My First Mother's Day

I had the pleasure of celebrating my first Mother’s Day a few Sunday's ago with the beautiful Alex. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but let’s be honest any additional holiday that presents are involved is a good holiday. Since Alex was all of 9 weeks old I assumed Marcus would be taking charge of the day but as it turns out I’ve birthed a genius. “Alex” was able to drive to the local bakery and pick-out my breakfast, make a coffee mug with her picture on it, put together three framed pictures for her nursery, and sign her own card (see below). They say Mozart was a child prodigy. He ain’t got nothing on my kid.

Becoming a mother has been an intense journey for me. There were so many things I read during my pregnancy that I felt didn’t apply to me but one of the biggest was the supposed bond I was to be feeling with the baby. I’m not really sure if I felt a bond at all. I was well aware of the baby but it was rare that I talked to the baby or did anything that would indicate some great bond between us. I also read thoughts from other women who were worried they wouldn’t immediately love their baby. Typically their concerns were assuaged with guarantees that they would immediately love their baby once they held them in their arms. The moment I found myself holding Alex I looked down and thought to myself “I don’t feel overcome with emotion right now. I don’t feel like I love her as intensely as I expected.” As I looked down at her I felt like I was being forced to love her because that’s what was expected. I did love her but it felt like a halfhearted love, not an all encompassing love.

In the weeks after Alex’s birth I was less concerned for her and more concerned for myself. I was concerned for my well-being and surprised at how long it was taking to fully recover. Apart from the physical recovery I also suffered from the baby blues for a number of weeks. I kept trying to make sense about why I was feeling so sad, e.g. I was sad because I missed out on the last 5 weeks of pregnancy (ha!), sad that I wasn’t able to have the nursery exactly the way I wanted it before she arrived, etc. Eventually, it became clear that I didn’t need an excuse to be sad. I just was. We went to a birthday party shortly after Alex was born and I ran into two of my girlfriends who helped us tremendously when they heard Alex had been born so early. I was so touched by their kindness (and still am) that as I thanked them I started to cry. I remember the horrified looks of the other party goers who weren’t privy to the conversation taking place; to them I was crying for no apparent reason. A few times Marcus came home to find me crying. Looking back now I think of how tremendous a person Marcus showed himself to be. Not only was he thrust into the role of father but also caregiver of his unstable wife and he did it all with a smile on his face. It wasn’t too long after that I began to feel better both physically and mentally. Now I can easily say that I feel 100% normal aside from the lack of sleep.

Alex is now almost 12 weeks old and this journey into motherhood is starting to make sense to me. I do love her. I love her with such intensity it makes me want to cry and the intensity only grows day by day. I would do anything for her and would lay my life on the line for her. Being back at work is a source of heartache. Leaving her in the morning is so hard and when I get to work I find myself just staring at her pictures on my desk, wishing I was home. I even find myself wanting to change her diaper rather than pass her off on Marcus. If you had told me a year ago I would find myself yearning to change a baby’s diaper I would have laughed in your face while quickly downing a bottle of wine to drown out those thoughts. Now that she’s here I find myself looking forward to the future (but not too far into the future). I can’t wait to find out if she’s going to take after me and want to take ballet lessons or horseback riding lessons. Or maybe she’ll take after Marcus and love playing sports. Whichever direction she chooses later there is one thing she is already doing and that is helping me realize what my role in this world is supposed to be and that is being her mommy.

The kid has impeccable handwriting for one so young.

The Ultimate Man

I recently came across a list I made in the year 1 B.M. (Before Marcus…and yes, I’m well aware of the other definition for B.M. but that’s not what I’m speaking of). It was a list of 20 requirements I had for the “Ultimate Man.” It would appear that prior to making this list I had dated my fair share of not very ultimate men, else how would you explain requirement # 8, “has a car.” Considering I wrote this when I was 24 it’s kind of embarrassing I even went on a date with a guy who didn’t have a car (or at least have access to a car).

So, without further ado I give you the “Ultimate Man” list and how Marcus fares in comparison:

1. Funny – Marcus is funny sometimes. I think we both have to agree that I’m the funny one in this relationship. He is the Desi to my Lucy.

2. Smart – As he is currently finishing up his Doctorate work I think it goes without saying that he is smart. That or he’s a really good bullsh*tter.

3. Attractive (to me) – Yes, I included the parentheses in the original list. Marcus is attractive and I’m pretty certain I’m not the only who thinks so. His mom thinks so, too.

4. Has goals – Marcus has more goals than anyone I know which unfortunately translates into him not understanding why the rest of us don’t have a lot of goals. I remember in the first few years we dated he asked me what I wanted to do with my life and I answered, “be a stay-at-home mom.” He looked at me like I had two heads. It would seem that what he really wanted to hear was I wanted to be the first woman on the moon to knit a blanket.

5. A romantic – This is where Marcus loses brownie points. He’s romantic but only when society dictates (read: Valentine’s Day). To this day I’m still not sure how he wooed me in the early stages of our relationship besides offering to open my can of beer. *sigh* So dreamy.

6. Worships me – Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha*gasps*ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah*wipes away tears*

7. Has a job – Again, embarrassing that I apparently even dated a guy without a job. Needless to say, Marcus does indeed have a job and a good one at that.

8. Has a car – Marcus has a car. And a bus. And a Jeep. And another Jeep. And a Mercedes. And a Ford. And a four-wheeler. And a motorcycle. And a jet ski. And any other vehicle someone is trying to get rid of for cheap. Please, for all that is good and holy, please do not tell Marcus if you are selling your vehicle (of any kind). He will buy it from you and he will definitely pay you less than what you're asking for.

9. Has a home – If you know Marcus then you know he is the poor man’s Donald Trump.

10. Shares my beliefs – While I’m quite sure when I wrote this my beliefs were not the same as Marcus’s I have grown to share his beliefs.  Although, if we're talking about my belief in ghosts he does not share that belief.

11. Same music taste – We do share the same music taste though I may appreciate musicals a lot more than he does. 

12. Reads books – Marcus is a reader! He knows how to sound-out letters and form words! And he does it often! Oh, happy day!

13. Can read (goes w/12) – Oh. My. Word. This is embarrassing. I hope I was being facetious and didn’t actually date someone who couldn’t read.

14. Takes me places – In our 4 short years together Marcus and I have traveled to many places together, i.e. Marcus has footed the bill for our adventures: Hawaii, New Orleans, Las Vegas, NYC, Jamaica, Costa Rica, and the decidedly less exotic Rhode Island.

15. Good kisser – A girl never kisses and tells but I didn’t marry him knowing I’d be stuck with a crappy kisser the rest of my life, ya know what I’m saying, ladies?  Amirite or amirite?!

16. Nice dresser – Weeelllll…it can be achieved it’s just a matter of him wanting it.

17. Close to family – He is close to his family and I love that. In reading my diary it would seem that over time I began to really appreciate how important family is and I’m glad I kept that in mind when looking for my Ultimate Man.

18. Good conversationalist – (I then had an arrow pointing down that read “So far no luck!”) Marcus isn't much of a talker but I think the problem lies in that I talk too much. I’m the one giving people way too much information and he’s the one giving them too little. I guess we balance each other out that way.

19. Loves me – This goes without saying.

20. Talks about our relationship – Whoa, Lauren. Getting a little deep there.

So, that’s my B.M. list of the Ultimate Man and I would say Marcus fits about 90% of the attributes I required. I wonder if he kept a list of his Ultimate Woman? I bet if he made a list today it would include a “Does not blog about me” line.

Alex's First Embarassing Post

After hearing of my grandma’s passing I knew we had to travel to Buffalo regardless of the fact that we would have an 8 week old baby with us. I did hesitate for a split second but only because I didn’t know what the reaction to a newborn at a funeral would be. It wasn’t until after I talked to my mother-in-law that I decided it would be a good thing to bring Alex and hoped that she could bring some happiness to a sad situation.

On that note, I can assure you she most certainly brought the happiness to a sad situation and then some. In fact, it was during grandma’s funeral that she reminded us that there is happiness in the world.

Grandma’s funeral was held at Our Lady of Victory Basilica in Buffalo, NY. If you have a moment take a look at it here: http://www.ourladyofvictory.org/Basilica/Welcome.html. After seeing the church I hope you can appreciate how big it is and as such how much noise resonates through the sanctuary…especially during quiet moments with a minimal crowd. Moving on.

Alex was a perfect angel during our 9 hour trip to Buffalo, during the wake, during the funeral and I’m not just saying that. She really was. For a baby that, in my opinion, never sleeps she slept almost the entire time during all three of those events and everyone adored her. However, during grandma’s funeral she grew just a tad bit fussy. Still asleep in Marcus’s arms she began her little noises that can mean a few things: 1. I’m waking up. 2. I’m hungry. 3. I’m uncomfortable and something is making its way out and whichever way it comes out will just have to be a surprise. It turns out this was a number 3 noise. During one of the more quiet moments of the service my beautiful, baby angel exploded in her diaper with a force the likes I have never heard before. I certainly heard it then as did everyone within a five pew radius of ours. As I saw heads turn and heard smothered laughter it became increasingly harder for me to not lose it. Teetering on the edge of tears and laughter it was a moment I won’t soon forget.

Later, my grandpa who is hard of hearing and did not actually hear the trumpeting of the babe, laughed about it with the rest of us. That in itself made bringing Alex worth it. Thinking about it, there is no doubt in my mind the heavens heard her and I am quite sure that grandma was laughing with the rest of us.

Thus concludes my first post that will one day mortify my daughter.

Kathryn Marjorie Rojek (nee Stortz)

Last month my grandma Rojek passed away at the age of 88. It’s hard to fathom what a lifespan of 88 years must be like. When my grandmother was born into her German-Amish family she rode a pony to school and traveling salesmen came and went in horse-drawn carriages. By the time she died the majority of American’s were traveling via vehicles, airplanes, or trains and the need for traveling salesmen has all but vanished. Before she died my cousin sat with her and talked about her long life and the one sentiment that has stuck with me to this day is that grandma did not want to die. Ever. She loved life too much. I could feel this in the last few times I spoke with her. It was, in fact, her love for life that kept her alive so long. She had been admitted to the hospital on numerous occasions during the last two years and every time she fought her way out. This last time though, she just didn’t have the fight.

Growing up (and admittedly, to this day) my sisters and I fondly referred to grandma Rojek as “grandma with the buffalo” due to the fact that we were lucky enough to have both sets of grandparents and needed a way to differentiate between them. Thus, grandma and grandpa who lived in Buffalo, NY were dubbed “grandma and grandpa with the buffalo,” and grandma and grandpa who owned horses were dubbed “grandma and grandpa with the horse.” Even though Buffalo was far away I always felt a special connection with grandma and I attribute that to her efforts to be a grandmother to us even when she was so far away. Being the pack-rat that I am I have every card and letter she ever sent me. In the later years the letters dwindled but mostly due to grandma’s declining eyesight. I know that if she could have she would have sent a card or letter up until the day she died.

Her eyesight wasn’t the only aspect of her body that declined over the years. At the age of 34 grandma began experiencing the onset of rheumatoid arthritis. For as long as I can remember grandma was a giant of a person in a body, crippled with arthritis. Her hands were claw-shaped, her back was bent, and she could barely move her legs in order to go up or down stairs. Grandma was tough and as such she refused the use of a wheelchair in her later years. She walked everywhere no matter what. Despite all of her physical handicaps grandma did what grandma’s do best when we three girls would visit: she would feed us, visit places with us, and hang-out with us telling stories of her childhood. I think this just goes to show that no matter the form a grandma, is a grandma, is grandma.

With the passing of grandma with the buffalo I am experiencing the first big loss within my immediate family and every day I think of her. With that being said it’s not me I feel sorry for. I feel sorry for my grandpa, grandma’s husband of nearly 65 years. My heart breaks for him and the giant hole that has surely been created in the passing of his wife. I overheard him telling my uncle that after he gets home he just stands there and yells. I imagine after 65 years of having a person by one’s side yelling would be only one of many emotions expressed.

During grandma’s wake and funeral there were many things mentioned about her but mostly it was this: Grandma Rojek was not only a devoted wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother but she was a strong, brave, loving woman who was admired by many, many people throughout her life.  As a testament to her love and our love for her there are now three of us in the family who share the same middle name "Kathryn" in honor of grandma:  me, my cousin's firstborn, and now my own firstborn.

Finally, without wanting to sound trite, grandma really was an inspiration to anyone who has ever felt sorry for their situation. For half of her life grandma struggled with a disorder that would have brought any other person to their knees but never did she complain; she accepted her fate and moved-on, living her life to the fullest. I can only hope to achieve a happiness such as hers.

Alexandra the Great

Day 33 Under Dictator Rule: Times are hard. Marcus and I fear for our lives as we struggle to get a wink of sleep or eat what little gruel we’re allowed. It has been 33 days since we found ourselves in this dire situation. Every aspect of our lives is ruled, nay, dictated by a 1 month old baby who answers to the name of Alexandra the Great. She insists we call her by such and we are too scared to find out what would happen if we don’t. She is a pint-sized lunatic who dictates when we eat, sleep, and poop.

Last night was one of the scarier nights of our lives as her full potential for evil was reached. Every 1.5 to 2 hours I was awakened from my slumber by the incessant demands of Alexandra the Great. “Feed me! Change me! Burp me! Damnit, don’t you know how to do your job you nincompoop!” Her tiny fists, uncontrollable by her rage, pummeled me into submission and I bowed to her every demand. Even now, I shake in fear of her next awakening. She will not be pleased if I am not able to procure her milk, a clean diaper, and pacifier in a timely manner. Marcus thinks if we just ignore her she will go away. He is clearly delusional from the lack of sleep.

I hope and pray for our safe return to normalcy but I am afraid it is not to be. She is too powerful and we are too weak. This may be the last time I am able to write. Tell my parents I love them and please make sure Lasagna is well cared for. I bid you all, adieu.

My Husband, My Muse

There are two things you should know about Marcus. 1. He is my Muse. 2. He doesn’t mind. Really.

As you can guess we’re getting little to no sleep at the moment. If Alex sleeps more than 2 hours on end we’re lucky and, since she’s currently being bottle fed, both Marcus and I take turns getting up with her during the night. There is, however, a big difference between our waking up styles. When I wake up I may be cranky but I’m totally with it; I know where I am and what the task at hand is. In other words, I’m awake. Then we have Marcus who lands on the exact opposite end of the wakefulness spectrum.  In other words, he's not awake.

I haven’t written about Marcus’s propensity for sleep walking/talking recently though for a while it was definitely blog material. As it is, his actual sleep walking had dwindled to random, incoherent questions and chit-chat through the night. Now that Alex is here I’m getting the best of both worlds (and yes, I do find it highly entertaining).

One night I was woken up by a crying baby at 5:53 AM. Why, you ask, do I remember that exact time? Because Marcus also woke up and asked what time it was. I responded with “5:53” followed by a question of my own, “When did she eat last?” Marcus replied with “5:53.” “No,” I said “that’s impossible. When did we feed Alex last?” Marcus was certain the last time we fed her was 5:53. I gave up.  It was, after all, 5:53 in the morning and what time the baby ate last really didn't matter since it was clear she was ready to eat again.

Another episode occurred not when the baby was crying or making any fuss whatsoever. Marcus simply woke up, walked to her bassinet, and proclaimed that she should sleep in her own bed. “Why?” I asked followed quickly with “Are you sleep walking?” I was told in no uncertain terms that he was not sleep walking as he climbed back into bed and promptly fell asleep.

Finally, and definitely my favorite episode so far, happened just the other night. Once again, the baby was sleeping soundly however Marcus awoke and, I’m assuming, in his mind she was crying. I watched as he walked to the dresser where a pile of clothes was sitting and he began swaddling them. I asked what he was doing and got no response as he was very busy attending to the "baby." Finally, I asked “You know that’s not the baby.” Marcus didn’t seem to hear me but at the same time he bundled the clothes in his arms, gently cradling them, and walked to Alex’s bassinet and peered in. At no point in time did it seem like anything actually registered with him however he did walk back to the dresser, gently put the pile of clothes down making sure they were comfortable, and climbed back into bed.

Oh, Marcus. The good thing is I wake up every time he gets out of bed so I can stop him from doing anything too drastic…like diaper a pile of clothes. The bad thing is he’s diapering a pile of clothes.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Baby Shower

So.  Where to begin?  "You and Me Equals Three?" is no longer a question.  You and me really does equal three now.  Alexandra Kathryn Tepaske was born 27 February, 5 weeks premature, and weighing a grand total of 5 pounds 2 ounces.  What a strange time this has been for all of us.  For me, the strangest part is knowing that a week ago I was uncomfortably pregnant and thinking about 5 weeks into the future when life would change.  For Marcus, the strangest part has been the amazing life changing event yet feeling like he and I are both the same people we were before.  For both of us the strangest part is all of a sudden being responsible for another person's life.  I look down at a tiny baby girl and think to myself, pardon the French, "holy shit."

I will do my best to recount the events leading up to this life-changing event without being too detailed.  However, it is a story about having a baby so some things just can't be left out.  The part about when I ate the placenta after giving birth can be left out* but the part about exactly how far along I was in the birthing process upon getting to the hospital cannot be left out.

A week ago today I realized something wasn't quite right.  I called my doctor's office the next morning (Friday) and told the nurse what was going on.  She asked that I go to the labor and delivery ward of the hospital to be checked out.  She was concerned I had ruptured a membrane which would be cause for concern and the baby's health.  I went to the hospital and was checked out by my doctor who informed me I was 1 centimeter dialated but that nothing else was wrong and to go home and take it easy over the weekend.  This was slightly easier said than done as Norma, Marcus's mom was coming into town and we had our own baby shower to attend in Williamsburg on Sunday.  One other thing to mention is that during the day on Friday I began experiencing what I assumed were Braxton-Hicks contractions; little spasms throughout my lower back and abdomen that were uncomfortable.

Saturday was a lazy day while Marcus cleaned and I did minimal, piddly things around the house.  Norma arrived in the afternoon and we had lunch and then took a nap.  Later, we had dinner with my mom and then had dessert at Carl's ice cream.  Marcus went out to watch the VT vs. Duke basketball game (go VT!) and Norma and I stayed home and watched a movie.  Again, throughout the day I continued to feel the "Braxton-Hicks contractions."  They were possibly a little stronger than the day before but would only occur once in a while so nothing to set-off any alarms.  Also, I had just seen my doctor the day before and we rescheduled my appointment for Tuesday.  I figured if things continued I would inform my doctor at that time.

Saturday night was miserable but only for the sheer fact that sleep was impossible.  I couldn't sleep because the spasms were occuring a little more rapidly, though sporadic, and with a little more force.  It seemed that every time I closed my eyes to sleep I would feel a wave of pain.  Finally, at daybreak I just got up and got ready for the day.  Though I was uncomfortable I wasn't going to let it slow me down.

We went to church that morning and during the service the spasms started to become more painful but nothing I couldn't handle.  After church we ate a quick lunch and made our way down to Williamsburg, an hour and a half away.  The spasms continued and sometimes they were painful enough that I didn't want to talk much but I was able to get sentences out.  The same thing continued during our time at Dad's house although I was still able to enjoy myself and spend time with the family there.

Finally, around 7:00 PM we started saying our goodbyes.  As I made my way to the door I had a spasm that was strong enough it made me grip the table and the second it eased up I felt my water break.  They weren't kidding in our childbirth basics course that you would know when it happened.  I ran (sort of) to the bathroom and Marcus quickly followed after being informed that I had just left the room in a hurry.  We determined, amid hysterical laughter, that it was probably time to go to the hospital a full hour and a half away.  We, more quickly now, said our goodbyes and set-off on the road:  me, Marcus, and Norma.  At some point during the ride I told Marcus I didn't think I had a very high pain tolerance.  Marcus's famous last words were, "Well, you may be getting over the worst of it now.  You might only be about 5 centimeters dialated and that's the worst part they said."  Stupid childbirth basics class.  I've come to realize they know jack.

The spasms became much more intense during the car ride to the point where I couldn't talk and if Marcus was talking during one of the more intense moments I wanted to punch him (he was just trying to make light of the situation, something even I would have done if the roles were reversed).  Norma was in the back seat and helped keep track of the, let's call them what they really are, contractions.  One thing our childbirth basics course taught us that turned out to be false (at least for me) was the "511 Rule:"  come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart, they are 1 minute long, and they have lasted for an hour.  For me, that was a load of crap.  There was absolutely no rhyme or reason behind the number of contractions or how long they lasted.  All I knew was it sucked, hard, and anbody who may have been riding in a car next to us saw a scary sight if they looked in our car and saw me gripping the car door as if I wanted to Hulk out and rip it off its hinges.

As I ask Marcus today if he felt the car ride was any longer or faster than usual he says he felt it was just a typical car ride from my Dad's.  However, now that he knows what was to come, he might have felt differently at the time.  Anything could have happened and again, knowing now what was right around the corner, there was the potential for Alexandra to have been born on the highway.

We made it to the hospital and made our way to the labor and delivery ward.  The whole time we were walking I thought to myself, "just act naturally...don't look too distressed."  I found out later that Marcus was thinking the same thing.

Upon arriving at the labor and delivery ward they put me in triage and asked me to pee in a cup.  Looking back, that was the dumbest and hardest thing they could have asked me to do at the time.  Once I had peed in a cup (it must have been a test or something to see how much an insanely laboring woman can take) and after a quick check it was determined that I was 8 centimeters dialated.  For those of you unaware, 10 centimeters is the "No turning back point."  I think our initial nurse must have been as shocked as we were because she asked another nurse to check me out.  That nurse said I was at 9 centimeters.  Either way, I was about to have a baby.  When Marcus heard the numbers he looked down at me with the craziest smile and laughed, bordering on hysteria, and repeated what the nurse had said.  Neither of us could believe it.  Also, to note, once you've reached the point I was at drugs are no longer an option.  That's right.  Au naturel.

After this point I won't go into much more detail other than to say we arrived at the hospital at 8:00 PM and Alexandra was born at 9:24 PM.  After she was born they immediately whisked her away to the waiting NICU nurses and nobody said what she was (we never found out the sex).  Even Marcus was just frozen, taking in everything that had just happened.  I had to ask what she was at which point we heard she was a girl.  Again, Marcus and I looked at each other and with a mixture of hysteria, exhaustion, and disbelief, we repeated what the nurses said. 

In the end Alexandra's birth makes for one of the most excellent stories that even I couldn't have imagined.  Even more remarkable was the fact that she arrived at a time when we lest expected yet it was almost as if it were planned.  Marcus's Mom, who just happened to be in town was there for it all.  My Mom who also shouldn't have been in town but was due to a change in her work schedule was also there.  In the end the two grandma's were at the hospital waiting for her and were able to hold her within minutes of her birth.

Here we are, 4 days later, and we're still in a state of disbelief.  We are also in such awe of our family and friends.  Without them we would be struggling right now and we are beyond grateful for everything they did for us.  Everyone took it upon themselves to do what they could to make our arrival at home an easy one.  Being that Alexandra was 5 weeks early we had very little accomplished.  By the time we came home 48 hours after her birth it was like we had been ready our entire lives.

So, that's it.  The story of Alexandra's arrival.  We still can't believe she's here and it probably won't settle in, ever.

*I did not eat the placenta and to be honest if you are one of those women who did you're disgusting.  It's akin to eating your kidney for crying out loud!

Just a few minutes old