Posted by sol in prattle
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Posted by sol in craft
And I should say, thanks to a husband that keeps the toddler out of the house all day long. And thanks to Saturdays without rain. And thanks to inexpensive IKEA fabrics.
Today I woke up and decided I had to sew something. There are a few things I’ve been wanting to make but I don’t (didn’t) have much confidence with patterns, and am (was) scared to fuck up, basically. So, while hubby and Damiano were taking the trash to the recycling center, I unearthed a pattern (Burda 9750) I had bought ages ago and started making it. After lunch, everyone decided to take long naps, so I managed to finish it. YAY!
I learned many things in the process.
- Making an easy dress for a girl is faster than making a whole doll, but it is much less forgiving.
- Reading the pattern instructions before getting started is a better idea than getting started and read them along the way. But this also works. Kind of.
- Making your own bias tape is easy.
- A sewing machine that sews automatic buttonholes rocks.
- Each of the steps in the instructions is there for a reason.
- Monkeys and alligators look wonderful on a girl’s dress.
- When a step isn’t clear, skip it.
- When in doubt, common sense will do.
- When common sense isn’t enough, the fabric was really cheap anyway.
- Following a “Very Easy” pattern is indeed very easy.
I hope the dress isn’t too small for Norah and in case it fits I’ll post a photo of her in it.
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Here’s a hoto of Damiano two years ago. Yep. It is not Santiago. This just proves that they stem from the same pool of gorgeous genes.
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also, pooping machine, hiccup generator, cooing provoker.
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Hi there everyone! First of all, thanks for all the emails and comments, and SORRY for not answering. I will answer I promise, I just have been so busy and exhausted. When the time comes that both fellas are tucked away, I’m too pooped to do pretty much anything.
Today Santiago turned ONE MONTH OLD. Though he looks like a three month old baby, he’s gained a lot of weight and I’m so happy breastfeeding works this time around but I think that’s what has been eroding my brain. I’m getting to know my son a little better: he likes kangaroo therapy and he hates a dirty diaper.
The following weeks will be a bit hellish because the playgroup just closed for the summer, so there goes my morning refuge from Damiano’s inexhaustible energy. Please bear with me.
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(click for larger version)
We killed some time this morning taking photos and making silly faces. Damiano is starting to like his little brother a bit more and I’m starting to figure out how to be happier while chaos revolves around me. I’m also starting to believe the four of us will survive this whole adventure.
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That’s what Damiano says every time he kisses his baby brother. He seems to react to his baby features just as we adults do: melting. But he’s also a bit jealous. The problem is mostly with me and not with the baby. The baby is fine, as long as I don’t dare take away attention from Damiano to give to him, in which case the baby needs to have his eyes poked. This photo was taken without looking into the viewfinder because I was holding my breath terrified of what was about to happen. I am probably a little too overwrought when Damiano gets too close to Santiago and I am sure that our whole relationship will improve with time, but as for now this photo will make do.
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10 days ago I was screaming in a birthing room in the hospital. They’d had induced Santiago’s birth because I was already 9 days late and my blood pressure was so high I had blurred vision all the time and I was simply fed up at the whole still being pregnant. I entered the hospital on Wednesday and was placed amidst three other women that were already in labor, and I started to shit my pants. Oh, the howls. They seemed incredibly uncomfortable and helpless. For a second there I thought heartburn and swollen feet weren’t that bad. One by one, these poor creatures were taken to a proper birthing room and the screams became more desperate but cushioned by the layers of sliding doors. In the end, a blonde expecting twins and I remained in the room. They plugged us both with a tampon soaked in hormones, and we were told to wait 24 hours. HELLO!!! If I wanted to wait 24 hours, I wouldn’t have come for an induction mind you. I want my baby now!!! Well, I didn’t have much time to complain since I started feeling awful right away. And you could see those hormones were working because the blonde went from looking fine to looking fraught. She wanted a natural delivery for her twins, but one of them had the cord wrapped around his neck so after 20 minutes they took her away for an emergency c-section. I felt so sorry for her, and started to dread that my fate would’ve been the same. Damiano’s birth was a terrible event in our lives, unexpected and the outcome unpredictable. I remember it with anxiety still today, and what made things worse, in a way, was the fact that c-sections suck ass big time. I remember waking up from the anesthesia feeling like dead. And it took me days to feel half alive again. I didn’t want to repeat that experience: once was enough. And I lived this whole pregnancy with this fear on the brain.
Well, that day nothing happened, except me being in pain every three minutes and scared of the pain that was to come. A midwife took pity on me and let me have a two hour bath in a labor ward, which was oh amazing. After the bath I had grown scales but felt great. The evening came and I was still pregnant, having awful contractions of false labor. I screamed out of my lungs to relieve the pain only to get scolded by the doctor on duty for it. She told me she’d give me a painkiller and a drip to end those contractions. I didn’t want to at first, but she scared me. She said that if I kept screaming I’d be pooped by the time the real contractions came and I’d have a much harder time pushing the baby out if I was too tired. Reason had abandoned me long before, but thankfully my husband was there to say: YES PUT THIS WOMAN OUT OF HER MISERY AND MY EARS, TOO. The next morning, it all started again.
At 7.30 AM I got induced again, this time with a more powerful concoction. Then it all happened pretty fast. At 10.30 the contractions started again. I knew I’d see my baby that day, after 289 days of anticipation. I managed to complete a couple crossword puzzles and nap between contractions, and at 3.30 the midwife that would deliver my baby convinced the doctor that I needed to have my water broken in order to speed up things. The doctor warned me that at the slightest complication or stall a c-section would have ensued. That’s when real labor began and everything got beyond uncomfortable. The midwife was very young and very self confident, which prevented me from completely liking her, but reassured me at the same time. I did what, as I learned in years of therapy, I’ve always done in hard times. I gave myself up to fate. All of a sudden I stopped worrying about the c-section, about the baby, about the pain. The only thought I kept was “tomorrow this will be past”, and boy it was.
After a while labor had progressed but Santiago was not in the birth canal, so the midwife told the doctor I needed an oxytocin drip to keep things going and around that same time my friend Katie arrived. I’m usually very happy to see her, but that day I was overjoyed.
I am squatting on the floor of the birthing room, hurting, sweating, cursing, and there she is, one person that can understand me. Michele is there with me, he is sorry but he cannot closely imagine what throbbing pain I’m feeling, and the midwife keeps addressing me with my middle name and she has no children whose births to recount.
So yes, I was overjoyed. And things went pretty fast and pretty well from there. I have already forgotten the pain I endured, I only remember feeling a great sense of respect for every woman who had been through it. And also comfort at the thought of the billions that had done it and had survived. I thought I’d make it, too. And I did. Not without pooping my pants and saying and thinking preposterous things, like: oh this is how you get haemorroids, I’m going to die, just grab his head and pull him out, etc.
In the end, it ended. Sooner than I thought, he was out, blood and fluids and poop everywhere, but my baby in my arms.
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