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Not a day goes by

Katie on her birthday

Katie turned one year old this Monday.  Can you believe it?  It's hard to believe that it's been a whole year already since I gave birth to our beautiful daughter, but it's also kind of hard to believe that it's only been a year since Katie became part of our lives.

She walks everywhere now.  No need to hold onto things - she just takes off, straight down hallways or across the middle of a room, arms stretched out to her sides, hands flapping, or hands clutching some little favorite thing (a bottle top, a CD, a Weeble, a flat metal disc from my cookie press, a book) into her open gnawing mouth.  If she drops whatever she's holding on the floor, she has about a 50% chance of picking it up and standing up again without falling over. 

Walking around her room.

She has five teeth - the two middle ones on top and bottom, plus one more on top, to the right of the front two.  We keep waiting for a sixth, but so far no sign of it. 

She says dog ("dawww"), cat (sometimes "cat", but often "dat"), hi, and tickle ("ticka ticka").  Just last week, she started saying "Daddy," although it comes out like "Da-Da."  She's been saying "da-da" forever, but now it's suddenly clear that she's using it to refer to Geoff.  So far she won't do the same for me, but last week when I asked her to say "Mommy" she repeatedly responded by saying "Ny-ny-ny."  This morning I asked her to say mommy and she smiled at me and said, clearly, "Da-da!"  Huh.

She doesn't say very many words yet, but she is starting to understand so much.  She knows what we mean when we say: mommy, daddy, bottle, bath, dog, cat, yogurt, fruit, spoon.  She will clap if we say "clap" or "pat-a-cake."  She will shake her head back and forth if we say "shake your head."  She will stick her tongue in and out rapidly if we say "stick out your tongue."  If I ask her "where" something is, she will look.  If I tell her to "look," and then point, she will look in the direction I'm pointing.  (When we take her out and ask her to shake her head, clap, stick out her tongue, etc., it's a little bit like we're showing off our favorite pet's tricks.  Heh.) 

Katie with her Aunt Stephanie

We visited Geoff's family in Halifax the week before last, and while we were there, I repeated everyone's name whenever I got a chance.  By the time we left to come home, she knew who I meant when I said Stephanie, Matt, Kim (Geoff's siblings), Nana, and Grandpa.  I'd ask her, "Where's Stephanie?" and Katie would turn and look until she found Stephanie with her eyes.  We praised her profusely, of course.

She has learned a new laugh, a loud "ha ha ha-ha-ha!" that sounds almost fake.  Almost every time she laughs like that, we laugh, too.  She has figured that out, and so she laughs even more.

Katie's hair is starting to get longer now, starting to curl up a little bit at the ends.  It's this beautiful goldeny honey color that shines in the sunlight.  The other day, as she was walking around the room near me, I had a flash of how she will look when she is older - taller, leaner, faster, maybe with long curly hair, and with her same Katie face, just a little less baby-like.  I said to her, "Katie, you are going to be," and then I sucked in my breath and felt a catch in my throat.  "I mean you are," I said.  "You are so beautiful."

Goofing in the playpen

A co-worker stopped by my office this afternoon and asked, "How's the little girl?"  There are black and white pictures of Katie up on my door and on the doors of my cabinets above my desk.  I printed them out on my laser printer.  They are not high quality pictures, but I like having her bright smiling face around me when I'm here at work.  I told him that Katie is fine, that she just turned one.  He got that look on his face that he's had on his face before - the face that says that new parents are silly and naive - and he started to giggle (that's really the best word for it), and he gestured at the pictures, and he said, "I guess you're a fan!" 

"Of course I am," I said.  And then, as he was starting to make his way out the door, I said, "Every parent should be, shouldn't they?"  He has children, but they are teenagers, and I have only heard him talk about them with a hint of cynicism in his voice. I don't know if this is how he has always been, or if years ago he was different - if there was ever a point at which he had nothing but a bright smile on his face when he talked about his kids, a smile like the one I have when I think about Katie.

In her crib

I am starting to believe that she is mine, she is ours, she is not going to disappear or fade away, she will be around for a long while yet, that it will be so amazing and interesting to watch and help her become the adult person she will one day become.  I am starting to believe that she really truly not only needs me, but loves me. 

These are good feelings. 

Katie on the day she was born

I have been thinking back on the past year a lot lately, especially back to those first few days after Katie was born.  It was so hard. I was so tired.  Did I ever tell you about how they moved us over to a different part of the hospital on the evening of Katie's birth, and how Geoff slept on a foldout armchair type thing?  Did I tell you how he slept so hard that he slept through visitors coming to our room?  My mom, my dad, my grandpa, some cousins - he slept the whole morning through (I think he was awake for my brother and my stepmom, at least part of the time).  He slept so hard that in the middle of the night, when Katie was crying, her crying did not wake him.  Neither did my saying, "Geoff!  Geoff!  Geoff!"  He didn't wake up until after I'd thrown some pillows at his head, and then finally, FINALLY, he got up and got Katie out of her isolette and brought her near-helpless, tiny, red body to me so that I could hold her and try to nurse her.  When I mentioned this to Geoff the other day, about how irritated I had been that night and the next day, when he WOULDN'T WAKE UP, he said, "I was so tired!"  I looked at him and blinked, deliberately, a few times.  Oh, he was tired.  I see.  I didn't realize!  After a year, it's funny.

Did I tell you about how, in the first week or so after Katie was born, the skin on her hands and feet was peeling?  Candace and Erin visited us in the hospital, and I remember Candace pointing out the peeling skin, and asking if we could put lotion on her or not, and I had no idea.  Was that allowed?  Could we do that?  Eventually we spotted some baby lotion in our hospital room, apparently left there for our use, so we figured it was ok, and we rubbed lotion on her tiny hands and feet. 

At night, in the hospital, she would not sleep, and she would not sleep. Our second and final night there, the nurses kept coming in (they came in all the time anyway - we almost-but-not-quite hated them a little bit, waking us up over and over when we had just gotten to sleep) to try to catch Katie when she was sleeping.  They had to take her for a hearing test, they said, and she had to be asleep for that.  She was never asleep.  Finally, at 4 or so in the morning, a nurse swaddled Katie up tight, and Katie went to sleep, and the nurse successfully gave her the test, but I remember the others, acting irritated with us because our baby was not sleeping.  Believe me, I wanted to tell some of them, I would be happy to have her be asleep.  This is not my ideal situation, either. 

My father was there when a resident came to stick needles in Katie's feet and squeeze blood out of her heels onto several circles on a piece of paper.  It took so long, and Katie cried harder and harder, and eventually my dad and I were crying, too, I think.  I know I was.  It was the first of many times in the last year when Katie's crying brought me to tears, too. 

Some of those memories are clearer to me right now than my memories of last weekend.  I bet they will always stay so clear. 

Katie, riding high on Daddy's shoulders.

I want to sum this past year up with some new words of wisdom.  But what would I say?  I have already said all of the most important things, and they are all simple:  I love her.  I love being her mother.  It has been difficult.  It has been wonderful.  It has been scary.  It has been hilarious.  It has taken a lifetime and a minute.  It has been just like I expected and yet incredibly surprising. 

I am happier now than I was a year ago, I can tell you that.  I am closer to Geoff now than I was a year ago.  We have become more of a team.  I am proud of him and grateful to him for being such a good father.  I am confident that I am a good mother.  I am more at peace with my body, my job, my life. 

And we have this baby.  This wonderful, beautiful baby.  Not a day goes by when I don't feel lucky to be her mother.   

Family portrait on Katie's birthday.

(If you'd like to see how Katie's grown and changed over the course of the year, go here and view the set as a slideshow.  There's one picture for each week of the year, plus one on the day Katie was born and one on her first birthday.)

Nothing like falling in love

Dear Katie,

This is nothing like falling in love.

There are none of those questions: "Are you The One?" "Do I really love you?" " Do you really love me?" "Are you really the person I think you are?" "Will I still love you in a month and a year and a decade?" "Are you too young or old for me?" "Are we too different?" "Are we too alike?" "Do I find you attractive?" "Do you think I'm pretty?"

I do not wonder whether you will have a successful career that will help us build a life together (or what exactly we mean by "successful"). I never wonder whether we will someday run out of things to talk about (so far, we don't talk about much). I don't wonder if those little habits you have (that I now find so charming) will one day grate on my very last nerve. I don't wonder if my friends will like you or approve of you. I don't wonder if you're smart enough for me, or if I'm smart enough for you.

I don't feel embarrassed or self-conscious when you see me with messy bed hair, or if you see me spill something on myself, or if you see me without clothes on. I don't feel uncomfortable when I see you naked. There is nothing about you that makes me feel awkward or distanced (not even when you squat right in front of me and go ridiculously red-faced with straining). I did not feel awkward or even a little weird the first time that I called you "sweetie" or "sweetheart" or "honey" or "sweetpea" or "my little sweet potato baby bee." That time I accidentally drooled on you, right after you had drooled on me? I did not feel embarrassed (I just laughed).

I have had no internal debate (or external one, for that matter) about whether or not I should let myself love you. I don't wonder: Should I allow myself to be vulnerable? Should I admit to you how I feel? Should I tell you that my heart fills with joy when I know I am going to see your face or hold you close at the end of the day? Will it scare you off to know that I can't keep myself from grinning when I walk down the steps at the el station and see that you are out there in the car, waiting for me? Will you get annoyed and think I touch you too much or too often? Will you feel smothered if I smother you with kisses every single day?

I have never wondered: Will this love last forever? 

To all of these questions, I know the answers, or else the answers don't matter.

I gave you a bath last night, and you looked up at me with your big happy sparkly eyes, and I wanted to stare into your eyes forever, and I had these thoughts that I am writing down today, my dearest wonderful brilliant beautiful daughter, my Katie coo, my baby girl.

You are too young to read this now (even though you like to turn the pages of books). But maybe when you are thinking about having a child of your own, you will want to know what this is like, this business of becoming a mother. Or maybe when you are older, even if you are not thinking about having a child of your own, you will want to know what it was like for me, this business of becoming your mother. And so I am writing this down for you.

It is everything like falling in love.  (It is wonderful.)

Love,
Mom

at the heart of my life

I find myself in the unfortunate position of wanting to write, but not knowing what to write about.  Yesterday I wrote this:

I wake up between 6:20 and 6:45 in the morning, most days. I never set the alarm (unless I have to catch a plane or something). I just wake up.

Usually when I wake up, Katie is still asleep. I take my shower, and by the time I am coming out of the shower, Katie is awake and talking to herself in her room. I put on my robe and open up her door and gasp dramatically when I see her standing up in her crib, facing me, smiling, rocking back and forth. She laughs. I turn on the light, and she ducks her head a little bit until her eyes get used to the light. I walk over to her crib and hug her and rub her back a little bit, and we babble to each other a little bit. Then I pick her up and lay her down on her back, and I change her diaper. After that, I put her sleeper back on, zip her up, and leave her standing in her crib. I ask her if she wants a bottle. I tell her I'll be right back, that I'm going to get her bottle. She smiles and looks excited.

I mix up a bottle of formula for her, and then I go back to her room. When she sees the bottle, she smiles and sometimes even laughs. I pick her up and tell her we're "going to see Daddy!" I take her to our bedroom, turn on a bedside lamp, sit down on the bed with her, and say good morning to Geoff. When Geoff says something or rolls over, Katie sees him and gets excited. When I take the cap off of the bottle, she usually gets so excited she laughs some more. She is such a happy girl.

I'll usually hold her for a few minutes while she drinks her bottle, because I am going to leave for work soon, and I know I'll miss her, but then I'll hand her over to Geoff so that I can finish getting ready for work.

I want to write because time moves so fast that before I know it, these days will be gone, and I wrote what I wrote yesterday because I wanted to capture some of what it is to be living my life today. But I didn't capture much except my schedule. I laid out the bare bones of my morning, but what I wanted to capture was something else. I don't really mind if I forget the skeleton - I will be sorry if I forget the heart.

So what is at the heart of my life these days?  What is it that I want to remember? 

I want to remember the way Katie smiled at me the other day when Geoff drove to the el station to pick me up, and Katie looked out the back window from her rear-facing car seat and spotted me smiling at her. It was 5:30 or so at night, and it was already pitch dark, and there was dirty slushy snow everywhere, and it was an ordinary week day. Katie looked over in my direction, and she saw me smiling at her, and her entire face beamed with happiness and recognition. At this time in her life, smiling is a full-body experience, usually, so she smiled open-mouthed and she rocked herself back and forth a little bit, and when I got in the car, I could hear that she was laughing.

I want to remember the way we put Katie to bed last night around 7:45 (her usual bedtime is usually between 7 and 7:30), and how she slept until 10:00, when she woke up crying hoarsely. I knew that if we let her cry for a few minutes, she would probably go back to sleep, but I didn't get to see her much yesterday. I left a little bit early, and I got home a little bit late, and by the time we got home, it was already after 6:30. So when she started crying, a little part of me was glad, because it meant I could go in there and hold her and comfort her. I do often resist this selfish urge, even on days when I haven't seen her much; last night, I gave in. I fixed her a bottle, and I went into her room, and she was kneeling against the side of the crib, waiting for me with sad sleepy eyes. I picked her up and went over to the glider, and I sat down with her and gave her the bottle, and we rocked. We rocked, and she drank from her bottle, and her warm body, in its soft footed sleeper, lay against my chest. I held her bottle for her so she could put her hands up to her head and rub her fingers through her hair. I peered at her face in the near-darkness, and I kissed her forehead. I wanted to burn the image of her little round face into my memory. I wanted to remember exactly how it feels to hold her small relaxed body against mine. I feel these things often: I must remember.  This will go too fast.  She will not be my baby forever.

She drank half a bottle, and then she pushed the bottle away. I put the bottle on top of the dresser, and I turned her over so she was lying facing my chest, and I rocked her for a few seconds. She wriggled a little bit, trying to get comfortable, but I could tell she was almost asleep. She was so tired. So I stood up, laid her down in her crib, told her good night, picked up the bottle, and left her room. And as I shut the door, I heard crying begin. It was nothing like the hoarse sleepy crying that had caused me to go into her room in the first place. It was much, much worse. This was crying caused by pure sadness and misery. This was real sobbing, the kind a newborn baby would never do, the kind where there are moments of silence, not because the baby has stopped crying, but because she is so upset that her crying has become a silent scream, and the moment of silence is followed closely by crying even louder and sadder than what came before. "Oh, Geoff," I said to him as I stood a few feet outside her door. "Listen to her. Her heart is broken. I have broken her heart!" And he couldn't argue, because it was true. "She's sadder when you leave than when I do," he said. "I think she misses you during the day."

We have been through this before, though, you see, and I couldn't go back in, not if there was a chance she could get back to sleep on her own, because she would be just as sad when I wanted to leave the second time, and the third time, and the fourth time. I stood outside the door and listened, and after a minute or so, it got much quieter. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, and by the time I came out, it was down to sad muttering. Within a few more minutes, she was silent and, we assumed, back asleep.

Geoff came to tuck me in.  I almost always go to bed before he does.  "I broke our baby's heart," I told him.  "I feel bad." 

"She will be so happy to see you in the morning," he said. 

And she was. That is one of the joys of this baby - no matter how sad the nighttime, every day is a new beginning filled with joy and eagerness to start the day. When I opened her door this morning and looked in on her, she smiled and said "Da da da!" because that is the syllable she says more frequently than any other (I look in her face and say "ma ma ma ma ma" and she laughs and mocks me with "da da!" in response), and there was no scar from last night. I wondered when that would change. How old will she be before she wakes up in the morning and remembers if she was sad the night before?

I want to remember the way Katie moves, the way she clings to my pant leg sometimes, in these days after she has learned to stand up, but before she has learned to walk. She crawls over to me and stands up and places one tiny chubby hand on my pant leg for balance. I can barely feel her weight - she mostly balances on her own now. Sometimes she will crawl away from me or Geoff, and then she will look back at us with a crazy grin on her face, which is our cue to say, "I'm gonna get you!" Once we say that, Katie grins even bigger and then turns around and scrambles to crawl away as fast as she can. Sometimes she gets discombobulated and stops crawling, and instead she pulls herself up to stand against the wall, where she scrabbles against it frantically, in mock terror, waiting for us to get her. When we catch her, she laughs and laughs. Just last week she learned to clap (ok, so her clapping might not be included in the strict definition of clapping, because it usually makes no noise, but it's the clapping thought that counts). Not only did she learn to clap, she learned to understand the word "clap." So now when ask her to clap, or when we say, "Clap your hands, Baby Katie, clap your hands!" (which we do, kind of embarrassingly frequently), she opens her mouth (because all exciting things require an open mouth) and brings her hands together.

Anyway, these are some of the things that I'd like to remember.  I keep them in my heart. 

Our sweetheart baby in the arms of her father.

(For some reason, this reminds me of a poem that our friend Elizabeth read at our wedding. I don't think I ever wrote about the poem, but it's one of my favorites. It made me cry at our wedding. It was this one:

Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
and rise and sink and rise and sink again.
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
pinned down by need and moaning for release
or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

And that is how I feel about these things that I write about today. These memories are not everything. I would not trade them.)

I will always try to catch her

When it comes to God, I don't know what I believe - or that is to say, I don't wholly believe in the God of any particular religion, but I don't wholly disbelieve, either. Some days I would call myself a believer. But pretty much every day, I can understand the desire to believe, especially if what you are drawn to believing in (as I am) is a God who is like a loving parent to us, who looks upon us and wants the best for us, but who might not always be able to protect us from ourselves.

This makes more sense to me since Katie was born. Before, I always felt a sort of bullshit detector go off when I thought about the whole "bad things happen to good people"/"God has a Larger Plan and that means some of us have to get hurt" line of thinking. I thought, well, THAT sucks. What kind of God is that?  It can't be a God who is all good, all knowing, and all powerful, can it?

But then I sit in my living room, and I watch Katie cruising around the room. Trying to stick everything into her mouth, including dirt and hair and things she could choke on, because that is how she explores the world. Trying to pull herself up to standing on the rocking chair, not knowing that not only is the rocker going to move, but that her weight is going to pull the rockers down toward her little feet. Trying to stand on her own two feet and then falling over sideways or forwards or backwards with such force that her head might thud on the floor.

And one of us - Geoff or me - is sitting RIGHT THERE, you know? We are right there, in the same room, a few feet or even a few inches away, watching out for Katie, trying to make sure she doesn't get anything nasty or dangerous in her mouth, and trying to keep her away from the rocking chair (or at least from pulling it onto herself), and trying to catch her when she falls. And yet we know that in the end, she needs to learn to walk! And so sometimes she falls. And sometimes she gets hurt.

We want her to walk, and in learning how to walk - there is just no way around it - she is going to fall, more than once. 

So it's not like we don't care, and it's not like we are just letting her go out on her own to fend for herself, and it's not like we aren't doing our best to protect her from harm. At the same time, since we want her to grow and learn and thrive and figure things out for herself, we sometimes have to let her stand there against the CD shelves, for instance, pulling out CD's, even if it means that she possibly might pull a CD out with such force that she loses her balance and falls backward.

If she falls, I will always try to catch her. But sometimes, since I am trying to let her grow and learn, she is going to get hurt.

And tears come to my eyes when I realize that this is going to happen over the entire course of her life. There will always be this balance of trying to figure out how much to let her do on her own and how much to decide on her behalf. (Well, until the time comes when we can't tell her what to do - well, I mean, we can tell her, but she sure won't have to do it.) How big should we allow her choices to be? How much do we allow her to risk? How will we help her heal when the choice she has made hurts her? How much will it hurt my heart if her arm gets broken? How much will it hurt when her heart gets broken?

Anyway, this is not a directly applicable analogy to God, but it makes me understand how it is possible to unconditionally love and want the best for someone and to still allow them to get hurt. It is possible to love someone so much that if you think very much or very hard about that person getting hurt, it makes you crazy or it makes you cry, and yet still, you make the decision to let them grow and learn on their own. You make the decision to let them get hurt. You hope and pray that they don't get hurt - we sit on the other side of the room while Katie stands for a few seconds at a time, holding both hands in the air, wobbling, and we cross our fingers and hope and pray that she does not fall. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes Katie stands for a few seconds and then, instead of falling, she grabs back onto a nearby object and smiles. But sometimes she wobbles and falls and we wince and she cries. And what can we do? When she falls and hurts herself, we can rush to her and pick her up and hold her and comfort her until she stops crying.

And later, when she wants to try again, we can let her.

This entry started out as an email I sent to Eliza in response to this lovely entry.  In the weeks that have passed since then, I keep thinking about what I said, so I decided to write about it here.

Year-End (Year Begins)

This year-end questionnaire is floating around the internet, and I decided I'd answer it in an entry. You probably won't be surprised to know that if there was a theme in my life for the year 2004, it was Katie.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?

Gave birth and became a mother.  Breastfed.  Fell in love with my beautiful baby girl.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I didn't really make any new year's resolutions last year. I figured it would be enough just to get through the last 2 months of pregnancy and figure out how to take care of a newborn and then infant. I got through that, and mostly happily. I don't exactly have resolutions for 2005, but I do have some goals.

I want to be more proactive, and less reactive. More specifically, instead of sitting back and being envious of others' accomplishments or possessions or skills, I am vowing to work toward accomplishing what I'd like for myself. Erin has a book coming out this year. I'm happy and excited for her (especially since she let me read one of the galleys of her book already, so I know how good it is)! But I've also been envious and felt a little sorry for myself that I don't have anything published. Well, HELLO, WAKE UP! It's hard to get something published if you don't write anything and submit it for publication.

So that's one (1) of my goals for this year. I will write at least one piece and submit it for publication. I don't yet know what I will write, or where I will submit it (I'm sure that will depend on the piece I end up writing), but I'm going to do this. I need to try.

I've also spent some time this year feeling envious of my friends who are in better shape than I am (uh, this would be pretty much all of them). I am lately realizing just how little sense this makes. It's not like I would suddenly drop some pounds if my friends were fatter or lazier. I want them to be happy with their bodies! This year, I'm going to try to stop paying so much attention to everybody else, and start paying more attention to what I'm doing to make myself happier.

So that's goal number (2) for this year. Start a regular exercise routine, and eat better. Ideally, I'd like to lose about 50 pounds, but I'm not aiming to lose that by any particular date. I just want to start doing what I need to do to get to where I want to be. (It sounds so easy, but I have a feeling it could be hard.)

My other goals are smaller:

3) I want to keep in better touch with my non-local friends. I don't call or visit Tracy and Laurie nearly often enough, I haven't visited Allen in over a year and a half (and Geoff has never been to Allen's place in Providence), and Geoff and I have been talking about taking a trip to visit Kerry for over a year now. In 2004, that was somewhat excusable, what with the third trimester of pregnancy and dealing with a newborn baby thing. This year, I want to get back in the swing of things and be a better friend to my good friends.

4) I want Geoff and I to budget our money better.

5) I want to be more organized at work. 

6) Set aside a little time, every so often, to do some fun things by myself, like go take pictures or explore neighborhoods or visit a museum.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Why, yes! I gave birth to Kathleen Matilda. I could not have asked for a sweeter, stronger, healthier, better baby. More importantly, I could not love a baby more. Every single day, I am so happy that she was born.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No, thankfully. My grandfather was sick a couple of times this year, enough that he gave everyone a scare. But for now, he's healthy and happy again, and I hope he's got a lot more years to go.

5. What countries did you visit?

That would be none. Even if we'd wanted to travel and had the money for it, we couldn't have gone to another country while Geoff's green card application was pending. Well, I could have, but Geoff couldn't have, and that would have been cruel, wouldn't it? Geoff got his green card in the mail last week, though, and we're already planning a trip to Halifax, Nova Scotia in February, to visit Geoff's family. Yay, Halifax! We haven't been there since August 2002.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?

A better self-image.  A four door car.  A really nice digital camera.  More journal entries! 

7. What dates from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

March 7th, the day Katie was born, is probably the only date that will be etched in my memory. 

But August 28th (when Erin and Erik got married) and October 2nd (when Candace and Brian got married) were big events this year, too, that I won't forget. I read in both weddings and cried at both weddings, although only in Candace's did I actually cry straight through almost my entire reading (she had me read "i carry your heart", and not only was I moved on behalf of Candace and Brian, but also I looked out at the crowd of wedding guests to see my husband and baby daughter, and all of the words rang true for them, too - can you blame me?). No kidding, I know Candace wasn't surprised that I cried, but I still hope she wasn't disappointed in just how much I cried. To give you an idea: when I was done with my reading, the rest of the wedding guests applauded. Anyway, both weddings were lovely, both of the couples are the kind that you believe in with your whole heart, and both of my friends are wonderful women. I love them, and I wish them marriages full of love and joy.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Well, that has to be giving birth to Katie and making it through the first nearly-10-months of her life. Breastfeeding her exclusively for the first eight months (by this I mean that she didn't have any formula, not that she never had any "solid" food, because by that time she was eating fruit and rice cereal) is an achievement I'm proud of, too.

Also, I got offered a promotion a few days before Thanksgiving - I start my new position this week; I don't consider that a huge achievement, but I'm happy about it.

9. What was your biggest failure?

I don't really know. I could say it was not losing weight the way I wanted to, but since I ended 2004 weighing over thirty pounds less than I weighed at the end of 2003, and about 5 pounds less than I weighed pre-pregnancy, I don't really feel like I've failed, just that I've got a long way to go. I could say that it was not succeeding to continue breastfeeding Katie for the first year of her life, because that is something that I still feel sad about not doing. But I worked hard, and I succeeded for a long time, and Katie is amazingly healthy and happy, and it wouldn't do any good to beat myself up about this, so I don't want to classify that as a failure, either. I guess I can't really think of any significant failures from 2004.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Well, I had the amazing monster killer cold in January while I was hugely pregnant, where I ruptured a muscle in my abdomen by sneezing, and it hurt so badly I couldn't even sit down and breathe without being in pain, but in the end, it was still just a cold. I suffered minor injury when Katie was born, but considering that an entire human being emerged from what is normally a small and private part of my body, I did pretty well. I did get sick again just this past week with what I originally thought was a cold, but which now I think was maybe strep throat. It's better now, though, and again, was minor (even though I'll admit that there was a moment last Tuesday, when I lay on the couch under two blankets, fully clothed, shivering, with a temperature of 103, that I started to cry because I didn't want to die and leave Katie mother-less; yes, I tend toward melodrama, especially when tired or sick).

11. What was the best thing you bought?

I think I'll have to go with my Flickr Pro account.  I love Flickr!

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Geoff, for being a happy and energetic stay-at-home dad. Katie, for learning the human basics, like how to make her own body move the way she wants it to. Erin and Erik getting married. Candace and Brian getting married. My parents, who had a sort of reconciliation around the time Katie was born. And me, even, for being a good new mom.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

A few people. Specifically, the ex-husband of my friend Laurie, who continues to find new things to lie about and new ways to disappoint his ex-wife and their young son. I can't believe the guy I used to know and love now acts like such an ass. Also, my distant cousin "Sue," who suggested we put Katie on low-cal formula, and who later told my mom that if Katie didn't lose some weight, the other children would make fun of her.  Ugh. 

14. Where did most of your money go?

Bills. Rent, utilities, student loan payments, transportation, insurance, food, credit card consolidation payments (for credit card debt accrued before 2002). We did start saving a little more this year, but paying off debt comes before we'll get to serious savings. It seems like maybe this answer should be more Katie-related, but so many of her expenses this year were paid by our generous family and friends that we really didn't spend too much on her this year (I'm sure in future years her needs will increase!).

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Katie! (I told you 2004 had a theme.) Katie being born, starting to smile, learning to laugh, learning to roll over and sit up and crawl and stand.

At the end of the year, I also got really excited about Geoff getting his green card. We went in for his green card interview on December 16th, and all I kept expecting was that it would be like in the movie Green Card. I figured we'd be taken to two separate rooms by two separate interviewers, and then we'd be asked questions about each other and about our relationship. In fact, it was nothing like that. We took Katie with us, and all three of us went to one room with one interviewer, who asked us no questions about each other's cologne or deodorant or even food preferences. She did ask to see a lot of documents (including our lease, our joint bank statements, our joint insurance policies, our marriage certificate, Katie's birth certificate), and she glanced through one of our photo albums, but I don't think she asked us any personal questions at all other than, "So, how did you meet?" She gave us a funny look when I said, "on the internet," but she didn't ask any follow up questions. When she was done, she told us she was approving us on the spot, and as we left her office, Geoff and I both got a little teary. We never expected that he wouldn't be approved, really (at least not seriously - Geoff was having anxiety nightmares in which he kept getting deported), but when your future is in the hands of a few government employees who have the discretion to deny or scrutinize you for almost any reason they see fit, it makes you a little bit nervous. Katie helped, though - as Geoff and our interviewer said, the existence of Katie is "a very good sign" that our marriage is legitimate.

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?

I can really only think of "Happiness," by the Weepies, since I know that in my head that song will forever be associated with Katie's babyhood. 

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) Happier or sadder?  Happier!  I get around a lot more easily, too.
b) Thinner or fatter?   A little bit thinner.
c) Richer or poorer?   A little bit richer. 

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

More exercising would have been good.  More time seeing friends would have been nice. 

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Less worrying, especially about things like the apartment being clutter-free and dust-free. 

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

We spent Christmas at home, with my Mom and my Grandpa. (Cousin Sue came over and shared Christmas dinner with us, which was fine.) We still haven't celebrated Christmas yet with my Dad and Celia and Josh, which I'm a little sad about. We will see them soon!

21. Did you fall in love in 2004?

Yes, if you count Katie.  Otherwise, I didn't fall in love, but I stayed in love with Geoff. 

22. How many one-night stands?

None.  (Just like every other year of my life.)

23. What was your favorite TV program?

I'd probably have to go with Alias, which I have yet to watch during a season, but which we watched all three seasons of on DVD this year. I'm looking forward to the season premiere this week! I also watched ER, but it's more out of a sense of loyalty than anything else. 

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

No, I can't think of anyone that I hate, even though there are some people I wouldn't mind never seeing again.

25. What was the best book you read?

I'm not sure.  Maybe Anna Karenina, which Geoff picked up for me at Costco.  I read it mostly on the el, for weeks.  I really enjoyed it. 

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

I can't think of any musical discoveries that I made this year other than The Weepies, so I'll go with them. 

27. What did you want and get?

A safe labor & delivery. A healthy, happy baby. For Katie to sleep through the night. For Geoff to get his green card. A promotion and raise at work. To lose my pregnancy weight. Visits with friends and family.

28. What did you want and not get?

Not to cry during my reading in Candace's wedding ceremony. New pajamas (but Geoff just came home today bearing a pair of pajamas for me). To lose more weight and get in better shape. Never to get frustrated with Katie or Geoff (ha!). To write a novel (this doesn't really count, though, since I didn't really try to write one).  To keep breastfeeding Katie for the whole first year of her life. 

29. What was your favorite film of this year?

Probably Garden State. 

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I know I wrote a journal entry near my birthday, but I can't remember now what I did. Ok, I just went and looked - Geoff made me breakfast, I went to work, Geoff and I went out for sushi while Heather & Arek babysat for Katie, and after Katie was in bed, Geoff and I ate birthday cake. It was a nice day. I turned 34.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I have no idea.  Winning the lottery, thereby being able to pay off all of my student loan debt and buy a house? 

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?

Ha ha.  Post-maternity black pants worn over-and-over again with varying Old Navy tops fashion, I think you call it. 

33. What kept you sane?

Geoff. Katie (ironic, since she was one of the things also threatening to drive me INsane). My friends. Taking pictures and posting them on Flickr.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I really like(d) Howard Dean. 

35. What political issue stirred you the most?

The election in general made me hopeful and then depressed.

36. Who did you miss?

Other than missing my friends and family occasionally, I can't think of anyone. Well, that's not true - when I first went back to work, and sometimes even after that when I was at work, I missed Katie.

37. Who was the best new person you met?

Katie, of course.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004.

Sometimes you really do have to step back a little bit, even if it means letting your child risk getting hurt, because that's the only way she'll learn to stand on her own two feet.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

These are days you'll remember
Never before and never since, I promise
Will the whole world be warm as this
And as you feel it,
You'll know it's true
That you are blessed and lucky
It's true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you
               -- 10,000 Maniacs, "These Are Days"

The "never before and never since" part is not really accurate, since there have been at least 3 or 4 other times in my life when these lyrics really hit home for me. But these are days when I am frequently aware of how blessed and lucky I am, how precious life is, how quickly it passes - how quickly, in particular, this time in my life, when we're a brand new family with a baby, will pass.

It's been a good year.  I'm looking forward to 2005. 

Nine Months

Dear Katie,

Hello, sweet girl! Today you are nine months old. This morning we sang "Happy Birthday" to you, the way we do pretty much every time you turn one more month old. While we sang, you held onto the CD shelf - against which you had stood up all by yourself! - and rocked back and forth from foot to foot. You really like it when we sing, and you really like to rock back and forth.

Rocking back and forth is one of those things that you do all the time, so much that your dad and I sometimes forget that this is apparently something that not every baby does. We forget until someone else sees you and says, "Wow, she is really rocking!" "Look at her go, she's rocking!" "She's cracking me up with her rocking!" You rock when you're sleepy and when you're a little bit bored. You rock when you recognize something, like me or your dad or the dog or a cat. You rock when you think something is funny, and you rock when you want to get down off of our laps to explore on your own. You rock hardest when you are very excited.

Over the course of your lifetime, you will probably get tired of hearing me say things like this, but there is a part of me that can't believe you're only nine months old, because it seems crazy that you have only been part of my life for that long. I have jeans and sweaters and socks and nail polish and hair care products older than you, for God's sake. You are such a huge important part of my life (much, much more important than jeans or sweaters or socks or nail polish or even hair care products) that it's a little startling to remind myself that I didn't know you nine months ago.

I guess that's not completely true, since I knew a little bit of your personality while I was pregnant with you, or at least I thought I did. I was pregnant with you for forty weeks, give or take a few days. Next Sunday it will be forty weeks since you have been born. It seems significant, that you are now reaching the point where you will have spent more time out here in the world than you spent in there in the womb. I have to say, I like you much better out here than in there. And I firmly believe that you like it better out here, too.

The last time I wrote one of these letters to you, you were only six months old. You have grown so much since then! Back then you had just learned how to sit up from a prone position and couldn't even crawl. Now you can sit up and crawl and stand up and "cruise" along the furniture while barely holding on with one hand. Sometimes you even stop holding on with any hands. You stand there with both hands up in the air, wobbling, and then you either grab back on with one hand, or you get so excited you start to rock, which causes you to fall over. A week or two ago you discovered our shelves full of CD's, and oh boy howdy do you love to pull the CD's off of the shelf and wave them around in the air and drop them on the floor (in an effort to avert frustration, we have temporarily given up the idea that our CD's should be in some sort of order). You say "dog" and "cat" (well, you say them close enough, and you definitely say them loudly enough). You have four teeth, two on top and two on the bottom (for the record, your bottom middle right tooth came in first, then bottom left, then top middle right, then top left). Your hair is all blonde now (back then you still had some dark brown hair, before that fateful day of September 19th, when I cut off the dark brown mohawk-ish growth of hair on your head).

When I come home from work, you are so excited to see me that both of us can hardly stand it. One day a couple of weeks ago I was on my way home from work, and you and your dad were out doing something, and I talked to your dad on the phone, and he said that when you guys were headed home, he would call me and let me know, and maybe you would pick me up and give me a ride home from the el. I left work and got on the el and got off at the stop near our apartment and walked the 15 or 20 minutes from the el stop to our building, and your dad had not called, so I figured you must still be out running your errands. But then what did I see when I got close? Our car! Sitting right there in front! And then I walked in, and there you and your dad were, at the end of the hallway, in the kitchen. You were sitting in your high chair, and your father was sitting in front of you, feeding you fruit. At first you didn't know it was me (I was kind of far away), and you just looked curious. Then I said to your dad, "Why didn't you call?" And he said, "I was supposed to call?" And then I knew he had forgotten, and I was irritated. 

But when I started talking, and as I walked closer, you knew for sure that it was me, and you got very excited. You started rocking back and forth in your chair, and you got a huge smile on your face, and you were going "ahhh! haaaa!!! baaaaa!!! DAH! DAH!" and you were giggling and waving your arms around in the air, and I tried, momentarily, to hold onto my irritation with your dad. I said, "Hi, Katie," and gave you a big smile and then turned to your father and said with gritted teeth, "yes, you said that you would call me," and then I turned back to you, and you were rocking and grinning and reaching for me, and you were so full of joy that I just couldn't do it. I let go of my irritation, because really, what difference did it make? It's not like it was rainy or snowy outside. I wasn't hurt. I didn't even have a headache. I was home now, and you and your dad were home, too, and it was warm and full of yellow light in the kitchen, and you were so happy to see me that you left me with no room for anything but happy, too! Thank you.

You sleep through the night now, almost every night. Last night you went to bed at 7:00 p.m., and although I heard you murmuring very quietly to yourself when I went to the bathroom at 5:30 this morning, you didn't actually wake up until almost 8:00 a.m. I couldn't believe how long you slept! Other than the early morning murmuring, you didn't even make a peep. We got you ready for bed - we gave you a bath and a bottle and then we read you a book and sang you a song - and then we put you in bed, and you rolled over, and we left your room and shut the door, and we didn't hear you make a sound after that. No crying. Amazing!

You make weird noises sometimes. I can't think of any way to describe it other than to say that it sounds kind of like you are a really old asthmatic man who is trying to clear his throat loudly and with great vigor. No one can make the noise as well as you can. We try - oh, yes, we all try! But you are the best. When we do it, we hurt our throats and make ourselves cough. But when you do it, you smile and rock, and your face glows with noise-making triumph. (Your dad's dad - your grandpa, in case you're reading this but haven't yet figured out how your grandpa is related to you - says that your dad used to make those same noises when he was a baby.) You also do a lot of what one of our baby books calls "immature jargoning," where you babble in what sounds like a foreign language. Not one of the Romance languages - we guess maybe it's Croatian, but then again, we don't really know what Croatian sounds like, so it's entirely possible it's more like Swahili (but for some reason I doubt it).

You eat all kinds of things now. So far you like every food you've ever tried except some of the baby foods. You don't like pureed vegetables, and you don't like pureed meat. We sympathize. They don't seem very appetizing to us, either. But if it's not pureed, or if it's pureed fruit, you will eat it. You especially love fruit - we haven't yet found a kind of fruit you don't enjoy, but you especially love banana, on its own or mixed with other things. So far you've eaten: sweet potatoes, pears, bananas (pureed and in little pieces), apples (and applesauce), prunes, peaches, apricots, avocado, plaintain, mushroom, peas, carrots, bread, Ritz crackers, animal crackers, Zwieback crackers, macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes, tiny bits of turkey and chicken, stuffing, rice cereal, barley cereal, oatmeal, carrot soup, and (I admit it) a tiny bit of brownie (you tried that two days ago). There are other things you've tried, too, but those are some highlights.

You love water, and you love your sippy cup, but you haven't figured out how to get water out of your the sippy cup yet. You'll gnaw on the chewy part of your sippy cup with great pleasure, and you really like it when we hold a cup of water for you or fill a bottle with water or feed you water through a straw. One of these days, you'll figure out how to suck water out of the sippy cup, and then a whole new water world will open up for you.

Last Friday night our friends Heather and Arek babysat you while your dad and I went to my work holiday party downtown. It was the first time that I missed your bedtime! We were worried that you might cry and keep yourself from going to sleep, but it turned out we didn't have much to worry about. You went to sleep with only a little bit of crying - once you got a little bit more to drink from your bottle, you went back to sleep and didn't wake up until after 10, which was a little while before you went home. I know I shouldn't have been happy that you woke up after 10, because it means that you didn't get the best night's sleep that you could have, but honestly I was a little bit happy to come home and see you awake, because it meant that I got to hold you and rock you and sing you back to sleep.

Today we went to the doctor for your 9 month check up. You weighed 26 pounds and 8 ounces (2 pounds and 11 ounces more than 3 months ago) and you are 30 1/4 inches tall (2 3/4 inches taller than 3 months ago). You are healthy and happy and developing well. Your doctor commented today on your beautiful eyes and your strong legs, and when he left, he told you to "stay happy." (Then he sent in the nurse to give you some shots, so you had to take a short break from being happy to be very angry and sad. Your face got all blotchy like mine does when I cry. We felt very bad for you. Within 10 minutes, though, you were laughing again.)

Remember up there where I said that I can't believe you have only been alive for nine months, because it seems like you have been part of my life forever? Well, the other thing that I will probably say too much, and that you're probably sick of hearing me say, is the flip side of that. The other thing is that it seems like only yesterday that you were born. It seems like you are growing and thriving and blossoming before my very eyes. I look away and look back and you are bigger! And stronger! And more capable!

Almost everybody who sees you talks about how beautiful you are, what beautiful eyes you have, how smart you are, how happy you are, how lucky we are. All of those things are true.

Every day I tell you that I love you. I love you more and more all the time. Every month I think that you are about as wonderful as you could be, and sometimes your dad and I will say, "ok, she can just stay at this age now," but then the next month you are doing more and learning more, and we decide that you are even more wonderful. When do you stop getting more wonderful? Will that be during the Dreaded Teen Years? I guess that could be. But rest assured that even then, no matter how rebellious you may feel, or how uncool you think I am, or how misunderstood you know you are - I guarantee you that I will still think you are wonderful, and I will still love you, because I am your mom, and that is my job.

Let's face it.  Even if it wasn't my job, I couldn't help myself. 

Love,
Mom

Miracle Work

From Dictionary.com:

miracle

\Mir"a*cle\, n. [F., fr. L. miraculum, fr. mirari to wonder. See Marvel, and cf. Mirror.] 1. A wonder or wonderful thing.

On Saturday Katie said her first word. It was "dog." I wasn't really sure if she was saying it, or if she knew what she was saying, but she kept saying it, and she said it often enough when Molly had come into the room or was approaching her, or when she heard dogs barking in the distance, that I am now a believer.

It doesn't sound exactly the way it should yet. So far it sounds like "dawwwwwww!" But when she says it, and when we say, "Yes, dog!" while pointing at the dog, she gets very excited, rocks back and forth from side to side, exhales and inhales excitedly, laughs, and smiles.

Yesterday morning I was sitting in her room, and she was standing up in her crib, rocking from side to side, and I called Molly into the room. "Molly! Molly dog! Come here, dog!" Molly came running into the room, and Katie said, "Dawwwwwwwwwwww!!!" and started laughing hysterically, like she just might faint from the head rush, and I said, "Yes, dog!"

And it was then I thought about that scene in The Miracle Worker.  You know, the most important scene in the whole movie, where Helen Keller suddenly realizes that the sign for water equals that liquid pouring over her hand right that very moment, so then she realizes that things have names, and that if she can learn the words, she can communicate with other people, and then this look of utter amazement and joy crosses over Helen's face, because the world has suddenly become that much less of a puzzle to her?

That's what I thought of yesterday when I watched my baby daughter's face. 

It's what babies spend all of their time doing, I guess, pretty much - trying to figure out this puzzle that is the world around them, trying to figure out what they can control (their own hands, for instance), what they can't (almost everything, if they are young enough), and how to tell the difference. It must be so thrilling to them, every time they learn something new that helps them to control or interpret their worlds.

Helen Keller had some exceptional circumstances to overcome, of course. As far as we know, Katie's health is perfect. It shouldn't really be surprising to me that she is learning to speak, because, barring exceptional circumstances, that is what people do. We learn to talk. And yet it seems to me that learning to speak is still a miracle, each and every time it happens, in the same way that it is a miracle each and every time that a new baby is born. It happens every day, every hour. It is still a miracle.

Later in the day, Katie started saying "cat," which she says much more clearly than "dog." She says "caaaaat," and the "t" at the end of cat is loud and precise (it reminds me of the way a choir director will tell you to emphasize the "t" at the end of a word in a song you're singing - it's really almost a "tah!"). She knows what this word means, too - she says it when she sees or hears one of the cats. "Cat!"

She has started imitating sounds, too, even when they don't mean anything to her. Yesterday I told her she had a toy, and after I repeated it a few times, she looked at me and said, quite seriously, "Toe. Wee." This morning after she drank her bottle, she burped, and I said, "Good burp. Good burp!" She immediately said, "Gah! Bah!" I'm sure she has no idea what "toy" and "good burp" mean, but just the fact that she is starting to imitate our speech is AMAZING to me.

I'm sure there will come a time when each new word from Katie will not thrill me. At some point, I won't be filled with awe and wonder to hear her say the word "dog" or "cat." But right now, each word is a miracle; every word out of her mouth is a wonderful thing. (I am so proud of her.)

A Letter to My Six-Month-Old Daughter

Dear Katie,

This week you turned six months old. I can hardly believe it, but you're half a year old! As I told you the other day, I am now approximately sixty-eight times your age. In six months, I will only be almost thirty-five times your age. And in another year, I will only be about eighteen times your age. Isn't that strange? Isn't that funny? I like to tell you things like that, things that you can't possibly understand or care about; even though you don't know what I'm talking about, you look right at me and smile, and then sometimes you laugh. You have a mighty fine sense of humor already.

You have recently started to lift up your arms when you want me or your dad to pick you up. If you're sad when you do that, you usually also make that sad pouty face that you make, and we just about kill ourselves rushing over to pick you up so you'll stop making that sad face. We hate to see you sad.

Fortunately, we don't see you sad very often. You are such a happy girl. Yesterday your dad and your Aunt Stephanie came downtown with you to the place where I work, and one of the first people you saw was Ed, the head of my department. You looked at him very seriously (the way you do, as if you are assessing the person you're looking at, possibly by doing some sort of mathematical equations or scientifical calculations in your head), and then you gave him a huge grin, and you grabbed his finger and wouldn't let go. He was very impressed with you and your strong grip.

You make friends for us everywhere we go, lately. Yesterday after work, I met your Dad and your Aunt Stephanie in Marshall Fields, and as we were on our way out, you drew a crowd of appreciative store employees. They gathered around us, telling you how beautiful you were. They gawked at your chubby legs and your beaming smile and your big blue eyes, and they told us that we ought to put you in commercials. It's not the first time somebody has told us that. You are a beautiful baby.

Your days go pretty much like this. You usually wake up between 6:30 and 7 in the morning. You do some yelling to let us know that you're awake and would like to get out of your crib now, please. I get up and come over to your crib, and you smile at me happily. If you've had a really good night's sleep, you will even squeal or laugh and flail your arms when you see me. Lately you are usually on your hands and knees, practicing trying to crawl. You reach your arms up to me, and I pick you up, and I go back to bed with you, and I play with you a little bit, and then I let you nurse. You used to take a half an hour to eat your breakfast, but now you are almost always finished in less than ten minutes. You don't spit up as much, either (we'll be glad when you stop doing that every day). We visit a little bit and maybe play some peekaboo, and then I hand you over to your dad so that I can get ready to go to work. Somewhere around the time that I'm ready to go to work, you are ready for your first nap, so your dad rocks you to sleep and puts you down in your crib, where you sleep for about an hour, usually.

While you are sleeping, I leave for work. While I'm gone, your dad gives you two or three bottles, depending on how hungry you are that day. He plays with you and cuddles you and sings to you. Sometimes he puts you in your Jumperoo, which you still love, and he puts you down on the living room floor on top of a blanket so that you can practice rolling over and trying to crawl. Most of the time, the living room floor carpet is covered by your baby quilt, which is covered by your toys and one of your Boppys (the blue one, I've decided, is Senorita Boppy, and the red one is Senor Boppy). Some of your favorite toys lately are an orange rabbit that plays part of a Bach piece (which your dad has named Rarebit), a small metal mixing bowl from the kitchen, a teething ring, and the green Baby Einstein block. You like the green block better than the red or blue or yellow blocks because the green one has tags on it - you love playing with the tags on any toys that have them. Once you find them, you alternate sucking on them and flicking them back and forth with your fingers. Tags are SO COOL. 

In the afternoon, you take a nap. Your afternoon naps have just started getting longer - yesterday you delayed your dad's & Stephanie's trip downtown to meet me because you decided to nap for over two hours! We don't know exactly how long you slept, though, because after two hours and fifteen minutes, your dad went in there to check on you, and he found you wide awake, completely silent, playing happily by yourself.

Your dad is having a good time staying at home with you. At first, for about the first two months or so, he wasn't having such a good time. He was worried a lot, and you cried a lot, and some days he would call me at work and plaintively say, "when are you coming home?" But a few months ago, I asked him how he was doing, and how he was feeling about staying home with you full-time, and he said that it was good. "In fact," he said, "I think I love it." Your dad likes to throw you up in the air or to hang you upside down, and you love it. You laugh and try to fling yourself around so that he will do it again. Almost once a day lately, at some point when I am holding you or nursing you or rocking you, your dad will look over at us and say something like, "I love you both more than anything in the world." And that's how I feel about you and your dad, too. I love you both more than I can say.

A lot of times you and your dad and Molly Dog will take a walk to meet me at the el station when I come home from work, and we'll all walk home together. I am always very happy to see you - I bend down over your stroller, and say, "Hi, Katie!" and you look at me for a second with your assessing look (as if maybe you are thinking, "is that who I think it is?"), and then you smile a big relieved smile ("Oh, Mom, it's you! There you are!") If it's been awhile since your last bottle, you will sometimes get fussy a few minutes after you see me, because not only am I "Mom," I am also "FOOD SOURCE," and you are "HUNGRY BABY."

I have to admit that for now, I enjoy being both Mom and Food Source. It makes you so happy to nurse, and it makes me so happy to see you get happy. I am glad that I can give you what you need, and that breastfeeding has worked out so well for both of us. In the first few weeks after you were born, I used to see the future stretched out before me as a series of every-three-hours-for-ever feedings, and I wasn't sure I could take it. It made me a little panicky, and I didn't know if I could do it. You still eat every three or four hours, and if I'm not with you when you eat, then I'm at work pumping milk for the next time that I won't be with you, but the thought of your future meals no longer stresses me out, because it's now so easy. After all, I eat every four or five hours, too, and that thought doesn't panic me.

After we get home, you nurse, and we play together, and I try to make you laugh. Sometime around 7 or 7:30, we give you a bath, and then I give you the hee-haw*, and then we put you in your sleeper, and then we rock and you nurse a little bit more, and then we read a book (really, we read it and you try to eat it), and then it's time for bed. Sometimes you cry when it's time for bed, and we come into your room and comfort you and tell you that we love you, and before too long, you fall asleep. You usually wake up in the middle of the night (last night you woke up at 2:15), and when you do, I usually nurse you, and then you and I both go back to sleep, and we start all over again the next day.

*(The hee-haw, in case you don't remember, is when I take a blanket and flip it back and forth over you so that you get dried off after your bath. My mom and dad used to dry me off this way when I was little, and my mom remembers her parents drying her off this way, too. She mentioned it to her dad, your great-grandpa, and he said that his father used to dry him off the same way, and that he called it "the hee-haw."  So now we call it that, too.)

We took you to your pediatrician on Wednesday, and you smiled and laughed at him for possibly the first time. You weigh 23 pounds and 13 ounces, and you are 27 1/2 inches tall. You are a very big girl for your age, bigger than almost all of the other babies who are six months old. (I carried you around a lot yesterday when you came downtown, and the muscles in my left arm are a little sore today from it.) At the end of our visit, you got three shots, and you cried as if your heart were breaking. When you got the second shot, you cried so hard that you made no sound, and when you finally did make a sound, it was so loud and full of pain that it tore at my heart, too. I was holding your arms so you couldn't get in the way of the needles, and I leaned over you and kissed your head and told you, over and over, that I loved you, and that it would be ok. Five minutes after your shots, you were smiling again even though your face was still blotchy. (You seem to have inherited my pale, prone-to-blotchiness skin.)

You are healthy and strong and happy. You sit up by yourself for long periods of time. You roll over from your back onto your tummy, and you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. You do little stomach crunches when you are lying on your back - you are straining to sit up to see what's going on. You grab at everything - nothing that is within two feet of you that isn't nailed down is safe - and you put everything that you successfully grab into your mouth. Your hair is three different colors - dark on the end, light brown in the middle, and blonde at the roots. You have roots like your Mom! You still have no teeth.

You laugh and you squeal and you make weird guttural noises that sound like they would really hurt your throat, but apparently they don't. You are trying out new noises all the time now - the last few days you have been working on "bbbb," and this morning you kept clicking your tongue. You are also working on your wave - we've been waving at you lately whenever we leave or go into another room, and just as of last night, you have started to do something that looks like you're trying to wave back. So far it looks more like you're trying to quickly fling your whole arm toward me, but we think that before too long, you will figure out how to make it look more like a wave. You're very smart, we can tell.

One day a couple of weeks ago, you and I shared our first laughing fit. We were sitting on the bed, and you were on my lap, facing me, and something I did made you laugh, so I started to laugh, too. My laugh made you laugh some more, which made me laugh some more, and it went on and on like that, the two of us laughing and laughing, with less and less time between each laugh, until we were just sitting there, smiling at each other, laughing at our own laughter. We laughed so long that my belly hurt from it, and later I thought that hopefully that would be the first of many times (countless times) that you and I laugh together until our bellies hurt from laughing.

I told you this the other day, but I should tell you again now, because I know you won't remember what I said (and you don't understand the words yet anyway): I love you. I will always love you. Your smile will always make me happy. I promise.

And so, when you were six months old, this is how it is, and this is how I feel. You are beautiful and wonderful and amazing and perfect.

Love,
Mom

P.S. Well, perfect except for the other night when you woke up at least 13 times in the night. That wasn't so perfect. In fact, that was the opposite of perfect, and headed down the spectrum toward hell. But we don't need to talk about that, because that is never happening again, right?  Right.  Of course not.  Ok, then. 

SHE IS PERFECT JUST THE WAY SHE IS

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I am listening to a new CD that arrived in the mail yesterday – it’s a group called The Weepies. The sound of the singer’s voice and the general meaning of the lyrics had me crying last night (in a good way) the very first time I listened to the CD.

Something about it feels nostalgic. The first track (the title track, too) is called "Happiness" ("you can't steal happiness") and while I was listening to it, I was playing with Katie after having just gotten home from work, and she was smiling and laughing and laughing at me, and I just kept thinking, the way lately every day I keep thinking –

SHE IS PERFECT JUST THE WAY SHE IS - PLEASE DON'T EVER CHANGE

but on the other hand I know that if she didn't change, it would mean that there was something wrong with her, and I don't want for there to be anything wrong with her EVER, so of course I want for her to change and grow and learn and become even more wonderful (if that's possible!), and also to become more of her own person with her own interests and her own friends and her own life which will be at least partially separate from mine, which means that these moments of sitting on the bed with my baby, listening to new music, smiling at her and kissing her cheeks, watching her face as she smiles and laughs with me and grabs at my hair and caresses my cheek, are SO FEW and so brief. I will cherish them forever.

And I guess this is one of the quandaries of being a parent - you love your child SO MUCH while she is dependent on you and while her world revolves around you - and in fact you love her so much in part because she is dependent on you, and because her world revolves around you - and yet because you love her so much, you have to (and you do) hope for the arrival of the day when she no longer needs you. My baby is right here, and yet I kind of miss her already, sometimes, and I guess that's what I was crying about last night.

New Life

Thursday, July 01, 2004

I'm really excited about the future again.

For years now, I have been worried about the future, and whether I would have time to enjoy what I wanted to enjoy. Would I meet the man I should marry? Would we be happy together? Would we want a family? Would I be able to get pregnant? Would the pregnancy be successful? Would the baby be healthy? Would we be glad we'd had the baby? Would our baby be all right?

For years, I was afraid that I would not be able to have a child. I wanted a baby so badly it consumed me sometimes. I sometimes even wondered if my own desperate yearning would paradoxically result in a future of childlessness. I had a weird, irrational sense that the universe had inflicted me with an overwhelming desire to have a baby because the universe knew that I would never have one. Having given me this powerful want, the universe - or God - would then sit back and smile at me indulgently as it taught me: you can't always get what you want.

But sometimes you can. Sometimes you do.

In whole life terms, I am not very old. This August I will be 34, and when I think of my upcoming birthday, I feel no sense of dread or fear or loss the way I did the year before last, when I turned 32. When I turned 32, I heard the sound of my biological clock ticking, and although I figured (hoped) I had many more years ahead of me to live, I figured (knew) I only had a limited number of years ahead of me to have a baby. Two short years later, I am almost 34. I have my baby, and she is beautiful, and I love her, and she loves me.

And now that Katie is born, I have gotten my future back. It stretches out before me, full of possibility.

I thought that I had made all of my important choices. I had chosen the University of Kentucky and a major in theatre. I had chosen Northwestern University for graduate school and law school. I had chosen to take out mind-numbingly large amounts of student loan debt. I had chosen to become a lawyer. What choices did I have left to make?

I could choose to have a child, and I could help her make better choices for her life. I could help her avoid regret, even if it was too late for me. Even though I talked about doing something else with my life - even though I had at least gotten to the point where I was willing to voice my hopes and dreams - I still had a vague idea that my chances were slim, because there just wasn't that much time.

Now that Katie is here, time goes even faster than it did before. It's hard to believe it's been over a year since we saw the first positive home pregnancy test that told us that Katie was on her way to us, but it has. It's hard to believe it has almost been four months since she was born, but it has. It's hard to believe that it's already Thursday, but it is.

Babies make time fly. And yet Katie also makes me realize that, catastrophic circumstances aside, I have a lot of time left to do something different with my life. I have the entire time (and more!) that it will take her from being a non-walking, non-talking, non-crawling, non-rolling over infant - to becoming an adult, fully capable of taking care of herself in every way (or at least as much as any of us are capable of that). A whole lifetime, in a way. If there's enough time for her to do everything that has to be done to grow up in the world, then surely there is enough time for me to do some things, too. Not even four months old, and she's already teaching me.

Now when I think about the future, I think: happiness and growth and new traditions and love and fun and pictures and words and music and who knows what can happen? It's not as simple as I am making it sound - there were plenty of good things in my life before, and there will still be plenty of bad things that I will have to deal with in the future. I used to have days of absolute bliss and excitement and wonder. And sometimes now I still have days of sadness and frustration and fear.

But my default way of thinking has changed so much that it feels like a switch has flipped in my head. I feel so different that I think it might even be fair to say that Katie has given me the same thing I gave her - a new life. I didn't expect this.