Strength and Beauty

Hey all!

As a nursing mother of a small one, you can only imagine the amount of time I am spending in my “nursing roost” as I somewhat affectionately and with hostility mixed in there call my recliner in the sitting room. I am tired of the cursed television and the crap that is on the boob tube. I am ready to shoot Oprah and believe it or not, am weary of Stacey and Clinton.

I am in need of some real food for my brain. It occurred to me that I have an Ipod and I could upload sermons and teachings and such and listen to that while I nurse by newborn baby girl. So I am asking my readers to leave links or suggestions of preachers/teachers/peeps who have some good and/or interesting things to say in the comment section.

Also, I am open to suggestions of any television series that might be on DVD.

Send me your suggestions. Greatly appreciated.

I went to the mailbox today and discovered something of antiquity resting on top of the pile. It had a person’s actual handwriting on it and it was addressed to me! And to top it all off it was from a cherished and beloved friend of mine who lives afar. Long ago, this friend and I kept a journal of sorts that went back and forth between us in letter form. This was prior to us being married and having babies and houses to keep up. I should dig that up and reminisce about the old days. I used to have quite a bit of “letter writing energy”, as dear Hilga Lyle and I used to call it. I have slacked and lost interest in it, mostly because it takes time to write it out by hand. I guess you would call that laziness. I find typing to be so much more interesting and a better tool at grasping my ideas quickly enough to land on the paper. But there is something magical and wonderful about receiving a hand written letter.

So, thank you, dear friend who wrote me a letter (you know who you are) and yes, you did make me smile.

I don’t get grossed out super easily. It comes with the job of being a nurse, a mother, and an earthy sort of lady. But I have to say that the umbilical cord fiasco this time around with dear little Scarlet really did me in! When Audrey was born, I remember we did what they told us to do: wipe the umbilical cord stump with alcohol every time you change her diaper and a few times a day apply Bacitracin cream around the edges of the base of the cord. Okay. Fine, we did that and the cord dried up and fell off in her diaper.

Not this time. Oh no. This time, the cord started to rot. I am not kidding. And then one day I was giving Scarlet a sponge bath in the kitchen sink and I realized that the cord had become dislodged from the base (her abdomen) and was hanging by a yellow like cord of sorts. I tugged ever so gently hoping it would just fall off. Nope. It went through my brain that I could just clip it with fingernail clippers and threw that out as not such a good idea. Which it turns out was good intuition after telling my pediatrician about it and his eyes got all big and bulgy and proceeded to scare the living day lights out of me with stories of unstoppable bleeding and such.

So for days, I held the dangling rotting umbilical cord in place with a bandaid for fear that it would get accidentally yanked with the diaper or just from holding her. This did not aid the drying out process, unfortunately. And the cord continued to rot. And ooze. And then the smell began. Have you ever smelled a rotting umbilical cord? Dear God!

I tried not to freak out about this little problem but when it is your precious and most beautiful newborn daughter, it is hard not to be a tad bit concerned. I thought to myself, “If I can just hold out till Tuesday when we go in see Dr. Ray* and he can tell me what to do.” So I dutifully continued to wipe the rotting, and I hate to say, softening (not drying out) cord of flesh with alcohol and antibiotic cream. I kept the bandaid plastered on her fragile and silky skin, rotating it with each application hoping to keep her skin from breaking down. Unsuccessful in that pursuit…her tummy started to get all raw and red from the adhesive of the bandaid. Dear Lord x2!!

Just when I was about to lose the contents of my stomach from working with the rotting piece of flesh, I decided to give her a bath the morning of going to the pediatrician. I carefully washed around the cord which was exuding the most peculiar smell. I was nearing the end of the bath and was about to scoop Scarlet up into the warm towel when all of a sudden I spy the goopey piece of circular flesh floating in the water. I look down and sure enough, Scarlet’s belly button has officially emerged and all was well.

But the story is not over yet. No sirree. For one last bit of dry heaves, I had to get the rotting umbilical cord out of the soapy, poopy, spit up lukewarm water. This is where it gets bad and I am ready to throw in the towel for gross jobs as a mom. I decide instead of pulling it out with my fingers or even with a donned pair of dish gloves, I am just going to ignore it and act like it isn’t in the water. Yeap, that is exactly what I am going to do. And a smile comes over my face. I close my eyes and tilt the baby bath tub and swoosh goes all the dirty water down the kitchen sink and into the disposal. And wouldn’t you know, I needed to turn the garbage disposal on and help evacuate all that “dirty” water. [Shanel, don't think about it, just don't think about it! Maintain composure, denial and that smile on your face!!]

And that is the story, my friends, of Scarlet losing the final piece of my body, in a way, that supplied her with life, nutrients, oxygen and lots of good stuff!

Bye, bye rotting umbilical cord! Or as Audrey would say, “Shoo, bug, go away!”
Shoo, rotting flesh, go away!

My daughter is so amazing! Scarlet made a visit to our new family practice MD on her two week birthday and weighed in at a grand total of 9lbs 7oz. The doc was going on and on as if she had not made the quota of 1oz per day that they want a newborn gaining in these first few weeks. It occurred to me that he didn’t have the right numbers plugged into the calculations in his head and once I clarified the trend of her weight gain, he grinned and said that he was impressed. Good. That’s right…these boobs are doing their job this time around. Not that Audrey didn’t have what she needed but I think there was just enough. I feel confident this time around that there is plenty of milk for Scarlet to grow big and strong and quite possibly, chunky.

Low point to my day–> I dragged myself out of my sleep depraived stupor and got my two daughters and myself dressed, cleaned up and packed up to head to the library for the toddler story hour at the library. I had received a brochure in the mail with all the upcoming programs at the library and in my attempt to get out of the house once per day I was all geared up to go with Audrey. And I think she was looking forward to it as well. She kept rehearsing the plan with me. It went something like this: “Mommy, when we get there you sit in the chair with Scarlet and I will sing songs and hear stories.” We arrive at the Gurnee library at exactly 9:30am [which is a feat in itself with a newborn, especially since I had time to blow dry my hair and put on a little mascara]. I rush in with Audrey in tow and ask the librarian where the story hour is and she looks at me like I wasn’t speaking English. Turns out that they had just completed their eight week program. I swear that the brochure said it started November 4th. Confused, I walk away, crestfallen, and explain to Audrey Anne that mommy made a mistake somehow and that there wasn’t story/song time. Poor girl. She bounced back much better than me. Here I thought I was being a good mom and providing a fun opportunity for my eldest daughter and smoosh, good idea got all mixed up. I plop down in an overstuffed chair and mope, attempting to nurse the squeaking Scarlet in public. And I just stare. And stare. We leave after forty five minutes of Audrey running around and pulling out all the books her heart good desire and when we arrive home I look at the brochure and sure enough I failed to take note that it was the Waukegan library, not the Gurnee library. Ug.

High points to my day—> The biggest one I can’t write about a whole lot here on the blog, but it is a huge answer to my prayers these last few months. It is going to allow me to be at home with my children more and I won’t have to go through the tedious and miserable process of finding a childcare provider to hand my very small baby to as I run off to work. For some reason, it feels easier to drop a two year old off at a child care provider, but to drop off an 8 week old baby, ug, break my heart open and spill rubbing alcohol all over it. But I won’t have to do that this time around…thank you, Jesus. And the second and equally important high point to my day: a small pan of tiramisu from the quaint Italian grocery store called Poeta’s in Highwood. {Thanks Jenakochena for introducing me to the tiramisu sold here in your hometown long ago when you brought us dinner after Audrey Anne was born…remembering your generosity.}