Apparently, because I'm white, it makes me an asshole when I don't like people waking up my sick 2-month-old with illegal fireworks

I just had my first experience of being called a haole bitch and being told to go back to the mainland. I tell you, I'm finding Hawaii more and more charming every day.

What happened was this. For some reason, some people in my neighborhood feel compelled to set off fireworks every night. They usually start right after we have put Zeke to bed (around 7 pm), but they are sporadic and not big bright ones so it's hard to tell where they are coming from. But tonight, at 7:15, I heard some really loud ones, and saw a big red flash outside my window. Immediately after that, I heard Zeke, who has been suffering from a cold and therefore sleeping particularly badly, start to cry. So I went to his room and rocked him back to sleep. At around 7:30, I heard the fireworks again, and looking out the window I could see exactly where they were coming from. I ran downstairs and told Jason, "keep an ear out for the baby, I'm going to tear some ass." The fireworks (and they were huge) were coming from a couple of blocks over, and I ran over and found a huge group of people milling around in the street, having a bit of a house party around the fireworks. I walked up to the group and said, "could you stop with the fireworks, please? they're illegal and they keep waking up my baby." At which point, two women started walking towards me, in full head-shaking mode (as if to say, "oh no she di'int"), yelling, "oh, yah, haole bitch? why don't you say it to my face?" This confused me a bit, because as far as I could tell, I was saying it to her face, so I said, "I am saying it to your face. Stop setting off the fireworks." And she said, "well, you could say it nicely." So I said, "OK, fine. Would you please stop setting off the fireworks? In addition to being illegal and not allowed in this complex, it's waking up my baby and it's rude and inconsiderate." Then this big Samoan guy said, "oh yah, lady? if you don't like the idea why don't you just go back to the mainland?" I rolled my eyes, and contemplated explaining to him that setting off fireworks isn't an idea, it's an act, but this probably would have gone right over his head, so I just said, "Give me a break, dude." And then everyone started yelling and getting in my face, "oh no, you give us a break, bitch. Fuck you, bitch." So I turned around and said, "never mind. I'll just call the police." And I did. I also sent the security dude over there, and I'm reporting them to management, and since I have the addresses, they're all going to be fined. On the other hand, they don't know who I am or where I live, but if anyone bothers me, I'll just sic Jason on them, because he got a Bowflex for Christmas so he'll kick some ass for me.

New York money, but with none of the New York advantages...

I'm sitting in my upstairs office in the new house. There are 4 neighbors whose houses are in close proximity -- I can hear activity in all 4. All day long I've had to listen to the shitty Hawaiian versions of Christmas carols coming from the radio of the people who live behind us, with occasional 20 minute bouts of their shitty little dog yipping. I can hear my neighbor next door blowing his nose in the shower. I can hear kids playing in the yard on the other side of us. Only in Hawaii can you spend almost half a million dollars on a house and still feel like you're living in a tenement.

a little star is born...

So Zeke wasn't an elf in the school christmas play. He was a star, along with the other babies in the infant class. The teachers marched the tiniest babies out and rolled out a crib containing the rest and sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." The role of the children was to look cute in their onesies decorated with stars. They succeeded. Then they got presents from Santa. It was too adorable -- Jason and I both cried.

My personal act of rebellion

I love Zeke's school. The place is open and colorful and cheerful, the staff is lovely, and the caregivers in the infant room are wonderful with the babies. But they're going a little overboard with the Christmas business. Not that I have a problem with Christmas -- it's a lovely holiday -- but there doesn't seem to be any acknowledgement at all of any possibility that Zeke might not actually be Christian. Everyone I meet talks about how it's his first Christmas, he's got a Christmas stocking in his crib, they're having a Christmas program today (in which he will be featured as an elf -- Jason and I are seriously going to lose our shit when we see him), etc etc. I refuse to be one of those assholes who throws a Christmas greeting back in the giver's face by saying, "actually, we're Jewish and we don't celebrate Christmas" -- I think it's rude and mean and totally unnecessary. So I had to send a message more subtly. I sent Zeke to school today wearing his onesie that says "save the date - my bar mitzvah 2020". It'll probably go right over their heads, though, because I'm sure that not a single person working there has any freaking clue what a bar mitzvah is. But still. It made me feel better.

The 8 week old clothes horse

I was just organizing Zeke's clothes drawers, and came up with an enormous pile of onesies. This isn't counting the ones that he can't wear right now because they're too big, or the ones in the wash, or the one he's wearing, or the extra outfits he keeps at daycare. This is only the ones that fit him, in his drawer right now. He could wear a different outfit every day for over a month and not wear the same thing twice. I've never had that many clothes in my life.

Peanut School

Zeke had his first day of daycare today. It's a lovely place with a very warm and nurturing staff. The teachers in the infant room are all big bosomed, soft-armed older ladies that seem tailor-made for holding and comforting babies. I was a little nervous (and feeling a bit guilty) when I dropped Zeke off this morning, but when the teacher picked him up he smiled at her and I sighed and knew he would be fine. The school is very detail-oriented -- even a 7 week old gets a daily progress report. So when I picked Zeke up at noon, I was pleased to learn that he had had two short naps (and at what times), had two bottles (how much and at what times), and that he enjoyed rocking in the rocker and was "very observant of the room, his friends, and his caregivers." So hilarious. The kid's been in school one day and already he has friends -- I've been here 10 months and I barely know a soul.

Two years ago today...

 

Two signs that the apocalypse is upon us...

1. I got my hospital bill for delivering Zeke. Uncomplicated vaginal delivery: $12,000. Holy shit. Thank god for insurance (though it only covers part of it, so don't anybody expect expensive Christmas presents from us this year).

2. With a completely straight face, the local weather forecasters are describing our current conditions as a "cold front." High of 83, low of 73.

Zeke has a bath

not that having a bath is such a monumentous occasion, but I couldn't resist posting a photo of him in the froggy towel that my friend Ali got for him (it's even got his name embroidered on the back - so cool). Every time Jason and I look at him like this we crack up. I hope he never runs for office, because his constituents will never be able to take him seriously with pictures like these out there...

what's up

It's one of those rare days in Hawaii -- particularly on the side of Oahu we live on -- when it's rainy and crappy out. I've actually always loved rainy crappy days, so having the weather be perfect all the time isn't all it's cracked up to be. But right now it's thundering and lightening out, Zeke is dozing in his carseat on my desk, the dog is asleep at my feet, and I've got a mellow playlist going on iTunes. It's very peaceful.

It's been hard to find time to do anything not baby-related these days, thus the dearth of blog posts. Zeke is doing great -- at his 1month checkup he was 10 lbs 6 ozs and has grown an inch and a half. He's a solid little munchkin. He's starting to react to my facial expressions - I've gotten what looks like smiles, but I'm not sure. In any event, he's pretty damned cute.

In other news, we had a nice Thanksgiving with my brother Sam and his wife. I discovered that the key to a great turkey is to brine it. I also discovered, when we went for a hike, that not sleeping more than 2 hours at a stretch for a month is not conducive to cardiovascular strength. I practically coughed up a lung trying to walk up this hill. Also, we are getting the keys to our new house on Monday, and will move in the following weekend. It's going to be so great to be in our own place. We're going to get a Christmas tree - my first.

The happiest mommy on the block

When I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant, I ordered some DVDs from Amazon. One was a childbirth class, and the other was called The Happiest Baby On The Block, and it showed techniques for calming a crying or fussing baby. We watched the childbirth DVD in preparation for labor, but stuck the other one in a drawer and forgot about it.

Until last night.

Zeke has had a rough couple of days. He has been very fussy, and I thought he had bad gas, and then thought he was sick with a cold because his nose sounded congested, so I took him to the pediatrician yesterday to have him looked at. Apparently, his belly is nice and soft, indicating no gas problems, and according to the doctor, his nose wasn't even stuffed up. So in addition to being unable to calm my child, I have become that mom that rushes off to the doctor like a ninny the minute the kid shows signs of having a hangnail. But I did discover he now weighs 10 pounds (as my father said, "great news! we've never had a Sumo wrestler in the family!")

Anyway. He was relatively calm all morning yesterday, but then at around 2pm started this cycle of hysterical crying for 20 minutes followed by 5 minutes of calm, then more hysterical crying, then maybe 10 minutes of sleep, then more hysterical crying, etc. Nothing worked. I walked with him, sang to him, tried giving him a bottle, tried giving him a pacifier, tried holding him up on my shoulder, tried cradling him on his side, tried putting him in the carseat, the bouncy seat, and the swing, and nothing would calm him down.

Finally, he seemed to settle down on my shoulder (doing that "huh-huh-huh" thing kids do when they've been crying forever and are trying to calm down -- so pathetic), and I remembered this DVD and decided to watch it. It's made by a pediatrician whose theory is that the first 3 months of life are essentially a fourth trimester of pregnancy, and the best way to soothe a baby and make him feel secure is to mimic the conditions the baby was used to in utero. Common sense, yes, but sometimes it takes someone showing you the obvious before you get clued in. So the techniques are, you swaddle the baby tightly, hold him on his side or stomach, "shush" loudly (or use some other form of white noise), gently jiggle the baby, and give him something to suck on. Jason got the tricks down right away, but it took me a little while to get the hang of the side/stomach position. But I tried again this morning when Zeke was fussing; I swaddled him tightly, put him on his side (carrying him like a football, with his cheek in my palm), shushed him, and jiggled him a little, and he literally went from crying hard to passed out cold in about 10 seconds. He is now asleep in his crib with my white noise machine on loud about 6 inches from his ear, happier than a pig in shit.

shhh...

Dr. Harvey Karp, if I could nominate you for a Nobel Prize, I would. I think you saved my life, or at least my sanity.

Thank you, Babycenter.com...

for reassuring me that I'm not a monster and that it's perfectly normal for me to not find taking care of a newborn to be particularly enjoyable. My days have a foggy sameness -- waking to the sound of crying, changing a diaper, giving a bottle, burping, saying "shhh" when he cries (which is alot -- poor monkey's got bad gas and I'm having a hard time getting rid of it), waiting for him to fall asleep, falling asleep myself, waking to the sound of crying, and on and on. I love the kid, but I'll be really happy when he starts daycare.

The cure for insomnia

As anyone who knows me knows, I am a chronic insomniac. Haven't slept well for 10 or 11 years. I usually have no trouble falling asleep, but I'll wake up in the middle of the night and then not be able to fall asleep again until 4 or 5 in the morning. But I think I've finally figured out my issue. Apparently, my problem was that I had too much time to sleep. All of those uninterrupted hours during the night were too much for my system to handle. It was an embarrassment of riches. Because now that the time available to me for sleeping is so drastically limited -- I'm getting maybe 3-4 hours a night, in 1-2 hour increments -- I'm sleeping like a champ. No more waking up in the middle of the night, staring at the clock, unable to drift off again. So for all of you poor saps who can't seem to fall asleep or stay asleep, just set your alarm to go off every 3 hours or so, and then make yourself get out of bed and either rock in a chair or walk the halls for half hour to an hour at a time. You'll be nice and exhausted and will never have trouble sleeping again.

I'm a cliche

Not much blog-worthy going on these days. I spend my days and nights feeding the baby, looking at the baby, reading to the baby, taking pictures of the baby, talking about the baby, and trying to catch a bit of sleep when I can. Zeke is very mellow and easy, doesn't cry much, and loves to be held and to snuggle up with mommy or daddy or grandma.

To make up for the lack of posts, I've added a Flickr button to the side of this page -- I'll add new pictures as I take them. Feel free to admire my cute little munchkin.

Going native

The Hawaiian ladies are very big on getting designs on their big toes when they get pedicures. I always thought it was a bit too ghetto-fabulous for my tastes, but the other day Mom and I went and got our hands and toes done and figured, "when in Rome..."

I kind of love it, actually.

Hands down, the bitchinest new baby card we have received thus far....

I might manage to finish the book by the time Zeke is 2...

When Dave and Michele came to visit in April, they brought a wonderful children's book for me to read to Zeke called On The Day You Were Born. It's about how the sun, moon, ocean tides, animals and people in the world celebrate a baby's arrival. It's beautifully illustrated and written in a poetic, soothing style, and as soon as I looked through it the first time I knew I was in trouble, because it's so sweet and lovely and expressive of the joy of a new baby that it makes me cry every time. After we brought Zeke home, I tried to read it to him and couldn't even get through the first paragraph before I started to bawl. The second time was not much better; I might have gotten through the first page. Last night we tried again and I was fine until I hit page 4. My mother thinks it's hilarious -- I sit there crying and laughing at myself, and she just laughs.

But it's not as bad as my reaction to The Giving Tree. One time I was merely explaining to someone else what the book was about and I choked up and started to weep. I would love for Zeke to have that book, but I may have to get someone else to read it to him.

Who the f@&k is Billy Ruebens?

As I mentioned in my previous post, Zeke is a bit jaundiced and is receiving phototherapy for it. He's doing fine and we're going home in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I learned something new.

When the night nurse came in a couple of nights ago to test him for jaundice, she said she was taking him to get his "Billy Ruebens" checked. I was a bit confused and asked who that was, and she explained that they were looking to see if Zeke had jaundice. So I figured that "Billy Ruebens" was a doctor back in the day who had come up with the test for jaundice or was some other prominent person in the medical field.

Then earlier today, we were meeting with the pediatrician who was explaining a bunch of stuff to us, and when she asked if we had any questions, I said, "actually, yes. I was just wondering who Billy Ruebens was and if he had something to do with jaundice research." She gave me the look that is usually reserved for people with dementia or some form of brain damage and explained that people hadn't been saying "Billy Ruebens," but rather, "bilirubins," which apparently is a chemical that has something to do with jaundice. Thankfully, her explanation was not followed by flashing sirens and large illuminated arrows with "moron" pointed in my direction, but it wouldn't have surprised me.

Look what we made!!

Introducing Ezekiel Monash

The last 3 days have been the craziest of my life. An amazing and overwhelming combination of excitement, apprehension, tedium, dread, elation, intense physical pain, intense euphoria, and finally, a contentment that I have never known. Just typing these words is making me bust out in tears all over again. I feel so blessed and insanely happy, and I wish that everyone in the world could feel what I'm feeling right now, at some point in their lives.

But getting from noon on Tuesday to this point was going to hell and back. I had been 1 centimeter dilated for 2 weeks, and I was afraid I would pass my due date, which would have sucked on so many levels. First, as my previous posts make clear, I was completely over being pregnant. Second, my mom is coming in today, and it would have been a huge bummer for her if I didn't give birth until right before she left, because she has been so excited about seeing her new grandson. So on Sunday, I started going on 5 or 6 walks a day to try to move the dilation process along. This was a huge boon for Max, who is always thrilled when I pick up the leash and slip on my shoes. Monday I must have walked him 5 times, and I also took a couple of brisk mile long walks with the iPod.

I guess it did the trick, because I woke up Tuesday morning feeling off, physically. Very tired and achy all morning, and then at noon I started having contractions. At first they were very mild -- more like menstrual cramps than anything else -- but by 2 or 3 in the afternoon they were definitely discernable and regularly spaced, albeit far apart (at least 12 to 15 minutes). I was also having "bloody show," so I knew that the time had probably come. I called my doctor at about 3:30 in the afternoon, and he said that when the contractions started getting closer together -- under 10 minutes apart -- I should probably head into the hospital. I didn't want to head all the way over there (it's in Honolulu, about 21 miles from where we live) only to get sent home because I still had too long before true labor would begin, so Jason and I hung out for a while and figured that we'd head into the hospital at around 7 or 8. In the meantime, we let our neighbor know (she was going to look after Max while we were gone), did the dishes, did some laundry, and finished packing the hospital bag.

But by 5, the contractions were getting more intense and paintful, and were between 6 and 8 minutes apart. We decided to head in. We got to the hospital at about 6 :30 or so, but I was still only 1-2 cm dilated, so they made me walk around for hours, checking my progress every hour. So we walked. I shuffled along in my hospital gown, and Jason held my hand and walked with me and rubbed my back when the contractions hit, while I gripped his arm or the railing on the wall and tried to breathe through the pain. By 10:30 at night, I couldn't walk around anymore -- the contractions were too painful and too close together, and it was wearing me out. The hospital staff decided to put me in a labor room (up to that point we had been in a triage room) and give me a narcotic to try to dull the pain a little bit.

The pain medication didn't work. For the next few hours, I lay in bed while wave after wave of pain washed over me. At around 2 in the morning, the staff checked my cervix again, and I was still only 2-3 centimeters dilated. I was exhausted and worn out and still had a long way to go, so when they asked if I wanted an epidural, I said "hell, yes."

The anesthesiologist showed up and inserted the catheter at about 3 am, and 15 minutes later, I was in heaven. Totally, 100% pain free, though all my contractions were continuing unabated, growing stronger and stronger and moving the dilation process along. The only scary part was that the medication made my blood pressure plummet and the baby's heart rate dropped very rapidly, so all of a sudden there were 6 people in the room, poking and prodding at me, making me get up on all fours while they inserted more tubes into every orifice of my body and broke my water, and adjusting various medications to get us back on track. Finally, they got me and the baby out of distress, and I spent the next 10 hours or so dilating to 10 centimeters.

The problem, though, was that by the time I was done dilating and ready to push, the epidural was wearing off -- just in time for the hardest part. The doctor gave me two "toppers" -- smaller doses of pain medication to help me out during the pushing -- but they didn't last very long. So I spent the next 4 hours pushing out an 8 1/2 pound baby with a 14 inch head. The baby was tolerating the pushing, so we kept going. At first, it wasn't too bad, but by the last hour, he was starting to move down the canal and then got stuck behind my pubic bone, and it got kind of brutal. Finally, finally, the baby's head cleared my body and the rest of him slipped out, but I was sweating and crying, completely worn out and in horrible pain. I didn't even really get to enjoy seeing him or holding him at first, because the doctor had to stitch me up. Jason was excited, but also traumatized at having witnessed me in so much pain, so he couldn't really enjoy the moment either.

But then, after Zeke got cleaned up, we heard this squeaky little cry. And we looked at each other, smiled, and both burst into tears. There he was. Our little boo-boo. And he was healthy and looked perfect (except for a bit of a conehead) and was alert and beautiful.

The past two days we've spent hanging out in the hospital, snuggling the baby, marveling at how awesome he is, telling each other how much we love each other, and experiencing the family we have created. We were supposed to go home yesterday (Friday), but Zeke was a little bit jaundiced so the docs decided to keep him overnight for photo-therapy. Basically, he gets to spend the night in a baby incubator with a bright light shining down on him. So I'm here with him and Jason went home to spend some time with Max, get a change of clothes, and pick up my Mom from the airport. They'll come straight to the hospital from the airport, so I should be able to see them in about 6 hours. I'm exhausted and ecstatic and weepy and totally in love, with both my husband and my son, and I feel like the luckiest woman alive.

Don't call us, we'll call you

I say this without any desire to sound like a bitchy asshole, though I'm sure to some that's exactly how it will come across. But I can't talk any more about how I'm feeling these days. I've received so many lovely emails and phone calls from friends and relatives whose motives are nothing but pure and who are excited about the baby's impending arrival and how I'm doing. But the truth is, I feel like dogshit and I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've got nausea and heartburn, I can't sleep at night because I'm so uncomfortable, my feet and hands are so swollen that when I do sleep I wake up unable to feel my fingers because they have gone numb from the nerve pressure, my abdominal muscles ache and pull every time I switch positions, and my bowels are in an uproar. I'm so excited to meet my son, but to be honest, he has worn out his welcome in my body and I just want him to get the fuck out. When I go into labor and give birth, I will let everyone know, but until then, I have nothing new to report. If you want to call me and talk about the Red Sox-Indians series or how Friday Night Lights is the best show on TV or how awesome the New England Patriots are this season or the turmoil in Pakistan or what an idiot Britney Spears is, I'm all for it, but I can't talk about contractions or cervical effacement or anything like that anymore. Sorry.