happy to shelve my annoyance at the fact that Seth got to go to Baltimore Friday and drink beer with his friends while I had to sterilize breastpump accessories and pack bottle parts and spend the night making sure Finley would be OK at Belvoir. I hadn't realized how tired I was, or that undisturbed sleep- believe it or not- could take precedence over a night on the town. I walked in the door, laden with bags and one seriously fussy baby, and Dad spirited away Finley while Mom handed me a beer. I think I cried. Friday night I got 7 hours of sleep- a first since the arrival of The Sleepless One- and Finley was a gem. I woke up sleep-drunk. I could not have been more grateful.

So Sunday, with no compunction and without really leaving any instructions for Mom and Dad- I figured they had done this a time or two, although I forgot that car seats were less complicated 35 years ago- I headed for Baltimore. My parents are awesome. As I left, Mom said: "we've got this. Get wasted!" Seriously. Best Christmas Present. Ever. I felt a little naked without Finley, but it was also kind of liberating. And eerily quiet in the car. (Finley hates her car seat and invariably screams.)

OK, it was a lot liberating. Seth and I had a terrific, baby-less day. We had mimosas for breakfast, beer and hot dogs for lunch, and Jack Daniels for dinner. We tailgated, got to do the last two kms of Mike's Hike (which was really special), froze in the stands while reminiscing about the fact that it was far less miserable than last year, cheered until we were hoarse for the Black Knights' almost-victory, and never once worried about our little beast. An Army brat (so, by definition, kind of homeless), I used to wonder why people always wanted to move "home" when they had kids. Now I know.

I couldn't escape the bonds of breastfeeding, however, and required a hilarious lesson on the use of the manual breastpump in the stadium bathroom. I am grateful for my girlfriends- and for a husband who spends way too much on "club level" tickets. At least the bathroom was heated! Worth. Every. Penny.

At any rate, we had a great time pretending to be normal adults who could drink beer and not change diapers, while my parents dealt with a sleepless Finley. I'm grateful they didn't sell her to the gypsies. I think. They claimed it brought back memories.They're rock stars. If my memories consisted of screeching like a banshee, I'd get a hamster for Finley, and we'd be done with kids forever.

We're settling back in, after our time off. Grateful for this, which happened this morning ("recovery", even if Finley did not, apparently, require it):

And this (Dad is the cutest with Finley, and loves her even when she cries): 

Oh, and April stopped by. And she also got the little beast to take a bottle (she's spoiled, and hates them.). Miraculous.

A note to Tony and Jayne: we swear Finley will be a better sleeper by the time you arrive. Please don't change your minds and skip the country!!!

Thankful.

The 27th of November marks Seth's "alive day," the anniversary of the day he was blown up, costing him his leg but gifting us all with a new lease on life and a bottomless well of gratitude. I've never really asked him how he feels about celebrating the occasion- probably should- but it's always a special day of reflection and thanks for me. This year it was also Thanksgiving, and boy do we have a lot to be thankful for! I, for one, couldn't be more thankful for my little family, especially a husband who brings home chocolate and wine, does the grocery shopping, picks up fish tacos when he knows I've had a long day, changes diapers (and thinks I do an inferior job at it), and is a wiz with Finley during baby witching hour when I need a break. Not to mention that he seems to enjoy doing it all, no matter how tired he is. There's no way I could have guessed, just two years ago, what a remarkable family man the big tough guy would turn into. I got really lucky, and I know it.

The Walter Reed days seem far behind us now, another thing we're thankful we survived. We celebrated the holiday this year with the annual Taylor Family 5k followed by a trek out to the mountains for a couple days of snowy family time. It was Finley's first trip, and we were a little nervous, but she proved to be a pretty good traveler. And we proved to ourselves that you can, in fact, travel with an infant. If you're willing to pack heavy and sleep light.

We were, and a good time was had by all. Seth got to spend some time in a treestand hunting bears, and Finley and I went for long walks and hung out by the fire. Also, I braved the snotsucker when she got the sniffles, and the damned thing works.

I managed a Thanksgiving dinner, heavy on the prepackaged starches but celebratory nonetheless (especially as Seth procured mimosa supplies!)

Finley took enough daytime naps that we got to sit in the hot tub in the snow, something I think is the ultimate luxury (and, judging from this picture, Seth agrees.)

And Finley continued to be an ardent and vocal night owl, but we- obviously- love her anyway.

She also managed to poop on every blanket in our cabin and get a sink bath, but that's a story best told over beer (and probably my fault anyway, truth be told.)

With no internet and very little reception, we enjoyed our mountain getaway but didn't get to tell our family and friends- near and far- how thankful we are for them too. (Very.)

Couple photos of the week. The first one cracks me up. Finley has won the swaddle war. She sleeps like this, and has to have her arms available to throw gang signs (apparently) in her sleep. You win some, you lose some.

Today, Seth played Mr. Mom (to my eternal gratitude, and Finley's delight, judging from the fact that they went through an insane number of bottles and she seems exhausted from all the fun) and I got a taste of what it's like to feed Finley, put her back to sleep, pump, spill milk on uniform, change, swipe at more milk on clean uniform (how on earth...?), commute, then race home to feed Finley again before milk leakage appears all over my uniform. (That one will take a little practice.) The occasion was my swearing in to the Supreme Court bar, and I was thrilled that my Dad could be there, and that Finley's Dad had things under control at home. It was quite a Dad- daughter day. (And my own will eventually forgive me for the fact that we got stuck listening to the world's most boring Supreme Court argument after the swearing-in, the promised escape hatch of a break never having materialized. Eventually.) Also, I appreciate the many people who have said nice things about my ability to have squeezed myself into this heavily-tailored uniform so soon after Finleys birth. It's a lovely sentiment, but they have no idea how much reinforced spandex it required. Only now can I breathe normally. I felt a little like Scarlett O'Hara, so heavily corseted was I.

And finally- I'm missing a sister trip to Palawan right now. Missy and the Bustamantes are headed there today. And although time at home with our little beast is precious, we can't wait to be able to adventure with her. For now, this picture of our adorable world traveler of a niece will have to suffice. Happy Trails, guys!

Three weeks into this adventure: we're all still alive!

Finley sleeps like this. She looks like some sort of little baby prophet.

Except when she sleeps like a prizefighter. 

She loves to snuggle, especially with Dad. (Note that I'm getting the elbow.) 

Of course, all of this adorable sleeping and snuggling occurs during the day. At night she has taken to cluster feeding (an actual hostage situation for Mom) and often gives me this face. It means she's on the rampage, and no one's getting any sleep for a long, long time. My adorable, patient sister-in-law Lisa told me that Finley's cousin Tyler (just a day younger than she) has "his days and nights mixed up," which sounds so cute and hapless. I tend to think of my evenings more in terms of falling under the reign of a holy (hungry) terror.

The tiny tyrant is three weeks old today. We can hardly believe it. Time really does fly (except for the hours between midnight and 4am.) Staying home with a newborn is, like everything else, exactly as exhilarating and frustrating and exhausting as everyone says. Yet another one of those things you just don't get until you do it. We still have a ton of moments of gazing at her adoringly, disbelieving that she's ours, that she's growing so fast, and that we could possibly be so lucky. I cannot imagine- mostly- leaving her with someone else and going back to work.

I also have a fair number of moments during which I wish I could go back to my quiet office and crawl under the desk and never come out. Seth's busy with school so does not have nearly as many of these. He's a saint at night, though, when he gets home late from class- occasionally to a crying wife and baby, thanks to those evening cluster feeds. Last night he took a fussy Finley for hours while I passed out on the couch, from sheer exhaustion and frustration and still-hurting stitches. This is hard. My heart literally bleeds for single Moms- and all the de facto single Moms thanks to military obligations- that I know. I don't know how they do it. This whole adventure is without doubt a two person affair, and Seth has been a veritable saint. Finley and I would have a rough go on our own.

The crazy good moments, of course, eclipse what we have come to refer to as the baby witching hours. We take long walks in the afternoons, having been blessed with gorgeous weather of late. We have finally mastered the boba wrap- and Finley mostly sleeps through her vitamin D fix. Seth and I crack up when she snorts like a pig at mealtimes, and only new parents could get as much joy as we do out of her funny faces while she dirties a fresh diaper.

Bathtime is Dad time, and she couldn't be cuter in her hooded towel.

We're beyond grateful for our parents. My Mom cooks for us often, takes Finley and I for walks, and watches her while I go to the commissary for provisions or stop by work to tie up loose ends there. (Now that I've finally managed to master the art of driving with Finley without stopping every 12 seconds to make sure she's breathing.) It's unbelievably hard to leave her, and currently I will only do it with our parents. So we're counting our blessings there.

Seth's parents were here over the weekend, and it was a terrific visit. We were grateful they had given us a couple weeks for us to get into a semi-routine, and for me to be able to walk again. (It was a pretty miserable first two weeks.) Since we could all enjoy it- it was an even bigger treat to have them. Finley wrapped her grandparents around her tiny finger immediately- and I got away for a long-overdue hair appointment and even squeezed in a Target run. (The unedited batch of photos is here, and they're priceless.)

Well, I'm being summoned by a  ravenous beast. We're having a snowy day at home, and I've finally caught up on laundry and dishes while our little night owl snoozes through her first winter weather. But first-

I can't get enough photos of Seth and his baby. This one cracks me up, and is the obvious choice for photo of the week. Two peas in a pod.

And then there were three.

It turns out that everything they say is true. Labor really does suck. And it's LONG. Or mine was, anyway. Hospital gowns don't close in the back. There is an awful lot of blood. Breastfeeding is hard. Driving away from the hospital with an infant is terrifying. When you get them home, they don't sleep at night. And they go through an insane amount of diapers. When they cry and can't be soothed, it's the most powerless and awful feeling on the planet. Your best friend gives you perineal cream with a note that says "we never have to talk about this," and you will forever consider this the pinnacle of gift-giving. You worry about literally everything and are transfixed by the baby monitor. Postpartum hormones are no joke. Commercials for car insurance can actually make you cry. There are days you can't manage to take a shower or brush your teeth, and couldn't care less.

The first time you hear your baby cry, your heart stops and your life changes forever. There is no greater bonding experience between two people than holding hands and locking eyes and trying to block out the pain and the worry of labor. You fall in love with your husband all over again when you see him hold your daughter for the first time. And again when he won't let anyone else change her diaper. And again when he snuggles with her in bed in the morning so you can try and get that shower. And again when you hear him singing "Danny Boy" to her from the kitchen, and see tears in his eyes as he watches her sleep. You look at her perfect little face and marvel that you somehow made this miracle. You vow every day to be better, to deserve her. You want to thank your own Mom 100 times a day, and ask her how she did it. There is a "Mom club" you didn't even know about, and it is amazing. But nowhere near as amazing as the feeling of being a family now, instead of "just" a couple.

So the last ten days have been a crazy whirlwind of dizzying heights and painful lows and new discoveries and changes, big and small. 

My water broke at 6:30pm last Tuesday, the day after my due date. 22.5 hours later, at 4:56pm on the 5th of November, Finley Savanna was born, finally hauled out with the help of forceps. Her tiny cry upon being eventually dislodged was the best sound we had ever heard. She emerged looking like a prizefighter, thanks to the forceps and her rough journey into the world (having been stuck under my pelvic bone for most of the previous day and night). The hospital time was a blur. She couldn't nurse at first thanks to a busted lip, so we spent a rough couple days over that (while Seth fed her pumped milk with a syringe and his pinkie), eventually hiring a lactation consultant and taking her back to the hospital for a frenotomy. She barely cried for the procedure, or for her first shots. Her daddy couldn't be more proud of his tough little girl.

We're gradually getting into a routine at home, although she threw us for a loop today with her first growth spurt. She's a voracious eater and a good sleeper. I'm starting to be able to walk again (having required a billion stitches), and we take family walks around the yard and watch her little eyes dart around as she takes in the world. We, of course, think she's a prodigy. (And she's definitely, exceptionally strong.) She's already mastered FaceTime, is wild about her Dad, seems to be partial to Joe Walsh guitar solos, and doesn't hate a good diaper change. Seth is already back in school (writing papers during major life events is becoming a family tradition) but never skips out on diaper changes, does the grocery shopping, brings home flowers, and never mentions the fact that Finley and I perpetually smell like spilled milk and rarely bother to put on shirts.

The very best time of the day is morning family snuggle time. 

We've slowed down a little bit, but we're enjoying every second of this time at home with our little miracle.

And we did manage to get the Christmas tree up today... Walters family tradition mandates this about a month before everyone else. We're only a little behind. Not bad, all things considering.