chroniclesofcatherine

Dear Bitlet . . . Seven Months and Counting

Dear Bitlet,

I don’t even know what to say to you really as you celebrate seven months of life.

You have changed my life in ways I have never, ever imagined. You have brought me just pleasure and joy.

You have made me truly appreciate how lucky I am to have your father. If not for him, I wouldn’t have you, and I will forever be grateful for that. In some ways, dear Bitlet, my love for him grows as you do, little by little, inch by inch. Thank you for letting me be your mother, and for helping me truly understand what a blessing I have been given in the form of your father.

I couldn’t be the same mother for you, if it weren’t for him.

For some reason, that just felt really important to me to tell you.

He would probably hate this picture, but I know that it was taken when he was bonding with you, sharing your excitement in that moment, and for that reason, I love it.

Beyond that, Bitlet, at seven months of age, you are truly becoming your own person, and I consider it an honor and a privilege to know you.

I love how you greet each and every day with a smile. I’ve noticed during this past month that I do not have to race to your room when I first hear you stir in the morning anymore. You no longer demand instant gratification when you wake. Instead, I hear you cooing and singing to yourself briefly each morning, before you drift back to sleep for a little longer. I love that time of day. I love hearing our songs. I love hearing your breathing deepen as you return to sleep. I love that you are so confident and feel secure enough, apparently, that you feel comfortable briefly entertaining yourself in those few moments.

Later, when you do awaken, for real, I love tiptoeing into your room and singing, “Good morning to you.” It is then, usually, that I feel like it is a good morning, as you smile so brightly it could light up the world. It makes me glad to start each new day.

This past month, I did get a glimpse of what life can be like when you don’t get what you want, however, and it’s not a lovely thing. When mommy takes the spoon, it usually will mean that food will be on it when it comes back. There is no need to wail despondently as though you had just been told that that last bite was, in actuality, the last bite.

I will feed you, you know. I will feed you and clothe you, and I will always take care of you. But until you truly know that, you can hold an extra spoon while you eat, if it makes you feel better.

Geez.

You don’t have any teeth yet, and I am starting to appreciate that fact. Rather than rushing each milestone, it is starting to sink in that each one comes only once and should be savored. I love when you want my hand (and ONLY my hand) to soothe your achy little gums as you wait for those first teeth to come in. Soon, you will have teeth, and that massage won’t be as fun for me. I expect you will have to content yourself with the frozen teething rings we have for you somewhere. Until then, I’ll be patient.

(I love this picture, by the way. It makes me feel all weepy when I look at it).

You also haven’t started crawling yet. That is one you can truly take your time on, though. I still haven’t baby-proofed your environment. I’ll work on that. In the meantime, kudos for your mad rolling skills. I will try, as your mother, to ensure that you don’t fall off the couch or the bed. You could cooperate more by being consistent in your rolling, though. You are all over the map.

To contain you, we rely heavily on your jumpy thing that your daddy found on Craigslist for $6. It was the best $6 we spend this month, and you love it! I love watching as you bounce, swing, and sway in it.

Add in this stuffed animal that your grandmother gave you, and your day always seems complete for a minute.

Next month, we’ll start you on the walker.

Finally, dear Bitlet, we haven’t gotten your first word yet. At this point, I feel confident in saying that it might be “brains,” although the number of “da-da-da-das” you have been sharing lately leads me to believe that “daddy” might emerge victorious. I have only heard “ma-ma-ma-ma” a few times when you weren't even looking at me, so I think I might have to give up on my campaign to have “mommy” be your first word.

I will graciously concede defeat, when you finally do unequivocally say your first word. I don’t think it has happened yet . . . at least, not in ways that we can understand what you are trying to convey, but it will happen soon. Whatever that first word happens to be, I am actually praying that it is but the beginning of a long life of meaningful words you will use to express your happiness, sadness, frustration, angel, disappointment, and love and loathing. Your father and I both adore languages, and it is a fervent hope that you will share our love, choosing your words wisely and always articulating your thoughts so that none doubt what you want to convey.

Speak, Bitlet.

Laugh for us, and with us.

Crawl to me.

Wait for the spoon.

Sing to me.

Be gentle for the puppy.

Enjoy your seventh month of life with us.

Love,

Dear Bitlet . . . On the Eve of Your Baptism

Dear Bitlet,

If someone had told me five years ago that I would ever have a child, I would have laughed at them. If someone followed that up by telling me that I would have that child baptized as an infant, I probably would have been insulted at the implication that I would deprive my child of the right to make such a personal decision for himself or herself.

How can I accept salvation on behalf of a baby? Where is the acceptance of Christ that precedes one’s decision to be baptized?

Now that I know more, I understand where these thoughts came from. Both churches that I attended when I was younger do not practice infant baptism. They belong to a group of believers known as credobaptists. Credobaptists believe that only those who have professed their faith should be baptized as a public profession of faith. Pedobaptists, on the other hand, believe that adult believers and their children should be baptized.

I’ve read all the arguments for and against infant baptism, Bitlet, and the honest truth is that I don’t know how God feels about infant baptism. I don’t know whether God views it as being utterly unnecessary, or as a part of a covenant your father and I have made on behalf of our family to serve God, or whether His grace will be given to you in that instant, or whether it will be denied until you later make a conscious decision of faith. I only really know that I love you. You are my family, and I want to do everything I can to make sure our family grows together throughout your life—emotionally and spiritually.

What I believe is that you are a child who is unable to make that declaration of faith right now, and because your father and I both share the same faith, it is our responsibility to safeguard you until you can make that decision yourself, to guide you by sharing that faith, attending church with you, teaching you the principles we believe. Hopefully, one day, when you are older, you will affirm, or confirm, that we made the right decision on your behalf.

That’s what ultimately changed my mind, Bitlet, about infant baptism. I always thought that infant baptism took a choice from you, that it forced something upon you that was not anyone’s right to force. After years of being told what was “right” or “wrong,” spiritually, my mind rebelled at the notion that I could “take” that decision from a child. I never knew about confirmation. I never knew that baptism isn’t the destination. It’s just the beginning of your journey, and at some point, you will become accountable for your own faith. Once you do, you will have a choice. You can either confirm your faith and take on the promises your parents and godparents will be making in the morning, or you can renounce those promises. Either way, it will be a decision you, alone, can make. All I can do is share my own faith with you.

Regardless of the decisions you might someday make, I understand infant baptism now, and I am so very excited, as your parent, to play this role in your life.

Love,

Mom

The Baby Name Game

I’ve been reading a lot of mommy blogs recently. I’ve found that the subject is one that is near and dear to my heart, and that as an added bonus, I have been meeting some new women who are sharing my adventures in parenting. I’m starting my village, y’all, and I hope people approve of the new direction my writing appears to be going. I still love politics, religion, and all the controversial topics I have tackled during the time (nearly 3 years) I have been blogging, but my favorite subject now is the Bitlet, and I am increasingly drawn to other bloggers that have their own Bitlets and who write with the same abandon as I do.

That’s where my heart is right now.

So it seems only appropriate that I throw in a mommy tag. I wasn’t actually tagged, but it looked like so much fun, and will be something I show the Bitlet one day, to give her some insight into her name. Without further ado, therefore, I give you my contribution to:

Here is what Mommy Words had to say about the Game: Names are important. Your kids’ names were chosen for a particular reason and they mean a lot to you so this would be a great story to share! If you don’t share your kids’ names on your blog you can just tell us where you got the catchy nickname for your little ones or just go through 1-10 and amuse us with your naming antics! No problemo! Copy the image to use on your blog. Go ahead and answer the questions and then pass this Name Game and the simple instructions on to 5 other bloggy moms or dads who you think might want to share their story! Make sure to let Mommy Words know so she can follow the Name Game!

Because I am so relatively new to this community, I am not going to tag anyone, but if you do participate, please let me know.

1. Do you have any cultural or religious naming traditions?

Stephen and I actually were not restricted in any way when it came to naming our baby, unless you count the fact that he had already named his son after himself, and the fact that we did not know whether the Bitlet would be a girl or a boy. Beyond that, there were no cultural or religious naming traditions to limit us.

2. Did you or your partner come to the marriage with pre-selected names?

Not at all . . . we did not even know whether we would have children together, although I knew I wanted one. However, as soon as we found out we were pregnant, I knew what I wanted to name a girl.

3. Did you consider the sound of the first and middle and last names together? Did this make any sad eliminations?

Absolutely! Whatever the name was going to be, I wanted it to be pleasing and not trendy. I wanted a name that would grow with my child. We both agreed on the girl’s name immediately, for some reason, and we knew what we wanted the middle name of any boy that might be born, and each time a boy’s name was thrown out there, I immediately said all three names, and even wrote them down. Any eliminations were primarily due to the fact that other friends had already taken the names we liked.

4. Do you have veto powers?

Yes. Like others, we agreed that I would name any girl, and Stephen would name a boy, but we both had to like the name. He selected names, for example, that were already in my sisters’ children’s names. I didn’t want to duplicate them, so even though they were perfectly lovely names, duplicates were vetoed by me. With the girl’s name, there was no disagreement.

5. Did the baby naming cause arguments?

Not really . . . sometimes I wished he would come up with more options for boys’ names . . . it seems like I gave him more suggestions than he gave me, but our processes reflected our personalities, definitely.

6. Do you think it is easier to name boys or girls?

For us, it was much easier to name a girl. We knew what we wanted almost immediately. Boys’ names were much harder for us to consider together. Either he liked it, and I hated it, or vice versa. We never found out whether it was a boy or a girl until the baby was born, so the debate continued until the moment our baby was born.

7. Did you eliminate names because of people from your past or present who you don’t like or because a certain image comes to mind.

I really liked the name Christopher, but because my ex right before Stephen was named Christopher, it was never considered a viable option for our baby. So . . . yeah. Guilty.

8. Did you / would you survey your children to get their thoughts on the name?

We didn’t ask Stephen’s son . . . he was having his own baby, and then his son was in the hospital for months after his birth (from October until after our baby was born in April), so we didn’t really talk to his son about our chosen names. My father-in-law never knew that we were going to name a son after him. My mother-in-law LOVED the girl’s name we picked out, and even told me that it was EXACTLY what she always wanted to name her own daughter, if she ever had one. Weird coincidence, but I viewed it as a sign.

9. Did you tell people the name or possible names before the baby was born or were they “in the vault”?

Yes. I loved the names and didn’t care if others didn’t. What I wish I HADN’T done is ask other friends what they intended to name theirs, because once I found out, if their names matched those Stephen and I were considering, they were immediately off the table, because I didn’t want my friends to think I copied them, or couldn’t come up with names for my baby on my own. By the time my ex-roommate told me the name of the baby girl that was due a few months after my baby was born, I just had had enough and decided to go ahead with the name I had chosen . . . after all, my baby was conceived first!

10. Did you use baby name books?

We did for boys’ name, and one of my friends even sent me a baby name book from Ireland. I couldn’t pronounce many of the names, but it was AWESOME to read through it. Mostly, though, I used them to look up meanings of names we liked . . . just to make sure the name didn’t mean something crazy. Ultimately, though, we just considered names that we really liked. By the time we checked into the hospital, Stephen had two boy names picked out, waiting to see which one “matched” our child.

Drumroll Please . . . What did you name your kid(s) and why?

We call her Cate, or Bitlet, though.

It’s no secret that I really, really wanted a little girl. I have always wanted a little girl (whenever I wanted children at all, which hasn’t always been the case). I didn’t feel bad about that, because Stephen already had a son. I knew that I would love a little boy just as much, but I had a distinct preference when I found out I was pregnant.

For me, the name Catherine Elizabeth is significant. I majored in Russian in college, which included the history of Russia and the former Soviet Union. I also received my Master’s degree in Slavic Languages and Literatures. To say that I have an interest in Russian history would be an understatement. One of the greatest historical figures in Russian history is Catherine II (1729-1796), who was the Empress of Russia from 1762 until her death, and whose accomplishments earned her the nickname of Catherine the Great. To go with this strong name, I thought of another strong historical figure—Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603), whose solitary reign in England (she never married) is marked by the defeat of the Spanish Armada.

Both women were powerful, and both ruled without husbands, which was really an anomaly at that time. And both did so in ways that inspired me during my life and, hopefully, will inspire our daughter to live up to the potential she has for great things. Not that she’ll need the help of her name, I hope, since she will always have us encouraging her progress through life, but if it helps her in any way to think of two women who ruled when they weren’t “supposed to,” then I am good with that.

Besides, to me, she looks like a “Catherine Elizabeth,” and she is definitely our little Empress.

Dear Bitlet: Checking in at 6 Months

Dear Bitlet,

What a busy week you and I have had! It was all about the birthdays this week as your grandmother Sue turned 63 years old on October 7, 2009. The crappy things about birthdays is that, when you are younger, people drop everything to be there to celebrate your special day. As you get older, though, and as people move farther away, it’s not always so easy to drop everything to be there on the actual day that one celebrates the anniversary of their arrival to life. As much as I would have loved to take you to Arkadelphia on Wednesday, we had to wait. I think she knew that we were thinking of her.

I hope so, anyway.

I’m grateful that she was able to celebrate her birthday. She had a stroke just weeks before you were born, and I was terrified that she would not celebrate any more birthdays.

I should learn not to underestimate my mother.

And I really hope that you get to know her well. She’s very special, Bitlet. As much as I would love to be patient and kind, slow to anger and quick to forgive, open-hearted and loving, your grandmother Sue already is. She never pushed me to be what she wanted me to be . . . she just always wanted me to find myself and to be that person, completely, secure in the knowledge that she would be there, watching, cheering me on, and loving me no matter what.

You will be so blessed if you are fortunate enough to know her, Bitlet.

I have been.

Friday was your brother Lee’s 23rd birthday. To celebrate that milestone, your father and I took Lee and Richele (and you) to a Japanese restaurant. Your father and brother adore Japanese food. I think your father would gladly move us all to Japan, if he could. We had a great time, and I was so grateful that you got to celebrate his birthday with him. I wish I could promise that you would be with him every year on his birthday, but I don’t know that it will be possible. Perhaps it will show you, early, that people do not have to be present to celebrate the big days in spirit. There are so many people who celebrate your life daily, and who would happily be present for the special days, but it’s just not possible in this world.

But this year, it was.

We got to spend Saturday with your Grandma. I took her a plant and a birthday card, but what she really wanted – had been pleading for since shortly after your birth – was pictures of you. And I delivered. She has gigabytes of you! She oohed and aahed over each new photograph that flashed across her screen like you were the cutest baby ever.

Your grandmother is also incredibly bright!

One thing she told me as you and I sat with her was that you looked like me when I was a baby, and I felt like crying. To me, Bitlet, you are the most beautiful baby I have ever seen, and to have someone (even my own mother) compare me to you was such a compliment. I don’t see it, but to have her say that meant an awful lot.

You smile more than I did, for one thing.

Saturday was special for another reason, Bitlet. On October 10, 2009, you and I celebrated 6 months together! I can’t believe the time has gone by so fast, and I am convinced that, for me, those 6 months passed by faster than any 6 months of my life ever had. I’ve had a lot of “6 months,” so I feel somewhat qualified to say that.

But for you, Bitlet, those 6 months have been your entire life!

You’ve literally lived an entire lifetime in those 6 months, and I wonder what you have thought of them so far? When I look at you, pondering that question, I would like to think you are happy. You really seem to be.

You smile nearly constantly.

You also seem very bright, as you continue to look around this great big world trying to figure out what everything is, and what your place is.

We still don’t have any teeth . . . and we’re not crawling, yet, but you are so active at this point! It’s hard to believe there was a time when I had almost convinced myself that you weren’t ever going to roll over on your own, or that you wouldn’t be able to sit up without my assistance.

And don’t even get me started on my initial fears that you would never be able to have a meal without having more end up on your face, your clothing, and me than in your stomach. And yet you do roll over by yourself, ensuring that you are never left unattended on the bed for the time being. You can sit up without my help, although only briefly, but those times you do fall over, in my opinion, are attributable to your excitement and desire to move on to the next thing. Your body will learn to catch up to your eyes, I promise.

Even mealtime has become less messy as we have moved on to food with more color, much to my delight. Your face tends to look somewhat clownish, at times, but you can eat. More importantly, you want to eat, as opposed to those initial feedings, when you just looked at me, the bowl, and the spoon as if to ask, You want to put that mess where? And you expect me to keep it there? Who are you kidding?

And yet, it has happened.

Probably the biggest thing so far, though, Bitlet, is that you have started talking. I don’t know what you are trying to tell me, yet, but you are at that point in your life where you are clearly cognitively aware that the movement of our mouths and the sounds we produce are the keys to communication. Once you learn how to put the two together to let me know what is going on in that little head of yours, it will open doors that you can’t even imagine right now. As it stands now, I simply listen in awe, wondering at the wonderful stories you are trying so hard to tell me.

For all the changes I have seen develop in you, Bitlet, I can’t tell you how much you have changed me. I never knew that I could love this much . . . that I could have such patience . . . that I could find such joy in my own living room when you, your father, and I are all together. I look at things differently, and I have found that I think about things differently, too.

In good ways.

Six short months.

Your entire life.

I thank God I have had both to experience.

Happy 6 Month Birthday, Bitlet!

Love,

Dear Bitlet . . . Be a Mommy, Not a Martyr

Dear Bitlet,

In the great debate between the Stay at Home Moms and the Working Mothers, I have noticed a few things. First, you have veteran mothers who are always willing to jump in and point out how old the debate is . . . how it is played out . . . how people need to move on. At this point in your life, when you are a mere baby of six months, the debate is new to me, the ideas I read on the issue are new to me. The world of motherhood and parenting is new to me, and I suspect the reason the debate continues (and why people like Dr. Phil are able to capitalize on the debate on multiple occasions), is because we are dealing with new mothers like me who are having children and confronting the question of whether it is better to stay at home, or to return to work.

By the time you read this letter, Bitlet, you will know that I was a working mother. I work because we need the money, but I also work because I love my job. I don’t feel guilty about that. The fact that I have a job doesn’t mean that I love you less than women who stay at home with their children, just as the fact that I do want more money to give you a better life than the one I had means that I love you more than women who stay at home with their children and are forced to economize in ways I don’t in order to raise their families.

One day, you might decide that you want a family, dear Bitlet. And you, too, will be forced to consider whether you want to stay at home with your children, or whether you want to work. More likely than not, you, too, will have people telling you that you need to stay at home with your children . . . it’s a sacrifice that mothers make.

Whatever you do, Bitlet, I pray that you own your decision.

If you decide to stay at home, Bitlet, be happy doing that. Don’t do it because the world expects it of you, or because you have someone telling you that is what a good mother does. Don’t give up a career that makes you happy to stay at home out of some sense of obligation. Don’t look at motherhood as something that requires martyrdom from you.

Chances are, if you look at the experience as one where you did what you did because you “had to,” you aren’t going to be happy, and that is something that your children will pick up on.

By the same token, Bitlet, you will probably hear, at some point, that women who “have to work outside the home” are different. To me, that statement always implies that women who worked outside the home because of necessity (and who were unhappy, because they really wanted to be home with the children) are okay as mothers, because they aren’t happy working and would prefer to be at home. How a women who works outside the home is ANY different than a mother who willingly works outside the home is beyond me. In both instances, the children are being cared for by someone else. Again, there seems to be that sense of maternal martyrdom that is perceived by some to make one a better mother.

So long as she is doing what is NECESSARY, rather than what is WANTED by her, it's okay . . . .

Motherhood is not about martyrdom, Bitlet. It’s not about giving up part of yourself for your children. It’s about sharing all of yourself with your children—where you came from, what you’ve done, who you are inside and outside the home. You don’t have to be a mother to the exclusion of all other roles you might have played before you had children. You can do both, but they key is to be happy doing what you do, and to dedicate yourself completely to ALL that you do.

If staying at home with your children won’t make you happy, please don’t do that to yourself or to them. For my part, I don’t want to hear about how you gave up so much of yourself for them, and I don’t want them to hear it either. Make your choice, based on what YOU want, and be happy with it.

Or don’t do it.

If you know that you want to stay at home with your children, and you aren’t financially able to do so, consider waiting until you are. There is time to improve your financial situation before you have children, but once you have children, that possibility becomes more and more difficult. If you jump in and have children, knowing that your financial circumstances require you to be somewhere you don’t want to be, you won't be happy, and everyone in your life will know it, on some level . . . including your boss.

The point of all of it, Bitlet, is that I want you to be the absolute best mother you can be, if and when you decide to have children someday. Be happy with your children. Love your children. Raise them in a happy home. Don’t throw yourself on a martyr’s pyre in the name of motherhood. Not if it means that you are sacrificing a part of that spirit that will let you be truly happy while raising your family.

If you aren’t truly happy, your children probably aren’t going to be either.

I’m sure there are things you would have told me to do differently. As I journey through motherhood, I know I am going to make mistakes, but I am determined to love each and every moment we have together, without reservation, and without ever feeling somewhere inside that I did things for you, because I HAD to in order to be a good mother. In doing things my way, I hope you know that I love you and did things the way I did so that you would never doubt that, or think that I “gave up” something for the privilege of loving you, for which there is even a HINT of resentment in me for your beautiful life and presence in mine.

I’m not a martyr.

Just your mother.

Love,

Dear Bitlet . . . On Snappy Anger and Carrying Grudges

September 17, 2009

Dear Bitlet,

I snapped at you on Sunday morning. I felt guilty immediately afterwards. After all, you were communicating the only way you knew how. And Sunday morning, you wanted and needed to communicate your discomfort from the food you are eating, or the pain of your teething. It was completely my fault for snapping at you.

Maybe I didn’t sleep enough.

Maybe I just felt overhwelmed.

Maybe I was thrown by the fact that you didn’t eat and go back to sleep the way you do most morning.

Maybe I was made at the dogs for not going to the bathroom outside because of the rain.

Maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed.

So many “maybes,” but it doesn’t really matter why I snapped at you. What matters is that I did, and it wasn’t your fault. I do it to your father all the time, and it is usually followed immediately with guilt for my shortness of temper. I’m really sorry, and I am working on it.

I wish I knew and could tell you that, by the time you are old enough to remember those times I snap at you through no fault of your own, I have mastered the art of patience and perpetual grace. Unfortunately, I can’t make that promise and, as you read this letter, I am sure you would be able to cite a litany of examples where I failed in my efforts. I am sorry for that, too. First, I am sorry if I have failed to learn how to guard my temper so that it won’t be unleashed on the innocent in that way. Second, I am sorry if I have raised you to keep a tally sheet of all the times that I failed in my goals to try to be more patient and kind. That scores card is something with which I have struggled my entire life, and I hope that I have not passed it on to you.

It’s not a fun legacy.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that, as I snapped at you, I realized almost instantaneously how hateful I sounded, how hurt your feelings would have been if you could have understood that tone in my voice, and how it would feel to a young child to hear that hateful tone and not realize that there was no hate intended.

I love you, sweet Bitlet. In the course of your five months on this planet, you have made me realize that I didn’t even comprehend how deep love could run until you were born. I love greeting you when you open your eyes in the morning with a smile, and I love seeing you smile in turn. I love singing to you. I love speaking to you in a sing song voice to soothe you. I love the way you cuddle with me. I even love your stinky poo-filled diapers. I love everything about you. I wish I could stop before I snap at the people I love, but when you are older, I hope you realize that that tone of voice does not mean, and will never mean, that I don’t love you.

It’s anger and frustration, and sometimes it is inappropriately expressed to those who have done nothing wrong. Honestly, though, sometimes it is directed at those who have done something wrong, and it still doesn’t change the love.

Either way, it’s just a tone of voice--A reaction to an uncomfortable situation that, in no way, diminished the love I feel for you. I wish you were old enough to understand my apology now, and I wish I could make it so that you would understand all this the next time I snap at you. Unfortunately, I can’t. But over the course of your life, I do hope that it is something I can eventually teach you . . . you know, in case I never quite learn how to control that temper of mine.

Not that you would know what a temper is, right?

Anyway, I am sorry about snapping at you on Sunday.

Love,

Dear Bitlet . . . Now that You are Five Months Old

September 10, 2009

Dear Bitlet,

I went into your room this morning. You were on the twin bed your father and I had left in your room after you were born. It has really been a godsend on those nights when you still wake up. Usually, the parent on duty simply finishes the night in your room. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I always took you into that bed with me while you enjoyed that early, early morning feeding and I continued to doze.

I loved cuddling with you, just as I did with our dog Dexter before your father and I got married.

Plus, unlike Dexter, you didn’t have fleas.

Although you did spit up on me on occasion.

Work on that, please.

Anyway, as I walked into your room this morning, you were lying on the bed surrounded by pillows, and as I greeted you with my standard singsong “Good morning,” you looked up at me and smiled, your whole body moving to signify your joy in the only way you can at this point in your life, and it hit me, suddenly and inexplicably . . .

I am this beautiful baby girl’s mother.

I am responsible for her life.

It is my duty and privilege to raise her.

It was an overwhelming and humbling realization, but I managed not to get teary-eyed.

This time.

That’s not really the point, though . . . I just thought you would like to know what I thought the morning I first saw you on day you turned five months old.

I really enjoyed your fifth month of life, dear Bitlet.

You were teething, but you hadn’t reached the point where that was terribly uncomfortable, so, to me, it mostly meant watching you drool while you often tried to smile around the fist that seemed perpetually stuffed in your eager little mouth. When you weren’t trying to eat your own hand, you had discovered your little thumb and sucked on it in a way that made my heart melt every time I saw it.

You were breathtaking to me.

People marveled as your little personality continued to develop. You greeted the world with a smile, and seemed to prefer taking in the world around you amiably to expressing any displeasure at, well, anything . . . except the speed at which you obtained food.

cate091009

You were happy.

I took you to meet your grandmother Sue’s family over Labor Day weekend mere days before you celebrated your fifth montha-whatever. To a man, everyone agreed that you were one of the happiest, well-behaved, contented, sweetest, most good-natured, insert your own adjective here, baby they had ever met. You were the epitome of the superlative.

Like I didn’t know that already.

You fell off the couch at a friend’s house during your fifth month. It was August 15, 2009. I thought you were safely nestled between two cushions. You had learned to launch yourself forward and didn’t tell me.

Let’s not keep secrets like that from one another, okay?

You launched yourself forward, presumably to show off your new trick, and immediately plummeted to the hardwood floor.

Of course I freaked out. I was standing right there and was unable to prevent the inevitable pain that comes when one face plants with gravity’s full assistance.

As you cried in pain, I felt like the worst mother in the world.

Of course.

Then again, by the time you read this, you will probably have assured me that I am, in fact, the worst mother in the world. Chalk that day up as another example of why I have earned that title.

I’m really sorry that first fall happened on my watch, although the fall was inevitable.

Shortly after you heaved yourself to the floor, you really started rolling side to side. One day, I came in and you were sleeping on your side in your crib, even though I had placed you on your back, as always.

I knew, then, that if you were turning from side to side in your sleep, I could no longer leave you on a bed unattended, unless I wanted a repeat performance of your first fall.

Which I don’t.

Finally, dear Bitlet, we received the blessing of your pediatrician to start feeding you cereal with a spoon.

That was vastly entertaining. At the beginning of the month, more food landed on you than in you. What you spit out was artfully spread over your face and your tray. You weren’t really that patient throughout the process and, in the beginning, I mostly just tried to get food in your mouth when you squawked.

It was your dad (of course) who got the first voluntary bite of your young life.

Go figure.

Daddy’s girl.

At this point, we still await your first tooth. I feel fairly confident that will happen soon. Probably before you reach six months.

Just writing that made me want to cry.

Six months.

It’s coming soon.

Stop growing so fast, please. I can’t keep up.

Love,

Mom

P.S. You are ticklish. Very.

Dear Bitlet . . . It's Our Anniversary!

August 27, 2009

Dear Bitlet,

I came home one day in August 2008 with two pregnancy tests. I didn’t buy them because I thought I was pregnant. I bought them because I knew that I wasn’t.

I had purchased many pregnancy tests in the past, you see, hoping against hope that I would have a positive result one day. It hadn’t happened yet and, frankly, I had resigned myself to the fact that it very well might never happen.

It’s not that I jumped the gun every month, taking tests the first day medically possible in order to obtain a positive result. I waited. I waited for days to make sure it wasn’t my overeager impatience getting the best of me. I waited long enough that I thought a positive test was possible. I think that is why I felt like screaming and breaking things every time there was only one line . . . because I knew that enough time had passed that there could have been two.

Instead, once I saw that single line telling me that I had failed to conceive, it is as though my body relaxed, and I would start the following day. Most people agreed that I was simply psyching myself out. That I just wanted a baby so badly that my body just wasn’t acting normal. And after months of buying tests, negative results and periods the next day, coupled with resentment towards every pregnant woman in the world around me, your father and I had decided to go back on the pill for a while.

I was just tired of feeling so disappointed every month . . . like a failure.

So when I bought those two tests, I never in a million years expected the positive result that immediately appeared. I was shocked, dumbfounded, and despite the fact that the second test (which I took the following morning) was also positive, disbelieving.

I couldn’t believe it.

My mind couldn’t believe it.

And for whatever reason, you didn’t quite feel real to me until one year ago today. Oh, sure, today is significant because it’s your Aunt Martha’s birthday . . . but to me, August 27th is the day I met you.

That was the date of my very first appointment with the obstetrician who would ultimately deliver you. Her name is Ashley Deed. I am sure you will meet her (but not while you are a teenager, I pray!).

Until that day, I didn’t really believe that the result was accurate. Only when she took that wand, smeared it with jelly, and ran it over my abdomen until . . . there you were! there was your heartbeat! there was my baby! Only when those things happened did you become real and not just a dream I had longed for.

It was, at that point in my life, the most beautiful moment I had ever experienced. Ever. Yes, I cried. Yes, I celebrated the fact that you were there. I didn’t know your gender . . . and I didn’t know how you would change me, but that was the day I met you.

And I knew I loved you then.

It took much longer for me to actually believe that I would be a mother. Truthfully, I don’t think that really sank in until the moment I held you after you were born. Before then, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that responsibility was finally granted to me.

But that’s another letter, I fear.

Always call your Aunt Martha on August 27th, Bitlet . . . she has such a kind heart and will really love that. But also know that the day is special to your mom, too, for completely different reasons.

Happy Anniversary, baby!

Love,

Mom

Dear Bitlet . . . Four Months ALREADY???

August 10, 2009

Dearest Bitlet,

I simply cannot believe that you are already four months old! Where did the time go? You were born yesterday!

Now that you are nearly grown (ha!), your father and I are moving the crib out of our bedroom. It’s time. I don’t think I could bear it if you feel out of the cradle . . . especially not now, when I have my suspicions that you are outgrowing it. If I put you in that cradle now, and you fell, I would have to live with that guilt of going against my instincts, and that’s just something I try to avoid these days. So, the cradle is out.

However, your new playpen is in. We actually just found the perfect one for you this weekend, in fact. We got it on the cheap, but it has a changing table and a midpoint bassinet. You have outgrown the cradle, but I think you will enjoy your new digs.

You are such a happy baby. After four months of life, it really seems that you are digging the world around you. And the world around you digs YOU. You are cute as you can be, always smiling, and with such a sweet disposition that everyone who meets you is just enthralled by you. I get the impression that the feeling is mutual, and that is just so wonderful to see. I am certain that I won’t be as happy about your demeanor around strangers when you get a little older, but for now, you just love attention from everyone.

You weigh around 14.5 pounds now. How far you have come from birth. You have doubled your weight and then some. I marvel at how fast you are growing.

We introduced you to your crib last night. Actually, I gave you a nap yesterday afternoon. When I put you in the crib, you had your pacifier, a mobile, and some music. Within moments, you had spit out your pacifier and were well on your way to sleeping anyway. I was amazed and thrilled to see you make that adjustment with such ease, but I figured it was a fluke, until you did the same thing when I put you to bed last night. I will miss bedsharing with you, although I am sure I will sneak you in every once in a while, but for the most part, given the ease with which you fell to sleep, and the duration of said sleep (10 – 5:30? Way to go, Bitlet!!!), I think it’s time. After all, you are four months old now.

You are still a grunter. I am sorry I laugh at you so much when you exert yourself so to make a diaper do for me. It’s just so funny. I wonder at what point you will stop with that? I hope it’s not too soon.

You have started humming and

sucking on your lower lip. I don’t know what that is about, but you sure are cute when you do it. Plus, you make this “mmmmmm” sound that gives me every hope that in the race of “Bitlet’s First Word,” I will emerge victorious, despite the contrary efforts of your father and grandmother! Knowing my luck, you’ll switch to “dddd” tomorrow. Ah well . . . I still know you love me best.

You haven’t started crawling yet . . . but you did roll yourself from your stomach to your back. That was huge! It might not seem like that big of a deal when you are bigger, but that was your biggest accomplishment to date, I think. Well, that and your mastery of your grip. It was simply awesome to watch you pick up your favorite rattle and shake it yourself.

Oh, and you were able to lift your left eyebrow, as if to say, “Yeah, I know I am cute! And?”

Flirt!

If you are thinking that I had no life when you were four months old, Bitlet, if these were the things that excited me and gave me such joy, the fact is: being with your father and you, and watching you grow, is my life. Caring for you, nurturing you, loving you gives me joy that I have never known. I have to take you to daycare five days a week, but those times that I spent with you, I loved watching each new expression develop, each smile form, each babble you “spoke.” In so many ways, I can’t believe that four whole months have already gone by, but I know that things will only go by more and more quickly as you grow up.

Much to my chagrin.

Four months, already . . .

Wow.

I love you,

Mom

Dear Bitlet . . . On Being Sick

No one likes being sick . . . .

By the time you read this, you will have figured that one out all on your own. I hate being sick. When it happens, I am weak and whiny. Of course, you probably will have already figured that one out, too.

I really hate being sick.

But one thing I hate more than being sick is when you are sick. And since your birth, in the first four months of life (at the time of this letter), you have been sick three times. That’s an average of once a month and is probably the key reason I will always try to push multivitamins on you, giving special emphasis to Vitamin C. You can’t help it at this point, but it scares the mess out of me.

First, you had a cold. We had that one together, so I could completely feel your pain. Then, you had a virus which gave you a fever and made you uncomfortable (and me!). This round, you have your very first ear infection. I hope you don’t have a patter of ear infections. I don’t remember having them as a child, but I hear they can be quite nasty. Some kids even have to have tubes put in their ears, which just doesn’t even sound right to me.

You want to know what you were like when you were sick? I don’t know what things will change, but here is what I can tell you about your first few illnesses:

You were whiny. This is not something you should regret, or for which you should be ashamed. You were at a time in your life when you were not only experiencing something new, but you couldn’t express your feelings to anyone else. That had to be frustrating to you. I’m sorry that, as your mother, I was not always able to figure out what you needed to make you feel better.

Your gag reflex not only worked, but you fully realized the potential inherent in that reflex. Because you were so very young, I usually could only give you Tylenol, unless the doctor prescribed something for you to take. This morning, the doctor prescribed Cefdinir. It, of course, comes in the form of suspension drops. Yay. They gave you a shot of antibiotics this morning at the doctor’s office, because you had been vomiting all night, and they were worried that you might not keep it down.

Their fears were not unfounded.

You didn’t daintily vomit when you were sick. You threw up, violently, with a projectile force that scared me. In turn, I think I scared your father, particularly when I gasped in the middle of the night, startled, when you just couldn’t keep the contents of your stomach down. Because of your tendency to get so very sick, I hated giving you drops. I don’t know what it is . . . whether I haven’t developed “the touch,” whether I get too impatient and try to give you your medicine too quickly, or whether you have a hair trigger gag reflex, but you were often sick right after I gave you medication. Ultimately, what that meant was that you had to suffer, because I was too afraid of overdosing you by giving you more. I’m sorry if I could have given you more, sweet Bitlet. I’m sure you are sorry for the fact that I had to change shirts three times last night, too . . . you just can’t tell me that right now, and won’t remember it later.

It’s okay.

You responded well to me. From the moment you were born, I never really had any concerns about bonding with you. From that first day, you were my little girl, and I knew that. I didn’t really have insecurities about you preferring others to me. Sure, you wanted your daddy to hold you sometimes while you cried, instead, but that’s okay. I like for him to hold me while I rest my head on his shoulder and cry, too. But when you were sick, I could comfort you, and that meant so much to me. I’ll never figure out how to take illness away from you so that you never have to experience it, but at least I can soothe you when you have a fever, rub your belly when it’s upset, and rock you to and fro when you do become emotionally bereft as you try to cope with illness. It doesn’t sound like much, but I put all my love for you in each gesture as I tried to console you by murmuring:

Mommy’s here, Baby. Mommy’s here.

I always will be there, as long as you will let me.

I love you, Bitlet.

Even when you are sick.

-- Mom

Dear Bitlet . . . While the Cate's Away

Dear Bitlet,

Since you have been gone this week, visiting your grandmother and grandfather, I have gotten so much accomplished at work! I was able to work late like I did before you were born.

And when I did come home, I was able to spend my evenings with your father. I had other social engagements, but for the most part, we did what we wanted to do.

I even slept all the way through the night. I hadn't managed that feat since before you were born, because you liked to lay on my bladder. Remember my bladder? Your foot, I think, might.

Friday night, you father and I went and hung out with some other grownups. We watched a video. There were other children present, and your absence was duly noted. We found ourselves able to stay and chat with our hosts until long after you were probably asleep.

I even got up on Saturday and painted my toenails . . . and my fingernails. They look nice!! It was the first time I had done both since before I got pregnant with you. I didn't go nuts with the color. It's just a pale coral/pink color. I think you would like it. Nora and I met for breakfast and a meeting Saturday morning, and then Saturday night, I had another engagement.

Finally, on Sunday, I went to church. I thought that I would be serving as a lay eucharistic minister, but it turns out that I wasn't on the schedule, after all. So, I enjoyed the service with all the other congregants and then perused the shelves in the bookstore for quite some time. This afternoon has been rather lazy as I surfed the net, enjoyed my coffee, and talked to your grandparents and your brother. Your father and I are sitting here relaxing as I write this.

And I don't think I have ever missed someone as much as I have missed you this week.

I have called you every day that you have been gone, and your grandparents graciously indulged each telephone call. I loved how they held the phone up to your ear and how I could hear your reaction when I spoke directly to you. As I told you each time how much I loved and missed you, it meant the world to me that (according to your grandma and grandpa) you recognized my voice and were happy.

Even though I have slept more this week, it's been difficult to fall asleep at night not having you there cuddling with me. It's been strange waking up to an alarm in the morning. And it's been so very sad to me to get ready for my days without you. I miss singing to you and seeing your sweet smile.

And I know that you have changed while you were away. Your grandma sent me pictures and I could tell you have grown, but I could hear how much you had changed during my telephone calls to your grandparents. When you left, you had just begun to experiment with your giggle . . . while you were there, you found your laugh.

I plan on hearing you laugh often in the future, so it's okay.

You'll be home in just two days, and I will be able to say, officially, that I survived our first week apart. As difficult as it was, and as much as I really missed you, I could also hear the joy in your grandparents' voices when I called that you were there, and that you were getting to be a part of their life. They adore you, as do I. Now that we have gotten through this first week apart, I am sure there will be other little breaks in the future as we prepare you for adulthood and the independence that comes with it. It's not practice for the real deal for you . . . it's helping to prepare me for the day when you will leave our home for good.

All in all, I'm glad we have a couple of decades, give or take, to prepare for that.

I'm going to need it.

I missed you throughout our entire first separation, Bitlet.

Very much.

Love,

Mom

I'm Going to Miss Her

Bitlet’s daycare is closing for a week for vacation. It begins Wednesday, and they will reopen next Wednesday, July 29, 2009. Given that I just got promoted to my new position at work, and given that we could use the money, and given that Stephen also is working on advancing in his company, and given that we could use the money (did I mention we could use the money?), we are bidding farewell to the beauteous Bitlet tomorrow for an entire week.

Stephen is going to take her to his parents house in the Ozarks. His grandmother is absolutely, positively THRILLED.

I may never see the Bitlet again (if her grandmother has anything to say about it!).

Although I was always skeptical when I heard parents talk about how much that first separation hurts in a way, I am learning, already, that it’s true.

She’s not even gone yet.

Her bags have been packed. The checklist has been double checked.

Stephen and I even signed an emergency medical consent form authorizing them to consent to medical care, if necessary. If you are a parent of a small child (or any child under the age of 18, actually), and you leave your child in the care of another person, you need to complete a medical consent form. I found mine online and modified it for the grandparents. I would put it up there with your will, durable power of attorney, and health care proxy. If someone other than yourself is going to be taking care of your child, and there is any possibility that you might not be reachable or able to get to the hospital quickly enough, then this form could very well save your child’s life.

As usual, I digress.

Stephen is taking Bitlet to her grandparents’ house tomorrow, and I will have my first separation from her since her birth.

It’s hard.

It’s actually scary. I wonder whether she will miss me. I wonder whether they will cuddle her like I do. I wonder if they will be able to feed her in the middle of the night so that they are able to return to sleep quickly. I wonder if they will sing to her, eliciting that adorable little smile for which I live. Will she laugh for them. When they hold her, will she be comforted the way her father and I comfort her?

And when Stephen consoles me tomorrow night as I face my first night without her, will I be comforted.

I know she’s not leaving forever, and that I will see her very soon. I know that there are telephones, and that I will be able to talk to them often.

I know all of this. I know that she will be with people who love her very much, and who would do absolutely anything to take care of her.

But it is still so very hard to know that I won’t have her with me. For a whole week.

And I’m going to miss her.

When the Bitlet Laughs . . . A Video Blog

If you can't see a video, it is available at http://attorneyatmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/when-bitlet-laughs-video-blog.html.

More pics of the beauteous Bitlet!

I am going to be writing some this weekend about my first week back at work as an attorney, but I wanted to share these. Enjoy!

Dear Bitlet . . . Your Life at Three Months

Dearest Bitlet,

Yesterday we marked three months together, and I know that you will someday ask me what you were like as a baby. I have been trying to chronicle our times together through the pictures your family has taken of you, but I know that, although a picture is worth a thousand words, sometimes you need the actual words themselves. That is why I have tried to write about our times together, starting when you were affectionately known as the “Blob.”

From the moment I found out that you existed, I loved you, but from the moment you were born, that love has grown to proportions no amount of words can ever describe. You have transformed me, and I will never be able to thank you enough for coming into my life. But, I am getting sentimental, when the point was actually to let you know about your first three months of life.

You were a very sweet-natured baby from the first day of your life. I should have known you would be easy when I experienced maybe five minutes of pain (at the most) during your birth. You rocked that delivery room.

And I will always be grateful for the easy birth.

You rarely cried, and I never got the sense that you were crying for the sheer fun of it. When you cried, you meant it, and that meant that I needed to act quickly, to avoid your emotional bereavement.

That’s a nice way of saying “your screaming.”

But those were rare, indeed.

No, from the day you were born you looked at the world as though you were studying it . . . wondering why you were here and why the world around you existed. You were just precious when your little forehead wrinkled up as you pondered the cosmos. I am not sure which I love more—that look of quizzical wonder, or the heart-melting smile I got for the first time when you were about two months old.

That was a very clever move, by the way.

In those early days, you slept a lot. You slept so much, in fact, that you lost too much weight that first week, and I got to experience for the first time what “feeling like a failure” meant when you are a mother. It was devastating.

I was also apparently starving you in those days. You can thank your dad for finally making you that first bottle of formula, as I agonized over not being able to sustain your needs, and wanting to so desperately that I couldn’t see that what you really wanted (and needed) was to eat more.

I am still sorry for that one . . . glad your double thighs tell me your body has forgiven me.

At night, you were an absolute angel. You didn’t sleep through the night, but when you awoke, it was only long enough to eat, and you were back to sleep. In that regard, dearest Bitlet, you were The. Best. Baby. Ever. I don’t care what anyone says about you.

You were really great in large crowds. When you were only a couple of weeks old, we took you to the Rites of Spring. You were the youngest person there, and from that first public appearance, you were a hit. I think you might have gotten betrothed that weekend to a little boy who was six weeks at the time.

When you were four weeks old, you and I got to see Kris Allen, who won American Idol that year. You were the youngest fan at his appearance. Thanks for winning those ringtones for Mom, and for being so very cool in a crowd of over 15,000. The people around us were amazed as you slept through the concert. I wasn’t. You always acted contrary to what I had ever expected.

If I ever try to complain about how long it took to break you from sleeping with your father and me, don’t listen. I needed you there, and I loved cuddling with you. I am the one who couldn’t break myself from the habit. I admit that.

If you ever have a baby, and are faced with the debate of whether to co-sleep or not? I say do it. It yielded some of the most precious moments I shared with you, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

You also had your grandparents completely wrapped around your fingers. If science later reveals that bovine growth hormones really are bad for infants, and that I should have listened to your grandmother and gotten organic formula . . . well, I am sure there were many, many times she was right and I was wrong. She was your biggest ally as I tried to navigate those early days. So any negative side effects you experienced from Wal-Mart’s formula is completely on me. And your dad.

They loved you at the daycare. I felt comfortable about my choice of daycare every time I picked you up and grinned. And when I dropped you off in the morning and you grinned. I loved the way they just adored my little Bitlet. The ladies in the nursery there, and at church, adored you. If you were spoiled as a child, I won’t take sole responsibility for that one. I had help from pretty much every person who ever met you.

You threw your first actual temper tantrum on the day you turned three months old. We were trying to introduce you to rice cereal as you went to bed, after we had spent the evening at an art exhibit, dinner at a restaurant, and grocery shopping. By the time we got home, you were so tired, you did not want to experiment with your food, and you let us know it. You screamed so loudly and with such gusto, I really believed, for the first time, that I had hurt you terribly by feeding you something other than formula. It was a horrible feeling, but you settled down eventually and fell asleep in my arms.

Even after that fit, I loved you. I loved you for that fit!

I loved those first three months, Bitlet. I loved watching you grow. I loved knowing that you recognized me. I loved the lessons you taught me and the realization I experienced soon after your birth that I was your mother. It has been the most sacred gift I have ever known. I treasured those early days, and I eagerly anticipated the many more I would share with you. I can’t wait to watch you experience life. But I don’t want you to do it too fast. It’s the cruel paradox of being a mother, I think . . . wanting to guide another human being through life, but not wanting them to grow up. But it will come, and I will be here to watch it all, God willing. Thank you, dearest Bitlet, for allowing me to experience that with you.

Love,

Mom.

Cate Finds Her Footing

July 4th was a big day for Cate. Actually, the entire weekend was pretty amazing!

Cate and I left town for a girl's weekend on Friday morning. We went to spend the holiday with her maternal grandmother, Linda, in Calico Rock. Cate traveled like a champ (she always does), and the weekend was really great. Saturday, while her grandmother was changing her diaper, Cate finally saw her foot, and we were able to snap this picture.

It's not the best quality in the world, but it does show her rapt attention to her new find!

Sunday night, after she and I returned home, Cate also slept through the entire night for the very first time! Yes, she did wake up at 5:00 in the morning, but she had gone to bed at 8:30 p.m. That's pretty amazing for her, especially when you consider the fact that we have not started her on any rice cereal yet to help motivate her to sleep longer.

She did that one on her one.

She is turning 3 months on Friday. I can't believe it . . . so much has happened . . . but I'll save that for another entry celebrating her quarter year! I just wanted to share this photo, because, as usual, she is absolutely gorgeous, and I am so proud to be her mother, I can't wait to show her off!

Check out the Precious Booty

Image by looseends via Flickr

Since the birth of my daughter, I have learned to economize. It's a value that I hope she takes from us with pride. Back in the day, I just thought my mom was a "cheapskate." I supposed I didn't really appreciate the work she put into making sure that her dollar went as far as humanly possible, so that all of her children would have their needs met. Now that I have my Bitlet, though, I completely understand what my mother was doing.

And even as I wrote that, I know that Bitlet will more likely than not think of me as a cheapskate until the day she has her own financial responsibilities, which might or might not include a child. I can live with that.

Since she was born, I have bought very few things for her that were new. She received gifts before she was born, of course, that included lots of clothing, but I, her mother, have purchased a few things. Rather than shop at expensive baby clothing stores, I have gotten her clothing from thrift stores, mostly. I'm not paying expensive prices for clothing that she will wear approximately 2 months and then never contemplate wearing again. That, to me, is just crazy.

But there is just something about the baby clothes section at a Family Dollar store . . . .

Yeah, I said it. I buy my baby's new clothing (when I buy her "new" clothing at all) at the Family Dollar store. They have some really cute things, that cost very little, and stand as much of a chance of wearing out as the much more expensive clothing from "Pickles and Ice Cream." I'm not ashamed of that.

(Stephen added, "At least we assume 'Pickles and Ice Cream' is more expensive. We tried to go in once, but we couldn't afford the cover charge.") He kills me.

I went to the Family Dollar recently to buy sodas during a visit to my in-laws. They always make sure that we are well fed when we visit, but they will not purchase sodas for us to poison our bodies. They just won't. It is strictly bring your own . . . .

While I was there, I saw some really cute outfits, as I usually do, including the most adorable red and white halter dress that would have looked absolutely amazing on my Bitlet. I didn't get it, though, because I thought the halter would show too much and didn't want people to think I was dressing my baby like a prostitute. Someone pointed out that halters actually started out for infants . . . it's when the older people get ahold of them that it perhaps reveals more skin than should be shown and words like "hoochie" start being bandied about. God, I'm stupid sometimes. I'll go back and get it at some point.

Later in her infancy, that is . . . when it still looks appropriate.

God, it's hot outside.

While I was browsing the shelf, I saw some onesies . . . "Daddy's Little Princess" or some such nonsense was emblazoned on one of them. Slogans like "Little Flirt," "Sweet Angel," etc. I could deal with all of them, but the one that stopped me dead in my tracks was the one that read "Precious Booty." And no, it did not have a cute little picture of booties on it. It was emblazoned across the butt of the onesie.

"Precious Booty?"

When she fits into the 3Ts, what then?

"Nice Ass?"

I didn't buy the outfit, needless to say. I already have a hard time dealing with the fact that we begin the gender conditioning our children as soon as they are born, with the little boys wearing blue outfits with slogans like "Little Sport" that somehow intimate that boys grow up to be athletes, while little girls wear pink and are dubbed "little princesses" who presumably just wait around for their athletic prince or knight in shining armor to rescue them. I rebel by putting Bitlet in this blue outfit that says "Little Sport" on the front . . . .

Plus, it makes her beautiful blue eyes really pop.

But, really, "precious booty?"

Do I really want any grown person's attention drawn to my 3-month-old daughter's derriere . . . or thinking that I want their attention there in the first place? She is my baby!!!

It started me thinking though . . . I have heard people talk about the way young girls dress. Frankly, I have seen adolescents dressed in clothing so inappropriate, I have wondered about their parents. . . this outfit that I saw at the Family Dollar only cemented that suspicion that the way our daughters dress might have something to do with the way we dress them as small children who clearly can't afford to buy their own clothing.

Bitlet did not, after all, flounce into the Family Dollar with her allowance money to buy some new threads. No, the people buying those clothes are adults. And I am not stupid . . . it's not like outfit was a thong or something. It was a onesie with a couple of words on the butt.

But, the thing is, I didn't see any similar messages on the outfits that were designed for the little boys. No "Tight Tushies" were stitched in blue on the boys' clothing. And I am not saying there SHOULD have been. I am just saying that the clothing made me think that we might begin the objectification of our daughters a little early . . . and then we voice our dismay when they later objectify themselves. Who is really to blame here?

In any event, the dress that I ended up getting her was something more like this:

I'll worry about clothes that show off and have people admiring her precious booty eventually . . . God help us all . . . .

Sharing Sickness with the Bitlet

My Bitlet is sick. It's the first time I have had to nurse a sick child, and after years of horror stories about how horrid it was, I was prepared for the worst. I was ready for the incessant crying, the fretting, the mewling sniffles, the leaky snottiness.

Bring it on.

In my head, when I imagined my child's first illness, I envisioned her picking up some kid form of crud at daycare for which I could silently resent the other infants in the nursery, glaring at each one accusingly, wondering which one dared pass on their cooties to my Precious.

What I wasn't prepared for, however, was the literal sharing of the experience with Bitlet.

I think I made my child sick.

Either that, or she made me sick.

I am not particularly comfortable with the idea that I might be the guilty party who shared my cooties with her, so I am clinging to the idea that we simultaneously developed the crud.

It started innocently enough. A few days ago, I noticed Bitlet coughing a little more frequently than normal. At first, I simply believed that she was clearing her throat of the milk that is the sole staple of her diet right now. It was, I told myself, "no big deal." Then, however, I noticed a slight rattling sound when she breathed. Crud. Still, she wasn't running a fever, and I, too, had been congested a litle. I attributed it to allergies and prayed that my child was not developing an allergy to our pets.

That would be devastating, because there is no doubt in my mind who would win the game of "The Pets or the Bitlet." And, honestly, I had convinced myself that she was allergic to our home or our pets after we asked the daycare workers to keep an eye on her and they advised us that she neither coughed nor sneezed the entire time she was at daycare on Wednesday or Thursday.

Perhaps my baby is allergic to me, I wondered.

By yesterday, however, I had to recognize the full truth about my own malady -- I have a summer cold. I have a summer cold that I am sharing with Bitlet, and it's actually not bad.

I am a wimp when I am sick. I want to be cared for and coddled. I want the Vitamin C and chicken noodle soup brought to me in bed. I want the lights dimmed, and I want peace. I don't adapt well to being sick.

You would think that, being my daughter, the picture above would accurately reflect Bitlet's reaction to her first cold. But no. The picture above was actually taken in the middle of a nasty coughing spell, and she is not even crying. No, actually, this is my daughter with a cold:

She's coughing and congested, and has become intimately familiar with her aspirator, but overall, she is taking it in stride. The infant Tylenol is helping, I think. Still, when she coughs uncontrollably, it hurts me, and I would give anything to make it stop. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned by me from this experience:

My daughter is making me look like the big baby, looking at me as if to say "Suck it up!"

That's about right . . . wonder when her dad will share her sentiment?

Two WHOLE Months!!!

My daughter is two months old today. I'm not the first parent to say this, and I certainly won't be the last, but where, oh, where does the time go? It truly seems like yesterday when a nurse placed this tiny, perfect little creature in my arms. The pictures of that moment, in which I can plainly see the tears of joy streaming down my face and onto my neck that she was here, healthy and mine, will always be treasured. But there have been hundreds of pictures taken since that moment when I met my beautiful Cate for the first time and, today, I see her at two months.

It's a milestone for her. This is one of those days to be memorialized in her baby book. I dutifully pulled out the measuring tape this morning. She's 22 1/2 inches and weighs approximately 10 1/2 pounds. She sleeps wonderfully, waking only long enough to feed. She looks around the world as though she is contemplating the cosmos, not like she is confused by the many sights and sounds that inundate her. She is learning her environment and, for the most part, seems to enjoy the world we have created for her.

I swear, when she smiles it melts my heart and gives me pause, even with formula running from the corner of her mouth, and even when it is only for some unseen dream creature she will have long forgotten before she has the vocabulary to describe it to me.

That is my child? The infant God entrusted to me?

And the love I feel absolutely overwhelms me.

I wish I could stop time, freezing each second long enough for me to savor the time I have with her, to note and appreciate each new facet of her personality and her ever-changing baby appearance that is simply breathtaking to me. She sometimes seems like a new child when I wake up in the morning, she changes so fast, and I know I am going to miss this time when it is gone.

So, for now, I take pictures, as I will continue to do as long as she will let me.

Oh, I hope she will always let me. I will need these pictures when she is grown, and I think she, too, will appreciate the opportunity I hope to give her to see her life in pictures, a memorial of the absolute fascination she holds for me by her very existence.

At that same time, it occurs to me that she will want verification that she actually had parents when she was a baby . . . at this point, I think 95% of the pictures I have of her are just of her. I want her to know that we adored her from the moment we met her, both Mr. J and I, and that our lives were made richer by her presence, even as we spent so much of her infancy simply basking in her beauty. They are my two favorite people in the entire universe.

At least she has her father to ask, exasperatedly, whether I thought I had taken enough pictures yet.

And the answer will always be "no." And while he won't admit it, I think Mr. J is okay with that, really . . . .

I can't believe it.

This is my family.

And this is my Bitlet on the day she turned two months old.

Things that just shouldn't be said . . . ever

This past Sunday, I took Bitlet to church. Even though she is way too young to appreciate its significance, I believe that it's important for us to attend church together, even though I wasn't raised in a family that attended church together on a regular basis. Unfortunately, her father wasn't able to go with us. Stephen and I are rarely able to attend church together, because of his work schedule, but things will hopefully change one day.

After church, Bitlet and I had one stop to make before returning home, because I needed a couple of things from the pharmacy. I considered taking her home and just going out again after Stephen got home, but I changed my mind and decided to make it a mommy-daughter shopping excursion. At this point, at least, she doesn't point at everything in sight and demand that I buy it for her. Oh, I know it's coming, but at that time, she was sleeping, and I knew it would only take a few moments to get what I needed and get out before she could even really wake up, versus returning home and having to get out again later.

There we were, strolling the aisles of Walgreen's. I had already picked out my purchases and was simply meandering to the checkout line, perusing the shelves along the way. As I strolled with my sleeping infant who weighs all of 10 pounds, I was stopped by a woman who admired the beauty of my little sleeping angel, and I thanked her for her kind compliment. Then she looked at me and said, "You look like you are getting ready to have another."

Why, oh why, do people say such stupid things?

First of all, I am already wearing my pre-pregnancy clothes. I'm not a thin person, but I am certainly not wearing the same size clothing that I wore when I was nine-months' pregnant. In fact, I am not that far from being able to wear the freaking dress in which I was married, in which I looked beautiful, I might add. So there.

Second of all, she said it twice, which almost earned her a cussing out from me right there.

Third of all, in my exact situation, let's do some math before we spew the stupidity, shall we? This woman stopped me (I didn't stop her and force her to admire the perfect sleeping child). She stopped me, she admired my child, she remarked on how tiny she was, and she asked how old she was (she's only 8 weeks, by the way).

This is her, as of today:

Assuming for a moment that I did as the doctor ordered and waited approximately 6 weeks to do the dirty again, even if I was pregnant, that would make me only two weeks pregnant. How in the hell would I look like I was about to have another child at only two weeks? For that matter, let's assume I didn't wait and that I was nearly two-months' pregnant. At that point, when I was two months' pregnant I wasn't even showing yet (it had barely begun to sink into my mind that I really was pregnant). I don't know a single person who was showing at that point.

So to tell me that I look like I am about to give birth was not only untrue (because I remember what I looked like at that point), there was a biological impossibility, and she should have known it.

I would be more gracious towards this woman if I had done what I had considered and taken Bitlet home and gone to the store alone. I could see how someone would not know whether I was getting ready to have a baby, or whether I had just had one (although I strongly encourage everyone, always, to err on the side of just had one). But when I am standing there with a very young infant, it's just rude.

And, frankly, a little bit hurtful.

I mean, really, we can't all look like Dara Torres after giving birth . . .

or Heidi Klum . . .

or Alessandra Ambrosio.

Not without selling our souls to the devil, at least.

I don't expect people to go through the entire thought process I have outlined above, seeing the baby, asking the age, doing the math, concluding that I couldn't possibly look ready to give birth again, and therefore keeping one's mouth shut on the matter. That would be asking far, far too much. This is just another example, however, of why it's best to just not ask. Just don't say anything at all.

It avoids the pain of embarrassing yourself, and of being embarrassed, because you can bet I said something to her.

It avoids the icky feeling of unnecessarily hurting someone's feelings.

It avoids the silent use of profanity I can't verbally use in front of my child, but which I can still spew forth in my head at the speed of lightning.

And you won't go to hell.

I don't know whether the last one is true, but I can practically guarantee the first three.

Cate’s First Shots

Even before she was born, I knew that Cate would have to start daycare as soon as possible. Both Stephen and I have to work. There was no way that one of us could give up our job to stay at home with her. It was a foregone conclusion that she would begin daycare as soon as she could . . . legally, that meant when she was six weeks old after she received her first round of vaccinations. She had already received the first round of her Hepatitis B immunization before she was released from the hospital. No sense in slowing down progress, right?

Because I am not one of those people who (a) can't stand the idea of seeing my child receive a shot or (b) is opposed to vaccinations because of some supposed connection between childhood immunizations and autism, I woke up bright and early on Friday, May 22, 2009, to take Cate to the Health Unit. She was exactly six weeks old, and it was the first day she could legally receive the designated vaccinations. It would be quick and (relatively) painless. Besides, I told myself, I was going to receive shots, too, so it's something we could say we did together. . . or at least I could console myself with the knowledge that she did not suffer alone, right?

Yeah, right.

As she typically does, Cate had fallen asleep in the car on the way to the health unit, even though it was only a few minutes from our house. We arrived at 8:05 and there were only a couple of people already there. Score! No long wait for us! I took a number and sat down to await our turn. Of course, Cate decided she was hungry at that precise moment, but I was ready for her! I whipped out the bottle I prepared immediately before we left the house and propped it up for her as she lay beside me in her infant carrier. While she ate, I was called to the window, where I provided all the information necessary for the health department to initiate Cate’s health record. I advised the clerk that I would also need my whooping cough, and she typed in my name and gave me my own little yellow immunization card, as well!

After all of our information was entered, I returned to my seat to wait to be called back, thinking it would be only a few short moments, since there was no one by that time ahead of me.

Why, oh why, then, did Cate have time to finish her entire bottle? I arrived practically when the doors were unlocked, and it took 45 minutes to be called back? What is up with that? If the woman who administered the shot had explained that she had a flat tire and was late, that would have been one thing, but I had seen her when I came in, and had seen her several times after that while I waited.

Whatever . . . she was nice and Cate was snoozing peacefully, so we decided I would receive my two shots first. Oh, yeah, in addition to the whooping cough shot, I was informed that I would also need an MMR shot that was the second in a series I began in 1996, when I started graduate school at the university of Kansas. By the by, I received a tetanus shot in 1990, when I was 16 years old. I believe that was the last time my mother took me to get a shot, before I became responsible for my own medical maintenance (given that I was 13 years late for my MMR shot, I would say I have done a bang up job, wouldn’t you? Anyway, it was kind of cool to know when my own mother and I had shared a similar experience.

Aside: People have asked how my mother is doing, and I haven’t really responded. It’s hard to talk about the fact that she is deteriorating and is now living in a nursing home where she receives constant medical supervision . . . that her heart is too damaged to receive the stints it needs . . . that her diabetes is cutting off the circulation in her leg . . . and that she can’t even read this anymore. It’s not great, and I don’t know how to talk about it . . . so I don’t.

So, yeah, it was a moment for me to realize I was doing something with my daughter that my mom once did for me.

I had to have two shots, and it wasn’t so bad, really. Then it was Cate’s turn, and it amazed me how quickly I went from, “this will not be that bad,” to “you aren’t sticking that in my child, lady!”

Let me explain. As an adult, I believe that I should be able to handle the big needles. It was the thought that carried me through my decision to have an epidural placed in my spine when I gave birth to Cate. I am an adult. Children are different, though, and should be given medications with children-sized needles. That was my thinking, anyway. And I assumed that her needles would be smaller.

They were the exact same size, meaning the needle for each of the three shots that would be given to my angel was more than an inch long. Okay, so maybe they were an inch long. She’s very small! Worse, they wanted me to HOLD her arms while they poked her with these instruments of pain!

I was to be an accessory?

An accomplice?

She started off easy, asking me to give Cate the oral Rotavirus vaccine, which was taken by Cate like the true champ that she is. Then came the needles . . . .

And I have to say that Cate was truly amazing. Each time her chubby little leg was poked with a hateful needle, she cried. Of course she cried! I was holding down her hands while a perfect stranger stuck a sharp instrument in her tender little leg! But she only cried for a brief moment and had already settled down by the time the next shot was administered, at which time she again briefly cried. But only for a moment.

I don’t know what I did, but God has given me the perfect child. I am not kidding.

As we were leaving the health unit, I stopped by the front desk to try to pay the $5 owed for each of us. The same clerk who checked me out looked at me, smiled, and calmly told me that we owed nothing.

That clerk was awesome . . . after all, it’s not like she made us wait for so long!

After we left the health unit, Cate quickly fell asleep. And she slept . . . and slept . . . and slept . . . . She slept through Wal-Mart, where I bought some Infant Tylenol (I didn’t know there was Infant Tylenol . . . I had gone looking for Children’s Tylenol. If I hadn’t seen the Infant Tylenol, I could have overdosed my own child.

Then I really would have been deserving of the “Mommy Dearest” award.

Through all of that, the only negative side effect was the fact that her legs were sore that afternoon, of which she quickly reminded me if I forgot when changing her diapers. She even rallied enough to go spend the evening with a dear friend of ours (her first time alone with someone who wasn’t (a) family or (b) a nursery worker at church) while Stephen and I went to Riverfest to see Willie Nelson (who wasn’t that great, frankly . . . so we went to see the B-52s, instead!!).

Overall, did I enjoy the experience of Cate’s first shots? No. It hurt her. She cried. I felt guilty and had to give her pain medication. But, believe it or not, what made the experience so unforgettable for me was Cate and the way she handled it. Much like with everything else that life has thrown at her so far (including dogs that jump in her face sometimes), she was laid back and cool . . . my little rock star!

She Grows

: Taking it all in

Just wanted to share a couple of new pictures of Cate. This picture was taken last weekend at the Rites of Spring in Northern Arkansas. I love this particular picture, because I know that she is with her grandmother, and also because her features are starting to become her own. Plus, she is just so pretty.

She was such a hit that day, as everyone wandered by to meet the newest member of our family, and the youngest attendee at the Rites of Spring, which has been held for 38 years now. There are people who attend now who first went to the Rites while in utero. It's a tradition, and we are honored to be included. Even though Cate was only 2 weeks old at the time, we had to take her for her first Rites.

With Grandma

One of the things I really love for Cate (and for myself) is the active role his parents are taking in Cate's life. It is nearly impossible to separate Cate from her grandmother when she is awake (and sometimes when she is asleep). Linda is just crazy about that little girl, and I love seeing the two of them together. She wants to be here for Cate, and that means something to me. Even if I do have to watch my back to make sure she doesn't abscond with the child!

Catherine's Birth

Baby's Name: Catherine Elizabeth
Date of Birth: April 10, 2009
Original Due Date: April 10, 2009
Weeks Pregnant: 40 weeks
Weight: 6 lbs. 13 oz.
Length: 19 inches

Stephen and I decided not to learn the sex of our baby until birth, and I was able to stick with that plan. But when the doctor offered the option of inducing labor when I had dilated to 2 cm, I jumped at the chance, and we scheduled the procedure for her due date. Part of me feels guilty for not letting nature run its course, but the day was so amazing, my impatience and associated guilt pale in comparison.

We checked into the hospital that morning at 6:00 a.m., and after I donned a hospital gown and signed all the appropriate medical forms, my nurse started an intravenous line and administered a low level of pitocin. Over the next couple of hours, I began to feel contractions, but they were like strong cramps, nothing more. By the time the contractions reached a level that I needed to hold something for comfort, I was dilated to 3 cm and was given the option to have the epidural started, which I took. Once the epidural was in, I did not feel anything until the following day, after my doctor completed my tubal ligation.

While waiting for Catherine's birth, the monitor showing my contractions became the most fascinating thing in the world to me, as I watched a process from a distance that I knew would soon bring my unborn and unknown child into this world. Just as the pregnancy had progressed with ease, my labor did, too, and I was fully dilated by 4:00 that afternoon. When my doctor arrived, the room had already been prepared for her, and I began to push, which lasted approximately 20 minutes.

Truthfully, I think the story of my daughter's birth is much like most other children, but one thing I will always remember, and for which I will always appreciate my doctor, is the fact that she said that she would let my husband announce the sex of our child when he or she was born. While we waited, in between contractions, the doctor and nurses all made their predictions. It was a very comfortable environment, and I was thoroughly at ease the entire time. When I needed to push, I was not self-conscious, and I didn't worry about how messy it might be, and I believe their attitudes and professionalism is a part of that.

Finally, my husband looked down at me and told me that we had the daughter I had so wanted, but didn't believe we would have (I thought it was a boy; he predicted it was a girl). When it finally registered, both of us started crying, and when she was placed on my chest (and I know this sounds so cliche), I felt like I had been waiting for her my entire life.

I rushed the process, but if I had to do it all over again, not knowing what might be different in the process, I wouldn't change a thing.

Pictures from the Nursery

As the birth of our baby nears, I thought I would share some photos from recent days . . . enjoy.

Stephen put together the crib. Sans profanity!

Some classic Pooh . . . with some shoes!

Stuffed toys, both new and old. Some of those belonged to Stephen and his MOM!

A view of the dresser . . . with big brother on display!

To bring the baby home!

Time has truly flown by the last eight months. It's so hard to believe that the baby will be here very soon! The first photos, of course, will be here, and we look forward to sharing his or her life with you as it unfolds! Thanks for dropping by.

Dear Blob . . . On the Fear of Falling

Dear Blob,

Everyone is afraid of falling. It's human nature. For one thing, falling can hurt like hell, leaving scars to remind us of that pain. Before the pain, though, is the unknown level of pain that we will experience. The combination of the two -- the fear of the unknown, and the fear of pain -- combines together in such a universal way that everyone is afraid of falling. There is also the lack of control that falling entails. No one likes to lose control.

Your grandmother, my mother, fell when she was pregnant with me. At the time, she was working as a cook in a truck stop. While I was there, in a sense, I wasn't, but I can assure you that there was a hard floor involved, and that it terrified your grandmother. Through the years, we joked that it was that fall, which occurred late in her pregnancy, that accounts for so many things wrong with me. Personally, I always countered that it was that fall that knocked some sense into me and altered my course in life, which was radically different from each of your aunts' paths. In any event, despite the fact that she fell, I received a clean bill of health at birth, even if it scared your grandmother at the time.

When I found out I was pregnant with you, my fear of falling emerged at the front of my consciousness. I knew that your grandmother had fallen with me, and that it had no long-term effects, but it nonetheless terrified me. She was lucky, and I knew that I might not be. I knew there were risks associated with pregnancy that were beyond my control, and that the possibility of a fall was one of them. Losing that control, when I had been entrusted with your development, and potentially losing the gift I had been given, terrified me.

The human fear of falling develops at a relatively young age. At first, I think, we have no fear of pain. Nor do we truly appreciate any lack of control. That develops from the reactions of others who know, from experience, the pain that falling may bring. A sudden movement towards us, and effort to catch us, a gasp at potential injury all combine to teach us that the experience of falling is unwanted. For whatever reason, the impression that falling is bad stays with us throughout our lives. There is more to those early falls, though, that is sadly forgotten.

There is the laughter that comes as an infant struggles to stand on his or her own two feet, finally working up the nerve to let go of the hand that supports them, or the table that braces them, with that sense of accomplishment followed by the slight *plop* sound that comes when we fall on our cushioned behind. No harm done. We laugh, get up, and try again. The same is true of those early stumbles that are made as we struggle to walk on our own two legs. Before independence and success, there are those unsuccessful attempts that end in numerous falls. That laughter is shared by the adults who witness it, and babies who can appreciate early on that laughter is the key to future attempts. If only we remember the laughter as we do the pain.

And unfortunately, there is pain. As I write this, I have to wonder if that is why we develop such a fear of falling, after all. Yes, there is laughter. One can fall without experiencing pain. But we never quite know which will result.

Often, when it is another person who is doing the falling, people briefly forget their own experiences with past falls and laugh, even when there is pain. Ideally, there would be a glimmer of the wonderment in those first early falls that prompts this laughter, or shades of comic routines that prompt spontaneous gaiety at remembrances of comic genius. If you let them, people will laugh at you.

If you let them.

Laugh with them, and you have the last laugh.

Some people don't grasp that early on, dear Blob. They think only of the lack of control that others unfortunately witness and they forget.

Everyone falls.

Even you.

Remember that when you see others fall. It might be a very humorous situation, and laughter can, in fact, be uncontrollable, but always have empathy and compassion for that other person to take a moment to think about them. There could be pain. Be perceptive. Take the time to make that determination. So many don't, which is probably another reason people fear falling so very much.

Aside from the laughter and pain, there is also a lack of control. Once we lose control, we don't know what is going to happen. There will probably be embarrassment. There might be laughter at our expense. There is a chance for blood and pain. In some instances, as I learned once, bones could be broken. That was a lot of pain, followed by weeks of rehabilitation. And, yet, there might just be a slight bump, with no ill effects whatsoever.

Still, literally falling is scary.

But there are other kinds of falling that we all fear.

Falling for another's false rhetoric and being misled.

Having our children "fall in with the wrong crowd."

Forgetting our dignity and falling all over ourselves to please others.

And perhaps the biggest fall of all . . . falling in love.

Falling in love is much like falling in the literal sense. Perhaps that is why so many people fear falling in love, as well. Just as with a physical fall, that emotional fall comes with a lack of control, coupled with the fear that there could be pain. In fact, inevitably there is pain. And sometimes the embarrassment. But there is also laughter there. And immeasurable joy.

I didn't always know that,and when I didn't, I was afraid.

I was afraid of falling in love with your father, because I didn't know whether he would reciprocate. I was afraid that I would embarrass myself, and that he would laugh in my face. I was afraid that I might get hurt. Knowing all of that, I was afraid of losing control, not knowing what might happen, or how much pain there could be. He taught me that it didn't have to be that way.

The real question is whether we let the fear of losing control have control of us, or whether we get back up again. It only natural to fear them. But there are also valuable lessons to be learned from falling, such as those that come when you finally stand upright and then walk. There is the empathy you can have from knowing that you are not alone. There is the laughter and joy. And every once in a while, there is someone there to catch you.

Don't just focus on the pain and think that is all there is from falling. When it comes down to it, that physical pain is relatively fleeting. The other things, like the laughter and joy, and the reward of having someone love you back? Those are things that go with you long after the memories of pain fade.

I hope that's what you remember in the end.

Love,

Dear Blob . . . there’s no crying over blessed wine

Dear Blob,

One thing I hope you take with you throughout your life is your faith in a Creator. Some people in this world choose not to believe, and each person must make that choice for himself or herself. Just as I will never try to force you to believe in God, I truly hope that you will never try to compel others to adopt your beliefs or condemn those who don't share them. Your relationship with God, if you choose that path, is your own, just as my own relationship with Him has been one that I have fiercely protected from the interference of others.

Yes, faith is a very personal matter. I hope you find it, and I pray that you will always cherish it. If you do, there might be some memories that stay with you throughout your life, such as the day you choose to believe in God, your baptism, your wedding in the church (if you have one). There may also be services that, at first blush, seem rather routine, yet stay with you over the years for one reason or another.

I had one of those days today, December 28, 2008, just a few short months (hopefully) before your birth. I went to church this morning, because I was on the schedule to serve as a lay eucharistic minister. In other words, I helped serve communion to the parishioners in attendance at that service. I have done it many times in the past, and I anticipate that I will continue to do so in the future, although I feared that it might have been the last day I would be able to button the robe over my belly until after your birth. There is a white robe that will hide that fact, though, from the rest of the world.

When it was time, the LEMs approached the altar where the clergy prepared communion. I held out my hands, palms up, and the priest placed the wafer there. Before she moved on, however, she suddenly placed her hand on my stomach, where you rested, and gave you your first blessing. I was surprised, so I can't remember her exact words, but essentially, she said, "May the Lord bless and keep you in good health, today and always." I wish I could remember the exact words, but I can't. What I do remember, and will never forget, was this feeling of awe that overcame me, followed closely be tears welling up in my eyes at the gesture, and its significance.

It was your first blessing.

Before any tears could fall, and as I was handed the chalice of wine I would use to serve communion, I remember thinking to myself that there is no crying over blessed wine. Still, as I followed the priest out into the congregation to serve the parishioners who were unable to climb the steps to the altar, that moment with the priest's hand on my stomach stayed with me.

Your world is growing, dear Blob. At first, only your father and I knew about you and cared about your existence. Then, as we told others, the circle of friends and family who eagerly await your appearance into this world grew. It was only a few short weeks ago, when I read during a service at the church, that this particular priest realized that we were expecting you. I found it very touching that it was she who administered that blessing. In a way, it felt as though God joined that group, ushered in by the soothing hand of the clergy.

That might not make sense to anyone but me, but that's okay. Perhaps it will make sense to you someday. Perhaps it is enough to know that, because of my faith, it meant something to me. In any event, I am trying to memorialize those moments for you, so I had to write about it. I don't know that the encounter offers any life lesson for you, or whether it will have any significance for you as an adult, but for me, it was profound and humbling . . . a gift to be treasured.

My prayer, today, is that you will agree.

Love,

Me.

Dear Blob . . . On Christmas

Dear Blob,

My mother, your grandmother, ruined me on Christmas for years. Every year, she insisted on decorating the house with the truckloads of Christmas decorations she had accumulated over the years. I always said that it looked like Santa Claus had thrown up all over the house. There was the Christmas village, all the lights, which were hung from the tree, the windows, and the door frames. Then there were the knick knacks, or "what nots," as she called them, which covered every surface not reserved for the Christmas village. She was out of control.

In retaliation, I had no Christmas decorations for years. I still celebrated Christmas, and I pride myself at being a great gift giver, but I didn't decorate my dorm room when I was in college or my subsequent apartments. Eventually, because people began giving me Christmas decorations, a few managed to worm their way into the landscape at Christmas, but for the most part, I swore that I would never let my home look . . . over decorated.

Your grandmother's entire collection was lost several years before you were born in a fire. She was absolutely devastated, of course, and I started to feel really badly about the fact that I had teased her for her love of this time of the year. She truly lived each year in anticipation of the holidays. Right after Thanksgiving, she would pull them out and turn the house into the nightmare before Christmas, and suddenly, everything was gone. Since the fire, she has managed to start a new collection, but you will probably never see anything resembling what I saw as a child and young adult.

I'm sorry for that.

I've been thinking about what I will teach you about Christmas in the future. Usually content with the Christmas items I had received over the years and collected here, and there, I never really thought about what I would want my children to see during the Christmas holidays . . . perhaps because I didn't know whether I would ever have any children. This year, the year that you will share Christmas with me, without sharing Christmas with me, though, I have obsessed about it, a little.

I can't wait to get you that little pink or blue stocking for your first official Christmas. There are ornaments, too. And clothing. I even saw a baby Santa outfit today. I swear that I will never make you wear something like that. We all have boundaries.

So what is Christmas?

Or what is the Christmas that I would share with you?

People throughout your life will insist that Christmas is all about this, or that it shouldn't be about that, but about this instead. Blah blah blah, and bah humbug to those who try to define our family's holiday traditions by their own standards. And you can tell them I said that.

So here is what I envision for your Christmases . . . and we can look back on this and see how I did when you were older.

The Festivus

Although I fought it for years, your grandmother was right. She wanted Christmas to be about her children and grandchildren and the merriment and wonder that is created by hundred of sparkling lights, little villages, angels, Santa Claus, and eight tiny reindeer. She knew that young children might not appreciate the concept of Christmas if she just tried to describe it in words, but that they would have no problem understanding the fun of Christmas stockings hung with care, and Santa Claus mementos posted everywhere to remember that St. Nick only visits good little girls and boys. She knew that it was all a fantasy, but that it was one that children loved and understood.

She also wisely recognized that many sad, sad people forget the merriment and wonder of this time of the year as they grow up. They forget how they felt about Rudolph, Frosty the Snowman, and Santa Claus, and that it was a tragedy of the human condition that comes when we all lose that innocence. Your grandmother never lost that. Whatever I give you as your mother over the years . . . whatever lessons I teach you about this time of the year, I wonder now if you will be able to restore that in me. I truly hope so.

It's a time of joy. Regardless of their origins, the physical symbols of Christmas you will see throughout your life are meant to create for you a time of festive merriment, of happiness, a time of year when we believe in the best in humanity and that the impossible really does happen. Even if it is just an illusion.

The Family

This one is easy for me, I hope. Your family is something that you might have just been stuck with under circumstances beyond your control, but it will become a vital part of your life. Christmas, to me, is a time to celebrate your family. That is something I hope you take with you throughout your life, even if you decide that you don't care for the Christmas decorations. This time of year is still a gift of time that you have to reach out to family that might live far away, or to family whose lives might often become so busy that frequent interaction is rendered impossible.

Cherish that time with your family. Cherish the meals and parties with family and friends. Embrace the opportunity you have each year to step away from work to focus on them. You'll never eat the rest of the year the way you will during the Christmas holidays. Savor those tastes and smells. Try to remember the laughter and delight of loved ones gathering after long separations to welcome new children, new spouses, new friends, and give of your heart and compassion as you all reflect on loved ones who won't be there to share the holidays with you that year. Those times are precious.

In many ways, I have often thought that the time we have to spend with family is the true gift of Christmas. We have so little time with loved ones, if you think about it. I can't wait for you to become part of that.

The Savior

Yes, Blob, I know that there will be Santa Claus tales and gifts wrapped under pagan-influenced evergreens in your future, and I know that your family will always be a part of your Christmas experience, but I want to also teach you, and share with you, the true meaning of Christmas . . . the birth of Jesus Christ.

Was he actually born December 25? It's doubtful, but the human errors and lack of written history commemorating the exact details of his life, with the precise date of birth and death, are hardly the point. Never think they are. The point of Christmas, as it relates to Jesus Christ, is that we have chosen one particular day to celebrate his birth, much like we will celebrate your own birth. Just like people in ancient times awaited the coming of the Savior, as foretold in prophesies, I waited for you for years and years. Now that your arrival is almost here, there is absolutely no question in my mind that I will celebrate the anniversary of your birth for as long as I live. Fortunately, I will know that date exactly, and while we don't have that same luxury with Christ's own birth date, the concept is the same.

It's a show of respect and adoration, a time to show our gratitude for the gift of a child who would offer us redemption and salvation through his death. Without his birth, though, there would have been no death. Never let anyone make you feel ashamed of acknowledging the birth of Jesus Christ, if you choose to believe in Him.

You see, Blob, so many people will try to limit Christmas for you, telling you that it is a big lie that children are told by harried parents to make them behave for a brief period of time. Some will condemn the commercialization of the season through the presentation of gifts and the proliferation of decorations. There is more to it than that. The decorations are for show . . . for fun and fantasy . . . a time to believe in the impossible. But the family and the religious meaning behind the holiday, those are integral parts of the Season as well, and I hope to be able to share all aspects of the holidays with you. Not just what other people determine the holidays are for them and their families.

When you become older, you can reevaluate and make the determination of what you want the holiday season to be about, for yourself. But as your parent, I will give you all of it -- everything that Christmas is and can be, leaving nothing out.

It's what your grandmother gave me.

You deserve that.

And more.

Love,

Dear Blob . . . the best day of my life (so far)

December 17, 2008

Dear Blob,

When I first learned about you, one of the things I really looked forward to was the day I would feel you move for the first time. I didn't relish the concept of morning sickness, and I dreaded the heartburn that so many warned me might become a permanent fixture, but I was prepared for them. But I couldn't wait to feel you move. People asked me beginning in the eighteenth week, approximately, whether I had felt you move yet, and I didn't really panic or feel very bad when I told them that I hadn't.

"It will come," I was encouraged by those who asked.

So I waited, knowing that it was only a matter of time. You took your time. That's a good sign, I hope. It was only during the twenty-third week, however, when I first felt those initial sensations and I knew, with absolute certainty, that it was you (although I still sometimes told myself that it could be something else). I smiled, grateful that you had finally given me your own sign that you were there . . . a part of me. For a brief time, I enjoyed those moments when I could feel you move, and I think it was the most intimate experience I will ever have as your mother. I think I realized, then, that it would be one of the few times in your life when your reactions to your environment would be shared solely with me. Certainly, as you go through life, there will be others you will turn to as you build your own life and relationships with those around you, including your brother and your father. But those moments were ours, and I will never forget that. It was then that reality hit me that I am going to be your mother. Not just a mother, but the mother to you . . . that small tiny little being whose slight movements only I could feel. Those were some of the most precious moments of my life, and I pray that nothing will ever happen in my life that will make those memories fade.

Alas, I knew that I could not keep you all to myself forever, though. That day came on December 16, 2008. It was an important date for me. I woke up early, while your dad slept beside me. After turning off the blaring alarm clock, I lay in bed with my right hand on my stomach, checking to see where you had settled in for the night as I slept. We have the same ritual at night . . . we call it the "Blob Check." Each night before sleeping, your father and I would both lay our hands on my abdomen, checking on your growth. I, personally, always looked for that unusual "lump" that told me where you were at that moment. I think I have bonded more with your father in those moments than ever before. I felt closer to him then, anyway. Just as with your first slight movements, I wouldn't trade the "Blob Checks" for anything, either. I think it marked the genesis of my own feeling that I finally, finally had become part of my own family. I don't know if I will ever be able to explain that one, but that is the way I felt.

The morning "Blob Checks," though, have been different. Those were just fun for me, because you settled based on how I slept the night before, and it was a game for me. You probably won't know the significance of "Where's Waldo?" but there is a similarity there. As I lay there, my hand where I knew you rested, I felt it for the first time -- that first kick against my hand. I knew immediately that your father would also be able to feel it, but I lay there for a few moments without disturbing him, marveling at the fact that I hadn't felt you move at all only a short time earlier, and suddenly, I could feel you kick against my hand. I wondered if the alarm had awaken you. (It could probably awake the dead, so that wouldn't surprise me). Before that moment, I could always rationalize the sensations I had been feeling, telling myself that it could have been air . . . just some gas. But when I felt that kick, I knew that there was no other explanation. You were telling me, unequivocally, that you were there.

And I thanked God.

When your father moved beside me, I knew that he might be awake enough, and I took his hand and replaced my own, hoping that he, too, would be able to feel your tiny kick. I knew that other times would come, that there would be other moments when he and others could feel it, but it just mattered to me that we would both share those first movements on the first day when no one could deny that those tiny sensations were anything but a baby . . . our baby. When I felt you kick again, and he affirmed that he, too, had felt those little movements, I smiled, grateful that he had moved, that I had taken his hand in my own, and that we had had shared that moment together. And just as I prayed I would never forget those times when it was just you and me, even when I told myself that it could have been my mind playing tricks on me, I prayed again that I would never forget that moment when your father's hand rested there as you made your presence known to both of us.

There have been days in the past that I hope I never forget . . . days that I swore were the best days of my life, such as the day I graduated from college, or law school, and the day that I married your father, or the first day I thought I felt you move. And I know that there will be days in the future that I will claim to be the best of my life . . . probably the day of your birth will be one. But for now, December 16, 2008, that day when both your father and I could feel you kick for the very first time, stands out head and shoulders above the rest as the absolute best day of my life.

For that, I have to thank you.

Loving you more every single day,

Me

Dear Blob . . . about your dad . . . .

Dear Blob,

Since I learned of your existence, I have bought What to Expect When You are Expecting and have signed up for the online version, as well. I get regular emails telling me about where you are in each stage of your development, and I have an online pregnancy planner that provides the opportunity for me to keep notes about the way I am feeling, what we have done in preparation for your arrive, and what I can, ironically enough, expect. Today, according to the pregnancy planner, marks the halfway point of the time of your life when it truly is just you and me.

So far, I must say, you have been very good to me. Minimal nausea and no heartburn to speak of. Thank you for that. May the rest of our time together go just as smoothly.

As much as I enjoy it being just us, most of the time, it's not, really. I thought I would let you know a little about your dad.

When I found out that I was pregnant with you, I was shocked. The first thing I did was to lie down in my bed wondering how I would tell your father about you. Although I had hoped and prayed for you, I was nervous, too, and I truly didn't know how to break the news to him. I never did quite figure out the words to say, so I simply handed him the pregnancy test I had taken. Throughout your life, I am sure there will be many times you wish I would be struck speechless, but to my knowledge, only your father has witnessed the phenomenon. I am sure that he, too, hopes for its recurrence on a daily basis.

I often wish that he would talk more, so I guess it all works out.

(He's very quiet at times. It's not always easy to know what is going on in his mind, but if you ask him, he will tell you . . . eventually. It's not a bad trait most of the time, but it can be unnerving on occasion. But that might just be because I tend to be paranoid about everything.)

Although he is definitely a man of few words, never doubt his vast intelligence. If you ever reach the day where you feel confident challenging him to a game of Trivial Pursuit or Boggle, you have my blessing . . . I hope that you will be a better sport than I, and that you will continue to challenge him to play until you beat him. If you ever do, I will join you in never letting him live it down. Ever. Of course, I am sure that he will never stop letting you remember that you did so, either.

He will be your greatest champion, much like he is mine.

One thing that I always hope you recognize and appreciate about your dad is his quiet optimism. I wish I had that. I tend to be very dramatic, and am often pessimistic about the state of the world and the events that happen in our day to day lives. He, on the other hand, has this calm assurance that everything will work itself out. I don't know where he gets it. At times, when I have worked myself into an absolute panic, I become quite convinced that he is apathetic about things that occur in our lives. I hope that I will someday learn better, and that you will always know better. He cares deeply about our world, and he does worry, but he also has this innate calm and peace that things ultimately do work out for the best, in the end. You might not want to believe it, but I hope you will listen to him, and that you will take comfort from his calm certitude. It has, on more than one occasion, saved my sanity.

I hope you inherit his musical talent. He truly has a gift that I, unfortunately, do not. I can't wait to hear him sing to you, or to pull out his guitar to play a soothing melody to entertain you. I will do everything in my power to make sure it happens as often as possible, for both of us. As you grow older, I hope that you develop a similar love for music and that, if you are so inclined, you can express yourself through music as he beautifully as he does. Unfortunately, I can not offer you more than that, as far as musical talent goes.

I am sure that there will be times when you see us have disagreements. There may even be times when I am so angry with him, I will be unable to articulate those feelings into words, but I hope you always recognize that I love him very much, and there is no one on this earth I would rather be here with me or who I would rather be your father. When I think of the future of our family, I often worry for you, because I feel so unprepared to be your mom, but one thing I will never doubt, and I hope you won't either, is that you did really, really well when it came to your father. We both did. So, you might be stuck with just me right now, but there is someone else here waiting for you, and I can't wait for you to meet him. He is absolutely amazing, and he is going to be everything you could ever want in a father.

But no matter what he says when I am not around, I am still always right, okay?

Remember that.

We're halfway there, Blob, and while I love having you all to myself, I pray that the next few months will pass quickly and that you are growing strong and healthy.

I'll see you soon.

Love,

Dear Blob . . . On Hope

Before Cate was born, I wrote a series of letters to "the Blob." I called her that because Stephen and I didn't know what she was. I have decided to publish my thoughts to my unborn child, and letters that I will write in the future for her, here. This is where her pictures are, and I think it's only fitting that my thoughts on her life are posted here, in her Chronicles. I pray that she will enjoy reading them someday.

November 10, 2008

Dear Blob,

I am fully aware that the Presidential Election of 2008 is something that you will probably learn in school years from now, although I am not sure whether it will be taught as from the perspective of teaching you the previous Presidents that have governed this country since its inception, or from the perspective of teaching you about the history of black people in the United States of America.

Will Barack Obama be mentioned more prominently as the forty-fourth President of the United States, or will he be featured as the first African-American President? Will the lessons you learn paint him as a President who inspired people to have hope, who delivered on the promise of change? Or will you study the failures of a President who promised much, and yet delivered nothing? I don't know the answers to these questions, Blob, and that's not really the point, anyway. The point that I would like for you to get is that the people who elected him President of the United States did so because they possessed hope that things would improve after a very dark time in our nation's history under his administration.

I have no doubt that there will be times when you ask me the meaning of words, and I will probably respond the same way your grandma did when I asked so many questions as a child: "Look it up." But on this, I am giving you the definition that I, and so many others, attribute to the word "hope:" "the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best." That's really what it all boils down to. It's not a guarantee, but it's something positive to hold on to until the passage of time reveals that things won't go the way you anticipated. If that does happen, never regret the optimism you possessed. There is no shame in hope.

Hope for the best, but expect the worst.

You need both of these things, Blob, when you go through life. Either one, without the other, is just not realistic. Life is not easy and bad things do happen. You can count on that, but if you only expect the worst, without hoping for the best, you will find the world can be a very depressing place. It's defeating. Never give in to defeat, and don't let people make you feel bad for refusing to do so. Even a beautiful word like "hope," when used by others, can become an epithet magnifying their contempt or hostility. In the long run, you'll probably sleep better at night if you don't take it personally. It's one of the yins and yangs of life: optimism is countered by pessimism. Which you would rather have can ultimately be determined only by you, but I hope that you will always give optimism a chance, first, even when others mock you for doing so. To do so, no matter what other people might have you to believe, is never idiotic. And if anyone ever tells you that you can't do something, or that you will never realize your dreams? Yeah, you can. Trust me.

See you soon.

-- Me

Welcome to the Chronicles of Our Child

Welcome to the blog created especially for our family and friends to commemorate the life and times of the newest addition to our family. Unfortunately, we can't tell you his or her name just yet, because we decided to wait until the birth to find out the gender, but once he or she is here, all the stuff you want to know (and probably MUCH you don't want to know) will be posted here to keep our loved ones updated. We are very excited to be entering the next chapter of our lives, watching the life we created grow, and sharing all of it with you. Thanks for being here!!!


Estimated Age: 7 weeks

First Ultrasound taken by Dr. Ashley Deed on August 27, 2008.


Approximately 11 weeks

Second Ultrasound taken by Dr. Deed on September 24, 2008.

November 2009

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Formal Portraits

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October 2009

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October 2009

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September 2009

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untitled.JPG
untitled.JPG 2009-09-23

7634_279795685117_722780117_8776463_4072500_n.jpg
7634_279795685117_722780117_8776463_4072500_n.jpg 2009-09-23

cate0910092.JPG
cate0910092.JPG 2009-09-10

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August 2009

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Visiting Aunt Elizabeth and TOULA!!! 08/01/09

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P8010440.jpg 2009-08-02

July 2009

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Catefindsfeet.jpg
Catefindsfeet.jpg 2009-07-04

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Catefindsfeet.jpg
Catefindsfeet.jpg 2009-07-04

June 2009

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Power to the Cate
June 28, 2009

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June 2009

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June 2009

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June 2009

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June 2009

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May 2009

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May 2009

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caro&cate_051309bw(2).JPG 2009-05-14

Catherine 04.23.09v.JPG
Catherine 04.23.09v.JPG 2009-05-14

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CEL_Rites_042509.JPG 2009-05-14

April 2009

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celrites20092.JPG 2009-05-01

Cate with Grandma
Together at the Rites of Spring 2009 (April 25, 2009)

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Catherine 04.23.09.jpg 2009-04-27

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Catherine&Pooh.jpg 2009-04-11

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CEL_Rites_042509.JPG 2009-04-27

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Sleeping Angel_041509.JPG 2009-04-27

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TheBlob2_092408.jpg 2009-04-27

April 2009

GetPhoto2.jpg
GetPhoto2.jpg 2009-06-01

GetPhoto1.jpg
GetPhoto1.jpg 2009-06-01

GetPhoto3.jpg
GetPhoto3.jpg 2009-06-01

GetPhoto4.jpg
GetPhoto4.jpg 2009-06-01

Mobile Uploads

ATT00070.jpeg
ATT00070.jpeg 2008-08-27

ATT00073.jpeg
ATT00073.jpeg 2008-08-27

ATT00076.jpeg
ATT00076.jpeg 2008-08-27

ATT00079.jpeg
ATT00079.jpeg 2008-08-27

ATT00082.jpeg
ATT00082.jpeg 2009-04-11

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ATT00085.jpeg 2009-04-11

ATT00067.jpeg
ATT00067.jpeg 2009-04-11

ATT00091.jpeg
ATT00091.jpeg 2009-04-11

ATT00094.jpeg
ATT00094.jpeg 2009-04-11

ATT00088.jpeg
ATT00088.jpeg 2009-04-14

ATT00097.jpeg
ATT00097.jpeg 2009-04-15

ATT00100.jpeg
ATT00100.jpeg 2009-04-22

ATT00103.jpeg
ATT00103.jpeg 2009-05-09

Featured pictures

Welcome

Blogs About Bitlet

Dear Bitlet . . . Seven Months and Counting

Dear Bitlet . . . On the Eve of Your Baptism

The Baby Name Game

Dear Bitlet: Checking in at 6 Months

Dear Bitlet . . . Be a Mommy, Not a Martyr

Dear Bitlet . . . On Snappy Anger and Carrying Grudges

Dear Bitlet . . . Now that You are Five Months Old

Dear Bitlet . . . It's Our Anniversary!

Dear Bitlet . . . Four Months ALREADY???

Dear Bitlet . . . On Being Sick

Dear Bitlet . . . While the Cate's Away

I'm Going to Miss Her

When the Bitlet Laughs . . . A Video Blog

More pics of the beauteous Bitlet!

Dear Bitlet . . . Your Life at Three Months

Cate Finds Her Footing

Check out the Precious Booty

Sharing Sickness with the Bitlet

Two WHOLE Months!!!

Things that just shouldn't be said . . . ever

Cate’s First Shots

She Grows

Catherine's Birth

Pictures from the Nursery

Dear Blob . . . On the Fear of Falling

Dear Blob . . . there’s no crying over blessed wine

Dear Blob . . . On Christmas

Dear Blob . . . the best day of my life (so far)

Dear Blob . . . about your dad . . . .

Dear Blob . . . On Hope

Welcome to the Chronicles of Our Child

Subscribe to the Chronicles

Helpful Links

Guestbook

Calendar

Photo books

Pictures

November 2009

Formal Portraits

October 2009

October 2009

September 2009

August 2009

Visiting Aunt Elizabeth and TOULA!!! 08/01/09

July 2009

June 2009

June 2009

June 2009

June 2009

June 2009

May 2009

May 2009

April 2009

April 2009

Mobile Uploads

Contacts

Family & friends