The 'Firsts'

I am sitting on my backyard patio; it’s a little past seven in the morning on the first Sunday of Summer 2013.  The cypress evergreen that line my backyard once threatened by gusts of hurricane winds this past autumn and laden with snow and ice this past winter now rustle faintly as the fledglings that nested within them in the spring serenade me.  I am surrounded by green– the carpet of grass and my perennials, as well as other varieties of annual leaves we planted in the spring along with the spectrum of colors of flowers in pots and in our garden.  Sonny is wandering around, occasionally chasing the birds or sniffing the scents of bunnies that frequently hop across the lawn.  I am at peace and yet overwhelmed with joy at the same time.   

My granddaughter, Lexi Grace, arrived home two days after she was born on Thursday, May 30th.  She had her first ride in the car buckled up safe in her car seat and looking very annoyed at the new contraption she was placed in.  A huge teddy bear sign greeted her on the front lawn sitting upon the words, “It’s a Girl” and holding a heart with her name, birth date, weight and inches.  She met George, her dog, for the first time.  He exuberantly wagged his long curly black tail while simultaneously sniffing her toes and head.  Naturally, we had prepared him the night before by providing her scent with a blanket she was swaddled in at the hospital.  Lindsay and Scott called me to take pictures as soon as they got there and I was only too happy to accommodate them because it meant I’d get another chance to see my precious granddaughter.  They posed next to the teddy bear, their first picture as a family in front of their house- Mommy, Daddy, Daughter and their dog, George.

While Lindsay and Scott were getting settled, I took Lexi on her first guided tour of her home- just the first level (I was too nervous to walk up the stairs to the second level just yet.)  I showed her the kitchen– telling her that’s where Mommy does all the cooking and daddy does all the cleaning; the living room­– explaining that’s where she will spend a lot of time with Mommy and Daddy; the backyard– where her first swing set will be; Daddy’s office- where he works from home and the dining room– where Mommy first told Daddy that she was in her belly and where Daddy and Mommy announced to the rest of the family about her.  Lexi slept through the whole tour. 

Then I went home to let the new family spend their first night together. 

A lot of firsts happened after that– Lexi got to meet her first cousins, Marisa and Leah and they got to hold her.  A lot of other people came to meet her for the first time– aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles, cousins, friends and neighbors.  She got to try on all her beautiful clothes and sit in her infant seat and the space age swing that I still can’t figure out how to turn on.  She went on her first visit to the pediatrician and had her first walk in the neighborhood in her stroller.  She even had her first visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, where I took her on another tour that she slept through and she had her first walk around that neighborhood.  And finally, her first bath, while screaming in protest.   

I have gotten to see my own daughter as a mother for the first time.  It didn’t surprise me at all that she would be a natural at this.  Almost 27 years ago when I brought Kimberly home from the hospital, I glimpsed Lindsay’s motherly instinct.  She held out her hands while I placed her baby sister in her arms and she fed her as if she had done it hundreds of times before.  Now I watch as she nurses her own daughter, even though it is not an easy feat and I can offer her no advice in that department.  I was a nursing “drop-out”.  I think I attempted it for about 10 minutes and then wearily gave up and succumbed to bottle-feeding.  Breast feeding was not encouraged as it is nowadays. 

I also got to see Scott as a father for the first time, doting over his little girl, although this is what I anticipated.  And even though Lindsay is nursing, he got to feed Lexi one bottle of breast milk for the first time. 

The new parents are making their first adjustments to life with a child.  One never really knows what they’re in for when they arrive here.  Lindsay just said to me yesterday how she hardly sleeps now.  “And you’ll never sleep again,” I informed her.  “At least not in the way you used to.  Welcome to parenthood.” 

Once you’re a parent, you half-sleep, for your mind is forever occupied with the life of another outside of your own.

Seeing my own child, the one who changed my life forever, changing as she crosses that threshold to motherhood is lovely, but also frustrating and even funny at times. 

It’s frustrating because I sometimes think of Lexi as “my baby”.   My “grandma” friends, Roselee and Janet, forewarned me of that feeling and I have to stop myself from saying it.  Apparently there’s even a name for this–– unconscious gatekeeping.  Brazelton, the renowned baby doctor (whom Lindsay and her facebook baby group have never heard of- maybe because he’s 95 years old) wrote about it in one of his books.

“In my work I've learned that everyone who cares deeply about a baby is in competition for that baby: parents with each other, grandparents who feel "if only they'd do it my way," caregiver and parent, parent and teacher, coach and parent. It's an inevitable reaction and part of attachment.”

Lindsay has mentioned to me that it annoys her when people other than she and Scott call Lexi ‘my baby’.  So, now when I call and ask about the baby, I stop myself after the ‘my’ and add ‘Lexi-la’ or ‘Pitzkla’ or just ‘granddaughter’– then the ‘my’ is sanctioned.

There have also been those moments when I helplessly witness the nuisances one experiences postnatal; for example, watching Lindsay trying to get up out of a sitting position while being in pain from her hemorrhoids and episiotomy.  We decided to name them- Lindsay called the hemorrhoids- Harry and his horrible two brothers and I named the episiotomy- Ethel, the evil episiotomy.  So, when I call and of course first ask, “How’s my baby, Lexi-la?” and then, instead of asking how her hemorrhoid and episiotomy feel, I ask, “And how’s Harry and Ethel?”  Fortunately, as the first month postnatal is coming to its end, so are Harry and Ethel’s reign. 

Then there are the entertaining moments of watching Lindsay trying to manage it all--taking care of another human being and the breast-feeding and all the inconveniences that come with that, along with the spitting up, the pooping, the projectile pooping– yes- projectile pooping.  Because of all this, you tend to let yourself go. 

I remember those days, when all my attention was aimed at my new baby, dressing Lindsay in designer outfits from her beautiful Layette from the famous Brooklyn Widensky’s Clothing Store.  She looked perfect, while I looked like hell- wearing just an old stained t-shirt and sweats with barely brushed hair.  I never imagined Lindsay following in my footsteps, with all her nurtured taste in designer clothing and accessories.  One night, when she managed to get out between breast-feeding, I went to pick her up just for a quick run to Target and when we were ready to leave, I noticed a white stain and another large mustard-colored stain on her wrinkled dress. 

“What is that?” I asked. 

She looked down. 

“This is spit-up and this is poop,” she answered.  “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to at least try to clean it off?” I replied.

She went to the sink for a minute, splashed some water on her dress and grabbed her bag.  “All right.  All done.  Let’s go before they close and Lexi’s due for another feeding.  I have an hour and a half.”

Hmmm…first-time mothers.  Of course, after a little clothes-shopping in Target- her new store for designer clothing- a bit of the ‘old’ Lindsay returned. 

Last Sunday, we celebrated Lexi’s first father’s day.  I bought Scott a shirt that said “Lexi’s Daddy”, which he proudly wore.  We had a huge party at Lindsay and Scott’s house.  Last year, we also celebrated at their house; although, there was melancholy permeating the air; it was our first father’s day without my brother-in-law, Scott, who had passed away in January.  And, Lindsay was supposed to have been 6 months pregnant with the first baby she had lost.  I vaguely remember daring to picture the next year’s father’s day in my hopeful imagination- with a baby in Lindsay and Scott’s arms.  And one year later, my wishes and dreams came true.  

Tomorrow it is our 35^th wedding anniversary and Mark and I are going out tonight with Kim, my mom, Lindsay, Scott and Lexi to celebrate at Lula’s – where we had Lindsay’s baby shower.   It will be Lexi’s first trip to a restaurant and our first anniversary as grandparents.  Some people celebrate with elaborate trips or jewels; but this celebration will be priceless.

And it all began when two people fell in love….

Happy Anniversary to Grandpa Mark. 

I have everything I could possibly want. 

Love, Grandma Jeannie  

Birth

Monday, May 27, 2013 (Memorial Day).  This was the day Lindsay wanted to give birth because it was her Grandma Eve’s birthday.  Most of the Memorial Day weekend was a weather-washout.  The only day that was fairly nice was Monday and we had made last-minute plans to go to my friend’s Barbara and Eric’s house for a barbecue.  And at 12:16pm I got this text from the mother to be…

I called her immediately, wondering whether the lobster dinner I cooked for her on Saturday kicked in, after all. 

Me:              How much did you leak?

Lindsay:        It was a small gush and now it’s just dripping a little.

Me:              Are you having contractions?  Did you call the doctor?

Lindsay:        Not yet.  I want to go to Michele's barbecue and eat and relax a bit.  I’m going to walk around and try to induce my labor. 

Me:              Okay, so you might be going into labor and you’re still going to a barbecue?  You’re kidding, right?

Lindsay:       Nooo, I’m not kidding.  I’m hungry. I’ll call you when I know what’s happening.

Me:              Well, if you’re going to a barbecue, then I’m going to a barbecue. I’ll be at Barbara and Eric’s with Roselee and Joey.  So, they’re going to know what’s going on.  I know you didn’t want anyone else to know when you go into labor.  But I have no choice.

Lindsay:       That’s okay.  Just make sure no one posts anything on Facebook.
Me:              Don’t worry about that and call me when you know anything new.

So with my mozzarella and tomato platter in hand, along with a bottle of wine, Mark and I headed over to Barbara’s and Eric’s house…after all, it was only 12 minutes away.  When we got there, I told everyone what was going on with Lindsay.  Roselee screamed, “I’m so excited!”  I was a nervous wreck.  Mark was unruffled and then unfazed after he had two shots of Petron Tequila. 

We were having a good time, laughing, enjoying the launch of the summer months, our annual tradition.  And then Mark decided to “christen” Barbara and Eric’s pool.  All cheered him on as he plunged into the water.  We applauded.  He came out, dried himself off and sat back at the table.  But a few minutes later I noticed that he didn’t look right.  “I think my shoulder is out again,” he muttered weakly.  (This would be the fifth time this happened to his shoulder since January 2012.)  “Are you kidding me?”  I asked rhetorically, “Lindsay is probably having her baby today and you dislocated your shoulder.  Again?  Now?  Today?  I don’t believe this!”  Someone said, “Where is she giving birth?  You could take him to that hospital.”  

It was utter chaos from then on.  Mark could not stand up from all the pain he was in.  We had to call 911.  An ambulance and about five police cars arrived in minutes.  Michael- Barbara and Eric’s son, who was home for the weekend, shook his head and said, “This is like a movie script.”  I thought to myself…Yes, and I can’t wait to get to the part where everything ends up all right.

I requested to go into the ambulance with Mark.  They let me sit in the front with the driver, a very nice woman.  I asked her if she could take him to Winthrop Hospital because my daughter was probably in labor and giving birth there.  “How exciting,” she replied, “Congratulations!  But I’m sorry I can only take him to Nassau University.”  From then on, I explained to everyone at the hospital whom I came into contact with that my daughter was giving birth and they needed to do whatever they could do to get us out of there.  They seemed very happy for me but it did not make them move any faster.  Reluctantly, I texted Lindsay:

She responded:

 

In her next few texts, she informed me that she spoke to her doctor and he wanted her to go to the hospital and get checked.  After I heard that, I went over to the emergency room doctor, who looked like he was about 13 years old and asked him how long this would be.  He told me there was a process he had to follow as he sat in front of a computer looking at something (I suspected he might be googling “How to put a dislocated shoulder back into place.”)  Mark was in a room, just in his bathing trunks, in a great deal of pain.  I told him I was going back to get the car and I called my friend Joey to pick me up. 

When I got back to Barbara and Eric’s house, I got this text from Scott, my son-in-law:

My friend, Joey, insisted on driving me to Winthrop Hospital.  He assured me that he would take care of Mark at Nassau University Hospital.   So I went.  At that point, you could have told me to do anything and I would’ve listened.  I think I was the only one in my family who was a bundle of nerves. 

I arrived at Winthrop Hospital and went straight to the Maternity wing, aptly named “The New Life Center.”  Lindsay and Scott were inside though she hadn’t been admitted yet, and then I received a text from her with instructions to pick up her dog, the baby book and the picture frame with a section for the footprints.  Hmm, I thought, that was going to be difficult considering my car was still parked at Barbara and Eric’s house and Mark was in the Emergency room at Nassau University Hospital, but I assured them that it would be done.  It’s a haze what happened next, I remember receiving a call from an unidentified phone number. I answered.  It was Mark.  He was not too happy. 

“Where are you?  I’m here at the hospital in my bathing trunks and flip-flops and no shirt!  Where did you go?”

“Well, I’m at Winthrop, Lindsay’s water did break and she will probably deliver tonight…isn’t that exciting!  We're going to be grandparents! ”  I replied, trying to diffuse his anger at me.  “I thought it would take a while to fix your shoulder.”

“No.  They did it fifteen minutes after you left.  I need you to pick me up.  I’m standing here in no shirt!!” 

I called Kim.  “Pick up your father at the hospital on Hempstead Turnpike.  I’m at Winthrop.  Lindsay’s water broke.” 

“Oh my God!  I’m so excited I’m going to be an aunt!!  How will I find him?”

“It probably won’t be hard.  Look for a man who looks like your father in bathing trunks and flip flops without a shirt, who’s ready to kill his wife for abandoning him at the hospital.”

“This is going to make a great blog!” Kim said. 

Writing the blog was the last thing on my mind at that moment.

I called Joey to pick me up so I could get my car.  God bless my friend Joey.

I told Mark to meet me back at the house while I go to get his clothes, phone and wallet at Barbara and Eric’s house, where Joey would drop me off.   When I got to their house to get Mark’s stuff, Barbara told me, “It’s not here, it’s in Roselee’s car!”  I called Joey back.  He told me that he picked me up in his car and I had to go to Merrick to get the stuff out of Roselee’s car. 

One day I will write a book titled, either, You Can’t Make this Stuff Up or It Wasn’t Funny While It Was Happening to Me.

Michael looked at me, shaking his head and said, “This is getting weirder and weirder.”  I left Barbara and Eric’s house and headed to Merrick to pick up Mark’s stuff from Roselee’s car, then to Levittown to pick up Lindsay and Scott’s dog, the baby book and picture frame, then to Hicksville to drop off and feed Lindsay and Scott's dog and my dog, and to pick up Kim, my mother and the grumpy Grandpa-to-be with his right arm tucked in a new sling.  I was hoping that by the time I got there he would forget that I deserted him in the emergency room.  We were all in the car by 9:00pm driving to Winthrop.   

We got to the hospital at around 9:30pm.  Phil and Phyllis, the other grandparents were there already.  Scott came out and took us into the labor and delivery room to see Lindsay.  She looked perfect. Literally.  Her hair was beautifully blown-out; she had her  make-up on.  It was beginning to feel like a movie.  When she saw her father with his sling, she shook her head and sighed,  "Are you trying to steal my spotlight?"

The TV was on in the room.  They had been watching The Bachelorette.  Lindsay remarked that she really didn’t like the new bachelorette.  Then 20/20 came on and ironically, they had a whole show about Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, and the preparation for the royal baby who’s going to be born in July.  It seems to be there is a cosmic parallel that when my mother, I and now Lindsay are about to give birth, there always is a documentary about royalty that is being televised (see blog entry Strippers and Princesses- Feb. 2013).  

Scott showed and explained to us about all the monitors that displayed Lindsay’s contractions and the baby’s heartbeat.  Handsome Scott also looked like he was in a movie.  That's because after Lindsay called the doctor, he went to get a haircut.  Nope, you can't make this stuff up.  

Lindsay was starting to experience more painful contractions that were closer together; although, she was dealing with her pain better than her father had earlier from his dislocated shoulder.  I was so proud of her.  I held her hand and told her that she will never remember this pain.  I also reminded her to ask for the drugs- when she and Kim were born, they discouraged any kind of drug, insisting it was not 'natural childbirth' if you took any drugs and that the drugs could potentially hurt the baby.  Balderdash!  I always encouraged her to get whatever drugs she could- there’s no reason to feel any pain and no one’s giving you a badge of courage to give birth without them.  I didn't have to tell her all this though; she had every intention of getting drugs.  

We all slept at the hospital Monday night, in the lobby- Phil, Phyllis, Michele (Scott’s sister), Kim, Mark, my mom and I.  It was a long night.  At 3:47am, Scott texted that Lindsay was still only at 1 cm but her contractions were heavier.   Then at 5:11am, he texted “4 cm now, epidural.”  Then finally at 8:30 am “She is a full 10 doctor is here so I think we are starting soon.” 

Bless my son-in-law, who stood by my daughter’s side coaching her, texting us with updates and taking amazing pictures as the labor and birth progressed through his tears of joy.  During that time, we all anxiously sat right outside the swinging doors to The New Life Center.  There were dozens of hospital workers entering and even more exiting.  Each time the door swung open we immediately turned and looked at who was coming out.  A few of them said witty things like, “Nope it’s only us.  We disappoint a lot of people.”  We were on pins and needles. 

During the wait, to pass the time, we started to guess the baby’s name.  I told everyone that I really believe her name was going to be Lexi, even though I guessed that name and Lindsay told me I was wrong.  Then suddenly, I realized that it was Tuesday already and I looked up the poem, Monday’s Child, on the Internet on my iphone. 

“ Tuesday’s child is full of grace.”  I announced.  "She will be graceful."

Finally, at about 11:40am, give or take, the swinging doors opened and a smiling Scott, the new dad, emerged.  We all screamed, which startled him for a moment.  On his shirt were the baby’s footprints.

There was hugging and kissing and sighs of relief and several “Is everything okay?..with the baby…with Lindsay?  How much does she weigh?”  Then, what is her name?   

“Let me take you in, you’ll meet her and we’ll announce her name,” Scott said, beaming, simultaneously overwhelmed and overjoyed.  

This was the moment.  THE moment.  THE BEST MOMENT.  The one I had been waiting for.  The one I only dreamed of and imagined.  The one where my friends who were already grandmas- Roselee and Janet- tried to tell me about but couldn’t find just the right words to describe it- except for “instant love”. 

We all walked down the hospital corridor, seven of us, following Scott.  Although, I don’t think my feet hit the floor once.  We entered the room and there she was, my first born, still looking like she could be in a movie, not a hair out of place, her makeup still perfect, looking like she was a teenager, smiling, holding my granddaughter, swaddled in her blanket.  We went over to peer at the miracle before us. 

“Meet Lexi Grace,” Lindsay announced. 

“Awww!”  We all said at once.  Michele looked at me, eyes wide, pointing- “That’s what you said!  Did you know?” 

“Not because they told me,” I replied.  “I just suspected Lexi was her name all along.  Grace, I just said from the poem.  Lindsay, who is she named after?  How did you come up with Grace?”

“She is named after her great grandpas Lou (Mark’s father) and George (my father).  Lexi for Lou, because we love that name, and Grace for George and because she’s my ‘saving grace’.”

Lexi Grace  5 lbs.  6 oz.  and 19 inches long.  

Lexi Grace with her golden blonde hair, her mother's chin, her father's lips and a perfect nose.  

Lexi Grace.  Tiny Lexi Grace.  You are here.  The answer to your parents' prayers and mine.  Already, you are so loved and adored.   There are no words.  My heart is overflowing with joy just to behold the miracle of you, created purely out of love and hope.  May your life be long and as sweet and special as you are.  Welcome to the world, my precious granddaughter.  

 Now the best journey begins....