#datenight (Day 21)

It was a crazy Saturday.

Up at 5am (naturally, don't ask me why)
Max's strobe light show at 6a
Gymboree at 9:30am
Mr. KK priming the ceiling in the addition
Me, prepping for a brunch I'm hosting tomorrow
2-hour trip to Lowe's (insert silent tears)
Then bath night for Mr. Max

PHEW.

We were both looking forward to an amazing dinner and relaxing.

Good thing I didn't disappoint!

Uh-may-zing.

Snack time while Max has dinner! Cocktails and kale and artichoke dip.

The beef rib roast is seasoned and ready to go 

with minced garlic, herbs de provence and olive oil.

Now that is a thing of beauty. 

Onion rings (because I can't help myself) and roasted garlic and rapini. 

That is restaurant-quality medium rare right there.

And, of course, a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Happy #datenight!

A year ago this weekend: bumps, boy parts and beers

While Mr. Max just reached the 8-month mark on Friday, a year ago he was just a 20-week old fetus. And Mr. KK and I headed down to Augusta for the monumental event: ultrasound and measurements and finding out he was, well, a he.

Since no one besides our parents and a few close friends even knew Baby M existed, our trip was somewhat clandestine, done in as few hours as possible to minimize time out of work (gotta save those days for my non-existent future maternity leave!) and lies to innocent bystanders.

Oblivious to how stressful this one-day trip will turn out to be.

It was surreal to see our surrogate in person, baby bump and all. When she greeted us at the airport I just about lost it. Sure, she had been sending up bump pics all along, but to see it live – and touch it! – was pretty amazing. Her bump was small and round and perfect, and as I looked down, my stomach appeared equally as large from my airport dinner. 

At our ultrasound appointment the next morning, we watched, eyes glued to the monitor, as the tech pointed and clicked and called out body parts and measurements. We had never made it this far in the process before, so we were cautiously optimistic.

"Yo, Mom and Dad!"

Just to be clear: we're having a boy.

We met with the doctor afterwards and that's when everything sort of went downhill. 

To summarize: he unprofessionally scared the shit out of us saying horrible things like "not viable at 20 weeks" and "specialist" and "amniotic fluid levels", then referred us to a high-risk specialist, whom I disliked the minute I met (I have good instincts) and whose laissez faire beside manner earned her the name Dr. Earthy Crunchy Kookpot. 

Dr. ECK talked about the kidney issue, signed us up for monthly monitoring, and said, "I wouldn't worry about it until after birth."

The we found ourselves rushing to the airport to make our flight home, thunderstorms threatening all around us (gotta love the south!).

A nice layover in Charlotte provided us an opportunity to enjoy one of our favorite IPAs (stress drinking).

Hey NoDa brewing, you got us through some tough times.

Care to send us a case of this goodness???

Longest.Day.Ever.

Saturday night we had 4 anxious and excited parents over for the big gender reveal.

They thought they were getting the necklace reveal, but instead it was hidden in what they thought was my dad's birthday cake.

And here we are, one year later, with a happy and healthy baby (with one perfect and one not-so-perfect kidney), four infatuated grandparents, and two parents who couldn't be happier, or luckier.

You're never too old for Catholic guilt.

While I don't usually post about politics or religion (or anything else that would encourage people to send me hate mail), I feel the need to share our recent encounter with the church.

I don't want to be accused of blasphemy, so I'm simply relating the story exactly as it happened. I'm not speaking ill of the church, just stating the facts, ma'am.

Mr. KK and I aren't super-religious people. We were both brought up Catholic and attended mass with our mothers throughout childhood. We don't currently actively attend church, though we do make monthly donations to the parish in which Mr. KK grew up.

The last time we went to church was probably for someone's wedding or a funeral.

But we're Italian, and Italians like nothing more than tradition. And traditional Catholic Italians baptize their babies. So we were going to dress Max up in a snazzy white outfit and head to the church.

But first, as parents, we had to attend Baptism class. Yay!

When we pulled into the parking lot one night last week, we were worried we were going to be the only couple in the class. But then another SUV (the 'new parent car of the moment') parked next to us. We watched the other couple get out and head up the stairs.

"It's showtime," I said to Mr. KK, who was looking up everything about Baptisms as if trying to cram before a final exam.

"If he asks questions, I want to be prepared," he said, his face lit up by his phone screen. And this is one of the many reasons I love Mr. KK.

Our class leader was a old-school deacon who had been with the parish for about a hundred years. He had an oxygen tank with him, as if to verify his time on earth. More than once throughout the night I was worried we were going to lose him.

The other couple sat across from us, the girl wearing a perma-frown. She truly looked bored and bothered that she was at the class. Hey, we ALL wanted to be home with our babies, but this was just something we had to do. This girl could have been awarded an Oscar in eye rolling.

The deacon walked us through the baptism, asking us not one, not two but a bazillion questions along the way. The first one being, "So, why are you here tonight?" It's a pet peeve of mine when people ask questions like that. It's like walking into a history class in college and the professor asked, "What are you all doing here?"

Mr. KK – God love him – knew the answer to one of the deacon's questions. I was very proud of super-smart husband. Of course Mrs. Eyeroll across from me looked at her husband and said, "Surprised you don't know the answer, Mr. Know-It-All." She sounded like a really fun and easy to get along with wife.

At the end of the class, the deacon excused the other couple and then turned to us. "If you could please stay after class, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

Oh boy.

Nothing ever good came from being asked to stay after class.

He shuffled the paper in front of him, no doubt containing the answers I gave to the secretary's questions when I called to register for the class.

He started by rattling off our address. "Why are you at this church? You live in St. Carmel's jurisdiction."

Mr. KK was quick to answer. "I grew up in this church. I was baptized here, made my communion here, and my mother still goes here."

And, I added in my own head, this is the church we donate to on a regular basis.

"I see," the deacon replied.

He scanned the paper further. "Why weren't you married in a church? Was there a reason?"

It was only a matter of time before this question came up. In a way, I was waiting for it.

"It wasn't because we weren't allowed to," I replied. I felt the need to clear that up. We didn't get married in a church because we didn't want to, not because the church wouldn't let us.

"Have you both been married before?" He eyed us skeptically. I had learned just a half hour ago in this super-informative Baptism class that if you had been married before and you didn't have your marriage pardoned or annulled by the church, then you couldn't baptize your baby. So I knew what he was getting at.

"No," we both replied in unison.

He then explained that while we were married, we weren't truly married in the eyes of the church. He almost made it sound like our marriage was fake, like we stood up before an Elvis impersonator wearing shorts and flip flops. He strongly – and I mean, strongly – encouraged us to contact the priest and have our marriage validated by the church. Because right now, the church didn't recognize our marriage. And that we should do it for our son.

In true Catholic form, Mr. KK and I were feeling guilty. For what, I don't know. Living where we did? Getting married the way we wanted to? I felt like I was in high school getting in trouble.

The deacon looked up from the form once more.

"University Hospital in Georgia," he said.

Um, is there a question in there somewhere?

"What's that all about?" he finally asked.

"Our son was born via surrogate," I replied, my back immediately up and my over-protective Mommy gene on overload.

"I see," he said. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "I guess that should be okay."

Should be okay?

Is the baptism of our child being questioned because he was born via surrogate???

My first instinct was to reply with a snarky comeback (who, me?). 'Well, God gave me cancer, so…' was almost out of my mouth. But this was a deacon and we were in church, so I decided to behave myself this one time.

On the way home, Mr. KK and I couldn't stop talking about how we got held after baptism class. "He doesn't even think we're married, and he almost wasn't going to let Max into the church!" I exclaimed, my blood boiling with each passing minute. "I'm not so sure how I feel about this now. It's all like, 'Well, I guess you guys can join our club…'. It's ridiculous. I thought God didn't judge and accepted EVERYONE???"

I preached on and on the whole ride home.

And then I had a glass of wine and felt a little better.

Adios, 2014!

2014 was a BIG BIG year over here in the KK house!

I turned 40!

I know.

And what a birthday it was! I took it in stride, 40 is the new 30, blah blah blah. Plus Mr. KK planned a nice birthday weekend that ended with tickets to…

WAIT.

You thought I was going to say the arrival of Max was the highlight of the year?

OF COURSE Max was the best part of 2014!

(But that surprise birthday trip to Mexico was pretty good, too. Mr. KK, you have set the standard for my birthday gifts now. I can't wait to see what you have up your sleeve in 2015.)

Funny coincidence: while we were in Mexico for the week enjoying margaritas and eating our weight in guacamole, our little Max was the size of a lime. Perfect, no?

 Yes, 2014 is definitely one for the record books.

We finally ended a our almost 6-year journey to familydom with the birth of Mr. Maxwell, who has stolen the hearts of everyone in the family. Seriously, this kid can dial up the cuteness.

I met an amazing and giving woman who partnered with us to bring Maxwell into the world, and I made a lifelong friend in the process.

We were blessed with a big Thanksgiving, with representation from our West Coast families, filled with fun, food and laughs.

I've had the pleasure of being home with Maxwell for the last three months, watching him grow and change every day. Plus, I've gotten to spend so much more time with Mr. KK, which is just an added bonus.

Hey, my pants may be tighter than they were when I started the year, but if that's the only downside, I'll take it. (And I'll buy new pants, too.)

So, 2014, I'm sad to see you go, but I'm looking forward to 2015.

In fact, here's what I'm hoping to do/see/accomplish in 2015:

1. Find the perfect work/life balance. I may as well have said I'm looking for nirvana or a purple unicorn because, really, does this even exist? Well, I'm hoping it does – or there's a version of it that does and that works for me – because the end of January and my return to work will be here in the blink of an eye (cue the tissues, please). And for the sake of those around me, I better find that balance. Quickly.

2. Work out at least ONE day a week. Hey, I'm not crazy; I know I'll never get back to hitting the gym five times a week. So why put that unrealistic expectation on myself, only to be disappointed and frustrated. ONE DAY. That's it. Can even be a Saturday. But that's all the Max time I'm willing to give up (see Number 1 above).

3. Read 2 books a month. I used to read 2 books a week. Again, that doesn't seem like reality anymore, now that I'm a Mom, blah blah. And Max's books don't count.

4. Put down the phone/remote/laundry/spatula. I've read WAY too many blog posts by Moms who wish they played with their kids more. It breaks my heart to read that, because I know how I can be, multi-tasking like a crazed Type A monster. Sorry, work emails, you will have to wait.

5. Try one new restaurant a month. Just because we had a baby doesn't mean we don't still love going out. We'll take Max while he's portable, and we'll leave him home with his adoring grandparents when he's not.

6. Keep blogging. I swear, I'll try. That "work" thing might get in the way, though…

7. Start.Writing.My.Novel. ((sigh))

8. Be a better person. UGH. 'Now that I'm a Mom' (god, I hate that phrase) I suppose I should be more open and accepting and NICE. That waiter with the crazy eyes? Pretend he has a nice, normal, non-creepy stare. The woman in Target who is wandering around talking to herself and in desperate need of a shower? Don't take her picture and post it on Facebook. The weirdo couple who wants to sit on the same side of the table at the restaurant? Well, I'm sorry, that's just ridiculous; they deserve to be made fun of.

Happy New Year!

May 2015 bring happiness and fun…and a little spontaneity!

Day 17: A baby changes everything. (thanks, Captain Obvious!)

A baby changes your whole life. That's what everyone told me while we were waiting for Max's arrival; and now that I've experienced it, I completely understand what they mean.

My "routine" is different. 

PRE-MAX: wake up, go to the gym, work, come home, cook dinner, watch TV and go to bed. Basically, do stuff for ME.

NOW: wake up, clean bottles, make bottles, feed Max bottles, change diapers from bottles, repeat.

"Oh I can't, the baby is waking up/hungry/crying/needs my attention."

When in doubt, blame it on the baby.

PRE-MAX: "Ugh. Okay." (cue guilt)

NOW:

On the phone

Representative: "Would you like to take a quick survey about our service?"

KK:  "Oooh, you know I would love to, but I have a newborn just waking up from a nap. Maybe next time."

In the bank

Teller:  "Do you have time for me to tell you about the 2,347 benefits you could be taking advantage of by banking with us?"

KK:  "Oooh, you know I wish I did, but I have to get home to my baby."

To people trying to sell me something/collect donations

Strangers: "Hi, would you like to buy a calendar to support the high school basket weaving club?"

KK:  "Oooh, you know I wish I could, but we have a college education to save up for!"

Date night at home.

PRE-MAX: enjoy a few chilled cocktails, open bottle of wine, cook a late dinner, watch a movie, relax.

NOW: strategically feeding Max and calculating nap time, then sipping on a warm cocktail while coordinating dinner with the precision of someone organizing a space shuttle launch. Then asking, "If we do bath night tomorrow, can I have another glass of wine?"

Date night out.

PRE-MAX: drinks and dinner at night; or a full-day of visiting breweries then happy hour then dinner.

NOW: Date night what?

Shopping at Target.

PRE-MAX:  Self-limitation of ONE trip per month with a triple-digit total.

NOW:  With Max in the main part of the cart, I only have the little front section to put goodies. So, in a way, Max is helping me SAVE money. (How's THAT for logic, Mr. KK???)

Shopping everywhere else.

PRE-MAX:  "OMG! Look at this cute sweater/pair of shoes/coat/necklace/pillow! I must buy!"

NOW:  "Does this sleeper come in 0-3 months?"

But I wouldn't trade any of it. 

Not for a second.

Day 11: Soundbites in the KK household

Whether we're bestowing sound advice onto our baby, or making daily observances, not a day goes by that we don't say something that's worthy of being written down (so that we can torture Max later in life).

On successful feeding:

"Ugh. I got the faulty nipple again. Can you bring me a new nipple? No, that one's too soft. No, not the discolored one. That one – the hard one."

On trying to put Max down for a nap:

"Well, did you turn on his vibrator? He can't sleep without his vibrator."

On life advice:

"Max, if you don't try to eat your bib, you won't be disappointed when you discover it's not food."

On crying:

"Max, really. Stop it. You're acting like a baby."

On his dramatics during bath time:

"Well, it's official. He hates being naked. At least we don't have to worry about him turning into an exhibitionist."

"Or a stripper."

On Max developing folds and rolls as he gains weight:

"Dude, you have more nooks and crannies than an English Muffin."

On getting dressed:

"Max, you have to wear pants. This isn't the Vegas Strip."

On playtime:

"I only know the first 4 verses to 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'."

"Who knew there was more than one verse?"

"Well, obviously. The song can't end after simply establishing the fact that this girl has a fleecy lamb. There needs to be more to the story. An antagonist or something. And maybe a cliffhanger ending."

Ah, the joys of parenthood!

Day 1 #NaBloPoMo: Date Night 2.0

OMG, I almost didn't make the posting deadline on the FIRST DAY.

WTH?

Do you know how embarrassing that is?

It's hard to post under pressure!

It's a Saturday night, so Mr. KK and I had one of our Date Nights.

Our Date Nights are pretty special. There are always cocktails, either music or games (ahem, Scrabble champion right here, thank you very much), and – of course – a fabulous dinner.

Now that we're a month into parenthood, we've adjusted to what our new date nights have become. We still have them, they're just…slightly different.

First, we have to time date night between feedings and naps. 

It sounds something like this:

"So if he eats at 8pm, then we keep him upright for a half hour after, then put him down to sleep, and we have to preheat the oven which takes about a half hour, then it should take about an hour for the roast to cook, then it needs to rest, that puts us eating around 9:15pm. Which gives us an hour to eat, clean up and get ready for the next time he eats. Forget starting a movie! We don't have the luxury of time or attention span! We'll just watch cable!"

Tonight's date night started out with a dirty martini for me (blue cheese stuffed olives, thank you very much) and a Manhattan for the hubs. 

After two sips of my martini Mr. Max was fidgety and wanted to be held. After two more sips he wanted to be rocked and to hear my rendition of Philip Philips' "Home". That put him right to sleep, and we went back to our dinner.

Tonight's Date Night Menu:

Roasted Pork Rib Roast with a garlic and rosemary crust
Brussels Sprouts and bacon (cooked in bacon fat, of course)

 brussels sprouts always get a bad wrap! 

I made these by browning about 6 strips of bacon and removing them, 

leaving about a TBSP of the fat. I cooked down an entire stalk of sprouts, 

continuously deglazing the pan with chicken stock. 

After 20 minutes I added the bacon back in. PERFECTION!

the best thing we ever purchased was an electronic thermometer 

that you can put outside your stove and set to an internal temperature. 

We have had perfect roasts every time every since. Tonight was no exception. 

the finished product. Amazing.

(and Max slept through our entire dinner!)

this was tonight's wine. It was something we purchased on a whim on our way out of the liquor store. One of those "hey this looks good and it got a good rating and the price is amazing" type of purchases. It was delicious, and perfect with the pork.

**NOTE: see that back splash behind the wine? That's our homemade cork back splash. We collected corks FOREVER to make it. Some of them are written on and say things like, "Rob's Birthday!" or "Promotion at work!" or even "Mom and Dad anniversary!". Needless to say, it was built with love, and we included coasters from our honeymoon in Napa Valley.

So bring it on, New Date Night. We're ready. And so is Max.

Max during tonight's Date Night.

He's the quiet type.

Part 3: Three Long Days

Sunday, October 5, 9:15pm

We’re in the nursery watching Baby M have his first bath and check-up to make sure all of his parts are working when we hear the commotion coming off the elevators.

The Clampetts (aka: the grandparents) have arrived!

It’s been a long 6-year journey not for only Rob and me, but for our parents as well. They’ve watched their friends become grandparents, dodged many “Any grandchildren yet?” questions and have been in on this process since day one. 

Finally, finally, finally Rob and I can happily tell them: your grandchild is here. And he’s perfect.

The grandparents, proudly wearing their "It's a BOY" stickers

11:15pm

Our brand new bundle of joy is about to start his first adventure: the Special Care Nursery. They've been watching his breathing and it appears very labored. 

"He's 'singing'," the nurse tells us. "Or we call it 'grunting'. It just means he's working extra hard to breath."

The little guy probably had some fluid leftover in his lungs. This could be because of two reasons: 

1. He was 3 weeks early 

2. He had a ‘quick trip’ through the birth canal (um, ew).

“We’re going to get him set up,” the nice nurse tells us. “Come by in an hour and ring the bell and you can see him.”

We both stand there helplessly watching her wheel our son away. He's only been here in the world for a few hours and they were already taking him away from us.

Monday, October 6, 12:30am

On what is quickly becoming the longest day of our lives – and quite possibly the most hours I’ve been awake consecutively – we ring the bell for the NICU. We’re buzzed in and instructed to wash up before entering. Because these teeny tiny patients are so sensitive and susceptible to germs, everyone must wash their hands for three full minutes before entering. Have you ever washed your hands for 3 full minutes? It’s an eternity. 

Have you ever washed your hands for 3 minutes anticipating seeing your little newborn baby? It’s an eternity times a million.

The NICU is filled with little incubators covered in quilts keeping the smallest babies you’ve ever seen warm and safe. There are machines everywhere, beeping and whooshing and clicking. And there, in the corner, is our sweet boy: wearing only a diaper and lying spread eagle under a heat lamp. I would laugh at his pose if he wasn't covered in wires, didn't have a breathing tube taped to his face and the littlest IV I’ve ever seen in my life.

 “You have the biggest baby in the NICU!” one of the nurses cheerfully tells us.

But he just looks so…little. And helpless.

Do we look exhausted, or what? Oy.

We’re allowed to visit as much as we like. By the next afternoon, he’s off of his oxygen and the nurses start to reduce the baby’s fluids and we get to feed him for the first time from a small bottle. Monday night, we’re allowed to change his diaper and feed him even more. The next morning he’s off of his IV. The grandparents scrub in and visit him two at a time. Not exactly how we imagined them seeing him for the first time up close. They weren't even allowed to hold him, just watch him in his little bin.

So. Freaking. Small.

Our sweet boy stayed in the NICU for only 36 hours before getting a clean bill of health and being released to the Well Baby Nursery.

And those 36 hours were the longest of our lives.

Monday, October 6, 10am

Baby M is officially named Maxwell James and makes his debut on social media!

Tuesday, October 7, 2:30pm

A nurse wheels Maxwell into our room. Thank god! Up until this point, Rob and I had just been sleeping in a hospital room for no reason; Rob on the pull-out bed and me on the Craftmatic hospital bed. 

It was such a strange experience, that I kept calling our room our 'hotel room'. Every time we'd leave the room, I'd ask Rob if he had the key. He had to keep reminding me that we were in a hospital and there were no locks on the door. And somehow, even with the knowledge that anyone could come into our room at any point even while I was in bed, I was able to sleep.

I have to say, for brand new parents, we had gotten two awesome nights sleep.

Tuesday, October 7, 9pm

Our parents have gone back to their hotel, the nurses have left, and it’s just us and Maxwell and our first night together.

“What do we do next?” I ask Rob, over a sleeping Maxwell.

We haven’t had anything to eat most of the day, so Rob heads down to the food court to get us some dinner. Only in the south is there a Chick Fil-A inside the hospital.

I force myself to eat through the nerves that have taken over my stomach. I can’t believe the nurses just left the baby with us. How do they know we’re qualified to take care of him? I haven’t even mastered the swaddle yet! 

Everything was still so surreal. The last two days felt like we were just visiting a baby in the hospital…now we’re responsible for one.

It’s cool to sleep with the lights on, right?

 My first swaddle attempt. Max is saying, "Ma, really?"

Wednesday, October 8, 7am

Our first night in numbers:

11: the decibel and strength of Max’s cries at 3am (on a loudness scale of 1-10)

27: the total number of minutes I slept all night (not bad for a first night, no?)

314: the number of times I got up to check and make sure Maxwell was breathing

65: the number of times I “accidentally” poked Max to make him move to verify he was still alive

654: the number of times I whisper-asked Rob if he thought Maxwell was breathing

4,739: the number of times I questioned my abilities as a mother

Wednesday, October 8, 10am

Nurse: “You’re being discharged today!”

WHAT???

But Max just got out of the NICU!

But he’s only 3 days old!

But we only had one night of practice!

But he’s so small!

But we’re not ready!

But I still can’t swaddle!

When hospitals make the decision to discharge you it’s no joke.

I believe their exact words were, “You are free to go. Take your time and let us know when you’re ready to leave and we'll walk you out.”

What they meant was, 'You have to leave. Now. I will SAY ‘take your time’ but what I really mean is: Scram. I’ll call and come by every 20 minutes to ‘gently’ check on you to see if you’re ready. But you need to be ready. We’re done with you now.'

Rob and my parents headed downstairs to pull the cars around and I walked with the nurse wheeling Maxwell in his plastic bassinet to the nurse’s station where they would cut off the anti-baby-theft alarm tag on his foot before sending us on our way.

The nurses at the station congratulated me and wished me well. I put on my best ‘I totally got this’ face and smiled.

One of the nurses looked me up and down suspiciously.

“He’s YOUR baby?”

Me, “Yes. Well, I obviously didn’t give birth to him, but yes, he’s my baby.”

I let those words wash over me. He’s my baby.

“Well, I was gonna say: damn, girl, you look GOOD. That’s how you do it!”

And with that, we walked out into the warm Augusta day to start our life together as a family.

Strapping Maxwell into his car seat for his long journey home!

*****

Next up: the road trip home!