Since we’ve had Finn, a lot of people have asked us some version of that question. We also get: “What’s been the worst part?” “Is it hard?” “How are you doing, really?”

While our older friends and family ask about us, too, these questions have mostly come from friends that are close to us in age–friends that either want to have kids soon or friends who decidedly don’t want children.

We are very lucky to have so many people who are sincerely concerned for us–people who want us to do well. But I know that a lot of those questions come from a place of curiosity, too. I know because, well, I wanted to ask the same questions before we had Finn. I also wanted to know just how much our lives would change.

And, of course, no answer could have prepared us for what was ahead.

Nonetheless, here’s what I’ve been telling everyone: it’s been both better and worse than I have expected.

Leading up to Finn’s birth, my biggest fear was how much the dynamic between Sona and I would change. We’ve been together for 14 years, and we were very much accustomed to being a duo. We were a team of two, and I loved that.

So, I was really worried about it not being “just us,” anymore.

I was also worried about losing our independence, which is really the factor most people fixate on when warning your about babies. “You’ll never be able to do [insert some fun, engaging activity here], again.”  Sona and I like to do A LOT; we’re always trying a new restaurant, traveling somewhere, or exploring. And we were terrified that having Finn would put an end to all of that.

In both of those regards, having little Finn has been easier than I expected. As others have said, we are now a team of three. That happened naturally and almost instantaneously. When I want to stay home and be lazy with “just us,” I now mean me, Sona, and Finn. The dynamic between Sona and I hasn’t changed nearly as much as I thought it would, and I don’t feel any less close to her. In fact, I feel closer to her than I ever have.

Also, I’m surprised by how much I don’t feel like we’ve had to give up all of the living we like to do. Finn went to his first restaurant when he was just 5 days old. He’s been to a couple dozen since. Sure, we’re not going to eat late-night haute cuisine downtown, but we’re still trying new places, going for long walks, having coffee dates, going to farmers markets, having dinner with friends, and exploring the city. We’ve also planned a state-side trip in January and an international trip for March.

We just accept that, with Finn, these things will be different. We don’t go out to eat, expecting that Finn will behave perfectly every single time. We expect to eat with one hand, to get up and walk around the restaurant, and to feed him while we eat our own meals. There are other compromises we make, too, which I’ll talk about some other time, but the point is this: we don’t feel like we’ve sacrificed our lives at all.

But it’s not all roses, either. The sleeplessness is tough, sure. Though, I’m actually surprised by how much our bodies have just adjusted. I’m not nearly as tired as I thought I would be. (This has a lot to do, I’m sure, with the fact that we’ve both been on maternity leave. We just don’t have many other responsibilities, yet.)

The hardest part is always questioning whether or not we’re doing what’s best for him. Finn isn’t a perfect baby, and we’re not perfect parents. We try really hard to make all of the best decisions for him and to do right by him as much as possible.

Yet, there are plenty of days when he’s fussier than we think is normal (what’s normal, anyway?) or he isn’t as well-behaved as other babies, and we can’t help but question: what should we be doing differently? That frustration peaks in times of stress–like when we have a house full of out-of-town guests for weeks straight or when Finn has been crying nonstop for 45 minutes.

That part is TOUGH. It’s tough on us physically, as we do become exhausted on those days, but it’s tougher on us emotionally. The thing is, you just have never wanted to succeed as something as much as you’ll want to succeed at raising a happy, healthy, and content child. And I’m sure that will likely happen on it’s own, naturally and without our constant fretting.

But that’s the toughest part for sure. And nothing you read–or no answer anyone can give you–can adequately prepare you for it.

Even still, despite there being days when Sona swears she “can’t do this again” or days (ah hem, today) when I tell Finn that he better sleep well cause, “Momma needs to eat dinner and watch Real Housewives in peace so that I don’t murder you, tomorrow,” it’s still, mostly, WAY better than we ever could’ve anticipated.

Missed last week because, you know, baby. But we’re back!

We take the word “routine” seriously around here these days, y’all. In fact, when my parents first came to meet Finn, they cracked constant jokes about our attempt at “structure” and “schedules” and such. They are probably right, I guess. Our pediatrician told us that, in the beginning, there are no patterns.

But now that Finn is nearly 7 weeks old, we are starting to develop patterns, and the need for routine is REAL.

Don’t let this picture fool you. Our little man has never actually spent a night in his own room, let alone his crib.

He started sleeping in our room immediately, which most people advised, especially since Sona is breastfeeding round the clock.

We started by having him sleep in the Nuna Mini, but he just wasn’t having it. It was too big and too open for him when he was a newbie, and one loooooong night, at 5AM, I ordered the Rock N Play from Amazon Now, and it was delivered a few hours later. (Thank goodness we live in a place with immediate access to all things Amazon.) He’s slept in that ever since.

While Finn has pretty much always been a decent nighttime sleeper, we haven’t done the best of job getting him on a “normal” baby schedule. That is, while a lot of babies we know sleep 7PM-7AM, Finn usually sleeps 11PM-11AM.

This is the result of a couple of things. First, we’ve both been off of work, luckily, and we are taking advantage of every opportunity to sleep in. So, we’ve trained our little guy to “sleep in,” too. (Once, at a B&B in Anguilla, a mom we met told us that she had “trained” all three of her sons to sleep until 10:30. I think we both secretly hope we can do the same.)

Also, if we’re being real, we just had a very difficult time getting our own schedules in order during the first few weeks. I don’t know where the time went, but we often found ourselves eating dinner at 10:00 or 11:00 at night, after just having put Finn down for the first time. That also meant, of course, that we wouldn’t go to sleep until after he’d had his first nighttime feed–usually at around 1:00. Needless to say, we had a hard time getting it together.

Finn is still going to bed pretty late, but we usually get a good 12 hours of “bedtime” out of him–all in increments of sleep, eat, poop, of course.

Here’s our routine: Finn usually sleeps 3-4 hours. This week, he’s inching closer and closer to 4. He even slept for 4 hours and 45 minutes one night, and we almost wept with joy!

He sleeps on my side of the bed. So, I am usually the first to hear his hunger whimper. I let him whimper for a good 10-15 minutes before I wake Sona and tell her that it’s time for her to whip it out. (You know what I mean.)

Finn rarely ever cries at night, which I think makes us very lucky. We always get him on the boob before he wails, and he usually goes to sleep without much of a fight–USUALLY.

So, I pick him up. I take off his swaddle and watch his ridiculously adorable biiiiiiiig stretch, and I hand him to Sona. If I’m feeling particularly generous, or if I start looking at my iPhone, I will stay up while she feeds him. Mostly, though, I’ll go back to sleep while she’s feeding him in bed next to me.

We make every attempt to be quiet and to keep the lights off during this time.

After about 25 minutes, which is how long he’ll feed on the first boob, Sona will wake me up. I’ll change his diaper, re-swaddle him, and give him back to her. She’ll feed him for 5-7 minutes on boob #2, and he’ll usually fall asleep right there. Then begins the most delicate, skilled process of trying to take him from her arms to his Rock N Play without having him wake-up.

Oh, parents, you all know this dance well, I’m sure.

(I should say, this new method is thanks to a good friend. Before her advice, we were feeding on both boobs and THEN changing. As a result, he’d wake up during the diaper change, and we’d have to spend 20 minutes rocking him back to sleep. This new method allows him to fall asleep on boob #2, and it’s been a game-changer. Instead of being awake for 75-90 minutes each time, we are now awake for only 45-50.)

Finn usually stays asleep, though there is generally a good bit of grunting at first. Then, 3-4 hours later, he starts to whimper again, and the whole thing starts all over.

 

This has been a routine we’ve grown accustomed to over the past 6.5 weeks. Though, next week, it’s going to have to start changing. Sona goes back to work in just a week and a half (insert VERY sad face, here). So, I’ll will be on FT night duty, which means that Finn will need to go to bed earlier, drink only from bottles, and–hopefully, very soon–sleep in his own room.

He’s been napping in both the Nuna and his crib for the past couple of weeks. We wanted him to get use to sleeping on a flat, non-vibrating surface before The Big Transition.

Truthfully, though, I think we’re both a little freaked out. We’re going to start transitioning slowly this week. So, wish us luck.

Finn is 6 weeks old today–yay! His little personality is blooming, and he is constantly changing. I can’t believe how different he is now than he was just a couple of weeks ago. As sad as it is to seem him grow up so quickly, it’s also super fun to experience all of his various, ever-changing personality quirks.

Here are our five current Finn faves (you like that alliteration?):

Sona

1. the smiles that are starting to come more regularly
2. our mornings together–he’s so happy during that time
3. his sleep noises (grunts, mostly)
4. his various expressive faces
5. having mommy/son “conversations” after feedings

Danielle

1. his super serious, furrowed-brow expression (pictured above)
2. changing time (he actually loves getting his diaper changed and putting on clothes)
3. family naps
4. the rare moments when he’ll sit still, lounging next to me on the couch
5. how he stretches each time we take off his swaddle, arms up in the air, face strained

Remember seeking the attention and affection of your first love? How absolutely mad you were with obsession? How much you wanted them to want you, too?

Well, that’s nothing compared to how desperately you’ll want your baby to love and need you.

When we found out Sona was pregnant, we were, of course, thrilled. I didn’t want to carry our baby, anyway, and I didn’t really experience any pregnancy FOMO.

That said, the one thing that did eat at me a little was the question of whether or not I would have the same immediate love for Finn that Sona had. Her emotional response was largely biological, I thought. Her body would practically force her to fall head-first for our son.

From what I read, it seemed like everything a new mom did while carrying or caring for their newborn lead to the release of oxytocin. Feel the baby kick? Oxytocin! Breastfeed? Oxytocin! Think about your baby? Oxytocin! Look into those beaming baby eyes? Oxytocin!

Even mice pick up on these instinctual cues:

“To understand the role oxytocin plays in a mother mouse’s brain, scientists at New York University School of Medicine first investigated how female mice in general respond to the distress calls of baby mice. Pups emit ultrasonic cries when they are separated from the nest, which sometimes happens when a mother carries her babies to a new location. (Moms change nest locations regularly to elude predators.) When a mother hears these cries, she runs to the lost pup, picks it up, and carries it back to her nest. Other scientists have shown that moms respond even to the distress cries of pups that aren’t their own, readily approaching loudspeakers that broadcast the calls. Most virgin female mice, though, couldn’t care less; they seem completely indifferent to the pups’ cries for help. And yet, some virgin females that have either been housed with a mother and her litter or have been injected with oxytocin will retrieve crying infants.

That discovery led the team’s leader, neuroscientist Robert Froemke, to suspect that oxytocin must help ‘transform the virgin brain into the maternal.’”

Being a biological mother, it seemed, was practically like tossing back a Dixie cup full of happy pills! (You know, aside from the raging hormones and emotional volatility you experience after birth.)

So, when Sona seemed positively smitten with our son before he even formed limbs, I got a little worried.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t love him as soon as we found out about him. It’s just that I think it was more of a head-centered love than a gut-centered love, if that makes sense. I mean, I knew I would love him, and I loved the idea of him, but I didn’t go wobbly in the knees.

Sona sensed this, too, I think. When I wouldn’t respond the way she expected to a kick or an ultrasound photo, she would say, “I don’t know if you care about him!” That sounds worse than she meant it. What I think she meant was, “Why don’t you love him as much as I do? Aren’t you crazy, madly, head-over-the-heels in love with this to-be baby?!”

She was worried that I wasn’t growing attached to our to-be son quickly enough, and I was worried that she and Finn would have some kind of biologically-driven love-bond that I wouldn’t be able to experience.

During the pregnancy, I fixated a lot on what the moments immediately after he was born would be like, actually. Too many narratives, and too many movies, had led me to believe that there should be an instantaneous, all-encompassing, bigger-than-life love for your baby, starting from the first second you set eyes on his cheese-covered body.

What if I, as the non-biological mother, didn’t experience that? What if my body–or my heart–didn’t respond the way it would have if I had contributed my own DNA?

The weird thing is, my preoccupation wasn’t really about Finn. I knew that, no matter what, he’d feel loved. It was about me. I was worried that I would be missing out on the euphoric surge of goodness that comes with seeing your child for the first time.

And here’s the truth: there wasn’t an immediate love-bond. Don’t get me wrong, Finn came out a little blue and floppy, and I’ve never willed something to wellness as much as I did, standing over the table as the newborn nurse flicked his feet and rubbed his back. He was immediately my son, and I immediately wanted everything in the world for him.

But I wouldn’t say that, in that first day, after experiencing 24 hours of sleepless, exhausting labor with Sona, I was in love with him. And, funny enough, Sona now admits the same.

We were both so tired and delirious that, in that first day, we weren’t able to process much else.

I remember, running out that evening to drive family around and grab some dinner for Sona and myself, thinking, “Should I be feeling differently?” Was I some kind of soulless monster because I didn’t feel immediately and overwhelmingly attached to our son?

Then, in the wee hours of the second night at this hospital, it happened. Finn had just finished breastfeeding, and Sona passed him off to me so that I could soothe him while she drifted off to sleep.

I remember it now as vividly as I experienced it then. I put him on my chest, and he curled up into a little ball, much like he still likes to do. (What can I say? I’m a round, soft gal. I make for a good pillow.)

He wedged his head under my chin, twisted his face to the side so much that it scared me, and settled in.

And that was it; that was the moment I fell in love with my son.

Maybe a flood of oxytocin hit me, too. Or maybe it didn’t really matter, because he was (is) mine, and my heart knew it, even if my body didn’t. (Though, as it turns out, adoptive parents experience the rise in oxytocin levels, too. So, in truth, our bodies don’t care. We love our babies because they are ours and not because we birthed them.)

I guess it would be more accurate to say that that was the first time I fell in love with Finn. There was also the time, a day or two after we came home, that I sobbed while rocking him to sleep in the middle of the night.

Or every time he looks at me like this.

Or gives me stink eye. Or puckers his lips while sleeping. Or does anything, really.

Yet, that first time was when I just knew. What did I know? I’m not even sure I can tell you. But Sona knows it too, now. And most parents come to know it in their own time, I’m sure.

We  can carry the fear of not knowing whether or not our babies will love us–or we will love them (like I did). And we can carry the shame of feeling like we didn’t love them soon enough or in the right way or like it was expected, too. None of it does anyone any good, in the end.

But I’m here to tell you: it will happen when it happens–and likely when you’re least experiencing it. And when it does, just hold on. Cause DNA or no DNA, you ain’t never known a love like this.

 

 

 

Today marks 1 month with our little Finn. We can’t believe that 4 weeks have already gone by. All parents bemoan how quickly time passes, and now I understand.

Already, we can see so many differences in our growing boy. I look back at photos of him as a newborn, right after we brought him home, and he looks so small–so fragile–compared to the strong, growing baby we have now!

Our 1-month old is a curious, silly kid. He’s SO strong; he can push himself up on his feet, and scoot himself all over the bassinet. He’s already rolled over 3 times, though no one believes us (I swear!). He eats like a champ, though he takes his time during each breastfeeding session. And, for the most part, he’s a great sleeper–especially during the day. 🙂

He’s just started taking interest in the cats, and he seems to have formed a kinship with Xander. He is as calm as can be when getting his diaper changed, loves his Indian baby massages, and always smells like coconut oil.

He still has some baby acne, has a tiny scar on his head from the fetal monitor, and is starting to get a bit of a potbelly. He’s been to 11 restaurant meals, 2 farmers markets, and one Target run. He grunts constantly, and he hiccups A LOT (just like when he was in the womb).

He has the most hilariously serious look on his face when he’s studying you, and he pouts his lips in his sleep, which melts his mommas’ hearts. For the most part, he still sleeps in 3-4 hour bouts. And, even though we know we should get him in the crib soon, we love having him sleep in his Rock ‘n Play right next to our bed.

Happy one month birthday, little Finn. We love you SO much, and we can’t wait to see what each month brings!

 

 

So much happened in the first 24 hours of Finn’s life–and there were SO many feels. Even now, just three weeks later, we’re having trouble remembering everything about that first day.

I want to remember, though.

What I do know is that–like much of the first few weeks–that first day was full of a myriad of emotions for both Sona and myself. We’d been in labor, and at the hospital, for nearly a full 24 hours before Finn was born (as I wrote about in our birth story). We were both exhausted, having slept only an hour or two in that time and have not eaten a real meal since we checked in.

Finn was born at 2:48 in the afternoon. Immediately after the delivery, the nurses took him to pink him up, checked his vitals, and made sure that he was  healthy and thriving. (There were a few scares during delivery, and they took him away before we could even delay cord clamping, which we’d requested.)

I must say this: the staff at Evanston Hospital, where we delivered, was amazingly attentive. We cycled through several shifts of nurses and residents during our time there, and they were all kind, patient, and reassuring. During the 24 hours of labor, especially, they proved to be reliable and steadfast.

The 6-8 hours that followed labor, though, were challenging for all of us–but mostly for me. And here’s the thing: I’m not really sure if I experienced the same kind of isolation and general left-out-ness that fathers experience immediately following the birth of their children or if my experience was somehow made more difficult by the fact the I was Finn’s second, non-biological mother.

Nonetheless, in the hours after Finn was born, the focus was, understandably, on Sona and Finn. She was repeatedly referred to as “the mother.” I was able to hold him for a few minutes after the nurses got him cleaned up, but then they quickly took him from me, handing him to “the mother” for skin-to-skin and feeding. And there he stayed–for a long, long time.

(We did manage to sneak in our first selfie before they took him; it’s the only photo we have together from his first day of life.)

Of course, we wanted Sona to do skin-to-skin right after birth, and we were anxious to see whether or not Finn would latch quickly. (He did, thankfully!) But I guess that I expected to get to do skin-to-skin, too. I know I’d seen fathers do it, but I hadn’t explicitly asked. I hadn’t advocated for myself. That was, I think, my mistake.

After about 90 minutes of Sona having skin-to-skin, the nurses helped us pack up for our move up to the maternity ward. I took Finn from Sona, helping her into the wheel chair, but the nurse was quick to tell me that, “The mother carries the baby up to the maternity ward.” So, she took him and gave him back to Sona for the ride up.

The thing is, I think the nurses at Evanston Hospital are spectacular, and I really think they did their very best, making sure that we were all taken care of. I just think that my own insecurities about being the third wheel began to bubble up in those moments after his delivery, and that was likely due to lots of factors, including our exhaustion, the heightened emotions, my mama bear instincts kicking in, and, maybe, a little innocent confusion about how to address TWO moms.

Once we got up to the maternity ward, where we’d spend the next two days, the baby nurses took Finn to the nursery for his first bath. Since Sona had to stay in the room to recover, I was able to accompany him on this adventure, and I was, selfishly, happy to get him to myself.

I’ll never forget those couple of hours, watching Finn get his first bath, holding his little hand, and staring in complete wonder at our little son.

Those moments are particularly special because, as soon as he came back to the room, I had to leave to take our family back to our place, care for our animals, take my first shower in nearly 36 hours, and grab some dinner for Sona and myself.

While I was gone, the nurse came in the room and gave the whole how-you-care-for-baby spiel, which, as you can imagine, I was really bummed to have missed.

I was exhausted from the whole thing, and I was probably more emotional than I would have been had I been rested and fed and, you know, sane.

At around 10:00, I got back to the hospital, relieved Sona’s sister, and–for the first time–the three of us were alone.

Somehow, as sleep deprived and emotionally spent as we were, Sona and I sat up in the hospital bed and ate some take-out sushi while our son slept next to us.

Finn slept pretty soundly his first night, waking up only to feed, as expected. Since Sona was breastfeeding, I was adamant about assuming all other responsibilities. And, even still, I’m usually the one changing diapers, picking out outfits, and soothing Finn back to sleep.

Those are responsibilities I protect fiercely. At first, I did it because I thought it’d be the only way I could bond with him. Now, I do it because it’s the only time I get him to myself, especially with a nonstop parade of friends and family visits.

That next morning, after going through the photos of Finn’s first day and realizing there weren’t any of me with him–or of the three of us–I cried. Looking back, I was just throwing myself a little pity party. There was my warrior of a wife, so sore she could barely move, and I was whining about not being in any photos.

But I think I was just overwhelmed. Being a mom is hard; being a new mom is REALLY hard. I was hit so hard with a full-on crazy love for Finn, and I was terrified that he wouldn’t love me back. Or that he wouldn’t know I was his mom. Or that other people wouldn’t know that he was MY son, too.

Those were all my own hang-ups, of course, but they are hang-ups I imagine a lot of other co-parents experience.

After I had a good cry, Sona–being the saint she is–pulled herself out of bed, grabbed my camera, and insisted on getting some photos of Finn and I doing skin-on-skin.

I needed it in that moment, because I needed to feel like I was one of Finn’s moms, too. Now, three weeks later, that just seems silly. Finn is our son–both of ours–and a photo or two doesn’t change that.

But there were some growing pains in those first few days, mostly born out of a love so big and wild that it couldn’t be tamed. It scared us then, and it scares us now, but it’s so, so good.