Trials

X was sick all weekend, and though he was improving last night - his appetite returned, fever went away - he is still clearly not 100%. Since he couldn't go to the sitter today, being fewer than 24 hours throw-up and fever-free, I stayed home.

He has been miserable. Doesn't want to drink water, but also doesn't want to drink his bottle. Doesn't want to eat, but is clearly very hungry. I'm happy to say I managed to get a graham cracker and a container of pureed green beans into him, plus a couple of ounces of fluids. He has also been SCREAMING and crying, because he is obviously just so tired.

But, in between, there are moments of adorableness. After I swept up all of the food he threw onto the floor and put it in the garbage, he wanted to use the broom and help! When I decided to show him how to use crayons, he pulled them out of the box one by one, delighted at the different colors. And so, we now have X's very first work of art:

Thankful

While yesterday was not X's first Thanksgiving, he was a much more active participant this year than he was last year. We had the pleasure of spending the holiday afternoon with one of my oldest friends and her family -- sort of my surrogate family. It was a really lovely afternoon, but the hubs and I were typical anxious first-time parents -- of a toddler. We never quite relaxed while X investigated every nook and cranny of the strange new house where we spent the afternoon. A lot of "Don't touch!" and "Come over here!" and "No-no!" while we took turns running behind X, bent over at the waist. Meanwhile Mr. & Mrs. M., my friends' parents, kept telling us, "It's okay. We know how it goes with toddlers!" We just never could quite let our guard down the way we would at home or even a more familiar friend's home. Nonetheless, it was a nice afternoon -- spending Thanksgiving in a place where we felt welcome and loved is truly a gift.

It got me thinking, though. We are still a pretty new family, and we haven't yet established any holiday traditions. I think that next year, we will begin celebrating Thanksgiving at our own house. Even if it's just the three of us. Traditions have to start somewhere, right? We'll start small. Maybe in time we will be able to repay the favor to those who have taken us in over the years, so we didn't have to spend a holiday on our own.

Nature Walk

We have the worst yard on the block. Full of roots and big pines and oaks. Right now, the leaves and acorns and pinecones are thick on the ground. No lawn, to speak of. Rocky soil that is a mixture of clay and sand. All on a steep slope. I constantly enter contests to win landscaping services and have tried again and again to get our yard fixed up on HGTV, all to no avail. Our yard is not a very friendly place for a 14-month-old toddler to play.

But, yesterday, walking across our yard from the front door to the curb, and then back again to the backyard, I discovered that our yard is actually perfect for a nature walk with a small boy! It took us about 20 minutes, as X squatted down beside big rocks of various colors and shapes. We picked up and threw acorns. X plucked the flowers off of countless dandelions, leaving a trail of headless stems behind. Twigs and sticks were picked up and examined. Tree bark presented a lesson in texture.

All the while, X was chatting happily in his own language, smiling along.

It might be the worst-looking yard on the block. Certainly it's no place for cartwheels and somersaults, or a round of croquet. But, it was just perfect for a little one's curiosity about the wonderful things we grownups almost always overlook.

Hair Cut

Curly Locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine?

Thou shall't not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine

I gave X his first (minor) hair cut yesterday. His hair is so long, and so curly, and so beautiful that I didn't want to cut it at all until he wanted it cut, but it kept getting in his eyes during mealtimes and subsequently he would get food in his hair at breakfast, lunch and at dinner!

Alas, the haircut day had arrived. I only trimmed the front, though, into little tiny bangs because X kept moving his head! It is pretty much the worst haircut ever. I also almost cried after cutting off even just a few of his curls. He looks sweet, though, like a little old-fashioned boy.

He also looks like Bartholomew Cubbins from the Dr. Seuss story!

Sunbeam

There was a bright sunbeam shining into X's room this morning, the day after Hurricane Irene. We are far enough inland that the storm didn't do much harm to our property -- a few small branches and lots of pinecones and acorns are down all over our yard. The weather is always insultingly glorious after a major storm, isn't it?

X used to love to play in sunbeams. When he was not yet mobile, I would sit him down in a sunbeam and he would smack it with his hands and try to pick it up, and sometimes try to taste it on the floor (yucky!). When he started to crawl, he would go into the front hallway and sit in the sunbeams from the setting sun, and follow them as they climbed the wall. Random bits of sunlight were a delight to pluck at on my shirt, or my arm.

It seems he barely noticed the play of the light on his bedroom floor this morning. He didn't shriek with delight, or try to grab up the glow. He is the sunbeam, now.

One Year Old

X's birthday was on Tuesday of this week -- one year old already!

I'm sad about the fact that I spent the day at work, which, of course, I regret now. X was a little grumpy grump when I got home due to some major teething pain, so it was pretty anticlimactic.

We had a small celebration last Sunday to do the traditional first birthday cake and presents, with some friends. I made cupcakes from scratch because we suspect X has an egg allergy or sensitivity -- so he's a total hippie kid, having eaten vegan for his first ever cupcake! He seemed mesmerized by the candle and didn't really know what all of the fuss was about (of course!) but he took everything in stride.

The night of his actual birthday, I rocked him to sleep and sat holding him for a while, thinking back over the last year. There were so many transitions, so much that my husband and I had to figure out, so much that X had to learn and master. It's astonishing how much he has grown, and even more amazing that I have been blessed to have been there for each and every day.

Happy birthday, funny boy. I love to watch you grow!

A Year Ago Today

I was in hospital, agreeing to take drugs to help me sleep through some rough back labor. We were hoping that being able to relax and get some rest would help things progress. We didn't know what we were in for...

Big Boy

My X is getting so big -- almost a year old now. He is just about walking, and the proud owner of 3 pearly whites!

I can't believe how quickly it happens. One day, he was a snuggly little worm, content to lie in my arms and sleep. Now, he's all OVER the place, laughing, shrieking, playing with toys, pulling up, pulling things off of tables and counters.

I miss the baby times, but I'm looking forward to everything that's coming up.

My sweet boy -- how I love him!

Bloody Lip

Well, he's gone and done it. X had his first bloody injury, and for all I thought it was a doozy, I guess we were lucky.

He was cruising around the kitchen, walking holding on to the cabinets for balance. When he came to "his" drawer, he pulled it out. Because he was starting to get tired, he lost his balance abruptly and sat straight down. I don't know if he banged his chin or his mouth, but he immediately started crying. I picked him up and comforted him, and he stopped crying pretty quickly, but then I noticed the blood.

He had given himself a bloody lip, poor thing. My husband got a baggie of ice, and X sucked on it -- he actually seemed to enjoy it. However, the bleeding took a little while to stop.

X was totally unfazed by the fact that he was bleeding from the mouth. He wanted me to hold his hands so he could practice toddling around some more. I, on the other hand, was too traumatized to be helpful at that point. So, my husband picked him up while I mixed a bottle of formula. It was almost time to start the bedtime routine, which is usually my time with X, but my husband looked after him, and I tried to get myself together. Two days later, and I'm able to sit down and write about it.

The astonishing thing is how QUICKLY it all happened. But, equally fast was X's recovery. The bleeding was nothing. It was the shock of the impact and the initial pain that got him going. He was able to shake it all off much more quickly than I did.

I know it's the first in what will become a long and illustrious history of bumps, bruises, scrapes and cuts. Maybe I'll get tougher, as the injuries happen. It was hard, though, this first time.

I Remembered

Today I remembered how X used to growl when he was a teeny tiny baby, whenever he liked something. He would growl while he nursed, and later he would growl at his bottle. When it was time for solids, he would growl at each new food in approval.

His growls have been replaced by so many sounds. His sing-song syllables and rollercoaster lip trills let us know when he is happy or when he really likes something. When he's really excited about something, the raspberries burst forth.

Soon enough he will have some words. He will be able to tell us when he wants more, or when he's all done. He will let us know when he's awake, not by whimpering or crying, but by calling out for us. His "Dadadadadada" will become "Mama" and "Baba" and "Cat" and "NO!"

I can't wait for us to be able to communicate more clearly with words, but I will miss his quirky baby talk, his own language, his own method for getting across his needs and wants, his joys and his grievances. For now I'll just enjoy it while I can.

Like A Tame Bear

It has been a crazy couple of days, and bath time was last on the list of all of them! So, by today, as a former co-worker of mine used to say, X smelled like a tame bear.

Friday: Our nephew, who plays for FC Tampa Bay (an NASL soccer league, just a step below the "pros") was in town playing our local team. We met up with him and a teammate for dinner. At a very trendy restaurant. We got out of there at 10:00 p.m.!! X was SUCH a trooper, though. It didn't hurt that there was a pretty young lady sitting at the table adjacent to ours. He just flirted and flirted! So, got home late and no bath for X.

Saturday: Good friends of ours lost their oldest son on Thursday of last week, and it was the first opportunity I had to go and spend time with them. I had X duty, as Daddy was at the soccer game watching our nephew play. It's so hard watching a family you love grieve. We stayed later than I thought we would, got home around 9:30. No bath for X.

Sunday: Father's Day. Some more visiting with our dear friends. Got home at 7:30, but still no bath for X.

Monday: Daddy is sick, X is crabby and tired. Bedtime for everyone at 7:00 p.m. No bath for X.

Tuesday: FINALLY gave the little guy a bath. He is so darn cute when he laughs and splashes. This time he stuck his face in the bubbles and came up looking like Santa Claus! I just adore him, and he loves his bath time.

We have got to work on a more consistent bath routine, especially now that it's hot and sticky weather.

OOOooOoooOOOOoooOo

Mama and X: Comedy Routines

ACT 1

Mama: Say Ma-Ma!
X: (big grin) DA-DA!

Repeat, about 35 times!

ACT 2

X stands in his playpen, a husher in his mouth and one in his hand. Mama takes the husher in his hand and puts it into her own mouth.

X giggles and pulls Mama's husher out of her mouth. Then, he puts it back in. Giggles, takes it out. Puts it back in. Giggles, takes it out...

I love that my little guy's sense of humor is starting to shine through! It makes my heart light. What a gift.

Sick

X was sick yesterday, with whatever this terrible summertime bug is, that's going around here.

The terrible part of it was that I had partied in the manner of a rock star on Saturday night (Excessive wine drinking coupled with watching Scott Pilgrim vs. The World with my husband. Yeah, that's how I roll these days.). So, when I realized that he was really sick -- when he projectile vomited ALLLLLLL over me -- I was not in the best shape myself to be taking charge of the situation.

My husband and I alternated looking after X and taking naps. I drove to the pharmacy and bought baby electrolyte drink. X would NOT drink more than a couple of ounces. I was too scared to give him formula, but I was worried that he was going to get dehydrated. He just didn't want anything in his poor tummy, though.

He also had a fever, which climbed to 101.5 at its highest, thankfully not high enough to have to go to the pediatrician or urgent care on a Sunday. Poor baby was just burning up, though, most of the day.

And, the worst part of it was that he just obviously felt so crummy. He can't tell us what's wrong yet, so all he could do was cry and whine piteously. It broke my heart, and at one point I was crying with him.

Happily, he is doing much better today -- eating normally, still not crazy about taking a bottle. But, he is his usual cheerful self, and for that I am so grateful.

All Work and No Play

I've returned to work -- a new position in a totally different setting. Where I was previously in a very public-facing, public servant type of position, now I am in a closed, corporate setting. It is a relief to have no external customers with whom I must interact. I am learning a whole new job, and it will take at least a few more days or weeks to really get the hang of it. I'm happy to be working again, and contributing to the household income, but I'm sad, because I feel like I see less of X than I did when I was at my old job, which might not actually be true. I guess it's just hard adjusting to being away from him after having two months at home with him.

Last night, at bedtime, I held him until he fell asleep in my arms. He snuggled against me and laid his head on my chest, and his breaths became slow and even. And then, he blew a giant zerbert on my bare skin! And another one! And as I giggled, he looked up at me with his sleepy, half-closed eyes and smiled.

Back To The Salt Mines

I've accepted a new position, and will be returning to work in two weeks. It is really bittersweet. On the one hand, we need the income -- it's that simple. On the other, it will be so hard to go back after having so much time at home with X.

Don't get me wrong: the hardest days with X (teething, grumpy, won't-take-a-nap, won't-eat-his-dinner kind of days) made me long for time away, or even just for some help. But they are days I'll never get back.

I'm second-guessing myself now, to be honest. About everything. I know that in the long run, it's just a decision that had to be made. But now that I've had a few days to adjust to the idea of going back to work, I wonder if I did it right during this time off from the 40-hour work week. Did I spend enough time with X? Did I pay enough attention? Did I bond adequately with him? Did I cuddle him enough? Did I help him learn?

How will we spend these last two weeks? Well, X has been going part-time to his sitter the entire time I've been looking for work, so that he wouldn't lose his spot and also to keep him socializing with the other children in his sitter's care. So, he has a couple more days of part time care before going back full-time in June.

We are also traveling by car to visit my husband's family in Florida. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone and having a week of beach time. Also, we will meet our new grand-niece for the first time, a tiny baby girl born on May 14th. It's the first long trip we will have done since Christmas, when X slept for pretty much the whole ride. I have a suspicion that this trip will be quite different, however we will break up the ride and stay a night in a hotel on the way there and again on the way back.

Then, back to the salt mines.

Sleeeeeeeeepy, Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy

X was such a great sleeper the night before Mother's Day, and napped well during the day, too. It was like he was giving me the gift of his sleeping well, since that's about as much as he could do for me at 8 months old!

Then, on Sunday night, he started to cut his first tooth. I am assured that the tooth was not the actual cause of his waking up, but it may have been why he wasn't able to get himself back to sleep on his own. My husband and/or I woke up with X about every two hours that night, and ended up rocking him back to sleep each time.

This pattern persisted pretty much every night for the week. X was getting overtired, to the point that he had his first temper tantrum when a ball was taken away from him by another baby at his sitter's house. The sitter said she couldn't believe the volume and the length of the tantrum! This was a sure sign that X was not getting the sleep he needs.

On Friday, it all came to a head. My husband and I were the walking dead, X was grouchy and irritable. Heck, we were all grouchy and irritable. It was time to cry it out.

Listening to my baby cry for 30 minutes was no treat, let me tell you. My whole system was going crazy -- adrenaline pumping, heart racing. My goodness, I just HAD to go and pick him up! But, with the support of my husband, we just let X cry. And then, suddenly, the wailing stopped and X was asleep.

Today, he has napped like a champion. An hour and a half this morning, and, as I type, going on two hours this afternoon. I just put him in his crib and told him it was nap time, then left the room. Sure, he fussed for about 10 minutes each time, but eventually just went to sleep.

I think we might be on to something. Let's hope it hasn't just been a fluke!

dreaming

dreaming, a photo by Katrina Elsi on Flickr.

first mother's day

Monkey

X is crawling! Not like your traditional hands and knees crawling, but he is mobile. He uses what I call a "monkey crawl," using two hands, one knee and one foot. And, boy is he fast! I find that the time is upon me to put away everything I don't want shredded and destroyed. Low tables are now suddenly within reach!

Yesterday, just before dinner, I stripped him down to just his diaper (which seems to be his preference now, anyway), so I could watch him moving. His little body is so amazing! His movements are not yet precise, but he is trying so hard to fine-tune his motion.

It's hard to believe that my little guy will soon be walking, shedding some of his delicious chubbiness. Maybe he will fit into those pants that are too small for his heinie (but too long for his legs!) soon, after all.

Pass the Mayo

It's funny to hear about cravings during pregnancy. What might be one woman's craving might be the very thing to send another running for the bathroom, barely suppressing the nausea. There are the stories of husbands running out in the middle of the night to buy dill pickles, ice cream and pretzels. Hormones are often blamed for pregnancy cravings, but the truth is that nobody really knows the true cause.

I know that sometimes I get into patterns even while not pregnant. There are some periods when I could eat a grilled cheese sandwich every single day for lunch. However, when I was expecting X, my biggest craving was for mayonnaise. Not so much mayo on sandwiches, which was my typical mode of mayonnaise delivery -- as lunch meats are a no-no during pregnancy. So, instead I ate mayonnaise-based salads. Egg salad was a particular favorite. Tuna salad, chicken salad, potato salad, macaroni salad. I even ventured to the deli counter for things I don't normally eat -- cole slaw, ham salad, broccoli salad. If it was made with mayonnaise, I wanted it in my belly!

It's funny. Now that I am writing this out, I can't remember the last time I ate any of the above mentioned foods. Maybe now that summer time is just around the corner, I will start making some of my favorites again. The only downside is that I am the only one in my house who even likes mayonnaise. My husband won't eat it, ever, and X is still too little! Ah, well. More for me, I guess!

Bring on picnic season -- I'm ready!

There's No Place Like Home

My area was hit pretty hard by the tornadoes that went through North Carolina yesterday. My house and neighborhood, despite being in the path of the storms was totally skipped over, thank goodness!

Some of our friends have not been so lucky -- a couple I know have gone to Asheville to stay with relatives because their condo was hit head-on. Many others are without power. My husband is in Raleigh now, helping out with the effort to clear up debris in a neighborhood that was particularly hard-hit, where we have good friends.

Please send all good thoughts, prayers and karma our way. It has been devastating.

Clap Hands, Clap Hands

X's new skill (clapping hands!) reminds me of a rhyme that my mother used to sing/chant with all of us (well, I imagine with all of us -- I am the youngest, so what do I know?), and now chants with her grandchildren and great-grandchildren whenever they would come to visit at around X's age:

Clap hands, clap hands
'Til Daddy comes home
Daddy has money
And baby has none!

Nobody to whom I have ever repeated this rhyme has heard it before! Is it a Brooklyn thing? Of course, with a quick Google search, I find lots of variants on the rhyme.

Speaking of Brooklyn, there is a song that my father taught us all when we were little, Dunderbeck's Machine. It's probably a song that he learned from the Brooklyn firemen who were a big part of his childhood, or maybe from a neighbor. It is the story of a man who has created a sausage grinder and his terrible demise at the end! Again, none of my friends had ever heard it. The internet, being a wonderful thing, has revealed many variations of this grisly song. There are even videos now on Youtube! This is the closest to the song as my father taught it to us, but there are differences in melody and lyrics, as in all folk songs. Perhaps a bit more research will unearth the origins of this song, but I will teach my version to X, so he can gross out all of his friends when he's older!

Enjoy!

Love Letters

I have been transcribing the love letters of my husband's great-grandfather to his great-grandmother over the last few weeks, and realized as I was typing this one up, that I was doing so on the 112th anniversary of this particular letter itself.

What I find so endearing about these letters, is that they are so truly heartfelt. Glass was obviously educated, but not refined. He was about 26 years old when he courted Nellie, who was 22 at the time. She ran him around quite a bit, but this letter is one of the earliest of the bundle my mother-in-law left with us. It was the beginning of the courtship. He seems so nervous, so eager to impress, so anxious to know that his feelings are returned.

I wish that Glass had been as careful in saving Nellie's replies. I only have one side of this story, but, of course I know how it ended.

Things don't change much. I remember the same sort of nervous excitement when I first started dating my husband, and X was not even a twinkle in our eyes.

Postmark April 4, 1899

Orange Springs, Fla

April 4

Miss Nellie Lang

Ft. McCoy

Dear Miss Nellie

Please don’t think because I asked you to correspond with me that I can promise interesting letters because I fear you will be disappointed.

The weeks seem to me as though they get longer & to look forward to the Sunday coming seems an age & I think were it so I could get just a short missive from you between times it wouldn’t seem quite so long. I truly hope you won’t think I am asking to much of you when I beg for a few lines this week.

I found my way out the new road Sunday night OK & arrived home on time to attend church but felt as though I needed to sleep & soon found my self in the happy land of “nod”.

I didn’t know it was cold until I left you but I came near freezing, however it wasn’t so bad as having dreamed I was a fish & the flat woods was an Ocean.

I came near letting Mrs. Uptons axe get misplaced. You should come for it by all means this week because it wouldn’t do to loose it. Have you had anymore propositions to go driving!! Ha. Ha. Well the nickel is yours don’t forget it.

You know if I had enough cash I would propose to you that we buy a buggy on the installment plan. You furnish the money & I pay the installment & we own equal parts in the buggy. So long as you are accepting or rather getting proposals on going for a ride I’l make you this one & we can ride real lots then.

The top buggy. Gray horse & pretty girl. Your Father made inquiry of us about was Mr. Wimberly of this City & Miss Broughton. She would be considered I guess as one of Klondykes Fair Maidens as she live out from you on Citrus road about 3 miles.

Miss Nellie:: doubtless you’l be surprised when I state to you that I have not forgotten that you told me you could not give me your heart but would exchange it for mine. I know you thought I’d forget it but I didn’t – C – !!

Now you seem to think that mine is in several parts which I must admit that you have good reasons for thinking so, however let me assure you that I can easily get mine all in a lump when you can make up your mind to make the exchange.

Now Miss Nellie I feel that I am unworthy to make such an exchange with you as this; yet I beg of you to think the matter over where you can’t find any think else to think of. Then why should I wish to make such an exchange unless I could feel that I was getting something that I was unworthy of then I could feel the more proud of the exchange. This is why I can assure you that I am heart whole & fancy free & stand ready to make the exchange with you.

Now I’l tell you of the dance last eve.

I saw we couldn’t find enough young ladies to have a good dance so I proposed to take my harp & Guitar and play for them to waltz.

They were thoughtful enough to accept my proposition consequently I played until the end of my finger fell off.

The lady of the house was kind enough to play one waltz on Piano for me so I got to waltz. Just think of it only one time.

I wish you had been here Monday to help me eat Bananas. I fixed them Sunday am to take out with us on our drive Sunday aft noon & laid them & really I didn’t think of them until Monday when I saw the package tied up & an examination found it was the Bananas that belonged to you & I. I thought of you while eating them (and several times since) & ate one and a half for you.

I’l be on time Sunday, trusting that I’l have a letter from you ere that time.

I am your friend truly

W. Glass Meggs

P.S. Remember the nickle’s yours.

Happy Hulas For Your Luau

Tiny bubbles. That's what X's first kicks felt like. At the time, I didn't know that was what they were. I suspected it could be, possibly, the first kicks, but it was too early. I was only 15 weeks pregnant. I was a first-time mother. I wasn't supposed to feel movement until 22 or 24 weeks, according to the books, the experts, the online forums. Baby would be moving, but I wouldn't know what it was. It was so easy to mistake gas for baby's movements!

I was driving to work, listening to hula music. Traffic was heavy and I was running late. I felt a little pop-pop-pop, like carbonation, low in my abdomen. It happened, then happened again after a few moments.

When I got to work, I went about my business until, a few hours later, I felt the bubbling again. Pow-pow-pow! This time I knew. This was definitely kicking. I didn't care that I shouldn't be feeling it yet, or know what it was. We had connected. I could feel the baby moving!

Stay At Home?

Maybe, for a little while, until I can find another job. I quit my job, finally, after wanting to for quite some time. When my husband put it to me like this, I knew it was time:

X and I don't deserve to have you coming home at night crying because of something that happened at your job. X and I don't deserve to see you off in the morning, crying, because you don't want to go to your job. We deserve better than that.

I used to love my job, and there was a time when it was a perfect fit for me. That time has come and gone. I have different priorities now. I have a family that needs me, and needs me to be happy, so we can all be happy together.

Unfortunately, though we can make it short-term without my income, we also need for me to have an income for just a couple more years. I am searching for a job, but also desperately want to stay at home. I'm torn between the two. Can we make enough changes, cut enough fat off of our budget, for me to stay at home? Would having more time to make better decisions about money make it possible? I would get to spend the fleeting baby days with X, and be the first to hear him say his first word, watch him crawl, take his first steps. I would be there with him. I want to be there with him. I would be there for my husband. I could keep my house up the way I want to! I could cook and clean! Be a mother and a wife, without the stress of a job creeping in, taking over my thoughts as I try to BE PRESENT with my family.

My husband and I will keep asking ourselves the questions, keep searching for the answer. My remaining three weeks of employment await.

Who Are You?

Who are you?

I find myself asking this question of X, sadly more frequently on Thursdays and Fridays as the work week keeps me away from him for most of the days between weekends. Spending two, or maybe three hours a day with this baby is just not enough to get to know the little person who is now very much becoming his own little self. Following a routine that has been established by X and his wonderful babysitter is easy on the weekends, but it's sad that I need the babysitter to tell me about my boy's day to day routine and growth.

I want to be the one to make the discoveries about X's preference. I want to figure out with X what works and what doesn't.

I love the babysitter, though. She is wonderful. She takes in four children, and runs a home daycare. Two girls, ages three and two, and another boy, about two weeks older than X. It's a lovely, warm environment and X gets lots of one-on-one attention. I couldn't ask for a better situation.

Still, the question comes. Who are you?

I'm finally starting to feel like X is a separate entity. He expresses his individuality in surprising, funny ways. His temper is quick to flare, like mine, but irritations are quickly forgotten. He is a goofy, funny giggler, like his dad. He loves to snuggle, but he also loves to play and shout! He is gaining more and more skills that will make him yet even more independent as the days and weeks and months pass. I'm so proud of him. He is the sweetest, funniest boy.

I'm also starting to feel like I am myself again -- not always mommy, but a wife and a friend and a sister and an employee and a daughter. Maybe it's spring. Maybe it's all the new independent things of which X is becoming capable. Who knows? I feel different, though. I feel more balanced, and that's a good thing.

And still: Who are you? How will you be different today? It's a question for both of us, for all three of us, thinking now about my husband. How will we continue to grow, as individuals and as a family? Every day, a question.

Seven Months

X is seven months old today -- more than half a year. Almost a year and a half since we found out he was on his way. I can't believe how quickly time passes.

X discovered today that he can put his toes in his mouth! I've been waiting for this to happen. What a funny sight! I hate feet in the worst way, but I love X's feet. I kiss them and blow raspberries on them. They're so chubby, and his big toes are SO big! They're like insane monkey toes. I swear he tries to pick things up with his feet, just like he does with his hands. That'll be a neat party trick, if it ever comes to pass.

He also did the funniest moon walk move while we were playing in the living room this evening. I was holding him up, in a standing position. Instead of bouncing, like he normally does, he started to pick up his feet. He couldn't figure out how to put them one in front of the other, so he kept putting them back and sliding the other foot.

My husband is a huge, major Michael Jackson fan. I haven't told him about the moon walking yet, but I know he will freak out when I do. One other anecdote here is that X would always "dance" in utero whenever a Michael Jackson song played. Just like his daddy! I don't know if musical fandom can be inherited, but if loving MJ is genetic, I will eat my hat.

Anyway, happy 7 months day, X. Your daddy and I love you so very much!

Swings

Yesterday marked my first venture onto a playground with X. The weather is finally no longer frigid, the daylight is lasting longer, and I had the day off and X all to myself!

We walked our usual route through the subdivision where we live and instead of strolling past the playground, I decided to stop. I thought we could try the baby swings. X has been sitting up pretty well for a couple of weeks now. Okay, he's still a little wobbly, but when he has something to hold on to, he does great!

I put him in and away he went -- swinging and shrieking and laughing.

Daddy reports that he took him to the playground again today while I was at work, and that X loved the swings and cried when taken out to come home. Sweet boy.

Messy Morning

Lots of messy things have happened today, but they have all had me dissolving into fits of giggles:

1. During a flying baby game (holding X in the air over my head), there was a burp and a spit-up! I knew the day would come for this to happen. All I could do was close my eyes and mouth and reach blindly for the burp cloth to get the worst of it off of my face. This episode required a face washing (mine), shirt changing (mine) and mouth wiping (X's). At least I didn't have to change his clothes, too!

2. Listening to Raffi's "Bananaphone", I carry X over to the counter and pick up a pretty ripe banana. "This is a banana. Banana! Banana! Banana!" X grabs the stem and gives a hard yank, pulling it off. Okay, I think. I'll just peel and eat it. While I'm holding X. He proceeds to grab and mash the banana. Soon, we are both a sticky, slimy mess. And X still doesn't like fresh banana -- after putting some in his mouth, he did his usual gagging, BLECH sound. O_o This situation called for reinforcements, and it was, after all, 7:30 a.m. So, we go upstairs and wake up Daddy, who takes X for cleanup, while I change my shirt (again) and wash my face and hands (again).

3. X is finally winding down. I see that he's getting tired, so I sit in the rocking chair with him, and we snuggle. I had changed into a tank top, leaving my chest bare. X, who is really working on blowing raspberries, puts his little mouth on my skin and blows, making the loudest, wettest raspberry sound ever. I start to laugh, and so he starts to laugh. He does it again. We both giggle and laugh, and he does it again! Giggle fit ensues. Okay, not too messy this time, but very, very slobbery!

Suddenly, X is curled up like a bean in my arms, fast asleep.

Bliss.

Hands

When X was born, his fingers were so long and slender, balled up into tight fists. His hands were so, so tiny. He must have been fascinated by his hands in utero, as he had sucking blisters when he was born. He has continued to be fascinated by hands. He quickly re-learned how to suck on his fingers and thumbs, once he was in the world. For a little while, he would almost always gag himself, putting his fingers into his mouth too fast and too deep. Now, he is an expert with his chubby little starfish hands. He is a master grasper, he can reach and grab and pinch!

He is also fascinated by everyone else's hands. He has, almost since he was born, used my hands as his favorite toy. He would reach, grab my fingers, let go, reach again. He plays with my hands as he nurses or while he is falling asleep. If I lay him down in his crib, and he is tired, but fighting the sleep, I give him my hand to use as a lovey. He grips my fingers, pushing my hand away, then drawing it near.

I wonder what he will do one day with his hands. Will he be left-handed, like my father? Will he make things with his hands? Play an instrument? Perform surgery?

I wonder what X will do when he is a little boy, a teen, an adult. How will he use his hands? The future is so far away, but so terrifyingly near. I learn this anew each day, as X masters one more skill, one more communicative nuance, one more fine finger motion. I can't wait for his future, yet I want time to stand still, to stop the clock, bind its hands. I want to hold X's hand in mine forever, but I know that soon enough I'll be waving goodbye as he makes his way into the wide world.

Winter

Having such a young baby during the winter stinks in a lot of ways. And not entirely in the ways I expected it to be difficult. X was born in mid-August, so he was three months old in November, and this is when I had to return to work.

So, X went into daycare at the beginning of the cold & flu season, and he has had a number of colds and viruses. One the one hand, he will ultimately benefit from having built up his immune system. On the other hand, it is no fun for the little guy to be sick, and it's also not very fun for us! Our scariest time was our ER visit with X when he had a virus called RSV. We were lucky, though, because he responded quite quickly and really well to the breathing treatment the nurse administered. It helped that X was pretty calm through all of the testing and treatments.

Another downside to all of this, is that hardly any of our friends have actually met Mr. X! We're hoping that the gorgeous spring-like weather we've been having here in the South will stick around. Was Punxatawney Phil right this year? Will spring be early? We hope so, so that we can introduce our favorite X Man to all of our friends, sans germs!

Weaning

We'll start this weekend. I don't think it will be that big a transition for us, since we only nurse once or twice a day at this point, anyway. It'll probably be harder on me, emotionally, than it will be on X for any reason. He loves his bottle. His bottle almost always has formula in it. I told myself that I would try for six months, and we have reached that point. I get so very little milk when I pump, and I know he doesn't get very much when he nurses -- we always follow up with a bottle.

So ends a beautiful chapter.

Bath Time

Sometimes I feel neglectful that I don't bathe X more than once a week. I worry that his skin will get too dry, and he has had little patches of very dry skin through the winter, that I slather with Aquaphor. But then, he doesn't get very dirty (yet) and he is wipe-able, after all!

X hated baths for about the first four weeks of his life. He screamed through his first bath in the hospital, when the lovely volunteer lady showed us how to do it. He SCREAMED at home, when my husband and I were brave enough to try it on our own. His agitation made me jumpy, and his anxiety fed off of my own.

Then, we watched a video by Tracy Hogg (aka The Baby Whisperer), and the bath part of the video made it all worth it. The most important thing I learned was to slow down and help X enjoy the bath.

I approached the next bath with much trepidation. I started a lullaby CD, hoping the music would set a relaxing tone. I made sure the water was the right temperature. I let X test the water with his feet before I put him in his little bath tub. I went slowly, taking my time. And, to my delight, X totally dug it. He smiled, kicked his feet, splashed his hands. He didn't cry when I poured the water over his head after washing his hair. He was quiet and alert when I wrapped him up in his towel, smiling as I rubbed his head and brushed his hair.

Even now, while his baths are so infrequent, he knows what's coming when he hears the music and the water running, filling up the tub. He laughs and splashes, and cries when it is time to get out of the bath. A little gentleness has gone a long way.

Before I know it, we'll be making bubble mohawks and having dinosaur versus boat races. Then, before I know it, baths will once again become the enemy. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the splashing and laughing.

Secondhand

We were fortunate to receive so many baby accoutrements from friends whose own sons had outgrown their swings and Bumbos and clothes! A lot of our friends are big "pay it forward" types, and we felt grateful to be on the receiving end of their generosity.

There were several items I couldn't resist buying myself, though. I wanted X to have some new clothes that I picked especially for him. I remember being at Costco one day, and spotting the table laden with piles of Carter's baby clothes. It was impossible to resist. The tiny pants and one-piece outfits were too cute to pass up.

Now, the time has come for me to pay it forward again. I've become part of an online community where available items are posted, or needs are posted, and people just find one another and share what they have with those who need it. I know that there are lots of ways I could make money, consignment shops and yard sales, and whatnot. I just feel like my family is really very, very lucky. If I can give or send the things I no longer need to someone who does, then why not do it?

Some items, however, are too difficult to part with. I don't know if I will ever have a need for the tiny pants made out of monster-patterned fabric again, but I will hold on to them. Down the road, if the need arises, we will use them again. If not, we can always pass them along to someone who will use them.

Baptism

Today we had X baptized at our parish church, St. Andrew the Apostle. The baptism was during the Mass, and he was one of four babies receiving the sacrament today.

The whole thing was kind of a blur for me. I did note, though, that the water in the baptismal font was heated! So, it wasn't such a shock for the little ones, and nobody cried at the water being poured over their heads. Irish tradition says that it is lucky if the baby cries at his christening, because he's howling out all the bad spirits. Well, X didn't cry. In fact, he seemed pretty amused by the water, and the anointing oil, and all the people clapping and smiling at him.

Then, he fell asleep! It was the 9:30 a.m. Mass, after all. He is usually ready for his morning nap around 10:00 or 10:30 a.m., so...

In all, it was a lovely thing. My good friend that I have known since middle school came to stand up as his godmother, and my father-in-law stood in as proxy for his godfather, who couldn't be here. Funny enough, his godfather is his cousin, who is 25 years old! X was a surprise in many ways to us all.

We followed with a luncheon at our house, and X stayed awake all afternoon. Apparently, he didn't want to miss a second of what was going on while visitors were here. He cried and cried every time we tried to put him down for a nap.

He finally went down at 5:15 p.m. I wouldn't be surprised if he is down for the count, although I expect he will wake up in the night to nurse.

Le Pince, Bretodeau!

I watched Amelie the other day, as I often do, when I am a bit down in the dumps. I love the scene near the beginning when Amelie's good deed brings back the memory of the little boy who wins all of the marbles at recess, only to lose them all at the hands of a teacher, who pinches his ear and drags him back into line at the sound of the bell. "Le pince, Bretodeau!"

Minutes after X was born, I pried open one of his tiny hands. His fist was so small and so tightly closed! When I touched his palm with my finger, his own fingers clamped down on mine. It was like a vise. His hands were so strong!

In his early weeks, whenever he would get upset, he would use his hands and pinch his face. I was so afraid that he would scratch himself, since I could never uncurl his fingers long enough to clip his razorlike nails. Indeed, he did manage to injure himself with his nails pretty regularly, especially in one of his moments of what looked like panic, or agony. His little red face, his cheeks in the grip of his pulling fingers. It broke my heart! I would gently pull his hands away, and tell him, "Don't pinch, don't pinch."

Now, he uses that same pinch, but on me instead! At about three months old, he started pinching the backs of my arms as I laid him on the changing table. Now, he pinches me while he is nursing. It's hard not to shout, those strong, tiny fingers gripping my soft flesh! I sometimes develop little fingerprint bruises where he has gripped me. I hope he grows out of this strange little habit, but I do not want to forget it. My little lobster. Le pince!

Milk

I'm glad that my sister's new baby is so close in age to my own Mr. X. As first time mothers, the two of us can talk and ask questions about one another's experiences as we learn to be mothers to our children.

My sister is nursing her daughter, and had the usual troubles at first -- sore nipples was the biggest problem. Then, her milk came in! She was painfully engorged, and nursing could only relieve that feeling so much. She didn't have a breast pump, so she called one of her girlfriends who helped her out by picking one up at Target. She said that she gets really engorged, and so if little Ramona doesn't nurse right on schedule, she pumps and produces about 3 oz. each time, which is really great for being so early on. As of now, it looks like she will have no problem maintaining a plentiful supply, and so Ramona will be exclusively breastfed, or at least consume breastmilk only.

I, on the other hand, wanted to exclusively breastfeed X, but ended up not being able to do so. I think I read somewhere, in passing, that PCOS can cause issues with milk production, but I never followed up on it because at first, everything seemed to be going okay. Looking back, though, I never had the moment where I went,"OH MY GOD, MY BOOBS!!!" from the engorgement of the milk coming in. In fact, I think I only got really engorged once or twice.

At any rate, at about two or three weeks of age, X got SO hungry that he just cried and cried, even though I was trying to nurse him whenever he gave the slightest indication that he might be hungry. So, I finally broke down and consented to giving him some of the formula that we received as samples at the hospital. He gulped it down like he hadn't eaten since birth! I knew at that moment that I would do whatever it took to make sure X was fed and, more important, satisfied after each feeding.

Now, six months in, he is primarily formula fed. I do still pump at work and we nurse in the morning and at night, but I know that I just don't produce enough to feed him exclusively with breast milk. I'm glad I have stuck with it, though, and that I am able to breastfeed at all. I'll be sad when he weans himself from nursing. Until then, I'll cuddle him close and love every second of that special time that he and I have together.

I Meant Well

The other day, thanks to the glorious Internets, I reached out to a mama whose baby has a very serious heart defect called Shone's Complex. To all outward appearances, little M is a happy, healthy, gorgeous baby boy. His mama shared her experiences with a group on Babycenter, asking for prayers a while back.

To my delight, she posted some recent photos of her little guy, and I sent her a message asking after M and asking if there was any improvement. She did take the time to message me back, and explained that they will see a pediatric cardiologist later this month. M had open heart surgery in October, and at the time his diagnosis was made, the doctors predicted he wouldn't make it through the winter.

All of this breaks my heart. I hate that anyone has to go through it.

Then, I think I put my foot in my mouth. Because, really, what can you say to someone who may only have a few more precious weeks or months with her darling baby? I said something well-meaning, but probably that could have been interpreted as somewhat insensitive. Then, I apologized. Then I wanted to apologize again for my lameness. But then, it would have turned into a whole thing like the scene in Swingers where the guy calls the girl too many times and leaves a bunch of voicemails... Ugh. I just feel lame. But, I know that this mama, who is probably just soaking up all the lovely moments she has with M, is probably used to well-intentioned, but awkward statements. I hope she's giving her little guy as many kisses and hugs as can fit in a day, and forgetting about the strange and awkward things that people who know about her situation must say each and every day.

So, really, all I can offer are extra prayers today, and every day for the babies who need miracles. Scarlett and M, I am thinking about you both.

Swimming

My sister gave birth to her first baby on Friday, and talking with her about the birth has really flooded me with memories.

As she described her daughter's emergence into the world, I remembered so clearly the crowning and the final pushes. I pushed for nearly three hours. X was sunny-side-up, and his position made this part extremely difficult.

I remember being told to push, push harder. Put your chin to your chest. Pull on the sheet (attached to the bar over the bed) and concentrate!

Now, wait! Don't push. Wait, wait.

Then, his head was free. I needed to push again, and again.

Suddenly his warm, tiny body was swimming out of me in a rush of fluid. All the support nurses sprang into action. I lay back, overwhelmed, wanting to hold my tiny baby, waiting for him to be handed to me.

Pride and grief mingled. I had done it -- delivered my baby -- but I would no longer feel his swimming movements inside. He was in my world. In our world. He was taking his first breaths.

Pattern

Sit on the Pilates ball.
Stand up and walk around.
Shake left hand, as if fanning myself.
Kneel at the edge of the bed, husband and mother-in-law massaging and squeezing my hips together.
Breathe.
Focus on breathing.
Repeat.
For hours.

Indigestion

The indigestion started at the beginning of December, 2009. It was constant. It was awful. My stomach hurt. I complained to my husband, we tried various antacids, but they barely took the edge off.

I was under a lot of stress at the time. I began to think I had developed an ulcer.

Or a milk allergy. Yogurt also seemed to upset me more than usual. Was I becoming lactose intolerant?

By Christmas, my husband was as worried as I.

Then, inspiration struck. My husband asked on Christmas day, "Do you think you might be pregnant?"

My answer? An emphatic NOPE. It wasn't possible. I had PCOS. Endometriosis. I couldn't be pregnant. We'd been trying for a year to get pregnant. I had surgery to correct some of my issues, and had taken three rounds of Clomid with no ovulation. I'd had a period in August, but that seemed like a fluke. I hadn't had one since, but I certainly didn't FEEL pregnant. And, surely, I couldn't be four MONTHS pregnant without knowing it. So, nope. I had an ulcer. Or giardiasis. I was going to call the doctor after Christmas.

My husband told me, "I'm going to get you a home pregnancy test tomorrow morning, first thing." Then he went to cook our Christmas dinner -- turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. Usually a favorite of mine, this time the aroma of the cooking meal made me sick to my stomach. Oh, I was definitely sick.

The next day, true to his word, he went out for a home pregnancy test. He brought it to me and I said, with a roll of the eyes, "Okay. I'll be back in three minutes."

Four minutes later, I was stumbling down the steps in a daze, gripping the positive test stick. "Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!" And we started laughing, crying, hugging. We were going to be parents.

Blisters

When the excitement of the birth started to die down, and all of the necessary tests had been performed, my husband and I pored over Mr. X, counting his fingers, caressing his earlobes, kissing his round little belly. Then we noticed the small blisters on his hands, just below the thumbs and on one wrist.

"What are these?" we asked the midwife.

She looked. "Oh, those are sucking blisters, he must have been pretty busy in there!"

I knew all at once what those tickling sensations low in my uterus had been. Little fingers, wiggling and working their way into Mr. X's mouth! He was busy inside, to have blistered himself!

The marks have now faded, but he still LOVES his hands and fingers. Some habits die hard, I guess.

The Itch

I had finally gotten to a point in my pregnancy when I could see the end looming large. I felt good, if tired and swollen. I knew that was normal, though. I was really starting to get excited for Mr. X's arrival, and felt like I had everything ready.

I had had some hiccups in my pregnancy -- raging heartburn, carpal tunnel in my right arm, and a gestational diabetes scare. The gestational diabetes diagnosis came as I was on the road with my husband, at 7 months pregnant, on our way to our last vacation, just the two of us. The doctor's office called at 4:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon with the bad news. I sweated it the entire weekend -- not knowing what to eat, how to tell if I was in trouble. We managed a wonderful weekend in Asheville, NC, in spite of it. Come to find out on Monday morning, the nurse who called me made the wrong call -- one of the glucose readings from the three hour test was slightly elevated, but the obstetrician said that I was okay. What a relief!

So, here I was, three weeks out from my due date. I felt good. I was happy, excited, filled with anticipation. Would I know when the contractions started? What if my water broke while I was at work? Would we make it to the hospital in time? How long would it take, the labor, once it got started? Would I really be able to stick to my birth plan? Would I fall in love with Mr. X immediately?

Then, on August 1, the red bumps started to form. Itchy, tiny red bumps on my belly. At around the same time, my husband and I had discovered that somehow our home had a flea infestation. Gross! We attacked the fleas with everything we could throw at them, ultimately fumigating the house. That seemed to take care of the problem, except for the itchy red bumps that seemed now to be spreading.

The itching became unbearable. The bumps spread down to my thighs, my knees, my ankles. They started to appear on my breasts and on my arms and wrists. Something was wrong. I called the doctor's office, and they had me come in almost immediately.

The diagnosis: PUPPPs, or Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy. What? What is that? The answer is that nobody knows for sure why PUPPPs happens, but that it is usually in the last weeks of pregnancy. It's more prevalent in women who are carrying their first child, more common for women expecting boys. It is also more common among Latinas and Jamaicans, according to the midwife who examined me, stating that she was of Puerto Rican heritage.

The cure? Labor and delivery.

The light at the end of the tunnel suddenly shrank to a pinpoint. I began my maternity leave immediately, since at this point, I couldn't stop scratching myself, and my forearms were red and raw with the rash. On top of all of the questions from the people who came into my place of work about when I was due, whether I was having twins, unsolicited descriptions of gory childbirth, I now had a horrible rash and basically wanted to tear my skin off. I couldn't do my job anymore. The midwife wrote me a prescription for bed rest, and I just stopped going to work.

At home, I searched and searched the Internet for tips on how to ameliorate the itching, even if just for a few moments each day. I tried Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap, which stunk to high heaven. I used Benadryl cream, which didn't come in remotely large enough quantities, but seemed to work for a little while. I slathered myself with Sarna lotion, which stopped the itching only for as long as it also chilled me to the bone. I sat in the tub in a cool oatmeal bath for hours each day and sobbed.

I begged Mr. X to come early. I pleaded and cried and knew I was going to lose my mind if he didn't just GET BORN ALREADY!

As a last-ditch effort, I had my mother-in-law, who was staying with us at the time, bring in the V-8 Juice. I had read online that some women who suffered through PUPPPs swore by it, and I figured that if it didn't stop the itching, at least I'd be getting my vegetables. I drank a can as soon as she brought it home. I drank another later that day. I continued with two cans a day, oatmeal baths, Sarna. Anything to relieve the painful itching.

After maybe four days of V-8, the rash began to dry up. To go away. Could it be possible? Or was that just the first round of bumps running their course? Was another onslaught threatening?

We held our breaths. I prayed. I hoped.

It never came back.

Highly unusual, was the consensus among the midwives and obstetricians at the practice. Really, very out of the ordinary. Usually birth is the only cure. And even then, the rash sometimes lingers, or even gets worse for a few days or weeks after the baby's arrival. They were sure it would come back. I was terrified that it would, but it never did.

I had one week, free of itching and scratching. One week, staying home from work, no responsibilities. One week to myself, to calm and center my thoughts. To focus on what was now imminent: Mr. X's arrival. I was ready.

Three

My husband described the hospital stay as being very much like a private vacation. Everything stopped, we were all together -- three of us, now -- without the interruption of working. It felt like a cocoon, almost. We only had visits from my in-laws, who stayed with us for two months, helping out with our new little guy. Other than that, it was just hospital staff, our pediatrician, meal service.

How I miss the insulation, the protection from daily life. Those days in our suite were like heaven. I find myself wishing for the same solitude, the same time to bond as a family. We are so busy now. Both my husband and I work full-time. X goes to daycare. The moments together are precious and few, as everyday life takes us over.

So, I try to savor the memories of those first few days when it really was just the three of us, feeling safe. Feeling the love with such intensity. Feeling amazed at the life ahead of us, now that we were three.

His First Cry

His first cry sounded like the cry of a tiny bird. He cried, and cried again, as the midwife checked him over before helping my husband to place him on my chest. I wish I had been able to record that sound! It brings tears to my eyes, recalling it. The midwife asked my husband if he wanted to cut the cord. I nodded at him, and he took the instrument from her. I couldn't take my eyes off of our son. He was so tiny, so warm! And, again, the birdlike cry from his sweet little mouth.

August 16, 2010

August 16, 2010 at 4:14 a.m. That was the moment I became who I am today: a mother.

This is astounding, because I never thought it would happen to me.

Now, five months later, I find that I'm forgetting things. I want to get it all down. I want to try to remember, so I can tell Mr. X his story.

That's what this blog will be about. Me, my husband, and our baby boy, Mr. X -- the light of our lives.