My dream baby

Dear August,

You're 8 months old and I'm just now getting around to writing your first letter. I believe that's when I wrote your brother's, too — so don't feel jilted for being the second born. If you ever become the middle child, you may wallow in the short shrift as I did. For the record, my parents would categorically deny any disrespect toward their middle child, but middle children always seem to find something wrong with, well, not being the oldest or youngest. Don't worry, I'm crazy obsessed with you and will do all I can to show that my love is immeasurable. You'll tire of the camera lens always six inches from your face, I'm sure.

The first time I saw you wasn't when a surprise 10-pound baby was placed in my arms. I saw you first in a dream. I wasn't even pregnant yet, but there you were. Liam was holding a smaller boy's hand. He had brown hair and bright eyes. Liam called the boy Gus. I told your dad about the dream, and we forgot about it for a while. When we did find out I was pregnant again, we didn't want to know the gender. Everyone surmised you were definitely going to be a girl. I dubbed you Baby G. Many thought I did this because I had mother's intuition that we'd be buying pink bedding in the near future. At first, I thought you could be a girl, but that inkling faded. I know now that I called you Baby G because of the wayward dream. You were our little Gus. We talked about the dream and decided that if you were a boy, we'd call you August with Gus being your nickname. What's more, you were conceived in August.

I never imagined it was possible to love another little creature as much as I loved my first baby. Your dad worried that he wouldn't have enough love for another child. We worried about how Liam would react to not being our entire world. We worried about the dog not warming up to you. Our worries were silly. You came into our life when we needed it most. You are such a happy baby. Your joy makes my worst days the best days. You have this delicious sweet breath. I often hold you real close, trying to catch it, seal it away in my memory. If anyone asks what I'm doing, I'll tell them I'm like the cat in the old wives' tale.

"No, he'll eat it!"

Liam was very patient with you when you were first born. He'd help me, want to hold you all the time. Now, he's learning that you, too, want to touch every toy you come in contact with, and he's all but had it. It's fun to watch as you descend on his racetrack or Hot Wheels cars while he rants and raves about their impending doom. He does like to give you kisses and hugs, and calls you either, Baby Brudder or Baby Augettzz.

You got your first tooth at 7 months, and now you're army crawling all over the house. Recently, we've caught you pulling yourself into a standing position. Your milestones are pretty consistent with your brother's, but you're different in so many ways. Liam has a vibrant personality that commands attention. He was flirting with strangers when he was your age. But you have a quietness about you. You're not a mute, in fact, you're quite vocal — that's not what I mean by quiet. It's your spirit. It's so unbelievably calm. You sing, too. My mom's best friend, Aunt Lynne, prophesied that you'd have a song in your heart, so you're living up to God's plan in that sense.


GusGus, Choonka Bear and Bright Eyes are some of our favorite monikers for you. We love you so much, August. In a cynical world, it's refreshing to know that dreams do come true.

Love,

Mama

Johnson & Johnson take me away ...

You've never seen so many smiles and coos in you life until you see my little man taking a bath. If he's cranky I draw a bath — problem solved. If I'm having a tough mommy day, I give this kid a bath to remind myself that it's all worth it. 

That's one cute groupie

August joined my friend Kori and me for our friends' gig last week. The kid never cried despite the steamy conditions on the leather sofa we plopped down on. It was 100 degrees outside. Check out Near Miss Mallet here. August gives the band two chubby thumbs up.

Rocker hair

Baby G is now Baby Gus

Introducing ... August Penn Gardner

The day August decided to brave the world started like any other Saturday. David went to work at the crack of dawn while Liam and me snuggled in our California king. Baby G wasn't due to come out for another four days or so and I was convinced he'd stay put until at least Monday. Just about everyone had made plans for the weekend not thinking this kid would make an entrance. So when my eyes snapped open around 7 a.m. I thought, "Uh oh, oh crap!" I remembered from my first pregnancy that labor started with dull, achy cramps and that's exactly what I felt when I walked to the bathroom. 

7 a.m. 

Sometime in the 7 o'clock hour I called David. He had a slew of patients scheduled and I prepared myself for the possibility that he'd miss the birth of his second child. He told me to call my mom and keep him updated. Thankfully my mom answered her phone.

9 a.m.

My mother, the godsend, came over to help with Liam when the first wave of "real" contractions started. I think I handled these contractions better this time around not only because I knew what to expect but because my mom was close by. I call it biology magic. She brought Liam breakfast and packed a bag for him and I got in the shower. Moms just know.

Flashback: My granny Vera Viola scrubbed my mother's house with bleach before the birth of my brother. When my sister wouldn't stop crying as a newborn, granny suggested giving her a little watermelon juice because my mother craved them during her pregnancy. I guess it worked.

10 a.m. to noon: 

We'll just call this part of the day — Panic Time. My contractions were all over the place. Some were 10 minutes apart and some were 20 minutes. My doctor told me NOT to wait until they were 5 minutes apart because I was already almost 4 cm dilated and 80-90 percent effaced. When my mother timed them at 5 minutes ... it was a mad dash to leave the house. My hair was still wet as we set out for the hospital. A call into David wasn't so good. His backup co-worker couldn't be reached. Then, just as I felt a conniption cresting, the contractions stopped. Huh? So instead we went to my sister's house not far from the hospital. 

At the hospital:

Eventually we decided to head to the hospital after David was finally able to leave work. They hooked me up to a monitor and my contractions were still off the rails on a crazy train. But, man, they were hurting like hell. The nursing staff was busy, so no one came to "check me" for a while, which turned out to be like 2 hours. I cried a bit during one of the last contractions before a nurse came in to do the deed. I remember thinking, "Good, now these bitches can get me my epidural!" My mom, sister and David were there during this time. My nurse looked at me and asked me to guess how much I was dilated to. I was in no mood to play "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." I just shook my head. I WAS ALREADY AT 8 CM. She immediately rushed to the door and yelled out to her compatriots, "Prepare for delivery!!!"

WHAT? Delivery? I haven't got my epidural, people. Delivery? Huh? 

Then a ton of people flooded in unwrapping "delivery" stuff, poking me with needles. It didn't look like an epidural was possible considering I'd passed the window. (Between 4 and 8 centimeters). They offered me some other drug for my IV — which hurt like hell after they tried about 10 times to secure a vein — but I didn't want to be loopy, so I said no. So, when my doctor was unexpectedly called away to a C-section, my rockstar nurse hooked me up with the fastest epidural the world has ever known. But my bliss didn't last for long ... Once Dr. Tan came back to break my water it was time to push. And they back off the epidural once that part starts. But, I was glad for small respite, nonetheless.

On my eighth push, Baby G came out, all 10 pounds of him. His size and amount of hair surprising the entire room. 

NICU Nightmare

Because August was a 10-pounder the doctor/nurses wanted to keep an eye on his blood sugar level. It was a little low, so they asked if they could give him a bit of formula to get it up. We let them. August's blood sugar was good after a few gulps of the formula, but the pediatrician on call wanted him to go to NICU for the night to monitor it. We were worried so we agreed, never thinking our baby would be held for ransom in the coming days.

The next day, his levels were excellent, but they had started him on antibiotics as a precaution and wouldn't let him go until the next day. We didn't agree to antibiotics, but it's their policy. One night of monitoring turned into 5 days of hell. We have since concluded that our healthy baby was being held ransom because we have PPO insurance and all those NICU nurses need a paycheck. Of course the neonatologist and staff always had some reason they needed to keep him there. All of which were bogus. My dad called and complained and the next day August was discharged, but not before an emotional breakdown, countless trips from Rio Bravo, restless nights and wasted bonding time. Most of the nurses were good, though. Our favorite looked like actress Alyson Hannigan of "Buffy" fame. She truly cared about those babies in there. One day we arrived to find her washing August's hair because his first bath was a rush job. She told us she didn't want him to have "stinky neck" and said she'd noticed his hair wasn't completely clean.

It was no fun seeing our perfectly healthy baby hooked up to an IV. And to top off an already crappy situation, our hospital bill hovered around $8,000. Lesson to the masses: Never let your baby go to the NICU for something as minor as "monitoring." Make them come to your room and check your baby. 

August is home and life is crazy, but at least he's here. We can't imagine life without him.

Just waiting on Baby G

My rotundness on Mother's Day. I got a spa package ... so girly, whaaaa? I was really craving margaritas and nickel slots on that day.

Liam gettin' funky with washable markers. Since I've been off work it's been a challenge to find things for the monkey child to do. We're trying to find a routine. 

My very round face after a recent doctor's appointment. I hate appointments at the sausage factory. Just let me show up and push this kid out, will ya!

Mr. G at the park on his only day off last week. He's bringing home the work-like-a-slave bacon and I love him.

Snow-globe shakeup

The older I get the more I think about growing up in the '80s. Saturday-morning cartoons, Duran Duran, Bob's Big Boy ... weekly treks to the video store. The hallowed VCR — our sanctuary on Friday nights. "Falcon Crest" wasn't big in our house. We wanted MOVIES! So my dad would drive us to our video store (independently owned mind you) to pick up a movie, two if we were splurging. Every '80s one-off movie I've seen probably came from that store on Niles Street. I distinctly remember how excited we were to bring home "A Night In the Life of Jimmy Reardon." River Phoenix with big hair, what could be better, right? WRONG. The movie sucked. But "going to the video store" became an institution in our house and my memories surrounding it are some of the best I have. And I guess that leads me into this post: making memories out of ordinary things.

With Baby G due to arrive in a month, we've had quite the schedule at our house. We're staring down a new dirt road and I can't help but feel like others around me are too. Dirt roads may evoke a negative image for some, but not me ... I love a rutty dirt road. But with that said, the crossroads for some are harder to bear. The newspaper laid off 25 more people recently, breaking the the hearts of many of my journalism friends. I blame Twitter. Just kidding — only slightly. Also, my dad was forced into "early retirement" thanks to a lackluster oil industry. Forty years of grit all for a so-so severance and "Hey, it's been swell." But that's OK. Dad's dirt road is paved in Oregon green. He'll finally get to build his hot rod and bask in four seasons.

To take our minds off the rigmarole of a bad economy, we've sought out our own affordable adventures — when we have a rare day off together.

Here's David and Liam checking out "duckies" at our zoo, otherwise known as CALM. The boy was agog at all the animals, and loved it when a goat licked his hand.

And speaking of animals ... this neighborhood cat has taken a liking to Mistar Blond — Liam's latest nickname, courtesy of Mom. As you can see, this cat is huge and likes to chase you. It waits for Hot Dog to come out and play on most days.







Like most media-obsessed Americans, we have our shows we faithfully record. "Lost" is getting good this season — finally. But I'm afraid "American Idol" is a shoddy excuse for entertainment. But we still watch it. But, our reality fix lately can be summed up in one word, Dog. David recorded a "Dog, the Bounty Hunter" marathon, and it was like watching that first batch of "Sopranos" episodes. We were glued to the TV. For Halloween this year, he'll go as Dog and I'm gonna rock the hell out of Beth, that's all I'm saying.


Another adventure on the cheap was a drive to Kernville for a day of winding roads, river revelry, breezy air and a French dip at the cafe.

Here's David and Liam contemplating the rapids.

We've also discovered Fresh & Easy markets. I LOVE THIS PLACE. They actually have "hybrid-only" parking near the front. Oh, and their hummus is the best.










Liam update: He's all about robots these days, calling everything that remotely looks like one, "a robota." David picked out a toddler version of Optimus Prime and we also got him "Wall-E" on Blu-Ray. Hopefully these items will give him solace when his whole world is shaken like a snow globe in a month.

33 weeks

Just call me Mama HD — Humpty Dumpty. With seven weeks to go, we're kickin' around a few name ideas, but it's hard. Nonetheless, we can't wait to meet our Baby G.

taken at 1 a.m. last night

28 weeks

I wasn't lying when I said I'd be more prudent in the whole documenting the belly process. I'm actually about done with my 30th week, but am behind with the posts. This is me at 28 weeks, and yes, the belly is HUGE. It's not huge in the stick straight out sort of way, but rotund is a great descriptor in this case. I am definitely showing a lot more this go-around. Mom literature on the subject says this is quite normal with subsequent pregnancies. I know one thing, Baby G likes to move, especially while I'm on deadline at work.

Crazy urges

I haven't been a BIG Gulper for years, but Baby G has undoubtedly re-stoked the soda urge. Here's the kicker: CAFFEINE ISN'T ALLOWED sayeth the OB/GYN gods. Oh, if they only knew how I crave Coca-Cola. This is strange considering I've always been partial to Pepsi. And the neurosis doesn't stop there. I have to have it from the bottle — a small bottle. I swear it tastes different, people. Alas, I've only bought one six-pack and made it last for two weeks. I almost lost them, though ... there was the stove, flour sprinkling and cussing ... a funny story for another time. Needless to say, I've been craving stuff I'm not supposed to have. I bought the pickle from the Green Frog deli. Best. Pickle. Ever.

And oddly enough, I've been getting seriously cozy with smoked salmon and fresh pineapple.

Baby G and the new year

So, it's official. I do not know the sex of the baby growing inside of me. (My sister's annoyed guffaw can currently be heard throughout the lands.)

We had a wonderful Christmas, full of surprise gifts and Liam squeals. Visited with family, drove the 99, then folded ourselves into clean sheets. The next day was THE DAY. Ultrasound day. Turns out, David was scheduled to work, so I had to go it alone. We decided awhile back to let nature run its course and not find out the gender. So, in a sense, it was better that Daddy not go — sometimes the nursing skills can trump the daddy skills.

The technician seemed pleasantly surprised with my revelation, and I hoped she'd be able to keep the pronouns in check throughout the scan, which she did beautifully. She told me to close my eyes at one point. Baby G flashed me the peace sign once and kept doing somersaults. I saw two tiny feet tilted together, toes intermingling. It's an amazing thing, seeing your baby move around in there. People have asked whether I have "mother's intuition" about the gender. I had an inkling with Liam and I have one with Baby G. But since we're playing surprise party, I'll keep that one just for me. Maybe there could be an office pool.

Rizzo's got another bun in the oven ...