"TMI" or, for those of us not in our mid-20s or younger, "Too Much Information." That's what I'm about to give you.
Saturday morning, I ran the Country Music Half-Marathon. There's nothing unusual about that, as its a race I run almost every year. What was unusual, however, is that I had a brutal, brutal run (1:52 or so), mostly because I just haven't had time to get many long runs in on weekends. In addition, I haven't been putting in as much mileage as I normally do. That's what having a second child will do to you, I suppose. I planned on running 1:50, so I wasn't disappointed in the time I ran, just with how tough the run was and how terrible I felt the last 3 miles.
Now, here where things get interesting.
Between mile 10 and 11, I noticed my nipples were chafing, even though I had put some "Body Glide" on them prior to the race. I was wearing a relatively new, Golite running shirt and, for some reason (the fabric, the temperature, etc.), it chafed my nipples. I wasn't hurting enough to take my shirt off during the race - that would have hurt the runners around me - or to avail myself of the vaseline that was being handed out by medical personnel along the route. I didn't think it was the bad.
I was wrong, as I quickly realized when the race was over. Walking back to my truck, my nipples hurt with every step - literally - as the fabric of my shirt touched them. Taking a shower after I got home was pure torture.
Last night, when I climbed into bed beside Jude about 11 p.m., I couldn't get comfortable. My nipples were still hurting. Again, just the slightest touch of the fabric of my t-shirt sent ripples was painful. Half jokingly, I said to Jude, "I might need some of that stuff you rub on your nipples." Without missing a beat as she pumped breast milk (something she hates to do, by the way) and without looking at me, she reached over to her bedside table, picked up a tube of something and handed it to me. Calling her bluff, I unscrewd the top, squeezed a little bit of "goo" out of the tube and rubbed it on my left, then right, nipple. Then, I moaned, which caused her to simultaneously laugh and shake her head sadly.
When I asked her what would happen next, she suggested my breast milk would come in sometime in the next three days. I laughed.
Then I stopped laughing. I stopped laughing because my nipples began to burn like someone was holding a lit match to them. That's when Jude started laughing harder.
I rushed into the bathroom, unsure of what to do. I wet some Kleenex and tried to rub teh "goo" off my nipples. This, of course, made them hurt worse. Ditto for when I tried to dry my nipples with a paper towel. Jude kept laughing. Finally, I staggered in the hall to Joey's changing table, found a tube of straight up vaseline, and slathered it on my nipples.
When I recounted this story tonight to our friend, Cyndi Baines, she laughed her ass off. Then she told me I had gotten just a tiny taste of what it's like to be a woman. And she was right.
If that's what it's like to be a woman, I thought, then a tiny taste is all I want.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Running with J.P.
As anyone who knows me undoubtedly is aware, running is a big part of my life. Well, my family knows that better than anyone, because I am forever going for a run, coming back from a run or trying to find time or juggle my schedule so I can go for a run.
Since Joey's birth, I've found it's difficult to find time to run as regularly as I normally do. For example, I used to run a lot after Jude and I put J.P. to bed, about 8:30 p.m. or so. That's changed as of late, though, since I usually take Joey after J.P. goes to bed, so Jude can nap for at least an hour before she feeds him. I've run a few times at 10:15 p.m., after I hand Joey off to Jude, but I don't like to run that late because it's hard for me to unwind afterwards and get to bed at a semi-decent hour. Lately I've started getting up at 5:30 a.m. and running, which actually works pretty well.
This afternoon, after I put J.P. down for his nap and Jude and Joey settled in for a nap, as well, I headed over to Shelby Bottoms to get one final long run in before the Country Music Half-Marathon this Saturday. I had a great 11-mile run, except for the part where an unleashed dog got about a 100 yard head start, ran straight toward me and collided head first with my left knee, knocking me to the ground. I was extraordinarily pissed when I got up, but the lady that owned the dog felt so bad my anger quickly melted away and I patted the dog on the head and finished my run.
The best part, though, is that when I got home, J.P. wanted to go for a run with me around the block. Tired legs and all, off we went before I even sat down. We ran together up Elliott Avenue and stopped at the alley where our friends, Reagan and Allison live (in Rob and Ann Marie Elliott's old house). We walked up the alley, then ran up Benton Avenue and back to our house. J.P. was breathing hard when we got home, but he was really proud that he had run with me. And I, of course, was proud that he wanted to.
Since Joey's birth, I've found it's difficult to find time to run as regularly as I normally do. For example, I used to run a lot after Jude and I put J.P. to bed, about 8:30 p.m. or so. That's changed as of late, though, since I usually take Joey after J.P. goes to bed, so Jude can nap for at least an hour before she feeds him. I've run a few times at 10:15 p.m., after I hand Joey off to Jude, but I don't like to run that late because it's hard for me to unwind afterwards and get to bed at a semi-decent hour. Lately I've started getting up at 5:30 a.m. and running, which actually works pretty well.
This afternoon, after I put J.P. down for his nap and Jude and Joey settled in for a nap, as well, I headed over to Shelby Bottoms to get one final long run in before the Country Music Half-Marathon this Saturday. I had a great 11-mile run, except for the part where an unleashed dog got about a 100 yard head start, ran straight toward me and collided head first with my left knee, knocking me to the ground. I was extraordinarily pissed when I got up, but the lady that owned the dog felt so bad my anger quickly melted away and I patted the dog on the head and finished my run.
The best part, though, is that when I got home, J.P. wanted to go for a run with me around the block. Tired legs and all, off we went before I even sat down. We ran together up Elliott Avenue and stopped at the alley where our friends, Reagan and Allison live (in Rob and Ann Marie Elliott's old house). We walked up the alley, then ran up Benton Avenue and back to our house. J.P. was breathing hard when we got home, but he was really proud that he had run with me. And I, of course, was proud that he wanted to.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Monster Baby
Thursday, Jude and I took Joey to the doctor for his 8 week check-up. We had been spiritedly debating his weight. My guess was 8 lbs 8 oz and Jude's guess was 9 lbs 5 oz. Keep in mind, of course, Joey was 7 lbs 7 oz when he was born and little over 8 lbs when we visited the doctor for his 2 week check-up, 6 weeks ago.
When our nurse, Christie, set Joey down on the scale and weighed him, Jude and just stared at each other, then started laughing. 12 lbs 10 oz! He gained more than 4 lbs in the past 6 weeks. Joey eats like a champ and we've kept him on a regular feeding schedule, but still . . . 12 lbs 10 oz! He measured 23 1/2 inches, so he's grown 3 inches in the past 6 weeks. Clearly, Jude's breast milk contains steroids or human growth hormone.
Joey's growing so fast, which is a good thing. He's making new sounds, most recently laughing a little when I laugh while I'm holding him in my lap. He's smiling a lot more now, particularly after he finishes eating. This afternoon, Jude and I were laying in bed and Joey was in her lap, on the "boppy pillow." She was talking to him and smiling and, in response, he looked up at her and smiled, even crinkling his eyes up for good measure. It's fun to talk to him, to smile and laugh, to work hard and get rewarded with a smile. There's nothing like it, really.
When our nurse, Christie, set Joey down on the scale and weighed him, Jude and just stared at each other, then started laughing. 12 lbs 10 oz! He gained more than 4 lbs in the past 6 weeks. Joey eats like a champ and we've kept him on a regular feeding schedule, but still . . . 12 lbs 10 oz! He measured 23 1/2 inches, so he's grown 3 inches in the past 6 weeks. Clearly, Jude's breast milk contains steroids or human growth hormone.
Joey's growing so fast, which is a good thing. He's making new sounds, most recently laughing a little when I laugh while I'm holding him in my lap. He's smiling a lot more now, particularly after he finishes eating. This afternoon, Jude and I were laying in bed and Joey was in her lap, on the "boppy pillow." She was talking to him and smiling and, in response, he looked up at her and smiled, even crinkling his eyes up for good measure. It's fun to talk to him, to smile and laugh, to work hard and get rewarded with a smile. There's nothing like it, really.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Guy Smiley
Joey D. was 2 months old yesterday, which is hard to believe. He's just getting to the stage where he'll smile a little bit, on command. Jude's better at getting him to smile, but here's a photo or a smile I got from him a couple of days ago.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Church Home
Church home.
I've never been altogether certain what that term means.
What I do know, however, is that twice in my life I've been fortunate enough to find myself regularly attending a church that, well, feels like home. St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Franklin, where I attended in the late 1990's was a very special place to me. For the past 7 or 8 years, I've attended St. Patrick Catholic Church on Second Avenue in South Nashville.
I've written a lot about St. Patrick in the past, as it's an important part of our family's infrastructure. We're there, almost without fail, every Sunday. I say that not to appear overly pious, but to point out that attending 11 a.m. mass at St. Patrick is woven into the fabric of our lives.
What's really been enjoyable has been watching J.P. there, literally growing up before our fellow parishioners' eyes. He's the youngest regular attendee and everyone knows him. He's loved the people we see at St. Patrick every Sunday. It's a palpable, tangible love, too. I can feel it when I see people smile at him as we walk in or shake his hand as he wanders from pew to pew, offering others a sign of peace.
Last Sunday, Joey made his debut at St. Patrick (on Dr. Godfrey's advice, Jude had kept him home for the first six weeks of his life). Each Sunday since he was born, everyone had asked about him, so I was anxious for them to meet him. Jude and J.P. dropped off the doughnuts (we always hit Krispy Kreme on Sunday mornings) we had brought and I walked inside with Joey, a few minutes after the service had started. I located Jim and Jane (Jude's parents) and walked over to them, cradling Joey in my arms. Almost everyone I passed looked at us and smiled. Again, I felt that palpable, tangible love, and I was grateful for it.
Soon Jude and J.P. joined us and we sat together on the row, one big family, Jane, J.P., Jude, Joey, me and Jim (I just realized - that's a lot of "J's"). J.P. meandered from one end of our row to the other, as he typically does, and Joey slept in infant seat/car carrier for most of the service. He stirred and woke up right before it was time to take communion, so I lifted him out, stood up and got in the communion line. As we made our way up to the front of the church and to Father David Perkin, I was filled with emotion - happiness, pride, peace.
Father David gave Joey a blessing and our friend, Ann Kulkinski, did the same. When we circles around and got back to our seats, I looked down at Joey and he was smiling. Looking up at me and smiling. I smiled back down at him, glanced around and took a minute to think about how lucky, truly lucky and blessed, I am.
I've never been altogether certain what that term means.
What I do know, however, is that twice in my life I've been fortunate enough to find myself regularly attending a church that, well, feels like home. St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Franklin, where I attended in the late 1990's was a very special place to me. For the past 7 or 8 years, I've attended St. Patrick Catholic Church on Second Avenue in South Nashville.
I've written a lot about St. Patrick in the past, as it's an important part of our family's infrastructure. We're there, almost without fail, every Sunday. I say that not to appear overly pious, but to point out that attending 11 a.m. mass at St. Patrick is woven into the fabric of our lives.
What's really been enjoyable has been watching J.P. there, literally growing up before our fellow parishioners' eyes. He's the youngest regular attendee and everyone knows him. He's loved the people we see at St. Patrick every Sunday. It's a palpable, tangible love, too. I can feel it when I see people smile at him as we walk in or shake his hand as he wanders from pew to pew, offering others a sign of peace.
Last Sunday, Joey made his debut at St. Patrick (on Dr. Godfrey's advice, Jude had kept him home for the first six weeks of his life). Each Sunday since he was born, everyone had asked about him, so I was anxious for them to meet him. Jude and J.P. dropped off the doughnuts (we always hit Krispy Kreme on Sunday mornings) we had brought and I walked inside with Joey, a few minutes after the service had started. I located Jim and Jane (Jude's parents) and walked over to them, cradling Joey in my arms. Almost everyone I passed looked at us and smiled. Again, I felt that palpable, tangible love, and I was grateful for it.
Soon Jude and J.P. joined us and we sat together on the row, one big family, Jane, J.P., Jude, Joey, me and Jim (I just realized - that's a lot of "J's"). J.P. meandered from one end of our row to the other, as he typically does, and Joey slept in infant seat/car carrier for most of the service. He stirred and woke up right before it was time to take communion, so I lifted him out, stood up and got in the communion line. As we made our way up to the front of the church and to Father David Perkin, I was filled with emotion - happiness, pride, peace.
Father David gave Joey a blessing and our friend, Ann Kulkinski, did the same. When we circles around and got back to our seats, I looked down at Joey and he was smiling. Looking up at me and smiling. I smiled back down at him, glanced around and took a minute to think about how lucky, truly lucky and blessed, I am.
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