Tag Archives: Newborn Photographer Los Angeles

Two Months

Happy two month Birthday, Rory James and Quinn Marie!  I guess what they say is true – time really does fly when you’re mad with sleep deprivation and tottering on the edge of delirium!  WEEE!!

Rory, you fell asleep in my arms a few nights ago while I was watching a Roseanne marathon on Netflix.  (Netflix is something that will have probably come and gone by the time you’re old enough to understand….Roseanne is forever).  I took you into our bedroom to lay you in your crib and noticed how strangely big you’d gotten all of a sudden.  It seems you’ve almost doubled in size and the box of “old” baby clothes that we just packed away seems to attest to that.  In some regards it’s sad – seeing you growing up so quickly and watching as certain aspects of your “newbornness” get piled away but it’s also very exciting and amazing.  You’ve become less fussy over the past few weeks (Praise God!  Thank you, Jesus!  Shalom and peace be with you!!) and you’ve actually begun to smile, seemingly under your own will.  You see, previously you’d only lift one side of your lip up into the air ala Elvis but I think you were mostly in the throws of a milk enduced bender.  You’re getting heavier and heavier as well.  Your last doctor’s appointment weighed you in at an astounding 12lbs 7oz and 24.6″.  You, my friend, are a meatball, deep fat fried and covered in cheese.  Don’t worry though, I hear you grow into it at around 14.

Quinn, gentle Quinn.  At 10lbs and 22″, you sit silently on the couch, lying in wait for your perfect opportunity.  You lure your victims in with your large doughy eyes and cunning smile.  You paralyze your grandparents and our friends with your Gerber Baby face and then, when their defenses are down, you strike.  With the wail of a wild banshee and the redness of a cherry tomato, you scream as though you were being drawn and quartered.  It is a rarity for The Fireball to ignite but when it does, everyone should be warned to stand back and, in the event that they are caught in the line of fire, stop, drop & roll.  You’ve recently become much more alert, holding your head up for minutes at a time while gazing at the world around you.  People stop us on the street to say, “Look at that baby!  She just has so many facial expressions!” and then they see that we’re each carrying a child and they say, “You have two!” but Rory is usually asleep, his fists clenched, dreaming about punching something.

Our nights were getting better and our sleep was getting longer and then….we don’t really know what the heck happened.  Suddenly you decided to move back to three feedings a night and refuse to shut your eyes once you’d woken up.  Sometimes it’s frustrating because I feel like you don’t understand how truly delicious sleep can be and I have no way to tell you yet but let me just say this….If I have to be up with two people screaming at me to shovel food down their gullets, I’m glad it’s you two.

ONE MONTH

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One Month

Roe and Q,

Happy one month birthday!

Before you were born everyone told us, “Time will fly by all too fast so you better enjoy them while they’re little” and for once, all the unsolicited advice was correct.  I can’t BELIEVE you’ve been here for a month already – that’s the entire lifespan of a fruit fly!!  Regardless of how brief the last thirty days have seemed, they have packed a serious punch, like a dwarven version of Mike Tyson.  Now, not to sound like a decrepit old woman already but it really does seem like only yesterday that I was still massively pregnant and begging you to evacuate the premises……..

I’ll be honest, this has been a pretty intense month with you so far.  At everyone’s (unwanted) suggestions, we were bracing ourselves for the worst ( The Antichrist) but thankfully you’re not even close to as difficult as we were expecting (you’re only about as bad as The Pope) but it’s still FULL THROTTLE.  Sleeping is certainly not the thirteen straight hours we were used to but we’re still functioning with the every 3 hour feeding schedule you’ve so politely mapped out for us and are THRILLED that you’re on any kind of a consistent schedule at all.  The first night we had you home with us was insane; it was like The Three Stooges Have a Baby.  We were clueless idiots bumbling around with you all night while you were up for 6 hours straight tag teaming us.  After the first night spent inside Dante’s Inferno we were definitely bleary-eyed, sleep deprived and wondering what exactly we had signed up for.  Top to bottom, feeding you has been the most challenging part for us as you both are very thirsty Schrute babies (Dwight K) but everyday is getting better, easier and less painful for my poor mammaries.  John’s nipples seem to be doing fine; he claims to have taken an intensive 12 hour internet boot camp on milk-tating dads.

Both your Grandmas left two weeks ago so we are now fully on our own with you and it was pretty scary at first.  When you cried we felt like chimps trying to disengage an A-Bomb, slapping at random buttons hoping it would shut off.  The first couple days at home with you alone by myself (while your dad was at work) were pretty hard but the more I get to know your separate little personalities and bends, the easier it gets.

Rory, at this point in your life:  you love sleeping on your stomach (much to my and the AMA’s discomfort), hate having your diaper changed, want to be fed the moment you open your eyes, snore while you sleep, grunt while you eat, constantly want to be snuggled and look just like your dad.  I wouldn’t go so far as to outright call you a fussy baby but you’re definitely tipping the scale in that direction.  Hey…speaking of scales……you are a seriously stout little man at 10 lbs 6 oz and 22″ long.  Coincidentally, you are the exact dimensions as an Irish lager and hold the same physical attributes: tall and pale.  Your dad and I frequently refer to you as Meatloaf, Cinder Block or Ham Steak and play Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who gets to lug you around in the Moby wrap.  Don’t get us wrong, we LOVE to carry you with us but in our own self interest and the safety of our lower backs we have to trade you off from time to time and take mandatory 15 minute breaks.

Quinn, at this stage you are our calm baby.  You like to sit in your little lamb chair and just look around, smile while you sleep, love to have baths and are mesmerized by lights.  You are awake much more frequently but are very self content – although when you do get mad you scream very loud and kind of sound like a dying bobcat.  You are also getting much bigger in your own right at 8lbs 11oz and 20.5″ long but do not pack the heavy punch that Rory does, as a little lady you are much more dainty…ironically, you have more chins than a Chinese phone book.  The bigger you get the more you look like me (although at a whopping 9lbs 8oz you still don’t weigh as much as I did at birth) and you definitely have my/your Grandpa Wade’s eyes and eyelashes.  Right now our nicknames for you are Quinnie Pig, The Pig, Bobcat and Voldemort….because sometimes, when you’re swaddled and have a hood on you do sort of resemble The Dark Lord from Harry Potter Book 1 (also known as Harry Potter and the Sorcerors Stone OR as it is referred to in England, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone). Yes, we are nerds, you’ll have to live with it.  The other day while you were taking a nap next to me on the couch you woke up, looked right at me, smiled and put your hand on my face.  I don’t think it gets much better than that.

Has parenting been everything we were hoping it would be?  YES and more.  Has it been as difficult as we were anticipating?  NO thank goodness.  Can we imagine a life without you?  NO…but maybe an evening…We both are so incredibly blessed to have you.  Two years ago when your dad got cancer we thought it was the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to us and we were afraid that we’d never be able to have children.  Two years later, it was directly BECAUSE of that terrible and wonderful diagnoses that we ended up having twins.  Because of cancer, you are here.  Everyone tells us that God can take muddy circumstances and turn them into something gold.  Now, with absolute certainty, we can both say that every sleepless night, dirty diaper and  high frequency scream was worth every moment of chemotherapy.

We’re excited to meet you and talk to you when you’re finally old enough to read this…and for the day that you do: remember to just sit back and relax.  Right now you’re in the other room sobbing because you’ve dropped your pacifier.  Remember, things only get easier.

-mom and dad.

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Birth

Okie, dokie, artichokie, like an old man driving on a Sunday afternoon, this post has been slow in coming.  I’ve LITERALLY sat down roughly 20 times to jot down my thoughts and keep getting distracted by different things (as a new mother, I think you know what I mean…….yeah, facebook).  Se la vi.

Two things I promised myself I wouldn’t do in this post:  1.)  I will NOT be giving you the nitty gritty details about my birth story.  I will NOT tell you about delivering a placenta via c-section or about trying to poop after said operation.  I will NOT tell you about staples in my abdomen or having a catheter.  The second thing I refuse to do on this blog is 2.) Make lists.

Going into the hospital we didn’t really know what to expect.  Not only were we not privy to the sexes of our children but we had no idea how the process was going to shake down.  To help my fellow woman and pregnant post-op men avoid the shallow but perilous pitfalls that I stumbled into, I’ve created a list…and I’m calling it, “THREE THINGS I WISH I WOULD HAVE KNOWN AHEAD OF TIME”.  You, fellow reader, are currently “ahead of time”.  You, friend of friends, can apply these rules to your future experience.

1. THE NOOB

Let’s say you need an epideral.  Would you come over to my house and ask me to do it for you?  No.  Why?  Because I’m not a doctor or professional anathesiologist.  I lack the training and knowledge.  When you go to a hospital, you hope that these people will be assigned to you.  Not so.  You should SPECIFICALLY ask to have all students, residents, nurses in training, etc. excused from the room OR, at the very least, ask to have the syringe removed from their desperate and shakey hands.  They can watch, but they mustn’t touch.  After receiving the lovely epidural twice, the “professional” (ie professional student) decided he couldn’t quite find the magic spot and handed the NEEDLE back over to the REAL DOCTOR.  Why, why, WHY, was there a nubian sticking objects into me without my knowledge??  This rule can be applied to IV placement.  If you’re not good at IVs, you shouldn’t give them.  If you have to “fish around” you should maybe consider a job at the wharfs.  My body is not your ocean.  I am not your class activity.  You do not pay me tuition.  Goodbye.

2. THE BOOB

Lactation consultants must die; they should literally drown in a vat of warm breast milk.  If they come uninvited into your room like a pack of grace hungry Jehovah Witnesses, simply wave around some garlic and crucifixes as if trying to ward off a vampire – they’re about the same sort of soulless monsters.  They grab at your boobs and nipples without permission like a football playing rapist.  They bring you machines and new ideas they want to try out.  “Try tickling the babies’ cheek.  Try tickling his foot.  Try cranking her elbow.  Try hanging him upside down and swatting at him with a bamboo shoot.  Nothing?  Hmm, maybe tomorrow….”  At one point a 200 year old woman who we dubbed Mother Earth entered the scene and tried explaining to us what we should be listening for; how we would know if the baby was eating vs. just suckling.  She says, “If the baby is eating, it will sound like this -” and she began to make suckle-suckle-gulp-gulp-suckle-suckle noises that sounded like someone trying out for the World’s Sloppiest Soup Eating competition.  “If the baby is merely suckling at your teet, it will sound like this -” now imagine an angry guinea pig trying to drink from his hanging bottle but the guinea pig has no teeth and the bottle is made from wet meat.  John, in classic John fashion, straight facedly asks, “Could I hear the first sound once again?  How did it go?”  Suckle-suckle-gulp-gulp-suckle-suckle.  I try not to laugh and John rests back in his chair, folding his arms.  He says, “I see”.

3.  THE NOOD*

Have you ever had that dream where you’re standing completely naked in front of a group of strangers?  They’re all poking you and prodding you and you feel sort of insecure but for some reason you can’t get out of their gaze?  Well, the fine folks at Kaiser Permenente can make that dream a reality.  You will be wheeled unceremoniously into a frigid cold room.  Your “clothes” (paper robe with twist tie) will be ripped off in one swift motion and you will be left standing there with nothing but your contact lenses to hide behind.  It’s not that bad if you come from a stripper background but for me, it was a little uncomfortable.  I’m so modest, you know, I wear chastity belts to my gyno appointments.  Anyway, prepare to run the gauntlet in your birthday suit.

*I know I didn’t spell that right (nude) but I really, really wanted it to look like the other two headings.

NOW, without further ado, allow me to take you on a visual journey of our trip into the ‘hood (parenthood).

Above, the view from our room; the top floor of a parking structure.  While this may seem trite, it’s certainly a better view than the room below us had; a brick wall.

Our anniversary is March, 26.  0326.  It’s not QUITE right but it’s still sort of cool.  Did anyone watch LOST?

This is where the doctor’s wash their hands before cutting people open and after making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

One last family photo while we’re still just an “us”.  The doctor’s asked “What are you having?” and we said, “We don’t know!”

And then there was Quinn!  I can’t even explain how amazing it was to hear the doctor call out that we had a little girl.  We had a girl……a sweet little footie pajama wearing girl of our very own.  The doctor’s asked, “What is her name?” and we said, “We don’t know!”  As you can tell by the giant cubist painting, Quinn is just as modest as I am.

This face is going to be my undoing EVERY TIME.

Quinn was followed quickly by our little man, Rory.  One look at him and I knew we had ourselves a little mini-John.

Getting to hold my babies’ for the very first time!  HEAVEN.  There were so many times in the last couple years that I feared this moment may never happen for me – such an incredible moment of God’s faithfulnes and blessings.

Later on in the recovery room Quinn and I had a discussion about the day’s events – clearly her face is saying she’s not so sure about this place.

We were disappointed to learn that they no longer do the standard hospital mugshot baby photos so we decided to do them ourselves.  Below are John and I’s circa the 80’s.  It’s crazy how much Rory looks like John!

And thus concludes our greatest journey right on the coattails of an even greater one.  Please be sure to come back for regular updates and adventures; thank you for playing and do come again.

John and Jade.

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