A Newborn, A Newport and a New Rack

Vivi 2 1/2 weeks old

"It's gas," she said as I held Vivi in my arms. The cool air in the room, enveloped my newborn and made her quiver. Her bottom lip trembled and I wrapped the blanket tightly around her. Dr. Newport would now be in my new mommy circle of contacts along with the Poison Control Center, recall websites, and babycenter.com. She was a tall woman. Lean with a shag of blonde hair that sat quietly and looked like it had just been cut. The bangs perfect. She was good with Vivi. When she checked her, placing the cold stethoscope on her bare chest and back, Vivi whimpered and began to cry. Dr. Newport quickly picked her up, bounced her in her arms and Vivi fell silent. Her big gray eyes checking this new person out. It was at this moment, that Vivi smiled her huge smile, revealing pinkish gums, hidden gems yet to appear. She closes her eyes when she smiles, her defined, thin eyebrows, raise a bit adding character to her already vibrant personality. "When she smiles, is she really smiling or is it gas?" I asked. Dr. Newport reported that it is most likely gas, but that many mothers like to believe that when babies smile, they are smiling at the angels. A much more romantic way of looking at it.

I have not two, but four girls now in my life. Vivi, Olivia and the two that sit at attention, ready to salute, in my shrinking bra. I was asked how they are (yes, girls talk about stuff like this). I answered, "They hurt like hell, but they look fabulous." They have grown to a D cup and during the last few days, it feels more like I have enormous DD batteries coming out of my chest. Solid lumps, sharp pain as if I am being stabbed from the inside of them, was all I felt for the last few days. This is called "engorgement" when the milk is finally coming in. I am a walking Oberweiss factory. I suddenly feel for all the cows out there, who get pumped over and over again, day in and day out. When I pump, I feel like eating some hay and putting myself on display at the farm exhibit at the zoo next to the incubator with the chickens being born.

I wish they would stay looking this way. I am of average size before all of these changes and they will go back to that size when I am done using them as a source of food and I will say this - they will be missed. Not the pain part of course. I have woken up in the middle of the night to find myself holding on to them and not in a good way. With my bra soaked through because I leaked, with the lumps ramming into each other, as though someone is inside of my breasts playing marbles during recess. After pumping with a very loud yet effective pump, that sounds like I am flying a double engine B-25 aircraft, they feel much better and they look even better. Not that I stare mind you, but imagine waking up to find a body part of yours is much bigger than you had always known it to be (don't tell me what body part you are thinking of, please).

Trust me, you would stare too.

Labor of Love

Viviana Veronica Vargas
Born: March 29th
6.5lbs

My contractions began Saturday afternoon. Pain so sharp that it sliced itself through my lower stomach, reeled its way around my back and made my face grimace. There was no question. I knew it was time. I tried to relax like all those books said to. "In the early stages of labor, relax, play cards, watch a movie." A man must have written those books. How can I play Texas Hold'Em when a human being is beginning to descent further and further into my pelvis, knocking at the cervix door with a commanding, "Let Me Out!"? After 7 hours of this (none which included cards) I couldn't take the pain anymore. My contractions were not 5 mins apart, but I called the doc anyway. "Well, we like to wait, but come in and let's check you out" Lucky thing because after 13 hours of labor, our daughter was born.

When she was out, I cried so openly and with such intensity that all the doctors and equipment disappeared and all I could see was Cesar and Vivi there in the room. None of the labor mattered. None of the pain could take away the love that exploded in my heart like fireworks and confettied itself over my soul. Look at her. Look at what God gave us. This being of love and hope and innocence made of Cesar and myself. Of our love for each other, for life and now for our daughter.

"You did good," Cesar said while the docs were getting her ready for us and leaned over and gave me a kiss and I knew that my family was complete. How could I have ever thought I knew what it would feel like? I knew I would be happy, I knew that I would cry, but the tears that treaded down my face were filled with such emotion I could never have imagined. They placed her in my arms and Cesar and I told her how we felt. Her eyes opened, she looked at each of us as though making sure we were hers. At the moment that our eyes met, we each knew that we were each other's.

It's been five days since that moment, five days and nights filled with feedings, diaper changes, lack of sleep, but none of it matters. To see her sleep, to see her smile, her big gray eyes looking at us when we speak to her, to catch those memories of how wonderful of a father Cesar is, melts my heart into a river of peace and love, that I will happily swim in forever.