Buttcrack of Dawn Smoothies

Every morning, very early in the morning, Ivan comes marching into our room clutching at least five books. "Hi, Mama!! Hi Dada!! Goooood morning!" He climbs up into our bed and wants to read all of the books.

Ivan has two settings: intense and asleep. There's no easing into the day: when he's up, we're all up. We have books to read, waffles to eat, and trucks to play with. And lately, we have smoothies to make too.

I recently got a Vitamix blender and it has been a dream. Our old blender was such a hassle; it didn't blend properly and ended up leaving me frustrated. The Vitamix, on the other hand is a beast. It blends smoothies to absolute silky perfection and I've already found this purchase to be well worth it for smoothie-making alone.

Smoothies are also the way I manage to get veggies into Ivan's mouth without a fight. I add a generous handful of spinach or kale for added vitamins and he is none the wiser. We usually sit at the kitchen table and Ivan tells me what he dreamt the night before - "There was a robot! We went to Home Depot!" and then he wants us to say cheers and drink our smoothies with bendy straws. It's the best way I can think of to wake up. Even if it is at 6 am.

Buttcrack of Dawn Smoothies

-1 1/2 cups of mixed frozen fruit (we use the organic antioxidant mix from Costco)
-1 banana
-1 big handful of green, leafy veggies (we use kale or spinach)
-1 tablespoon of almond butter
-1 dash of cinnamon

Blend on low for about 15 seconds in the Vitamix. Pour into glass. Insert bendy straw. Say cheers!

Catharsis: A Birth Story

Deep sigh. This one's heavy, y'all. It's taken me two-and-a-half years to put my birth story to paper. I hear there's catharsis in this, so here we go.

Every time I set out to write or even talk about Ivan's birth, I would feel this sharp twinge start to rise and want to make it's way out of my body. And then, I would quickly change the subject or stop writing because I was not ready to deal with all of those messy feelings. I think it took a long time to even figure out what I was feeling. Throw in a good dose of mama guilt, sleep deprivation, and the general hormonal shifts (fun!) of being a new mom, and well, talking about something as deeply emotional and personal as his birth story was just asking for a case of the ugly cry.

Ivan was a week "late" for his due date of July 25, 2011. I went in to have my amniotic fluid levels tested as there was concern in the last appointment that my levels were not up to par. If the levels had gone down, I might have to be admitted there and then and begin induction. This, of course, was not possible. I was going to go into labor naturally and have the natural birth I had planned for. So, when the technician brought a doctor over to take a look at what she was seeing in my measurements, the unraveling of my birth plan began.

This was my first pregnancy and the news of being admitted and being induced was the first set of heartbreaks in that I had researched, prepared, and planned for nothing other than a natural delivery. My husband and I dutifully took 6 weeks of hypnobirithing classes.We had a birth plan that was two pages long and had listed the least invasive options for me and my baby. Everything I'd read showed that induction is a domino effect that leads to c-section.

After the foley-bulb induction (the most "natural" of induction choices) and having my water broken 24 hours later yielded no results (despite being in labor the whole time), my hopes for a natural birth were quickly slipping away. Thirty (yes, thirty) hours later when we were still not progressing, and my son's heart rate was dropping, the call for an emergency c-section was made. I was utterly exhausted, defeated, and heart-broken when the doctor told me this was the next step. I remember telling the doctors that I couldn't breathe because I was sobbing so much as I was being cut open. My son was born, I was totally out of it, and I didn't get to hold him for over an hour. Not exactly how I envisioned this all to go down.

And sadly that wasn't what I consider the worst part about this whole experience. After Ivan's birth, I was sent to recover in the early morning hours. I was put in a room right outside the nurse's station, which meant that even though I hadn't slept in DAYS, I would not be able to sleep at all due to their excessively loud talking, laughing, congregating right outside of my door. It seemed like a cruel joke that my husband could not stay with me after undergoing major surgery and I was left to care for a newborn.

The nurses didn't come when I needed help to get to my wailing child. I tried to get to him and my incision throbbed and hurt like a mothafucker. When a nurse finally made her way in, I was in tears. She seemed irritated and not at all compassionate to the situation. As a nurse. As a woman. I just didn't get it. The rest of my stay there was equally awful. I heard nurses make jokes and refer to me as "La Leche" within earshot because I was trying desperately to make sure that breastfeeding worked for us since everything else went to shit. I was a "problem patient" because I asked questions and refused to have my son poked and prodded when he was sleeping (um, come back later please) and because I refused HPV shots for my newborn (pretty sure he's not going to be sexually active before I get to my pediatrician's office). There was more, at lot more that made it so my recovery was not pleasant and uncomfortable.

I've read much since then about how important post-natal care is for both mom and baby and it make me more mad to think that I was robbed of what should have been such a beautiful time. Birth is sacred and beautiful and worthy of respect and care before, during, and after labor. My hospital experience made it so that I know I want better next time around, if we are lucky enough to have the opportunity. And I want better for all moms.

Max eat play dough.

The hubz picks up Ivan from school and he tells me all kinds of funny stories about the other kids and how they interact with each other. Yesterday, he found Ivan in his classroom completely lost in thought, staring away and intently looking at something. He thought he was just spacing out, so he asked him, "Ivan, what are you thinking about?" Ivan says, "Max. Eat. Play Dough." Just like that. Hubz looks over and sure enough, there was Max, devouring an entire container of play dough. This cracked me up for a good five minutes and also made me proud that this kid is seriously talking in full-on sentences now and with such keen observations like "Dude. That kid is eating an entire jar of play dough."

TWO (!!!)

How is it possible that over TWO years have gone by without another blog post. I am the world's worst blogger.

My son turned two on August 3rd and the past two years have been such a crazy, wild ride. It's hard to believe that in the previous picture my son was a genderless avocado-sized ball of cells and now he's a wild, funny, gigantic BOY. It's cliche for sure, but time does indeed fly.

These days, Ivan is talking up a storm. He thinks everything is funny. "Mama Funny. Dada Funny. Rice Funny. Beans Funny. Molly Funny" and he is as active as ever - running, climbing, jumping, dancing - I thought I was exhausted before. Mama Funny.

I love that he is quick to ask for hugs, "Mama UP. Mama HUG." and how when he says "I love you," it sounds like "I You" which I think is pretty perfect. I you.

At night we say goodnight to all of the things in his room. Goodnight giraffe, goodnight animals, goodnight Guys, goodnight baby Ivan (a framed picture of Ivan's ultrasound), and then he says goodnight to all of his friends at school.

It's not as easy for me to say goodbye to baby Ivan though. I miss his newness, the way he'd fit in the crook of my arm, how we'd sit in his room and I would sing "You are my Sunshine" to him in the middle of the night. I remember how David would get up with me for midnight feedings and we'd watch VH1 Classic videos with sleepy eyes and we'd laugh because it was better than crying. I remember thinking how there was no way we'd make it through those colicky nights where Ivan wouldn't stop crying and David would march around the living room shhh-ing or how we'd turn on the blowdryer for white noise. It's all kind of a funny blur and it seems like forever ago and also like yesterday all at the same time.

But now my two year old is growing up and I'm sad that the baby days seem like one giant blur. I'm afraid I'll forget the wonderful, little things so I'm going to vow to try to not be such a slacker blogger. But let's be real, my track record hasn't been that great.

Hold me closer, tiny avocado.

In the picture to the right you are the size of a tiny olive (9 weeks) and already you are pulling my heartstrings something mighty. I don't know how something so tiny can have such a power over me already, but there you have it. You, my little fetus, have me wrapped around your miniscule little finger.

But you aren't so tiny anymore, you are growing! You are now the size of an avocado. I bet you are the most darling avocado too. In about a week we'll find out if you are a he or a she and I can't begin to tell you how excited we are to see you again!

Food...blegh.

Yes, you've come to the right blog. The blog that is supposed to be about my love of food and drink and yet...blegh. At 11 weeks preggo I am having a hard time loving much of anything these days. Things I once loved, I now detest. The smell of certain foods is enough to make me gag. And the food/drinks I love (sushi, coffee, soft cheese, BOOZE) are strictly off limits! I've actually lost weight! I always imagined pregnacy to be a time of unbridled indulgence - a dream for this food lover! But no, it is a cruel,cruel foodie nightmare. On the bright side of things, it seems that the nausea is diminshing so I'll be happy to finally have an appetite back.

Next week we will be in Costa Rica for the honeymoon we never took. I'm looking forward to the beach, sunshine, and lots of relaxation.

I was lost and now I'm found.

This blog was almost lost in cyberspace forever. Almost.

Someone told me I should start a blog. I kind of laughed because I've been (not) blogging since 2006. Finding this blog was like visiting me four years ago. So much has changed, and so much hasn't. It feels weird to continue posting here - but also the idea of having one's thoughts preserved in this manner, however mundane or trivial, really excites me.

I wish I would have kept my posts about myspace (myspace!) for posterity's sake.