Cognosco

My mother and I haven’t always gotten along.

But we have gotten along more often than not.

We haven’t always agreed with each others’ life choices.

For a long time, I resented her for staying with my father for so long, and only finally leaving him when my brother and I were out of the house.

In the last few years, I have forgiven this. I have forgiven my father for his abuse as well.

In spite of all of our disagreements, my mother has always been there for me when it really came down to it.

When I was 17 years old, I dropped out of college and left the state with a weasel-boy. We headed for "utopia" in Northern California. Never mind that I had scholarships. Never mind that I left other members of my performance ensemble one player short. Never mind that it broke my mother’s heart. Never mind that I was too much of a coward to even tell her I was leaving. My best friend had to tell my mother I was gone. She didn’t speak to me for about a year, but after all these years, she’s still my best friend. I am grateful for her–my soul sister of 18 years–for loving me whether I deserved it or not.

Dropping out of school, leaving everything behind, and heading to an area I’d never seen to live with people I didn’t know in Northern California seemed like a good idea at the time.

I needed to "find myself".

Did I mention that I had been doing A LOT of psychedelic drugs?

I had been in California for about 2 months, when I found out I was pregnant.

My first thought was to put the baby up for adoption, because I was afraid that everyone would hate me if I had an abortion. I, personally, didn’t have a problem with having the abortion, but I was terrified of the judgment, and I was in a situation that would have required the knowledge and help of several others in order to obtain one.

The woman we were living with said that I might want to reconsider. She said, "look at this puppy you’ve had for 8 weeks, and how attached you are to him. Do you really think you could give up your baby?"

She had a point. She also made it clear that there was a place for me there if I carried the pregnancy to term and kept the baby, and that she had no qualms with banning weasel-boy from the property.

But I. did. not. want. a. child. Couldn’t even fathom it. I realized that I had made a huge mistake with my life, and all I wanted was to terminate the pregnancy and go back to school.

I told weasel-boy I was thinking of terminating the pregnancy. He called me a selfish whore.

And I realized that I definitely wanted no ties to that man for the rest of my life.

The next time I was able to get to a pay phone (this was a very rural area), I called my mom, and at the same time asked weasel-boy to get me a snack from the store. 

While he was gone, I whispered to my mom, "I am pregnant. I don’t want this baby. I want an abortion. I need help".

My mother an I had barely spoken for several months, and all she said was that she would be there soon.

She lived in Mayer, AZ at the time. I was just south of Eureka, CA. It’s a 1,000 mile trip.

She was there the next morning. And as we drove home, she told me the story of her abortion, back when you had to sit before a panel of male doctors and justify your choice. She said it was humiliating.

The next few months were rough, but I survived. There were many more times that my mother came to my rescue, and she is doing it again this week.

When the panic attacks and crying jags started. When I couldn’t open my computer without my hands shaking. When I started waking up at 3 in the morning, suddenly, with racing heart, racing mind, and a feeling of doom. When my two-year-old son was up for two hours by himself last week and I didn’t hear him because I was beyond the point of absolute exhaustion (the house was a disaster, but he had only gotten into his toys). When one particular dissertation committee member pushed me over an edge that I have avoided for 32 years. After two years of asking for her help, and not getting it, she finally gave her input, had asked the impossible given the time constraints, but I DID IT. I DID IT! And then, she asked for something else. Something else that meant I had to start the impossible all over again. Because she hadn’t bothered to read my documents. Any of them.

When all of these things happened, my mother said she was coming here as soon as she could.

That same committee member also contributed to the end of one of the friendships I made in graduate school that really mattered to me.

I have survived an abusive upbringing, 26 years of multiple school stressors, two abusive boyfriends, a manipulative ex-husband, a first year of graduate school that involved a divorce, moving 5 times during that first year, and being banned from seeing my stepson of 5 years. I also survived caring for a crippled friend for a year, sitting by the bedside of my father for 6 weeks after a motorcycle accident that we thought had taken away his mind (he was convinced his bed was an airplane), and I even the postpartum period after the birth of my son (I did struggle with anxiety, but it didn’t exceed my coping resources–and my husband encouraged me go stay in a hotel room now and then just to sleep uninterrupted). All of these things I survived, and though I was sometimes emotional, I knew it would get better and I could always get through whatever I needed to do. And yet, this committee member pushed me so far over the edge that I stumbled into campus health crying and asking for help and have now been given a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. It makes me sleepy, but I can actually open my statistics program without feeling like my throat is closing off.

And I can sleep.

And my mother will be here on Sunday. It’s not a 24 hour turn-around like when I was 18, but it is impressive nonetheless. She is coming because she has never seen me like this, and she knows what’s it’s like to totally lose your shit. And when she lost hers, no one was there for her.

I am not embarrassed to say that right now, all I want is my mommy.

I am grateful for my mother.

I am also grateful for the psychologist at the counseling center, who recognized the immediacy of the situation, assured me that I can do this, and said that the problem wasn’t me–that I was having a completely normal reaction to an abnormal situation.

I am grateful for my primary adviser, who has referred to my condition as "Academic PTSD" and who has done nothing but stand up for me and call to check on me and give me permission to just walk away for a day. And who has repeatedly assured me that I am not crazy.

I am grateful to my son, whose response to me bursting into tears was to climb onto my lap, take my face in his hands, ask "boo boo?", and give me a big kiss and hug.

I am grateful to the universe for giving me this son. 

I am grateful that today has been a good day.

I am grateful that I will survive. I know I will survive because my mama will be here, and then it will be okay.

I skipped a day. Oh well.

First of all, I’m kind of tired and crabby right now. I’ve been fighting a chest/nose/I’m-so-freaking-tired bug for 2 weeks now. Albie got it too, and seems to have kicked it much easier than I did. I am grateful that his speedy recovery means few nights of me lying awake in bed, waiting for his next coughing spell, so I can…well, there’s not much I can do aside from steaming the hell out of the room and slathering him in smelly stuff.

Albie decided that 5:45 was an appropriate time to start the day today. This, after two months of sleeping until 7 or later. I was REALLY grateful for the 8:00 days. Today was the second time this week he’s been up before 6. I am not grateful for the early rising–his early rising has been THE HARDEST part of motherhood for me. After two years, you would think that I could adapt to his schedule. It hasn’t happened yet. I’m just not built to go to bed and rise early. Even when I am dead tired, if I go to bed early, I just wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. And when I am overtired, I become a horrible parent and a horrible spouse. I am terrified that 5:45 will become the norm again. Blackout curtains, my ass.

But, I tried to stay positive. I decided I’d just nap when he did. Except that he fell asleep in the car, and when I carried him inside, he decided that 10 minutes was a long enough nap for today. I am also not grateful for the lack of nap.

I am, however, grateful that when we went to the Farmer’s Market today, I was able to leave the stroller in the car and Albert actually stayed with me (more or less). We fed some baby goats. We munched some kettle corn. We ate some tamales. He even at a mushroom tamale–mushrooms and all! I am grateful for the lovely farmer girl who always gives us whatever he grabs and starts to eat for free. Today it was a tomato. I am also grateful that he didn’t try to punch me, kick me, pull my hair, or otherwise assault me when it was time to leave. I am grateful that we made it to Pane Bianco right as they were opening and so we barely had to wait for our sandwich. I am grateful that Albert seemed to be feeling better, and so we stopped at the playgound for the first time all week. I am grateful that when Albert fell in love with a little girl’s tractor at the playground, the mother said he could keep it. And this was a mother who I could tell did not own much. I almost felt bad that she gave it to us, except that it seemed to make her so happy to have something to give. I am grateful that again, I didn’t get punched, kicked, or otherwise assaulted when it was time to leave. I am grateful that Albert has been especially impish today, and has made me laugh several times. He is currently dancing to pre-programmed music on his kiddie keyboard, and it’s kind of adorable. Now he’s asking to watch 101 Dalamations by saying "woof woof" and patting his leg. I’m grateful for old Disney cartoons that have a certain charm that is not present in the newer Disney cartoons (except for Pixar movies, which are charming in a different way). They may not be educational, but they make me all warm and fuzzy, and that counts for something.

I’m grateful that Albie is sporting his adorable self today, because if he was wearing his difficult suit, it would be really hard to resist feeding him to the dogs.

And then I could sleep.

The boy and I are both raspy and sore and coughing. No fever or major discomfort–just sleep disturbances and a stuffy head.

Instead of being frustrated by our sorry state, I was grateful for the sick day. Luckily, neither one of us was supposed to be anywhere today. I didn’t even bother to get us dressed at any point in the day. And I had no guilt about how many cartoons we watched…

Dear Albie,

I know it’s been a few months since your last update, and for that I apologize. It’s been crazy busy in our household, what with you mama applying for jobs and finishing a dissertation and trying not to explode on you in the mean time.

You are now two years old, and like every other mama whose baby has just turned two, I can’t believe it. You are so tall, and so active, and so charming when you want to be. I find it unbelievable that you were once a baby who could not be put down. Now, I count myself lucky when I get to cuddle with you.

I want you to know that I like you. I really enjoy your company. I’m not sure when caring for you became less work and more relationship, but I like it. We still have rough days, and both of us are prone to temper tantrums. I have resigned myself to the fact that you will grow up knowing that yes, mom blows up, but it’s over soon, and really, she is all bark and no bite. That’s just me, and while I am trying to cultivate patience, I’m trying not to beat myself up for not being the mother I think I should be. Because I’m just me. And you’re who you are. And we are both kind of explosive, but I like us that way.

Your latest obsession is TRAINS! We bought an Ikea train set and some accessories back in November, and there are days when you will run your trains around the track for hours. It took some practice and patience for you to learn that you must be gentle or the trains will not obey.  You recently acquired a few trains from the actual Thomas Wooden Railway, and you cherish them. They are special to you and you manage to keep track of them very well. You are obsessed with books about trains, stories about trains, and you even take trains with you to bed. You have been known to call out and sign “train” in your sleep. Obsess much? I have no idea where that trait came from.

You are very good at feeding yourself and often use a non-sippy cup at the table. You like help us unload the dishwasher and fill the dog food. You (sometimes) help pick up your toys and are willing to help put laundry away. You are a total monkey on the playground even Teacher Jan was impressed and also pretty freaked out that you were able to scale the curved ladder thing on the big kid equipment. Not just scale it, but scale it fast and with great aplomb. You are a very physically present little dude. I’m thinking you should have a lot of sports options as you grow because you need an outlet. You even run everywhere. Although you can focus on a single task for a long period of time, when you move from task to task, there is no walking. You run. All the time. Guess you and I will both need to work on that whole enjoying the journey thing…

You are finally saying words, and will say yes (“yeth!”), hi, mama, cat, uh-oh, oops, zipper ("zippa-zippa-zippa"), ball, Bob (the builder), Wally (the robot) and “chow” as in “ka-chow” like Lightning McQueen says. That last one is accompanied by a little jump. Obviously, you have never been shown any TV or movies (oops!). You say baby very clearly (“bay-bee”) and now will say bubble and binky as well. You say your name as either “Alb” or “Abbee” but haven’t quite fused the two together yet. You will also make animal sounds, including a funny, stilted laugh for goat, “oof oof” for dog, “mow” for cat, and you even have a "la-la" sound for Elmo and a funny trumpet sound for elephants. There are other words that you have mastered the first syllable of, and you continue to learn new signs. You know at least 150-200 signs, and now that you are actually getting around to talking with your mouth, I am far less worried about your speech development. For a long time, I would hear you practice words by yourself, but you wouldn’t repeat words to your father or I. A few days ago, you pointed to your lunch and I said, “hot dog”. You repeated, “ottog”. Yesterday, I realized you were saying outside and today you said inside. You point to things and say “that?” if you want to know the name and will try to repeat the word about half of the time. You seem excited and confident about repeating the words you hear. It’s exciting for me to watch too.

You love playing outside with the dogs, and when they run and wrestle with each other, you squeal and giggle with glee and make the sign for silly. Recently, you’ve added the word “slee” to the sign. I think it’s awesome that you took a term like silly and applied it to something that I never have. You actually get the abstract concept. The whole language thing just fascinates me…

A few days ago while we were playing outside I was chasing you and pretending to be a big monster. I have chased you with these same noises ("raaaaawr!") and Great. Big. Slow. Giant. Steps since you were able to walk. A timer in the kitchen went off, and I turned to go back inside. You protested and signed “more, more” and then you signed “elephant”. I was momentarily perplexed. Elephant? I looked around. There were no elephants. It slowly dawned on me that maybe I was the elephant. I pointed to myself and said “mama’s an elephant?” and you jumped up and said “yeth” (yes). I continued to raaaaaawr! and take big steps and you squealed with glee and signed elephant over and over as you ran away. It was the first time that it was obvious to me that you had used your imagination to create something. I had never played that monster with an elephant in mind—but you superimposed an animal onto me. It. Was. Awesome. I got so into playing an elephant that I forgot about the kitchen timer. It was soon followed by the smoke alarm.

You have FINALLY started sleeping later, and it wasn’t a later bedtime that helped. It was moving your nap to later in the day. By shifting that along with your bed time, your whole day shifted. Now you sleep until anywhere from 7 to 9, usually between 7:30 and 8:00. This has been the norm for the last two months. Thank God. Seriously. You have no idea how much happiness this little change has brought your poor night owl mother. However, you have been up by 6:30 a few times in the last week or so, and I fear that this may be a sign of things to come. Please, let this be a fluke. I beg you. If you start waking up super early again, I will seek revenge during your teenage years. Mark my words.

Speaking of sleep, you transitioned to a toddler bed about three weeks ago. The transition has been quite smooth, but keep in mind that your bed is still in our room where your crib used to be. I don’t know if you are ready to be in another room, and more honestly, if I am ready for you to be in another room. Our house is so small that it actually makes more sense this way so it’s sort of a moot point.

You started showing interest in an actual bed when you saw characters in books lying in beds, and then you couldn’t resist laying on the beds at Ikea and signing “sleep” accompanied by snoring sounds. So, I jumped on the chance to make the change while you seemed like you were interested. For the most part, you still go to bed easily at night and stay in bed through the night. Even when you do wake and need some reassurance, you almost always ask to get back into your bed rather than fall asleep next to us. You like your space. So long as you are put to bed with enough light to look at pictures in a book, along with a few cars or trains, your Tiggy, a handful of binkies, and a sippy cup with water in it, you are easy to deal with. I know, it seems like a lot of stuff, but I think it’s great that you have your routine. You usually stay awake for 20 minutes or so, looking at books, playing with your trains, and then you decide to just lay down and sleep. I love that you can do this.

You have also turned into a morning cuddler, and now climb from your bed into our bed to snuggle. I love those early cuddles. I have never been a morning person, but getting a huge hug from you and asking you about your dreams sure makes it easier to get up. Note that it is particularly helpful when it occurs after 7:30…

We recently got you a little Elmo potty to keep in the living room because it was becoming apparent that you had gained more control, but didn’t want to have to get help from us to get on the big potty. We let you run around without a diaper, and for the most part you use the potty. When you have a miss, you let me know right away, and even try to help clean it up. I am trying hard to not pressure you, and so far we are making little steps every day. In the last few days, though, you don’t seem to like the Elmo potty, and want to go back to the big potty. The problem is, you want to get up there yourself, and you just can’t quite do it yet, even with a step stool. So, when we let you at least try to get up yourself, with just our help as opposed to being lifted onto the potty, you are happy to go there. No one can accuse you of not wanting to be independent.

You now recognize pictures of friends you haven’t seen for some time, and will even indicate that you remember where you last saw them. When you saw a picture of your friend Preston, with whom you had ridden the light rail, you signed train. When I dropped you off at Nanna’s house last week, you saw a picture of your cousin Hanna (who moved to another state about 6 weeks ago) and you signed “cousin”. I didn’t know that you had even learned that sign, or that you could apply it to her. You are also able to communicate things about your day, like the day I asked you if you had chicken for dinner, and you said yes and then signed “apple”. Turns out, you’d had an apple too. As a psychologist, this kind of memory development is ridiculously exciting for me.

You still go to the parent-toddler class once a week at the Child Study Lab preschool on campus. It has been such a joy to watch all of the kids change over the last few months, but of course, I love watching you the most. Last week, I was chatting with some other moms across the room from where you were. I looked over, and you and another little boy were playing with one of the toys where you send a ball down a track and it keeps falling to the next track and eventually rings a little bell at the bottom. There are many variations of this toy and so I’m sure you get the idea. It was noteworthy that you and the other boy weren’t fighting over the toy. Then I looked closer and realized you were taking turns. You were taking turns placing balls on the track and picking them up at the end. No adults were standing near you and so the two of you had worked this out on your own. I was so proud of both of you. You and this little boy have played together quite often in the last few weeks and it’s awesome to see that you have a new friend.

You still love your binkies, and now that you are actively trying to speak, I don’t really care how long you love them. Some days, you don’t use it at all. Other days, I can’t get it away from you. And if I hide them from you, you just end up shoving your fist or random toys into your mouth. I think the binky is the lesser of many evils, especially since I am almost totally confident that there is no lead paint on your binky.

You still have long hair in the back, and are regularly called a girl, no matter how masculine your clothes are. I have suggested to your daddy that when we do finally cut it, we should dress you in pink and see what happens. I have a theory that you will still be called a girl. This would indicate that a child is automatically a girl unless s/he is masculine ENOUGH, which requires appropriate clothing and hair. I will spare you my feminist diatribe on the subject, because I guarantee that by the time you are old enough to read these updates, you will have already heard similar diatribes. Frequently. It’s part of my charm.

I used to be really diligent about tooth updates for you, and have totally slacked on that in the last 9 months. So, for the sake of some sort of consistency, you now have your first set of molars, and your four canines came in about two weeks ago. The molars came in last fall.

I feel so lucky to have you as my son. It has been a rough adjustment, and I was completely unprepared for how having a child would rock my world. It got so much easier once I stopped thinking things would get back to “normal”. This is the new “normal”, and it is constantly shape-shifting. Every time I have a handle on your behaviors and routines, you change. It’s your job, this growing up thing. Now that I realize this IS our life and it is what it is, I kind of like it. And like I said, I like you. You have never been an easy child, but this passion of yours has become one of the things I love most. Happy birthday, sweet boy. Despite all of the challenges, you have been the best two years of my life.

Love,

Mama

The teacher for my son’s parent toddler class gave all of the parents a copy of this on the last day of class. It’s adapted from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. At the top of the page, the teacher said, this says something about the way we sometimes feel as parents.

Read it, and tell me if you think she’s right . Personally, it makes me all weepy every time I read it.

 "What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day

when they were lying side by side.

"Does it mean having things that buzz inside you

And a stick-out handle?" "Real isn’t how you’re made."

said the skin horse. "It’s a thing that happens to you

When a child loves you for a long, long time 

not just to play with but really loves you–

then you become real." "Does it hurt?" asked Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the skin-horse (for he was always truthful),

"When you are real you don’t mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up or bit by bit?"

"It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a 

long time,

That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break

easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully 

kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of

your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out

and you get loose at the joints and very shabby.

But these things don’t 

matter at all because once you are real,

you can’t be ugly, except to people 

who don’t understand"

Indeed.

Dear Albie,

Wow, did I drop the update ball or what? Here I was, all obsessive and reliable about posting a monthly update, and then I went and skipped FOUR MONTHS. Because that’s how I roll. It’s all or nothing. Someday, when you read these posts, you will probably sympathize with that sentiment, because you are the same way. The mother’s curse has come true—my child is just like me.

So many things have happened since your last update. In June, we went on a road trip that lasted 18 days and spanned over 5,000 miles. We drove through up through California, and you got to see Redwoods. We continued up through Portland and Seattle, and then stayed a few days in Bellingham with MB and her lovely daughters. You had a great time with them. You got to cross the border into Canada, and so you have officially been to another country. I couldn’t claim that until my teens.

Your Daddy met us in Bellingham, and we continued east through Idaho into Montana. It was during this phase of the trip that you caught herpes from my cold sore. Turns out that herpes is a real bitch for little guys. You had a “real” fever that got high enough for me to watch closely, and your mouth was so swollen that some of your hard-earned teeth threatened to disappear beneath your gums. You also happened to be cutting your 7th tooth (3rd bottom tooth) during this time, and had a huge cold sore thing where the tooth was coming in. What was particularly sucky is that you were stuck in a CAR in a CAR SEAT for a large portion of this time period, and you couldn’t even have snacks to distract you because your mouth hurt. There was much heartbreaking screaming and crankiness and overall tension. We still made it to Glacier National Park, and because it was a freak year with snowstorms in June (we even drove THROUGH a snowstorm when we were travelling from Washington to Montana), the park had snow on the ground and it was simply beautiful set against all of the spring growth.

The original plan had been for you and your Daddy to fly home from Missoula, and then Ozo and I were going to take our time driving home, and I was going to get extra work done while I stayed in hotel rooms along the way. By myself. Then you got sick. And I couldn’t’ bear the thought of being away from you because I was kind of freaked out about you being sick . And I didn’t want your poor Daddy to fly home with you because you were prone to screaming. A lot. So, we ate the plane ticket, and I forfeited four days TO MYSELF to instead drive home with a cranky toddler. THAT was when I really realized that I was a mother.

Overall, the whole road trip was amazing. I got to know you out of our normal context. It’s one thing to know how you react to events in your normal routine. It was quite another thing to find out how you react to unpredictable events. We had a good time.

After we got home, my best friend Dani visited for a few days, and you two had a great time together. Someday, when you ask about the tattoos on my ankles, I will tell you that “anam cara” means soul friend, and that my soul friend, known as your “auntie Buddon”, got the same phrase tattooed on her back, and that we got those tattoos during this particular visit.

You are what so many of the celebrity pediatricians (Dr. Karp, Dr. Sears, Dr. Greene) call “spirited”. That means that you FEEL things. You don’t just get a little happy. You absolutely shine and radiate love and generosity. You have a HUGE heart. It also means that when you are pissed, it is a mess. Your Nanna (your Daddy’s mom), who birthed and raised eleven children and now works as a nanny, has commented on the intensity of your resistance and protest. My mother, after watching you for a week, said you were indeed, “not an easy child”. Here, all this time, she had thought I was exaggerating. She was amazed by your passion and your tenacity. It’s one thing to have a temper (like your mama). It’s quite another to be so damn tenacious with your tantrums (like your father). I hope it serves you well later in life. The challenge for me is to try to teach you coping skills and emotional management skills that I myself have never mastered. I will try my best for you. I am not always calm. I am not always kind. I yell more than I like and other times I just completely shut down. But I am trying to be something else, something more, because I love you, and I know that the most powerful way we learn is through example. I am learning about deep breaths and just LETTING. IT. GO. I am trying to teach you to do the same.

My mother also told me I was good mother, as evidenced by the fact that I am convinced I am a bad mother. She explained that truly “bad” mothers aren’t worried about their mothering skills. That’s the problem. They don’t care. Good parents agonize and ruminate and struggle to be the parent they want to be. If rumination is really a key component of parenting, then maybe I’m in the top percentile after all.

At the end of June, we all traveled to Washington, DC so that I could go to a conference. It was your first flight experience. You are, for the most part, what I would consider a good sleeper. You go down without a struggle, and love your crib. In fact, you won’t sleep anywhere but a crib, unless it’s perhaps a pack-n-play or car seat. You like your own space. The down side of you being a good sleeper is that you won’t fall asleep, or stay asleep, in arms. When I initially booked the flight, you were at an age where you could still be fairly entertained on my lap. Not so by 16 months of age. You wouldn’t sleep, and you were pissed about being confined. It would have been ABSOLUTELY worth it to have purchased a ticket for you, because you actually like the car seat. And you probably would have slept. The irony is that on 3 out of 4 of our flights, there were empty seats. I should have taken Leigh’s advice and schlepped the car seat along. In any event, for all of the struggle, you at least got some plastic wings. And you met some very nice older grandma types who offered to try to entertain you. I let them take you. And thanked them enthusiastically.

During July, you spent a lot of time with your uncle Matt because I had a teaching job that required me to be gone for about 6 hours every day, and your Daddy was working a lot too. You two had a lovely time together. In August, your Daddy and I travelled to Boston for six days, and your Mamma (my mom) came to stay with you. She simply adored you, in spite of your tantrums. Although I missed you, it was nice for your Daddy and I to have some time together to rediscover ourselves aside from being parents. There have been considerably less arguments since we returned, and I think that’s probably a good thing for you too. You were so excited when you and Mamma picked us up at the airport, you just giggled nonstop and kept giving me big noisy “mwah!” kisses all over. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until I saw you that day. I’m smiling now just thinking about it.

In terms of random developmental stuff, you cut your 7th tooth during the road trip and your 8th tooth followed the next week. You cut your first four molars AT THE SAME TIME right after the Boston trip. You are now cutting two more.

You are very sweet when you want to be, giving great big hugs and loud sloppy kisses. You also have a bad temper (I cannot emphasize this enough) and are prone to lashing out by hitting or throwing things. The “Happiest Toddler on the Block” book and DVD by Dr. Karp have helped considerably, but when you are upset, you often get completely out of control and don’t know how to stop. Sometimes, giving you some time alone helps. Sometimes, you just need space, and will calm down if put in your crib. Maybe it helps you save face in front of me. Other times, I don’t know what you need, but we’re working on it.

You used to use the potty pretty consistently, but around the same time the tantrums escalated, the pottying stopped. We’ve backed off of the whole thing for awhile, but in the last few days, you’ve actually signed “potty” and wanted to go to the toilet. We are careful not to praise you too much, lest you feel pressured or decide to not go just to spite us. I think it’s amazing that you use the toilet at all.

You stopped nursing in May, but even now you occasionally pretend to nurse. You have totally lost your latch, so you don’t actually get very far with that (even though I do still have milk). You mastered a spoon and then a fork, before you decided to just start using your hands. Sunflower butter hair gel, anyone? You are pickier about food lately, but overall still a good eater. You do not seem to care for milk. You love berries, bananas, cheese, crackers, and peaches.

You love the dogs, cats, babies, and books about animals or babies. You love your blocks, and are fascinated by things that go (trains, planes, automobiles, bicycles, buses, etc.). You want to fill things, empty things, push and pull things. Anything. You still love water, and love to blow bubbles in the water. Now you’ve developed a fondness for bubble baths. You love your sleep sacks, and won’t let me take them completely off in the morning, so I unzip them, turn the bottom inside-out, and make them into “capes”. You love hats, necklaces, scarves, and anything that you can easily put on your body as a fashion accessory. You were obsessed with washing your hands, and love your toothbrush (though you suck on it more than brush with it). You love music. You love the movie Monsters, Inc. You will watch the entire thing in one sitting. It’s kind of creepy. You love turning light switches on and off and pressing buttons of any kind. You are fascinated with electronic devices, and are especially enamored with the espresso maker.

You can run. You try to climb everything. You can use the big boy slide at the playground. You are trying to jump. You have great balance. You are very physically engaged with your world. You sometimes resist your naps lately, and September 8th was the first time in your short life that you went the entire day without a nap of any kind. The end of the day was a disaster. You still need naps, even if you don’t know it yet. We went to a toddler “yoga” class, which was kind of like herding kittens, but since then, you love to at least lay on a yoga mat. With your Tiggy. Because Tiggy still goes everywhere with you. You aren’t always willing to point to your own body parts, but you will point to them on Tiggy. You know how to point to your nose, ears, eyes, mouth, belly, hands, and feet. You will give high fives, or “footie fives” that are just high fives with your foot. You can stack five blocks. You enjoy chasing birds and hugging other children. Sometimes you knock them over with the force of your love, but that’s okay.

We started a once-a-week parent-toddler class at the university, and on the first day of class, you managed to climb into a bin of tiny pom-poms. The bin was designed for filling cups with the fluffy things and dumping them out and just playing with them. Nope. Not good enough for you. You climbed right in without any warning. The teacher said, “now there’s something no one else has thought of”. And that is how you roll. You do things just a little differently than many other children. The second time we went, I was glad that I brought a change of clothes, because you climbed into a water bin and lay down. This was after you had been intermittently obsessed with playing in the sinks. The teacher now calls you “our water boy”. How appropriate for an Aquarius child. You really are the poster child for that astrological sign–science be damned. You also refused the little shakable bells that everyone used for the good-bye song, seeking out a drum instead. People remarked on your sense of rhythm. You rock.

My favorite time of day with you is bedtime. You have a bath and then we read books and it’s one of the few times of day that you are consistently snuggly. Many other kids your age will still sit on their mama’s laps and want to be held, but you want to go, go, go, on your own unless something frightens you. Then you turn into Velcro. Briefly. Before you run off to do more of your experiments.

You know about 50 signs, but only say a handful of words. I have been kind of worried about that lately, but since you don’t show a lack of communication skills, I am less worried than if you were showing warning signs of autism. I think you are just working on other things and signs are easier than words, so that’s what you choose. You will say cat, dog, mama, dada, bath, car, and binky. Mostly you just say the first syllable. When you say cat, you sort of squeal it in a high-pitched voice, as if the tone and the syllables are inseparable. It makes me laugh every time.

We had a well-baby visit this week, and after hearing about your tantrums and tenacity, our lovely naturopath asked a few other questions about your physical health and suggested a homeopathic supplement for you to try. We’ll see how that goes.

I have made it a habit over the last few months to take time after you have gone to sleep to just go and look at while you sleep. I do this because it reminds me that you were once so very tiny, and now you have tripled in size (27 and a half pounds, 34 and a half inches as of yesterday). It reminds me of how quickly the time passes, and that I will long for THIS time the same way that I long for the times when you were younger. It also reminds me that even now, you are still just a baby. It’s easy to forget how fragile you are when we are moving through the day and I am putting out emotional fires. But when I watch you sleep, it is so clear to me that you are still so very small, and that I am so very lucky. I work to carry that feeling with me into each and every new day. I strive to just live each day as it unfolds, rather than struggle to make it conform to my plans. I want to ENJOY you, rather than just parent you. Because there is so much to enjoy, when I just let us be.

I also recently revisited my pregnancy journal. It was filled with so much hope and anxiety, and it’s surreal to revisit it now that you’re actually HERE and have been for some time. At one point, I remarked that I hoped you would be filled with curiosity and love to laugh. Both of these things are definitely a part of who you are. So I try to remember that I WANTED you to be curious, even if it means that I have to comb strange things out of your hair, worry about whether fruit pits will work their way out, and rescue socks from the VCR. I asked for it. As for your laughter–hearing you laugh is the highlight of any day. I hope that as you grow and look back on your childhood, the ratio of laughter to tears will be ridiculously disproportionate. I would consider that a huge success, considering our temperaments.

I love you Albiegondas.

Love, Mama

I’m just going to skip the part where I apologize for being late on your update…

You’ve been through a lot of changes since your last update. First of all, you weaned yourself. There are many who would say that it wasn’t “true” child-led weaning because you use binkies and sippy cups. I think babies are not so easily fooled and I am just prone to guilt-tripping myself. If the average age of weaning worldwide is between 2 and 3, then for every child who nurses to the age of 4, there should be one who weans at 1. That’s how averages usually work.

I wasn’t sure at first if it was a nursing strike, or a real weaning, but since the days kept rolling by without you nursing and I wasn’t engorged, I figured it wasn’t really all that sudden. It just seemed like it to me. You’d really only been nursing once a day, if that. Of course, I was devastated. But I’ll get over it.

On the plus side, you actually hug me more and cuddle more than you did when you were still nursing. I am more than happy to provide that comfort for you.

My favorite story from the last month is a Tale of Two Tiggers. You have had a stuffed Tigger that you absolutely adore since last September. The problem is that it’s not really washable (though we washed it anyway) and we could not find a spare. I finally found them at Target and bought about 6 of them. Just to be safe.

We presented you with a “new” Tiggy while you were holding “old” (now stashed in a sentimental box) Tiggy. You picked up one and then the other. You squeezed the paw on one, and then the other. You squeezed the beanie butt of one, and then the other. You picked each one up and tasted it. Then you cast the new Tiggy aside, rejected. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Toddlers are natural scientists. Luckily, we snuck the newbie into your crib while you were asleep, and without having the old one as a comparison, you were fooled.

Sometime in the last month, my sweet boy was replaced with a tantrum spewing pod person. The onset of tantrums coincided with two other events that I think are significant (recall that I am a psychology grad student). First of all, you were no longer fooled by the baby in the mirror. You know it’s you. Second, you started pointing to yourself when you wanted something. In other words, you now know that you exist. And by god, you have opinions and you will not be swayed. When I tell you no and remove you from a situation, I just go ahead and gently lay you on the floor, because if I don’t, you will fling yourself on the floor and bonk your head. So I just go ahead and help you out with that.

Other random stuff:

You love to climb. Everything. You love to dance, and have your own sign for music that looks kind of like you are conducting the song. You are pickier about your food, but still a great eater. Your favorite food is whatever is on my plate. Or peaches. You love playing hide and seek or chasing games. You love car rides. You love pushing a stroller around. You have no new teeth (still 4 on top and 2 on bottom). You love the Cosby show more than Sesame Street. All these years later, I can say that it is really a great show, but good lord, the clothes are awful. You still want to wake up at 5:30, but it’s easy to get you to lay back down until after 6. You scream when initially put down for a nap (you’re down to one per day), but then will sleep for 2 to 3 hours straight. You don’t scream when put down at night. You love your bedtime routine. You love water. You love books—all books, my books, your books, magazines, whatever. You can stack 3, sometimes 4, blocks. You are running now. You try to jump but can’t quite do it yet. You like to brush your own teeth and are fascinated by shoes. You covet electronic devices of all kinds. You reliably say Dada, Dog, and Bath. You squeal with delight when I let the dogs into the house, when your Dada gets home, and when you see a cat. You love stacking things, emptying things, and scribbling.

What don’t you love? Limits. The word “no”. Having your face wiped. That’s pretty much it. It’s the “no” thing that really pisses you off. Even your Nanna, who had eleven children and is a nanny, commented on your temper. I have no idea where you got it…

You don’t have much interest in speaking, but know soooo many signs:

More, book, ball, and shoes are all pretty much signed the same, but in different contexts. Dad and phone also really close, but one involves your thumb to your ear, and the other is your forefinger. You will also sign finished, Tiggy (which is awfully close to “sleep”), Mama, eat, drink, bath, sleep, brush teeth, cereal, milk (which you now use for anything you want really badly—I take it as a compliment), water, car, bus, music, diaper, dog, bird, bye-bye, train, baby, cat, help, wash hands, binky (your own sign—you put the back of your hand to your mouth), cracker. Some of these signs you use more reliably than others, but you have successfully used them all at some point. You will also shake your head “no” and blow kisses.

Things I have learned:

• Every day is a new adventure.
• There is no "catching up" on housework–just learn to roll with it.
• My mother told me that there are times your child will be replaced with someone you do not know, and don’t really like. She was right.
• Just like I have never gotten used to the summers in Phoenix, I will never get used to waking up before 6 a.m.
• In the dictionary, next to the definition of "toddler", there should be a picture of a tornado.
• That happiness I felt when you could start entertaining yourself? It’s been replaced with horror by the level of destruction you can accomplish in five minutes.
• You know that one tone of whining that makes you want to bang your head into the floor? Your toddler will find it. And use it. Liberally. With glee.
• If all else fails, crank the music.
• If that fails, just leave the house.

Some days, I feel like I am absolutely the wrong mother for you, and others I feel like I am THE champion at toddler motherhood. There seems to be no in between. We either have good days, or horrible ones. We’re either in the groove, or NOT. But I feel blessed to have all these days with you.

Thank you, Albie, for being YOU. I don’t always like you, but I always love you. And you have made me into a better person that I would have ever been without you.

Love,

Mama

…I still agonize over when to be pregnant.

I still worry if I will be hired for a job if I am pregnant.

I worry about whether or not I will be able to keep a job or get tenure if I have a baby.

And I am one of the lucky ones. I had my first child while in graduate school, which is actually a great time to have a baby in my opinion. But I’m set to graduate next year with a Ph.D. and get some kind of job in academia. There are few career paths more liberal than academia. Furthermore, my area is psychology, which when combined with academia leads to so much liberalism that you can almost choke on it. I will have my own office so pumping will not be a problem. There is quite a bit of flexibility in the schedule of an academic, so long as you somehow manage to work 50 (+?) hours per week. Doing what you love. Not bad, really. I am incredibly lucky, especially given that I am the first in my family (including cousins ) to even graduate from college with a four-year degree, let alone an advanced degree.

And yet…

…the whole thing has been keeping me up at night. In order to have my kids two years apart, I’ll have to get pregnant in the next few months. Be pregnant on job talks. In academia, job talks can be a two or three day affair, packed with meetings and interviews and presentations and intensity. I wouldn’t want to fly past 34 weeks in a pregnancy. Job talks take place from about November through February for the nicest jobs. For less nice jobs, they can continue through the May. So, we reasoned that if I get pregnant in August, the due date would be in May, which is also the same month I’ll be graduating. Then I’d start a new job the following August. Granted, most programs tend to be a wee bit forgiving in the first year because you are adjusting, but compounding that adjustment with a new baby, sleep deprivation, breastfeeding…what a recipe for disaster. And, I would miss a lot of that child’s first year because I’d be focusing on so many other things.

Sound crazy? I think so too. I’ve been in a constant state of fretting.

So, I decided that I would go for the "easier" jobs. Little or no research. Smaller schools. More teaching. Familiar. Not too challenging.

And then I stopped caring about schoolwork. I couldn’t focus on anything. Writer’s block set in like someone had wrapped gauze around my brain.

Because wait a minute–I love research. I love mentoring. I love teaching too, but to only teach would be like cutting off a limb.

    "For a minute there,

    I lost myself,

    I lost myself."

        –Radiohead

I love my family. But I love my dreams too. 

So, one day, I asked myself why I wanted my kids to be two years apart. Well, my brother and I are 2 years and 3 months apart. I think I never questioned that two years was the best spacing for kids, because it was normal for me.

It would be "inadvisable" to have a baby during the first year or two of a new job. While most universities will stop the tenure clock during that time, you may still be judged negatively for having a child during that time. And really, it would be nice to be settled in first anyway for my own sanity. So, if I have my next child after two years on a job, Albert would be four years old.

I began to contemplate this, and took the same approach to this question that I do most things. I researched it ad nauseum. Turns out that if you ask people what the best spacing is, everyone gives a different answer. There are good things and bad things about any age difference. And it seems that the most important factor in how your kids get along isn’t their age (up to about a 5 year difference), but their personalities. Good luck planning that.

When I let myself accept the possibility that this might be a better choice for our family, a tremendous disappeared from my shoulders. The brain fog lifted. I wanted to do school work again. I felt motivated. My writer’s block disappeared. I felt calm.

The down side is that my future job is not likely to be in the Phoenix area. Even if there was a job here, I don’t want to stay here. Which means that I will not have Connie as my midwife, or Leigh as my doula. And that kind of sucks.

But to be honest, I’ve always had trouble envisioning Connie at my next birth. Maybe it’s because she’s just not meant to be.

And I can accept that Leigh will likely not be there because I can entice her to visit me with the promise of chocolate and the scent of a newborn. And then we can bask in new babyness while we watch the birth video, eat brownies, and laugh.

I think MB can be coerced with chocolate too… 

Nonetheless, I still think it’s bullshit that this whole process has been agonizing. It’s bullshit that I can’t just think about what’s best for our family without worrying about damaging my career. And I am one of the lucky ones.

We have come so far, and yet have so much further to go. 

Here’s a snapshot from a few days ago…

when you woke up this morning (at 5:15), the first thing I did (after swearing) was change your diaper. While I was changing it, you repeatedly signed "diaper". Then you signed "milk" and so I nursed you. We came out to the kitchen, and as I was getting your cereal ready, you signed "eat". Once I was done mixing up some fruity slop, I said, "okay, let’s go get you into your high chair" and so you walked towards your high chair and waited for me to lift you up. When you looked sleepy this afternoon, I asked if you wanted to go to your crib and take a nap. You started walking towards the bedroom and when I put you into your crib with your Tiggy and binky, you went to sleep with no problems (which is certainly not always the case). When you woke up, you looked up at the shelves in the bedroom and signed "book" to let me know that you wanted to look at your favorite book.

You are communicating and it’s wonderful. To be fair, you have always communicated, but I just didn’t know how to translate a lot of your language. Now, I don’t know how we would survive around here without sign language. In the last month, you have had a signing explosion, and now you sign words unprompted rather than only producing a sign when I say the word first. You’ll come up to me in a tizzy and I’ll ask what you want, and if you are able, you tell me.

That’s the good stuff.

The bad stuff is that you are once again waking at 5:30 in the morning. Regardless of when you go to bed. Regardless of how sleep deprived you may be, you will not agree to staying in your crib past 6 a.m. at the latest. I am soooooo getting revenge when you are a teenager. You had a few bad nights of repeated wakings a few weeks ago, after which you started signing about 10 new words. And then you started sleeping through again. You’ve gone back to mostly napping twice a day, except for the days that I have made plans around that schedule. On those days, you’ll lay down in the morning and really, you try to sleep, but after about a half an hour you demand to be let out of your bed cage.

Other random stuff…

Your favorite toys are your stacking cups, your blocks, and a small broom. Your favorite activity is putting things into containers and taking things out of containers. That keeps you busy most of the day. You also love pushing buttons–VCR, remote control, air purifier, etc. You also have a couple of books that have little squeaky animals in them, and when you couldn’t figure out how to make it squeak with your hand, you improvised–you put the books on the ground and step on them. I thought that was pretty brilliant.

Your favorite food was pears, until one day you started throwing them on the floor after only one bite. You like bananas most of the time and your breakfast is usually a mashed banana with rice cereal (either made with goat milk or goat milk yogurt). You like beans and peas and pasta and grapes and raisins–most of the time. In fact, you pretty much like everything on some days and I can always find something you are excited to eat. You’ll be crazy about something for a few days, and then won’t touch it. I can’t blame you. I’m the same way.

We finally turned your car seat around so that it’s forward facing and you were so amazed at the new view. I would have left you rear-facing longer (it’s safer) but your feet had to bend at the knees for you to fit in the seat.

I dropped your dream feed when you started nursing a little more in the day. I had agonized about "phasing it out" but just stopped one day and you never noticed. You will now usually get a 5 to 10 minute feed in once a day, either first thing in the morning or after one of your naps, with maybe a few little nursings throughout the day.  

I have been doing Dance Dance Revolution as a cardio workout, and you just love to "dance" like mama. We have an extra pad, so sometimes we’ll put "your" pad next to mine and you will just go to town. More and more you’ll dance to pretty much anything and I so love that about you.

I’m so glad we get to spend a lot of time together. It is so fascinating to watch you morph back and forth between monkey and baby human. You love to climb things, and it’s not like this is a behavior that has been modeled to you. Your dad and I don’t go around climbing things all day. But you just have this drive to do it. Apparently, so do most kids–go look at the toys on a playground. They’re built for monkeys.

I would like to write more to you, but honestly little dude, I’m tired, and if I keep putting off posting this, we’re going to miss a monthly update and I am too obsessive to let that happen.

I love you and am so glad that you are my little boy. You bring me so much joy every day.

Love,

Mama 

I was already a huge fan of this comic strip, but this one made me get all weepy because it was totally Albie & his Tiggy…

I can’t wait until Albie is old enough to read comic books.

He’s been boogeying down to music lately.

Apparently, he and H watched a Jimi Hendrix DVD tonight.

Albie was totally cutting loose, flinging a piece of fabric around, shaking his head back and forth, totally rocking out.

A clumsy toddler, intoxicated by tunes. Jamming out to Jimi.

That makes every thing he’s ever done that’s pissed me off worth it. 

I, for one, could not survive motherhood without music.

It may be the one thing that helps us all survive toddlerhood.

The good:

Albie is having a sign language explosion. He can sign finished, more, bath, drink, dog, milk, eat, and ’signing time’ because it is the name of the DVD that has helped foster such an explosion.

The bad:

His sleep has gone to shit. I’m pretty sure it’s connected to the language thing, but it still sucks.

The ugly:

My mood. Bleh.

Dear Albie,

This update will probably not be eloquent or funny, but by golly, I’m going to get it done. At least I will someday be able to point to your monthly updates as evidence of some sort of consistency in your life.

You started walking last month, and have now developed great balance. We live in an old house with some uneven flooring and bizarrely placed steps (that I had not realized were "steps" until I watched a toddler repeatedly trip over them). It didn’t take long for you to catch on and grab a nearby wall or door when you reached those points. Now, you don’t even need to do that. You are like a 4 wheel drive machine. Your favorite toy right now is one of those pushable poppers. You’ve been fascinated with it for quite some time, but now you really enjoy it because you can walk while pushing it. In the last few days, it’s obvious you’re trying to learn how to run. I do hope that it takes some time for you to figure that out. I’m not ready for you to run away from me! In the last week, you’ve now started standing up by yourself without need of something steady yourself with. You are also thinking vertically, and I will often look over to see that you are now standing on something so that you are up off of the ground. It freaks me out. But through a fuzzy lens, it becomes so obvious that you are, after all, a little monkey. And by god, you want to climb like one. It’s too bad you don’t have a prehensile tail. I have been lamenting my lack of one for several years now.

We made a purchase in the last month that has been one of the best baby-oriented investements thus far. We bought a couple of “Signing times” DVDs. You had seen some signs on the Baby Einstein DVDs, but I sometimes get the feeling that those DVDs were really created by people who just wanted their kids out of their hair. I feel like the Signing Times DVDs were created by people who really love children. You are fascinated by them. The songs are catchy and fun. And, the best part is that because they show several kids your age signing, I better understand the range of forms a baby sign can take. I think you may have been signing at least a little bit for awhile now, and I was missing it. Your most common sign is “finished”, and you have also signed more, milk, and horse. I don’t think you actually understand the horse sign, but that you were just copying what the other kids were doing. I could be wrong. You also wave “bye-bye” now, will give high-fives, will head-butt one of your parents on command, and will play along (when you feel like it) to pat-a-cake.

In terms of spoken language, other than attempts at “dog”, I don’t think you have much interest. Which doesn’t mean you are quiet. It just means that you prefer a wide range of goofy sounds. I’m okay with that. I often prefer them myself.

You try to brush your hair. You try to brush your teeth. You will babble on a phone or anything resembling a phone. You help with getting dressed by pushing your arms and legs into the appropriate holes. You help with getting undressed by lifting your arms over your head. You can grab your foot when I ask “where is your footie?”, and will pat your belly when I ask where your belly is. You know where my nose is, but seem perplexed about the whereabouts of your own. You know the names of many objects and will grab them and bring them to me when I ask (if you feel like it).

You still have four top teeth and two bottom teeth and you are cutting your first upper molars. You are in the 90th percentile of height, and 75th for weight. Which is funny, because the exact opposite was true at 6 months.

You are self-feeding now, and are really pretty good at it. You still have a great appetite and wide palette, and I feel very fortunate in that respect. In general, you have great table manners. I’m sure this will not always be the case, but I can dream. You have really decreased your nursing, and the only big session you get in each day is the dream feed. At this point, I could let it go and it probably wouldn’t affect your sleep, but I like knowing that you are getting a big dose of mama goodness during that time. You will randomly take very short little nips during the day, but I’m not really sure if you consume much milk then or just like to know it’s still available. You’ve even shortened your first-thing-in-the-morning-feed to almost nothing, but will not tolerate actually skipping it. In truth, I probably hold onto the dream feed because it is the only time you are really settled down and nursing, and I’m not willing to let it go yet.

You sleep 10 to 11 hours each night with a solid 6 to 8 hour stretch most nights. Sure, you wake, and may even grumble, but then put yourself back to sleep. You went through a short period of screaming some time within the first 2 hours of sleep and needing to be momentarily consoled. I don’t know what was going on, but it didn’t last long. Every once in awhile you’ll have a bad night with repeated waking. I figure it’s some kind of developmental spurt and try not to get too upset about it. And suddenly, inexplicably, you started sleeping in later. I almost don’t want to mention it, for fear of jinxing this new development. Once upon a time, you used to sleep until about 7:30, and around the time of your surgery, it moved back to about 5:30. It was infuriating. I don’t know if you were traumatized, or if that time period also corresponded to trying to learn mobility skills. Now, after learning to walk, you wake between 6:30 and 7:30. Maybe you just wear yourself out during the day I never thought I would rejoice at sleeping until 7:30. That, my little friend, is the power of a baby. The power of you. And I don’t even hold it against you. Much.

You are also slowly starting the transition to one nap a day. About once a week, you just take one nap a day. The other days, you still take two, but there’s more variation in how long they last than there had been previously. As you are getting older, you can handle longer stretches of wake time without complete melt-downs.

With regards to elimination communication/potty training….well, you don’t want to poop on the toilet. You used to do it, but now just don’t. I can’t blame you. I think it must be a lot easier to stand up and squat a little than to sit on the toilet, especially when your feet don’t even touch the ground. If I realize you’re pooping, I’ll try to get you there for at least part of the experience, but I miss it most of the time. You pee on the toilet a lot, and it’s easiest after a nap. So, at this point, I figure if you’re not afraid of the toilet, we’re on the right track.

You still love your Tiggy more than just about anything. You love your binkies and love your fuzzy blanket. You love spending time in your crib to just hang out. You love car rides, and I will often think you are asleep, but no…you’re just checking it all out, taking it all in, grooving to some tunes. You love food, especially your greens. I’m not kidding. You love to laugh. You love hitting inanimate objects. You love it when we sniff or blow on your footies. And you have recently grown to love dolls—any kind of doll with a human face. You love bath time and books, especially your Chirpy Chick book with the fun tractor sounds. You love mangos with sticky rice and garlic noodles (gotta start the Thai food early). You love garlic, period. And water. And pears. You really love pears. You love visiting Dada at work. Everyone he works with lights up when I bring you in. Even the assholes. You love seeing what kinds of objects will fit into other objects. You love carrying shoes around the house. Your Dada just told me that he got up early to go to work the other morning, and as he was putting on his shoes he found one of your stacking cups inside. As if you had left him a present. You also love to carry all sorts of other random things, like the slide-in cover of the dog door. You adore the dogs and have a very particular squeal that only emerges in their presence. You love Signing Time, Sesame Street, and Dan Zanes. You have recently started dancing. I cannot possibly convey to you the emotion that flows through me when you dance. I hope you are never afraid to just boogie on down. And oh yeah. You still love Radiohead and Thom Yorke. I love that about you.

You hate being told no. You hate people in your space when you need your Albie-time. You hate diaper changes, except when you don’t hate them. You hate someone else feeding you or even attempting to feed you. You hate having your face wiped off. Perhaps some will think hate is a strong word, but I assure you, it is accurate. You are a passionate kid, and you have strong preferences about many things. You also hate having to stay in a shopping cart. Thus, you are back in the baby carrier for excursions. I don’t really mind, as I know that I have precious few months left of you wanting to be carried.

I’ve really enjoyed your company in the last month. You have been a complete joy. I hope I can remember that when you are…not.

Love,

Mama

Dear Albie,

I’m not sure when it happened. It seemed like I looked up one moment, and there you were. A little person. A little boy. With needs and preferences and tantrums and opinions and a one-track mind when it suits you. Oh, sure, I know in so many ways you are still a baby. But you are also, now, something else. And it startled me.

This was a big month for you. For starters, you finally figured out how to use a sippy cup. But it had to be the old-school Tupperware kind. All of that leak-proof valve stuff just baffles you. But you finally figured it out and you tip it straight up in the air, chugging your beverage, as if you were some melodramatic drunkard consuming a bottle of bourbon.

You have started eating with a spoon. And you do a pretty good job. You still have a hard time scooping food up, but no problem getting it into your mouth (and up your nose). We walk a fine line between me letting you figure it out and watching in horror as all of the furniture and curtains are covered in apple sauce. I don’t have the patience for that. If you want to use food as body paints, I’m okay with that. But please spare the curtains. What have they ever done to you?

We introduced raw goat milk into your diet in the last few weeks. I have had more and more trouble pumping, and so it’s really nice to have an alternative when I’m not around. You seem to be doing well with it, which is a relief. I tried to cut out your dream feed, but you weren’t having it. You’re down to two really big nursing sessions a day (first thing in the morning and the dream feed), and a few little nips throughout the day.

Speaking of milk, there is a certain sound that you make when you are about to nurse that is something like a chipmunk making a Butthead (as in, Beavis and Butthead) laugh. It’s really cute, and in the last month, you have started to use it for other things you are really excited about. Sometimes this is a food item, but it is often also a new toy, or one of your stuffed Tiggers (we bought several online, none of which turned out to actually be the same as your FAVORITE Tigger). It is that sound that I will probably miss the most as you develop more language skills to express your desires.

You have yet to sprout any new teeth. You’ve got four on top, and still just two on the bottom. It seems as if you are starting to cut your upper molars. I have no idea where the rest of your bottom teeth are or when they will make an appearance.

You also had your first haircut this month, just a few days before your birthday party. The very top patch of your hair never fell out and regrew like the rest of your hair. So, technically it was still the same hair you had at birth, which is why it took me so long to cut it even though it reached your nose and was always in your eyes. Cutting your hair changed your entire countenance. You look like a radically different person. You look like a little boy. That might be part of the reason I was so startled to look at you and see suddenly see someone else.

You have developed a real fondness for Dan Zanes. Watching a video of a Dan Zanes song elicits about the same response from you as watching Muppets perform. It must be the hair. You are still a big fan of all things Thom Yorke, and seem to also really like The Flaming Lips. I am quite impressed with your impeccable taste for music. Lately, you will sometimes bounce or sway when you hear music, and it seems you are trying to dance. Once you are a little more steady on your newly walking feet, I’m gonna encourage that as much as I can.

Oh yeah, you started walking in the last 10 days or so, and also trying to scale the furniture. It had been a long time since you had taken your first steps, and then you really didn’t seem to be interested in going any further. Then BAM, you took, like, twelve steps. I don’t know where that came from, but you just put it all together and took off. And are now setting your sights on vertical challenges. I find myself on the verge of a panic attack just thinking about how many things there are to climb in this house.

You had your first sugar overdose at your birthday party—orange cupcakes with lemon buttercream frosting (made with goat milk and goat butter—so, so, sooooo good). You love citrus, but are still too young to have much of it, so I made you a tangy cake. You loved it and so did I. You exhibited far more self-control than I did with the leftovers. That’s probably just because you can’t reach the counter yet. You could also call your birthday party, technically, your first kegger. Because there was keg there for all of your adult friends, of which there were many. I think you have more friends than I do. Must be your great conversation skills…

Speaking of keggers, you also puked for the first time this month. We were at one of your daddy’s coworker’s birthday parties. It was Kelly’s birthday—she loves you to death and buys you lots of stuff and we were really only invited to come along as your chaperones. I don’t know if it was the introduction to goat milk, too many unpureed greens, cilantro in the rice, or just the fact that I was turning you upside down and jiggling you. But you puked. Now I know exactly how different vomit and spit-up really are. And for a moment, I thought to myself, ‘oh man, someone has to deal with this‘. And then I realized,’oh shit, it’s me‘. I had to deal with it. I was covered in vomit. And in that moment I felt so much like a mother.

On the actual day of your birthday (also known as Valentine’s Day), I had to go to school for the afternoon. I was walking back from lunch around the actual time you were born. I looked down at the time on my cell phone, and it was 3:21, and I thought to myself, wow, this is about the time that we realized he was stuck. And as I walked, I realized just how long 3 minutes is. You can cover quite a distance on foot in three minutes. And I was thinking about your birth and the events leading up to your birth in a very cerebral, detached sort of way. But when the clock changed to 3:24, I had luckily just stepped inside my office, because I spontaneously burst into tears. I was acutely aware of how easily we could have lost you that day, and what a miracle the beginning of a life truly is. I was so happy you were born exactly a year ago, and I could remember what you smelled like and what you felt like and I was overwhelmed with joy. I am so lucky to know you and to have the privilege to hang out with you and watch you grow.

And as I watched you play a few days ago, it suddenly occurred to me that you will, hopefully, live beyond me, and that I won’t get to see you as an old man as your life comes to an end. I was filled with a great sense of sadness because I realized that we usually only get to see a life begin, or watch it end, but not usually both. And when we do see both, it is an even greater tragedy. I can’t explain exactly how this realization made me feel, but it is a feeling I haven’t been able to shake. A feeling of being cheated because I won’t get to see how it all turns out. A feeling of being swallowed by things much greater than I. A feeling of powerlessness. A feeling of sorrow. A feeling of appreciation for all things precious. A feeling of restlessness. A feeling of peace. The feeling I have is all of these things. And I realize that these same feeling sum up my feelings as a mother. It is these feelings that I have stumbled through and grappled with in the last year, which are slowly being replaced with more and more moments of joy and laughter and fun without concern for what “else” I should be doing. I may not get to see how it all turns out, but what I get to see now is simply amazing.

Things that make you giggle wildly:

• Belly kisses
• Blowing on your toes or feet (he-he)
• Making fake sneeze noises (“ah-choo”)
• Making random animal noises (dog, chicken, turkey–the goofier the better)
• Chasing you around the house
• Just about anything if you’re tired enough…

Things that piss you off:

• Sometimes, the belly kisses
• Pretty much anything involving boundaries or the word ‘no’
• Having your face wiped off
• Diaper changes
• Just about anything if you’re tired enough…

Things I have learned:

• Life is short. Period.
• A year takes on a completely different meaning when it is a year of your child’s life.
• And yet, three minutes is a really long time.
• It is much easier to give your child a few drawers of stuff in the kitchen to play with rather than keep him out of the kitchen entirely.

• Thinking about what you "should" be doing all the time is a great big waste of time. If you have one "should" to pick, it "should" be playing with the baby.
• The housework really can wait.
• Out of sight out of mind is perfectly acceptable as a cleaning strategy.
• The number one advantage of exclsive breastfeeding–virtually smell-free poop for the first 6 months.
• It really is a whole new ballgame once your child is mobile.
• There is little or no correlation between your older baby’s favorite food today, and the favorite food tomorrow.
• Made-from-scratch cupcakes are actually more expensive than mixes or bakery purchases. Oh, wait, they also have way less crap in them (unless you consider butter and sugar crap–I consider them indulgences). And even though they are more expensive, they are so freaking worth it. I wanted to take a flipping bath in the buttercream frosting.
• I really should remember what my mom taught me and always add an extra egg to baked goods. She claims it makes them more moist. I’m pretty sure she’s right.
• When making potato salad, DON’T FORGET ABOUT YOUR BOILING POTATOES. We know have a freezer bag full of essentially, mashed potatoes and carrots. We call it "potato soup base", also known as "way overboiled potatoes". Damn potatoes.
• It’s okay to ask for help.
• It’s more than okay to ask for help–it’s downright admirable.
• Things are much easier once you stop trying to impose your before-baby schedule, habits, routines, and standards on your post-baby life.
• Take your vitamins. Really. Just do it.
• Some days, you just have to say fuck it. About everything. Except keeping the baby fed, changed, and alive.
• Sleep deprivation really makes people crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y Crazy.
• All the crazy is worth it.

 If you had some choice in the matter, thank you so much for picking me as your mama.

I love you so much, little Gondas.

Happy, happy birthday! 

Love,

Mama 

Feb 14, 2007

May 18, 2007

June 22, 2007

July 18, 2007

Aug 6, 2007

Sept 11, 2007

Sept 16, 2007

Oct 13, 2007

Oct 27, 2007

nov 22

nov 23, 2007

Dec 4, 2007

Dec 14, 2007

Jan 2, 2008

Magical child.

Boy with the devious smile.

Baby love who is older,

so much older

than he appears.

Magical child.

My blessing.

Such a challenge

to be your mother

and your guide.

Magical child.

Euphoria.

Up and down,

you keep me

never waiting

for a new direction.

Magical child.

Boy with the sweet

sweet smile

and solid stance,

determination personified.

Magical child.

Scientist.

Inventor.

Experimenter.

Catalyst.

Window

into the mind.

Magical child.

I am so glad

to know you,

so glad I waited

to know you

until I was strong enough

to be kind to you.

Magical child.

My little one.

Boy made of squeals

and screams

and giggles

and storms.

Magical child.

You speak a language

of monkeys,

coyotes,

a dolphin,

a spirit beam.

Magical child.

Loki child.

Musical child.

Aquarian child,

I love you.

Dear Albie,

It’s been really hard for me to sit down and write this update, because I feel like so much has happened in the last month. I was off from school for holiday break, so I got to spend every day with you from about mid-December to mid-January. I’ll admit, I got a little stir crazy, but then we found a really nice groove. Which is when I had to return to school, of course. The plus side of that month together is that you really have a routine that suits you now. Your sleep and naps are pretty much like clockwork, except when you’re sick. Which you have been off and on (more on than off) since Christmas. It’s the first time you’ve been sick enough to actually have a real fever that I monitored. This makes me realize that I have been so lucky in that your first year has been surprisingly uneventful in the health department. Except for the jaundice. And your penis. The way I see it, the whole penis thing was like a voucher from the universe for you to skip at least a few colds. That’s only fair.

You experienced your first Christmas this year. It was awesome. All of your cousins were here, and so there were fourteen little people under the age of ten at the Christmas eve and Christmas. You were the youngest—but that won’t last. You already have two cousins on the way for next year. All of the kids put on a little Christmas story pageant for Christmas eve. It was total mayhem with towels for gowns and such, but very fun. Since you are the youngest, you were baby Jesus. I’m not religious. I’m not Christian. But I will say that I much enjoyed your acting debut as baby Jesus. Especially when you kept crawling away from your cousins Joseph and Mary.

We went through a REALLY fussy phase about two weeks ago. I could not, for the life of me, figure out what the heck was wrong. I’d feed you, you’d eat, you’d seem to be done, I’d let you out of your chair. You’d be happy, and a half an hour later turn into a nightmare. Turns out, you were hungry. I had mistaken your “being done” for “being bored”. So, if I went ahead and just fed you every half an hour, you were happy. I think it’s called a growth spurt. I was feeding you about half of what you were capable of eating. Sorry about that.

A few quick notes about the last month: you’ve almost mastered a sippy cup, your second set of top teeth are poking through, you’ve started pointing to things, you say “ma” and “da” and it’s obvious who you mean, I think you’re trying to say “dog” as well, you are showing signs of wanting to feed yourself (be afraid…), you very often find your binky and pop it back in yourself to go back to sleep.

I could go on and on about different things that have happened, but I’m going to steal a little formatting from my friend Leigh, and just sum up your likes and dislikes (and such)…

You like:

Cherries, pasta, green veggies, yogurt, most food, opening drawers and cabinets, emptying drawers and cabinets, playing in your crib (except when you don’t), power cords, your Tiggy, Radiohead, jazz, Prince (post- Darling Nikki), banging things together, throwing things, playing with my Tibetan singing bowl, baths and showers, sitting on the toilet, Sesame Street, books

You are fascinated by:

My saxophone (you sing or scream along), animals, other children, computers, cell phones

You dislike:

apples and blueberries if mixed together (though they are okay when separated), peaches, strange textures, being bored, having your nose wiped, diaper changes, being bored, being told no, being hungry, being bored

You are frustrated by:

not being taller, not being able to communicate your desires more effectively, boundaries 

I love you, little Dude,

Love,
Mama

Dear Albie,

This month has been just one big fun month for us. I’m not really sure where to start. For the sake of documentation, I’ll talk about your teeth. As you’ll recall from your last update, your first tooth poked through in early November. Then, there was about a three week pause with no more teeth. On November 25th, you sprouted your top right tooth, followed the next day by your top left tooth. Your second bottom tooth didn’t push through until about a week ago. I’m not exactly sure on the date there, but we’ll just say Dec 13th because it sounds about right. Your top teeth are big teeth with a large gap between them, and it has changed your whole smile. It’s damn cute, but I kind of miss the gummies.

Your main focus this month seems to be on mobility. Early in the month, you spent a lot of time on just getting the hang of standing without holding on to anything. It is amazing that you little baby creatures just have this drive to push yourselves and challenge yourselves to the next step. You would stand at the gate between the dining room and kitchen while I cooked and let go, balance, grab the gate to steady, and repeat. Over and over. Now, you are steady enough on your feet that when I put you down, I put you down standing. Sometimes you just let yourself drop, and sometimes you squat down quite gracefully. More gracefully than I can, actually.

We have an industrial size mop bucket that’s on wheels (though it’s really overkill for this tiny house), and you decided to start playing with it one day. Never fear, I only use vinegar on the floors, so I wasn’t concerned about the chemical hazards of your new toy. I was more worried that when you try to pull up on it, it moves, and that it would surely result in a couple of head bonks. But you were actually quite cautious with it, and so enthralled that I just let it go. A few days into this new obsession, your daddy and I were in the kitchen, and you had pulled up on the mop bucket and were just standing there. Your dad was impressed, and I told him you’d been doing that all the time lately. But then, you took off, using it as a walker, squealing with glee. That thing doesn’t even naturally go in a straight line, so it took some major talent on your part to use it as such. But you did. For the next half an hour, you’d use it to walk until you ran into something, then you’d scream for us to turn you around and you’d take off again. We grabbed the video camera, and I’m so glad we did. You are giggling hysterically and squealing like crazy and it is by far the best footage of you so far. Since then, you’ll use pretty much anything that will roll or that you can push (there have been some really torturous scraping sounds in this house lately) as a walker.

On Dec 9th, you took your first steps—three in a row, even! Since then, you seem to have lost the drive to walk, knowing that crawling gets you where you want to go without falling down. I am fine with this, because it means that there will be less head bonks in the immediate future until you decide you MUST work on walking again.

Let’s talk about food. Because I love food and you love food and I find the whole process of introducing foods and avoiding allergies fascinating. We switched doctors this month, and I started taking you to a naturopath. After speaking with him about diet and allergies and all manner of food things, we’ve really been trying to avoid giving you meat and wheat, both of which you were getting quite a bit of. We’re basically avoiding the “big seven” common allergens (cow dairy, soy, corn, egg whites, wheat, nuts, and fish) in addition to meat and citrus. I asked him what kind of protein to give you, and he suggested goat milk cheese and yogurt. Wow. You love it. You’ll even eat plain yogurt, which is pretty bold for a little dude. And you love lentils and split peas, which is great because I make soup for all of us, and then just puree yours a little bit to make it a little easier on your tummy. You love it. We tried giving you a little citrus, and although you loved it (we can’t peel an orange anywhere near you without you going nuts), it gave you a really red bottom. So, we’ll wait on that a little longer. You like pretty much everything you try (you even love greens!), so there’s no shortage of other foods to feed you.

You’re still nursing, and there’s five predictable sessions per day, with an occasional little sip in between. You nurse when you first wake up, you nurse before your two naps, you nurse before bed (now before your bath so that you go to sleep on your own at night), and then I dream feed you around 10 p.m. I don’t intend to wean you anytime soon, so I expect these sessions will remain pretty predictable for quite some time.

You, as always, have a new range of bizarre sounds this month. Many of them are derivations on gagging or hissing sounds, broken up with a liberal seasoning of inventive squeaks and squeals and screeches. You babble all sorts of things, and I think you might be saying mama and dada, but it’s really hard to tell. You know many signs for things when I use them (milk, more, food, finished), but don’t yet use them yourself. You recently discovered the fun in patting your mouth (or letting me pat it) and making a “wah” sound, like the “Indian” sounds I used to make when I was a kid. You are a joy to listen to, and even when you scream or babble in protest tosome injustice (like getting dressed), I can’t help but laugh.

Your favorite toys right now are your tigger that you sleep with, the rolling popper toy, the rolling chime toy (vintage–$3 at Goodwill), your blocks (the better to throw with), and any kitchen related tools I give you. You also fell in love with the “Bobby” doll that was mine, then my brother’s, then given to you by Mamma. It’s a cloth washable doll with a plastic face and plastic hands and is surprisingly not creepy. It’s now your car traveling buddy.

Your favorite games are peek-a-boo games with cloth, knocking down block structures I’ve built, and falling games on the bed. You will sit yourself up really straight or we’ll stand you up, and you will fling yourself forward onto the bed in face down in what we call an “Albie slam”. Then you giggle hysterically. You especially like to do these after a bath. I know some kids cry to wind down to go to sleep. I think you fling yourself around and giggle hysterically to wind down. As long as it works for you, it works for me. You are also catching on to mimicry games, and I have so much fun playing with you.

We have entered the phase of separation anxiety and stranger anxiety. The separation anxiety was really bad for about a week, but seems to have toned down somewhat. The stranger anxiety is really cute and funny. You are so gregarious, that you can’t help but smile at people…and then you have to quickly bury your head in my shoulder. It is the prototypical “shy baby” routine, and I find it simply darling. Your aunt Amanda and I went shopping last weekend for a gift for your Nanna and Grandpa, and she was holding you. You would smile at her, and when she would smile back, you would bury your head in her shoulder. Which was really cute because she was the one holding you. You have a newfound cuddly streak, and so once you get used to someone, you are more than happy to let them hold you and hug them back. Just ask Leigh.
 

In short, I really enjoy your company, Little Dude. You are, for the most part, a total hoot. And when you’re not, you’re still  awesome.

Things I have learned this month:

• There is no need to buy special toys to assist in mobility development.
• Babies are resourceful little creatures.
• Just when you get used to any phase, it will change.
• Even the most gregarious baby will experience stranger anxiety. He’ll just be damn cute about it.
• Breastfeeding is so much easier and so much more fun with an older baby.
• Pumping is not. My boobs are no longer fooled by that device.
• Babies all develop so differently. Even their tooth order is only moderately predictable.
• There is a world of difference between cow milk and goat milk. Just ask Albie’s tummy.
• Just because your child  was willing to poop on the toilet doesn’t mean it will last (though he’ll still pee there)
• Breastmilk poop = not so smelly; food poop = disgustingly smelly (which leads us to…)
• My next child will be breastfed until s/he is potty trained. I swear it.
• Although having a child is much more challenging than I anticipated, it is also way more fun. 

I love you so much, Albert. I hope you always know.

Love, Mama

I’ve been thinking about holiday traditions a lot this year, probably because I now have someone to pass them along to. When I was growing up, our big holiday tradition was begging our parents to open presents early. We usually succeeded, and got to pick out a couple of different gifts on different nights within the week prior to Christmas that we were allowed to open. It was kind of fun, and I guess most people don’t do that. That’s a tradition that would be kind of fun to pass on, and my parents were crafty enough to not put the good stuff out until Christmas morning (even after we outgrew Santa). We put up the tree every weekend after Thanksgiving. Mom would let us blare the Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas music (still love it). We went to my Grandma Mickey’s (a nickname from when she was in high school) house for Christmas dinner every year. My grandpa Judd (who she married after my father’s father died) would give us "weird" gifts like National Geographic magazines. My parents called them "used". I would now call them "recycled". And dammit, I wish I had all those National Geographics now. Another tradition was that my parents would inevitably end up in a fight on Christmas morning. This was really nothing out of the ordinary. They fought all the time, but it just stood out more on Christmas. That’s a tradition I don’t intend to pass on.

None of those traditions were "official" traditions that anyone talked about. I just recognize them now as I look back. My husband’s family, however, has several "official" traditions. He comes from a big family of eleven–six boys and five girls. Apparently, every Christmas eve, they would get to open one present–new pajamas to lounge around in on Christmas morning. My mother-in-law used to make the pajamas, but eventually started buying them . After all, that’s a lot of handmade pajamas! She continues to buy pajamas for all "unmarried or uncohabitating" offspring. This tradition has continued so that her kids now do the same thing for their kids. I’ve already bought Albie’s for this year, and Hyrum and I also buy each other something pajama-related. He bought me a robe last year so I could use it during labor (didn’t happen–I never got in the tub). His family also tells the Christmas story on Christmas eve–they either read it, watch it, or act it out (it varies). I have a hard time keeping a straight face if it’s read or we watch a video about it, but I do enjoy it when the kids act it out. It’s just damn cute.

Another cool tradition they have is that on Christmas morning, everybody lines up outside the living room in order of their age, so that the littlest get to come into the room with the presents first. It makes for great pictures. Many of the kids come home for Christmas, with their kids in tow, so there are A LOT of people there for Christmas. This stands in stark contrast to my family, where the maximum number of people we ever had at grandma’s house for Christmas was ten. With occasional pop-ins from a few others. One year, there were thirty people at my in-laws’ house because all the kids and grandkids were there. Since then, five more grandkids have been born, and there’s another due this February. Being around that many kids on Christmas morning is way too much fun. I’m not Christian, and have struggled for years about the whole Christmas thing. I’ve finally just given in and accepted it as a great time to celebrate family. And nobody celebrates family better than Mormons! This year, almost all (if not all) of the grandkids will be there. I can’t wait to see Albie with his cousins. I only grew up with one, and she was kind of lame…

Somewhere along the way when my husband was a kid they had a family meeting about other traditions they’d like to have for Christmas. So, on Christmas eve, they make pizza. They get premade crusts and lots of different toppings, and then everyone gets to create the pizza they want.  And on Christmas day, rather than having a big dinner, they have a big breakfast. It’s huge. And it works out so well for Hyrum and I because we have breakfast there and then drive up to Prescott Valley to my grandma’s house for dinner.

As for the traditions Hyrum and I would like to start for our family, I’m uncertain. I really want to celebrate Solstice, so that may turn out to be a day that we exchange gifts among ourselves and then go celebrate Christmas with the extended family. The Santa thing complicates everything…Maybe we’ll celebrate all the December holidays! More cheer for everyone.

We do have one tradition so far. Every year, on an unspecified date close to Christmas, we watch "It’s a Wonderful Life". Maybe this will be a movie that we eventually watch on Solistice, even though it’s sort of Christmas themed. Hyrum was talking with his coworkers the other day about favorite Christmas movies, and he was the only one who mentioned this movie. I think that’s so sad. His coworkers are all pretty much in their early twenties, and they thought the movie was "cliche". They failed to realize that all of the "cliche" movies were modeled after that one! But to be honest, I don’t know that I would have appreciated it in my early twenties either. It’s the kind of movie you learn to appreciate after life has kicked you in the crotch a few times and you’ve had to give up on dreams and learn to appreciate new ones. I look forward to seeing it every year. And I cry like a baby during the scene between the pharmacist and young George. And then of course I cry at the end. If you haven’t seen it in years, watch it again. I doubt you will be disappointed.

So, what are the holiday traditions in your family? If you write about them, please comment and leave a link. If you aren’t Christian, do you still celebrate Christmas? If you celebrate Solstice, do you still celebrate Christmas too? Do you do the whole Santa thing? I love hearing about families and their traditions.

So, apparently, Tuesday was my very first blog-o-versary. I discovered the blog world when I was looking for info on homebirths. I was led to Jeanette’s blog, and then Leigh’s blog, and MB’s blog. Then I followed their links. And then those folks’ links. That was back when I could stay up until three in the morning without someone being up for the day two hours later.  And then I had the makings of an addiction. So I decided to start one myself. I don’t know how many readers I have. My stats say lots of people come here, but only a handful leave comments, and I don’t understand all of the stats anyway. But at the very least I have a nice record of the last year of my life.

I went back to read the first few posts, and I find it hard to believe that I had ever thought I would willingly have a hospital birth. I look at the belly pictures, and am amazed that that bump is now the monster pulling up on my chair, grabbing at my computer cord, and conducting all sorts of physics experiments (a.k.a. throwing, dropping, and banging things).

I find it hard to believe that there was a time in my life when I didn’t know M and C, my sweet and loving midwife team. It’s even harder to believe that I didn’t know the wonderful mama friends I have made in the last several months as a result of this blog. That alone has made any time I have put into this so worth it.

The lovely midwife who attended Albert’s birth wrote a really funny post over at Earth Hearth about what she carries for birth "emergencies".

The post made me laugh because number one, I remember being fanned during labor, and seriously, I don’t know if I could have held out without that relief. We had turned the heat high when I started pushing, because we all assumed the the baby would arrive soon. Sooner became later, and so I had some serious work to do while being seriously HOT. Between the fan, icy washcloths, and gatorade, I survived. I hate being hot. Hate it.

Number two, I remember asking a similar question at one of my prenatal appointments. I switched care around 32 weeks, and this was particular appointment was probably the third time I had seen M. I asked whether or not she had a "neonatal transport unit" in case of emergencies. I’m not really sure what that is, but someone had asked me that question, so I asked it of her. She didn’t know what it was either (I don’t think such a thing exists) and then said that her neonatal transport unit was *this* and formed her arms into a cradle shape as if she was holding a baby. She laughed really hard after that. She did go on to tell me about some of the equipment they carried like oxygen, a "space blanket" (which she had not had to use in a very long time), etc. But every once in awhile, she would giggle, make the cradle sign, and say "neonatal transport unit".

It cracks me up every time I think about it.

What does she really carry for emergencies? What is the most important thing a midwife has for emergencies (in my opinion)?

Her hands. It was her hands that helped me push. It was her hands that pushed hair out of my face. It was her hands that gave me strength. It was her hands that brought me gatorade. Her hands that helped me wash up afterwards when I was too weak to stand in the shower.

And what was it that she used to help free Albert from shoulder dystocia?

Not forceps. Not a vacuum. Not a caesarean section.

Her hands.

Period.

I think those hands might just rival the fan for #1.