Using the Cloth

Thanks to the inventors of these, diaper duty has become both easy and economical in our household. Plain and simple fact: babies pee and poop (just like us--WOW). The recepticle in which these pint size people perform this job in can get pretty expensive. This is a Bumgenius 4.0 one size diaper. Some cool features include: it grows with the child up to 35 pounds; it is reusable; it washes well (haven't had a stain yet) with just detergent; it's a time efficient diaper--no spending hours scrubbing needed; and most importantly, Jude seems to like wearing them. The diaper wicks away moisture better than a disposable, in my opinion, and the leaks are not as frequent as with disposables. The best part--I put up a one time expense on these bad boys and never have to buy another diaper again. Sign me up!





I'm in total debt to my friend Libba for using them on her boys (who were born before mine). These diapers came highly recommended by her. Since she's a working mother like myself (and stays waaaaay busier than I do), I figured, "Why not give them a try?" Boy, am I glad I did.





Of course, as with any diaper, there are some cons: the main one being scraping the poop. However, Jeffrey and I invested in the Bumgenius diaper sprayer which hooks up to the toilet and gives off this supersonic jet stream of water to blast that poop right off of there and into the pot. We never have to touch it, and clean-up is done in a cinch!





Another con is the diaper pail. Holy Mackerel! Does that thing stink! At least with disposables, you can stick the diaper in a Diapergenie, and that plastic bag wrapping thingy covers up the odor, but for cloth diapers, it's an entirely different story. However, I keep the odor at bay with Lysol spray and I scrub it out with Lysol lemon scented wipes. That seems to help.








However, with the money I'm saving each week on diapers and the fact that cloth diapering is healthy for little Jude's bum (something I found out from my pediatrician--not sure how it's healthier, though), I guess I can manage the clean-up o.k.

Of course, others' reactions have ranged from utterly disgusted to sheer awe. Just as they don't give two flips what I think of any decisions they make, I could care less what they think of my diapering choice. (Supplemental thought--the second Jeffrey and I announced our pregnancy, people who were parents along with the childless people were hurling opinions at us as if they were stoning a radical religious martyr. The more "You should do this"s I heard, the more I ignored and did my own thing.) However, one opinion outside of our household does matter--the baby-sitter's.

In the near future, I want to write a post on how awesome our child care provider is. I'm not going to go out on a limb and say Ms. Lily loves our cloth diapers. She hasn't said one way or the other. However, she respects mine and Jeffrey's decision and keeps Jude in them rather than insisting he wear disposables. Also, even though I've told her to just put the dirty ones in a plastic bag for me to wash out when I get home, she rinses those dirty diapers before putting them in the plastic bag. I appreciate Ms. Lily for many things since she first started keeping Jude two weeks ago, but this is one of those things that tops the list.

Diapering certainly is far from glamourous. Things that excite me have gone from attending seriously awesome rock concerts to "Hey check out the pressure on this sprayer!" Jeffrey and I made a choice to use these cloth diapers, but I do understand others' choices to use disposables. In fact, friends have given us disposable diapers that their children have outgrown before they finished the package, and we've appreciated the generosity and use them whenever we're away from home for a while. However, I'm not necessarily going to rush out to buy my own since I have a perfectly good set of cloth ones that do the job just fine.

I'm just grateful to have this option available to me. The same people who have expressed negativity toward our decision more than likely aren't people I would turn to for sound parenting advice anyway.

Marriage-A Celebration

Tonight, I learned that my cousin Courtney got engaged to the love of her life. I am so excited for her! (I actually knew this was going to happen since her mom told my mom who then told me; it's been a long week of waiting to hear when we could all start shouting from the rooftops.) Courtney and I have a lot in common--mainly our love of shopping and accessorizing. Her mom, my Aunt Evelyn, always says she blames me for how Courtney turned out. It's one of the best compliments I've ever received. We have shared some really great times together, Courtney and I, and she even opted to have me and our moms go with her on a cruise for her senior trip instead of traveling with her friends. Since I'm my parents' youngest child, I've always kind of pretended Courtney was my little sister--someone I could love and look after--a way to pay forward all of the love I have received from my big sister. And now Courtney is getting ready to be a married lady!

When someone gets engaged and has a wedding, I think these public displays should call all of us married folk to reflect on our marriages. So of course, my wheels have been turning about Jeffrey and me over the years all night!

My marriage is the aspect of my life of which I am most proud. (For now, motherhood is a close second but only because I'm still so new at it and still ironing out the kinks.) Just yesterday, a colleague of ours came up to me and said, "I saw your husband today and was telling him 'I just love Jessica,' and he just looked at me and said, 'I love her too.'" Needless to say, my heart just smiled--mostly because my husband loves me without reserve but also a tiny bit because it's nice to know my wit, charm, and unconventional good looks also pay off at work.

I really believe God put Jeffrey and me together mainly because we would be too oblivious to do it ourselves. We had known each other a couple of years and didn't think a thing about the other, and then one night, it happened. On the record, we say we don't really know what ignited the whole relationship, but off the record, I know Jeffrey saw me in that black Size 6 halter dress (I sure miss those days) doing one of my infamous impersonations of the Huddle House bouncer yelling at Ole Miss frat boys and said to himself, "In Jones County, we call that a catch so time to reel her in!"

However we ended up together, I'm sure glad it happened. Since those Ole Miss days of courting that led to me walking down the aisle, we've only grown to love each other more. (Of course, with our love story initially starting at the Huddle House, we could only go up.)

In the seven years we've been together, we have shared some truly joyous occasions. We drove to Canada, saw several awesome rock concerts including No Doubt and Bon Jovi, purchased our dream home, but one of the best days of both of our lives was the day we found out I was pregnant with our first child. The joy we both felt left us speechless and we just stood in our bedroom just outside the bathroom door holding each other up since we both felt like we were going to collapse.

But just as marriage brings about many calls for celebration, the tragedies that plague it, unfortunately prove inevitable. The same indescribable joy we felt over learning we would become parents was quickly taken away from us when I miscarried three days later. We will never understand why it happened, and it doesn't matter if we know the reason since no answer will ever be good enough. Through all of the crying, screaming, hitting walls, and pulling over on the sides of roads, God saw to it that we grieved together. As individuals, we became stronger people; Jeffrey concentrated on his music and joined a rock band while I took up running. As a couple, we chose to celebrate life. We went to hear bands, stayed out late on weekends, ate good food, and traveled some more. Because of that tragedy, we saw even clearer what we meant to each other and we celebrated, and we have an even more solid partnership than ever before.

Even with Jude finally here, we will always feel that loss. As I've said in a previous post, I don't want to forget and neither does Jeffrey. Forgetting that horrific moment would also mean ignoring that incredible joy, and that's something no one can take away.

All married couples will experience joy, but they will also face tragedy. However, those tragedies prove necessary in order to really feel that happiness and see what they're made of. Since my marriage is my greatest accomplishment, I've been praying for Jude's wife since I was pregnant with him. I plan to write a post in the near future going into more detail about this. Even though this particular post doesn't fit the theme of this blog (a blog about me and my baby), I plan on Jude reading this when he's older and I want him to know, just in case he ever has doubts, how much his parents love each other and how wanted he is.

The way Jeffrey and I love is not for everyone (because really, could every wife out there handle a husband's undying fascination with Sci-fi and the band Rush? I think not.) However, everyone aspires to have those kinds of feelings for his/her spouse that Jeffrey and I have for each other. I wish Courtney and Matt all the best with their upcoming marriage. May they always know what they mean to each other and grow to love each other more with every passing day.

Maternity Clothes

Today marks another significant event in the lives of Jude and me.

I finally banished all the maternity clothes to the basement (ok, except for a few camisole tops--but come on, those things are practical).

What makes this significant? Well, I have my old body back (actually, let's just call it a work in progress) and--the best part-- a living breathing reason for why I needed the clothes in the first place.

Over the years, I have made shopping into an art. I have a talent for scoring top brands at ridiculously low prices. My greatest achievements to date include some Tory Burch fashions from Nieman Marcus for under $100 and a pair of Seven jeans from Maison Weiss for the low, low price of $20. The secret? I don't really know, dumb luck maybe?

As anyone can imagine, my closet has become so jam packed over the years that Jeffrey's clothes have moved to an antique armoir. After lugging my bins of winter clothes to the basement, I had finally decided "Enough!" because 1. my basement is dark and scary and b. searching for my outfit of choice each day had finally become way too cumbersome. I had finally reached a point where I would just wear and enjoy the clothes I already had.

Then I got pregnant.

I had the pleasure of wearing winter, spring, and summer maternity fashions. In the coldness of February, my regular clothes finally gave and I just kept blowing up on into the heat of June. I didn't exactly score any real deals on maternity clothes. Turns out, maternity companies are going to milk you for as much as they can (except if you want to buy moo-moos; those are pretty cheap, and yes, I have one or two). However, the maternity store A Pea in the Pod did award me a $100 gift certificate to restaurant.com that I redeemed at four different restaurants because I guess they figured preggos gotta get fatter and then they could swoop in once again and save the day by selling me more clothes with elastic that gives even more slack.

As far as I can recall, my pregnancy is the only time in my life where I really enjoyed getting fat. The clothes were actually cute and looked fairly decent on me. I have to admit I liked those sizeable coverings that simultaneously clothed me and my child.

The image above is me after an evening of celebrating mine and Jeffrey's seventh wedding anniversary--one week before Jude arrived. At that point, I had a lot of baby and a lot of good food from Char in that belly.

Now all of those clothes are put away in the deep dark corner of that scary basement. As I put them away, I had Jude within my sights to serve as my reminder of how grateful I am that he's finally here. And because of that, I couldn't get sad over saying good-bye to those clothes.

After all, those clothes still live in my house. Maybe one day I'll unearth them from the dark depths of my basement to wear again!

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

It's no secret that I am an impatient person and like to have things go my way. I like to have things/attend events/carry out plans/see results--right now. If it doesn't happen right this second, expect to see a fit or two thrown. Then again, after the apparent fit, I can regroup and do the whole "slow and steady wins the race" thing since having my own way trumps impatience but only after I throw my fit--got to throw my fit first. This obvious and oftentimes unattractive part of my persona possibly comes from my Daddy (he likes to have fits too), or it stems from my role as the youngest child (we youngests tend to have a lot of attention heaped upon us as babies and still expect it years later--like 29 years later). So when it finally came time for Jeffrey and I to entertain the idea of having children, little did I know of the roller coaster ride we were in for.

I don't know precisely when Jeffrey and I decided we should go forth and multiply, but I do remember we were not always on board with the idea. When we first got married, I had plans for graduate school, Jeffrey wanted to get established in his career, I wanted something that could pass for a career--wasn't quite sure what at the time, and basically children were the furthest things from our minds.

So after we accomplished those life goals, and add to that a brand new (well, new to us; the place was built in 1924) home and a van (to haul Jeffrey's drums, not for kids--actually, Jude has yet to ride in the van), we finally arrived at the inevitable--kids. We felt pretty good about our position on family. We both pretty much agreed on how we would raise them (although I'm still not totally on board with Jeffrey introducing Jude to sci-fi. I mean, I know he's little now, but eventually I will want Jude to date and get married, and nothing repels a woman quite like Dr. Who.) Anyway, we were ready.

It actually took a few years and a lot of heartache before Jude graced us with his presence. I'm not quite ready to share our experience in detail with the world, and I don't know when or if I can ever put that into words, but for those couples who struggle to have children, you are not alone. You really do have to have patience and lots of it (having God in your corner helps too). But here's what I can say about my experience: Jude was well worth the wait, and I'm saying this after having just changed a blow out of a diaper.

I've had many humbling experiences in my lifetime (and my faithful readers who have been following this blog with its sarcastic wit, you've probably already gathered this). However, this particular one takes the prize. I definitely learned my lesson on patience. Now I'm not going to say that from here on out, I will be the most patient person ever put on Earth who makes Job look like a jealous wretch, because even since Jude's arrival, I've had some setbacks. However, my fits are not as frequent as they once were. After all, when something doesn't go as planned, I now have a little face that looks at me daily to remind me to just let it go.

What's In a Name?

I've always wondered how I got my name. My parents didn't name me after anyone in particular, so how did they come up with Jessica Lea? Since I haven't really gotten a straight answer out of either parent, I'm working on just making up a good story about it. You know, to fill in the gaps. (Hey, Blanche Dubois lived her life telling what "ought to be the truth." That motto's good in theory, I guess.)

Anyway, I figure if Jude is anything like me, he'll wonder about EVERYTHING, and that includes the story of how Jeffrey and I came to name him.

So why did we choose Jude?

Answer: "Because 'Stairway to Heaven' would be a stupid name for a baby!" --spoken by the ever so wise Jeffrey Brown, Jr. Yeah. I married that.

Ok, here's the real story behind Jude's whole name.

Vincent was an easy decision for Jeffrey and for me as well. Vincent was Jeffrey's Papaw's name. Unfortunately, he passed away before I ever knew Jeffrey, but from all accounts I've heard, he was a great man. No surprise there since Jeffrey comes from a pretty great family who has treated me as one of their own since the day I met everyone. Since I love Jeffrey's family, I'm pretty sure I would have loved him too.

So what does my side of the family think about the name Vincent? Well, they all love the name too! Sure they think it's a sweet tribute to someone Jeffrey loved so much, but their enthusiasm stems from elsewhere. See, we have a deep love for all teams Wisconsin. Go up North and cut open any of their veins, and I swear they will bleed green and gold. Half my roots lie in that northern soil, so how appropriate that I would name my kid after the greatest man (or should I say god? Could go either way with that bunch) to come out of that state--Vince Lombardi!

We definitely couldn't go wrong with Vincent.

Then there's the other part of his name and what we choose to call him day to day--Jude. Since announcing Jude's name at 19 weeks pregnant, we have heard more Beatles "Hey Jude" references then I care to stomach. However, both of us really do like that song, and I have always liked the simplistic-no-fuss-monosyllabic names for boys. The other reason we chose Jude comes from a place a bit more personal (and a bit more Catholic). St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes. I'm sure it seems weird to many that I would name a child after someone whose name is associated with something so negative, but for me and Jeffrey, no name proves more appropriate. Before Jude existed, Jeffrey and I experienced a tragedy that really threw us for a loop, and maybe we ended up being better stronger people because of it. What I do know is that I look at my sweet baby every day and am reminded of how far we've come since then. I've never been one to focus on the past--always the future (and I have planned a whole post dedicated to this school of thought). However, our tragedy is something I never want to forget. For me, Jude represents what was lost and what is gained, and I guess that's what makes life so beautiful.

So Vincent Jude--such a big name for such a little guy! Of course, we wouldn't tell this whole story to just anyone because there are some emotional parts behind it, and who would want to witness a snot slinging in the midst of casual conversation? To just any ol' soul who asks about the name Jude, we just tell them we've named him after the heavy metal band, Judas Priest. And since mine and Jeffrey's weirdness is really easy to pick up on, they all buy it!

Cousins

I had a lot of things to be excited about with my little bundle of joy, but one of the things I looked forward to most was Jude meeting his cousins pictured above. That's Ronnie and Jillian, my sister Amanda's children. They live in Milwaukee, WI and manage to get down to Mississippi a few times a year. They're not twins in the sense that they simultaneously resided in Amanda's womb, but instead we'll call them "Irish twins" since they came one right after the other. In fact, Amanda even pointed out that she started out a school year pregnant with Ronnie and ended that same school year pregnant with Jillian. She really wasn't kidding when she said she loved labor and delivery.

Anyway, those two provided me with much entertainment my first week home with Jude. We played bowling, watched "Calliou" (if you haven't seen the show, the best way I can describe it is Pink Floyd music put into a storyline/cartoon. Basically what I'm saying is, that writer must smoke a pound of weed every hour on the hour in order to create each episode!), chased the Weezy cat (she's not the same anymore), and of course, played with Baby Jude!

These two fell in love with their new little cousin immediately. Actually, Jillian went right up to him and patted his head. Ronnie was a little apprehensive at first but once he decided Jude wouldn't bite, he looked at me and said, "I want to pet her." I guess I should give the back story to that.

Two days before, when Ronnie and Jillian arrived to my house, we all tried to shower them with hugs, kisses, and presents. Ronnie could've cared less; he just wanted to find Weezy-cat. That kid must have some kind of awesome memory because the last time he saw my cat, he wasn't even two yet; that was over a year ago! Anyway, he kept asking, "Where is he? Where did he go," so I explained to him that Weezy was a she. Anyway, I guess he thought since Jude was also mine, then he must be a she who needed to be petted too!

Anyway, it was sweet to see the cousins all getting along during the week. Ronnie and Jillian especially loved rocking Jude in his swing, but the real treat came toward the end of their stay when they got to hold him!

Jude is definitely calmer around them than Weezy was. You've probably noticed there are no pictures of Weezy with the kids. That's because she stayed the hell away. Maybe Jude would've done the same thing, but being only a few days old, where was he going to go?

I definitely had a hard time seeing these two off to Wisconsin. They provided me with a lot of insight of what's to come in the next year or two. All I can say is I better hit the gym now so I can keep up!

Now that Ronnie and Jillian are back in Wisconsin, they still talk about Jude. Whenever I call up there, Ronnie always wants to talk to Baby Jude (he also wants to talk to Weezy-cat; I do a pretty good "Meow" over the phone, but I need to step up my baby-speak). Amanda can't keep Jude's birth announcement on the refrigerator because Jillian keeps walking around the house with it and saying "Baby Dude" over and over again.

It really stinks that Wisconsin and Mississippi aren't any closer than they are. Regardless, I see these cousins being the very best of friends. I look forward to the adventures they'll have, but I'm also a tad bit scared of what they'll get into.

Ronnie and Jillian will be back Labor Day weekend for Jude's Christening. Also that weekend, Jude will get to meet his other cousins, my sister's stepchildren who are also quite fabulous themselves, Payton and Trey!

Labor--Not Just a Day Off Work Part 2

It's been a few days since my last post, babies can be sort of high maintenance, but I'm finally ready to continue my story.

Back in the delivery room, I had given up on having an easy labor. My worst fear--the c-section--was looking more and more enticing with each painful contraction (and by then, those were coming every minute to two minutes). My nurse called the anesthesiologist back in, but she quickly let me know that he may not be able to do a whole lot at that point.

Dr. Pryor, the anesthesiologist, decided he would just take out the epidural and put a new one in. Again, Mama opted to stay in there and help calm me, but this time she would regret her choice. Because the other epidural had numbed everything but my lower right side, getting me into a seated position and into a "C" shape proved quite a daunting task. Not only that, those contractions were still coming on strong. Mama held on to my shoulders and told me everything I needed to do--relax, take a deep breath, close your eyes and think of England (oh wait; that was Queen Victoria to her daughter and also how I ended up in this blasted delivery room), but you get the picture.

Anyway, Mama's pep talk went over as well as a leadened balloon. What with her words, the blood pressure cuff compressing, the needle going in my spine, my spaghetti legs falling off the stool, AND the contractions, I was not in the mood and proceeded to let her know. I'm not sure what I said, but she responded to everyone with "I'm her mother and she knows she can abuse me." Whoops.

Mama also felt it necessary to provide commentary on everything Dr. Pryor was doing. He was actually quite impressed with her descriptions, so I told him "Well, Mama's a doctor just not of the medical kind." He got a good laugh out of that.

After all that, the needle was in place and all we had to do was wait ten minutes to see if the epidural took. After that, there was nothing else he would be able to do. So we waited...

And would you believe...

IT WORKED!!!!!

Finally! Something went right!

As soon as he left, the nurse checked to see if I had dilated any further. As it turns out, I was 9 1/2 centimeters. Whew! That was close! Within minutes, it was time to push this baby out.

I couldn't believe that within a few minutes I would be meeting my little boy. It was the incentive I needed to get him out. So I gave that part my all just like I had pushed myself up that steep hellacious hill at my first 5 k run. It wasn't going to be long at all until I finally got to hold my baby!

Ok, so it only took an hour for me to realize that the pushing part isn't like it is in the movies either. (Hollywood really needs to stop playing with folks this way.) All that drama of inducing labor and getting a new epidural, and that kid still wouldn't come out! Talk about being physically exhausted, but I kept going, mainly because I knew that baby was going to come eventually and once he got here, the nurses would finally cease their patronizing tones of "You're doing so gooood, oh you're doing so good!" Here I lay spread eagle in front of God and everybody; I don't need them talking to me as if I finger painted the most "beautiful" rainbow in the kindergarten class!

So about an hour and a half total, I pushed for what felt like the zillionth time, and after Count 3, the nurses both shouted "STOP" and it was time to call in Dr. Nicols. Freakin' finally! So Dr. Nicols saunters in, asks me why I have the mirror covered up (is she for real?), and delivers the fine fellow you see above.

Here's some other things the movies fail miserably at depicting:

1. The baby comes out a gory mess. Seriously, when they held up Jude for me to view, one of the nurses said "You can touch him." I don't remember if I actually said it (Lord, I hope I didn't), but I did think, "Do I have to?" (Sidebar--just let me know where it is I need to go to accept my Mother of the Year trophy.) The kid was gray. And he had goo on him. (Shivers...) However, they cleaned him up quite nicely, and once I actually did hold him, I fell immediately in love.

2. Speaking of holding the baby, yeah, they don't hand him off to you right away. Oh no. It was at least thirty minutes before I got to hold him due to Dr. Nicols having to stitch me up and the nursing team getting all of his stats. Therefore, I got to sit there in silent agony for thirty minutes thinking that my child looked like the crypt keeper from "Tales from the Crypt."

On the plus side, though, I didn't have the c-section. I had made it and received a pretty amazing souvenir because of it.

Labor and delivery was painful. It was gross. It was scary. But here's the bizarre part. I would do it again. And again. And maybe again after that. No, not everyday like my nutjob sister said she would do, but I definitely have my sights on more children down the road. (I think Jeffrey wants more too, but he accidentally caught a glimpse of Dr. Nicols delivering the afterbirth, so I'm going to give him some time to forget that trauma and then revisit the issue.) Sure it's one hard and tiring day, but when you have the support that I had (I know I give my sister a lot of grief, but really I wouldn't have made it through my first week at home without her--more on that later), a husband who somehow managed to put his weak stomach in check and be there for me, and one sick sense of humor, labor and delivery is totally manageable. Heck, it's a cakewalk compared to actually raising the child! :)

Later on that day, my family had informed me that a terrible storm was brewing during the delivery. Of course, I was a tad bit occupied to notice. We needed the storm since it hadn't rained in over a month. But what's even more significant (and Lord, please don't let this be a foreshadowing moment), Jude arrived to the world at 4:45 p.m., and he brought hail with him!