Sunday, August 24, 2014

Parental Advice

Parents love to give advice to people who are going to be parents.

And I eat that shit up. 

The secret to getting your baby to sleep through the night? 
Do tell. 

How to avoid getting peed on every time I change a diaper?
Details, please.

Balance baby, house and work without having a mental breakdown?
I'm all ears.

But the biggest piece of 'advice' we've gotten over and over as we've been sharing and talking about our news has been just three simple words. 

It goes down like this: parents give each other a knowing look that only those who have been in the trenches can understand, look at us and smile and simply say:

Just. You. Wait.

(cue the maniacal laughter)

However, this has been the advice that makes the most sense to me.

We will have to wait. We have to wait to see what type of little person this baby turns out to be. 

While some parents have told me horror stories of their babies 'just not sleeping for more than 3 hours at a time, even at 8 months!', (lord help me!), both Mr. KK and I were FANTASTIC sleepers at a very early age, sleeping through the night with no problems.

What about the babies who get their hands into everything, the minute they're mobile? One of my favorite stories from my mother-in-law is that when Mr. KK was a baby, she would sit him down on the floor in the kitchen in front of the refrigerator, and come back 45 minutes later and he was still there…he never moved a muscle.

We may have a sleeper or a night owl. 

A foodie or a picker eater. 

A talker or the silent type.

A crier or a self-soother.

A smiler or a frowner.

A joker or a deep thinker.

But no matter what we have, he's ours, and we'll figure him out along the way, just like everybody else.

And we won't be able to wait until the day, when we can look anxious parents-to-be in the eye and say, "Just you wait!"

And then collapse into fits of evil laughter.

The family that resuscitates together, stays together.

So we have been in full-on preparation mode for the arrival of our little munchkin! 

It's finally starting to feel a little more real.

Nursery prep is well under way, with a second coat of paint going on as soon as I finish writing this post. Yesterday I organized baby clothes into bins by size, getting them ready to be washed. There's a baby shower on the horizon. We've been given a date that our surrogate will be induced. 

Things are moving full speed ahead.

And being the typical reader/researcher/blog stalker that I am, I've been reading everything I can about infants and newborns. One day I came across information about Infant CPR. I figured it couldn't hurt, right? And when I mentioned that Mr. KK and I were going to take this class, the four grandparents-to-be all raised their hands and wanted in. 

And immediately asked where we were going for brunch afterwards.

So one sunny, summer Sunday, the six of drove to Yale and entered what would be our CPR classroom for the next 4 hours. Here we were, 6 of the 8 spots in the class and not one of us was pregnant. We definitely received an arched eyebrow from the instructor, until we filled her in.

I had taken CPR in high school when I was working at our town's summer camps. I remember the big dummy 'Annie' lying on the floor, a group of teenagers huddled around her, taking turns blowing into her mouth, then wiping it clean with an alcohol swab, shaking her and yelling, "Are you all right? Are you all right? HELP! HELP! Call 911!"

Guess what? It's no different. Except 'Annie' is now 'Baby Anne' and she's the size of a Cabbage Patch Doll. And while the CPR videos have been updated, they apparently had their casting call for actors from B-movie rejects. 

We all survived, and brunch afterwards was delish – crab cake benny with a chilled sav blanc.

Cheers to Baby Anne!