Missing Mr. Max

It has now been 50 hours since I have seen my baby.

Andy dropped me off at the airport Sunday afternoon at 1:00, and it is the first time I have not had Max with me since he was conceived. I carried him for nine months inside of me and for three months outside of me.

Now he is not here, and I feel somewhat lost.

Don't get me wrong; being in Denver for work is nice. It's nice to see my co-workers and friends. Get a pedicure at my regular salon and eat at my favorite restaurants. I almost feel like a regular childless person again.

Almost.

There is still this: my arms feel empty, like empty-empty, like I'm missing some extension of them. You'd think they would be lighter than air not lugging an almost-12-pound baby around, but instead they hang by my sides, heavy with the sadness of not being able to hold him. And unsure of how to make themselves useful. What did I do with my arms before I held a baby all day? I don't remember.

And this: my ears continue to strain for his cry, but they don't hear it.

Oh, and definitely this: I wake up every three hours at night, ready to nurse him and cuddle him back to sleep, but am greeted instead by my pump and a stiff hotel chair instead of our comfortable rocker.

I know leaving Max is not the end of the world. When we moved to Utah, I knew that traveling for my job was inevitable. I know Max is in excellent hands, receiving superior care - his daddy takes such great care of him. (Almost better than me, I think, since feeding issues have almost diminished in my absence. What the heck?) I have no doubt we will all survive this three-day separation.

But I don't have to like it.

At least I know Andy is not leaving him in pajamas all day. He sent me a picture as proof. He even put together a pretty good looking outfit, if I do say so myself.

And oh yes! I miss Andy too, not just Max. But it's different - Andy hasn't been fully dependent on me for a year. He's pretty good about taking care of himself. Plus, we've been apart before - we've got that down, old hat.

But not me and Max. This is our first.

And I just have to make it about 27 more hours.

When the shoe doesn't fit...

I knew when I got pregnant my body would change.

I knew I would have new aches and pains.

I knew my hair might become more (or possibly less) curly, (definitely) more gray, and less plentiful.

I knew my nails would grow faster and be more strong.

And I knew I would gain weight. That was a no-brainer.

So I pretty much figured I wouldn't look exactly the same as before. I knew I'd need to buy bigger clothes, and that I might have to wear these clothes for a while after Max came.

Okay, fine.

But I hoped that not every blamed thing I own would no longer fit me - namely my jewelry and my shoes.

I have not worn my beautiful engagement ring in about nine months now. Sad, but it can always be made bigger.

But most sad of all is that I just gave two boxes of shoes to my sister, whose feet are now smaller than mine. We used to wear the same size - 7.5. And shoes can't be stretched to fit bigger feet.

Sniff.

I am sad that my feet are now big. Not small and dainty as some people referred to them. Not even average.

They are, in fact, now big.

The question I have is this: how many women have to replace a closetfull of shoes once they have their babies? Is this common?

Not that knowing whether it's common makes me feel any better. It's still crummy.

Three months of Max

I can't believe Max is now three months old. I swear, it seems like just yesterday we were driving to the hospital and he came out screaming his squeaky little scream.

But now, three months have passed and he smiles (but never for the camera), laughs wide-open mouth laughs, "talks," kicks, and plays. He lost his hair, and then gained it back.

And my capacity to love him just grows each day.

What worries me and makes me sad is that it will be over before I know it. While I enjoy all the milestones he's reaching, I'm already sad that he's not his tiny baby self anymore.

He looks so serious, doesn't he?

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I am so behind this year. Here it is, December the sixteenth, and I have not bought one Christmas present. I barely got my tree up and decorated two days ago. And I have baked nary a Christmas goodie.

How can this be? you ask. It seems I am somewhat preoccupied these days. Juggling baby, work, laundry, cooking and cleaning has worn me out to the point where I cannot even watch a 20 minute TV show without dozing off and waking up an hour later asking Andy "What did I miss? Can you rewind?" (never mind the fact that he has moved onto and almost finished with another show).

I don't have time to eat meals anymore. It is 7:21 pm and I still have not fed myself anything for dinner besides one piece of buttered wheat toast.

Santa, I am tired so deep in my bones I sometimes have a hard time putting one foot in front of the other just to climb into my bed. (I know other moms out there are calling me a whiner, but cut me some slack - I'm new to all this juggling business.)

So the reason I'm writing you this letter is to make some special requests for those special people in my life.

For Andy: a job that pays him what he deserves. It's nice that he's working (trust me, we're grateful), but a guy can only work so many 12- to 16-hour shifts for lower pay. I think he might just fall apart one night and I won't know how to put him back together. The question is whether the emotional falling-apart or physical will come first.

For Max: a bigger stomach. I am trying to hard to get this kid on a feeding schedule, but now matter how much time elapses between feedings, he gets hungry early! A mom can only devote so much time in her life to preparing food, serving food, and cleaning up after the food for her child. If he were only more predictable, would eat more during a feeding, it would be ever so helpful for me.

For my parents and sisters: whatever they want. They have been so great, so supportive, so loving, and such great cheerleaders and babysitters since we moved to Utah and decided to remodel our house. They deserve whatever they want.

Seriously.

And for me, Santa: well, after I wrote this post and got the complaints all out of my system, the only thing I can think to ask for is this: please let me always remember every moment of what it's like to be a wife, a mother, a daughter, sister, and friend to these great people. I complain that there's too much to do, not enough time to do it, and not enough energy to go around, but even when I'm bone-tired, I get a hug, a smile, a laugh and there is noplace else I would rather be.

Or anything else I'd rather be doing.

Think you can deliver, Santa?

I hope so.

Love,
Alicia

PS: Thank you for bringing back Chuck.
PSS: Do you think you can help me get back to my pre-pregnancy weight any quicker? Thought I'd ask...

Max laughs in his sleep

I walked into the room and heard a little "heh, heh, heh" going on in there.

But he was asleep! Half smile, eyes rolled back, and everything.

It was just too darn cute. But I wasn't able to capture the smile, so you'll just have to enjoy him sleeping in his hedgehog romper and sneaker socks.

By the way, where can I get my own sneaker socks?

My new favorite

This is not the best picture, but I tried to catch him in action, and all I had handy was my phone.

I love to be around when Max wakes up. He stretches his arms and legs, but as he stretches his legs, he essentially does a leg lift - lifting his legs straight up in the air.

What makes it so funny is that usually he's wrapped in a blanket, so the little blanket just goes straight up in the air, and comes back down. Usually about three or four times.

Is there a point when every move he makes doesn't charm the pants off me?

Seriously.

PS: Don't you love my piles of laundry? While I work, I put him to sleep on the guest bed in the room across the hall. It is also where I fold my laundry. Gotta love being a working mom!

Max in action

Seriously. I just want to eat him up.

And while I lso love him being a tiny baby, it's really fun to watch him grow and change. He weighs 10 lbs 4 oz now, and loves his play gym from IKEA. He can actually hit the tnings on the sides and make them spin.

This is an action shot of him playing with it. He's making lots of noise and kicking. In his man dress. Nightshirt. While we get ready to drive to Denver.

Again.

But seriously, he's just so cute none of it even matters.