Moments in Time

He toddles down the hall toward me, grinning, arms out wide. I walk to him until, with a not quite audible thud, he collides with my legs, wrapping his arms around my knees and burying his face for a hug. I scoop him up and toss him above me, reveling in the sound of his giggles.

*****

He sits quietly on the floor, engrossed in his toy truck. Turning it over and over in his small hands, examining each detail before cramming it into his mouth. He gives it a good gnawing and looks up at me as if to ask if I'd like a taste.

*****

"Tah, tah!" He points and I follow the line of that chubby finger to see a ball cap lying in the floor, dropped last night as we were getting ready for bed. I lower him to the ground and he rushes over, triumphantly grasping his find and trying to put it on. He struggles, but still grins. Moments later I am the proud wearer of one NY Yankees tah (hat) and he grins before snatching it off my head and clutching it to his chest with joy.

*****

We sit in the floor, me stacking blocks and him pushing them over. With each crash the laughter peals out, giddy with glee and excitement, and the "Boom!" he receives from me at the latest demolition pushes him over the edge. He falls backward, rolling from side to side as he shrieks his delight.

*****

He crawls away from me, giggling. I chase after, "I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna get you!" Into his room, onto the soft blue chenille rug that he loves to lie on. He drops to his hands and knees, crawling now as I give chase. Into the corner he goes, breathless with anticipation. "Gotcha!" And he flings himself down onto his back, giggles and grins washing over me as I claim my victory with a tickle.

*****

He sits in his high chair, spaghetti sauce in his hair. The tray is coated with smears of sauce and squished noodles. He reaches for my plate and I put a few more noodles in front of him. He picks one up in his right hand, poking at the dangling end with his left. Then, leaning over and keeping an eye on me, he drops the noodle over the side and onto the carpet, thus signaling an end to dinner.

*****

He cries out in the middle of the night, a bad dream or a lost binky disturbing his rest. I go to him and he cuddles into the curve of my arms, wrapping himself around me and drifting back to sleep without effort. I breathe in the smell of him and sit, absorbing the small shape of his body pressed to mine. He sighs and I lean in closer to kiss his cheek, listening to the soft sound of his breath and the faint squishy noise of a well loved pacifier. Reluctantly I stand, walking to his crib. I lay him down and he rolls onto his belly, sound asleep. Covering him with his blanket I gently stroke his hair and whisper my love.

I Haven't Forgotten About You, Internets

Wow... so, its been awhile since I posted, huh? I'd like to blame busy-ness, but truthfully, I think its because I'm lazy.

Don't get me wrong, we've been plenty busy. We've moved into our new house, gotten unpacked (mostly), installed a brand new dishwasher (complete with cutting the cabinets apart since there was no washer in the kitchen before), replaced the bathroom faucet and made plans for several more renovations.

Lets see, there's something that I'm forgetting... what was that?

Oh yeah! Alex is walking! I'm talking real, no shit, look ma no hands walking! He's so proud of himself. I came into the room today and he just made a beeline for me, all grins and giggles with his arms held out for me to pick him up. I've been spending the majority of my time (when I'm not at work, blah) down in the floor with him, wearing various objects (toy trucks, books, blocks, etc.) as hats and just reveling in the little boy-ness of him.

He is so much fun these days. He's into everything and I feel like I'm constantly saying "no touch", but he just laughs and pokes me in the nose, so I guess he's good with not being allowed to shove his finger into the X-Box.

His moods have been mercurial, one minute laughing and grinning, the next crying brokenheartedly because I've dared to move more than 3 feet away to refill his sippy cup. Then, back to giggles once the full cup is presented in all its glory.

The whiplash speed of his emotions is dizzying and (please don't judge) so funny! He freaks out because I'm standing on the linoleum, in the kitchen, but as soon as I move six inches to be on the carpet again he's fine. He goes to his bedroom and wants to shut the door, then he's mad because the door is shut! He holds his arms up to be held, but as soon as he's curled into my lap on the couch he wants DOWN! DOWN! NOW!

Its exhausting and exhilarating all at once. I hope for it to never change.

Big News

So, its finally official. We are moving into our new house on Thursday! We will no longer be renting and the money that we pay every month will really be going somewhere. I feel this incredible sense of financial freedom and fulfillment knowing that we won't be pouring hundreds of dollars down a bottomless pit known as the landlord's pocket every month.

The house that we bought, though, is smaller than the one that we've been renting for the past year. We've been going through things and Goodwill has received quite a few of our belongings that have been gathering dust. My mother-in-law has offered part of her garage as storage, so the things that I'm not ready to part with are heading up the road to her place, within easy reach if we need them.

I'm both exhilarated and terrified by this move. The responsibility that comes with home ownership is a weighty matter but when I walk in the door of the new place all I can think is "Mine, mine, mine... all mine," and then I do a little happy dance.

And then Jym gives me the look that lets me know that he thinks I've lost my mind and that he thinks its pretty cute. You guys know the look, that one that says you're crazy and he loves you anyway. Its a look that I receive on a fairly regular basis.

Anyway, we have lots of plans for the new place. Its an older house, built in 1953, and there are lots of things that we want to do to it. We've already painted Alex's room, but we still need to paint pretty much everything else and there's wallpaper in both bathrooms that has got. to. go. I hate wallpaper and who puts it up in a bathroom? All of the seams are peeling and it looks horrible. Once it comes down I will be a happier person.

We will eventually remodel both bathrooms, but that's pretty expensive. It'll probably be awhile, but when it happens we'll be replacing the vanities and the tubs, putting in new linoleum and hopefully (fingers crossed) installing heating under the tiles in the master bath.

A kitchen remodel is also on the list, hopefully with an expansion. The current kitchen is small, but workable, so that's a very long term plan. Kitchens are insanely expensive and expanding the space will make it even more expensive. But I'm already dreaming about the changes that we'll make. I'm practically giddy with the realization that I don't have to ask permission to make changes to my home. Yay! No landlord!

Does anyone out there have any stories (good or bad) about remodeling? I'm both looking forward to and dreading the process and I'd love to hear about your experiences.

Birthing

There's been a fair amount of talk around the blogosphere lately about how our babies came into the world and the feelings that invokes in us. Linda over at All & Sundry and Julie at A Little Pregnant both wrote wonderful eloquent posts about it.

Its a topic that is often on my mind. Every time a woman a work gives birth or announces that she's pregnant I can't help but look back on the experience that I had and mourn the way that I thought it would be. I wanted to try an all natural birth (please note the word "try") because I didn't like the idea of bringing my son into the world with my body full of drugs (Also, I know that I would feel like a total bad ass if I managed to do it drug free). I wasn't closed to the idea of medications, but I was firmly on the side of "Give it my best shot."

When I was told, in my 30th week, that my amniotic fluid was almost gone and that Alex wasn't growing I still held out hope that things would work out the way that I wanted. My doctor (who is wonderful by the way, if you live in Knoxville and want a recommendation for an OB/GYN shoot me an e-mail) put me on bedrest at home after my Thursday appointment, with another ultrasound scheduled for the following Monday to check on things. By Monday, thanks to the GALLONS of water that I had consumed, my fluid had come back up enough that I was allowed to return to work on light duty, sit-down tasks only.

A little less than 2 weeks later I was back for another appointment (I had a lot of appointments and ultrasounds because I was high risk). Another Thursday, June 26th. This time there was so little fluid that the ultrasound tech couldn't even measure it in most places that she tried. And worse news, my placenta was in full blown deterioration mode, failing to supply enough blood to my son. I was sent immediately to Labor & Delivery, hooked up to monitors and an IV and placed on bedrest. I was allowed to get up to use the bathroom and for 15 additional minutes each day (trailing an IV pole around... fun!). The neonatologist visited, my doctor consulted with a bunch of other doctors and I spent a lot of time crying in that hospital bed.

I was told that unless everything fixed itself by Monday morning that I would be having a C-section, that my son would need to spend weeks in the hospital. I hoped, against all hope, that things would get better. I was on IV fluids and drinking as much water as I could stomach in order to get my fluid levels back up. I urged my body to fix my placenta (it doesn't really listen to me, but I had to give it a try), I begged the universe to make Alex grow so that I could stay pregnant longer and give him a better chance of being born healthy. I received my steroid shots, but not happily, because once you get those you pretty much know that you're having a preemie.

By Saturday night I was starting to come to terms, in a very superficial way, that I was having a C-section. I hadn't even begun to process the emotions, but the realist in me was gearing up for action. I knew that a healthy baby was all that mattered and my head was ready to deal with that.

Sunday morning, very early, I woke up with a blinding headache. They gave me Demerol; it didn't work. They gave me more Demerol; it didn't work either. My blood pressure was spiking so they hooked me up to a magnesium sulfate drip; it didn't work. I was in too much pain to panic and the drugs made me stupid, so I didn't really process what was happening. At some point a nurse came in and gave me a bunch of consent forms. She read them to me because I was too far gone to comprehend the written word at that point and before she would let me sign them she asked me if I knew what was happening. In the only funny part of the morning I said "You're going to cut me open." In response to her horrified look I informed her, "To get the baby out, duh." In my mind she was obviously confused about what was happening and I had to set her straight. My mom, who was with me at the time, laughed her ass off.

Shortly after I was was wheeled in my bed to the OR, in my bed (Just like on TV, yay!). My spinal was put into place, they laid me back and I got a catheter (which is just as much fun as you can imagine). I remember that I kept asking for Jym, but not much else. Then Jym was there, with his hand on my arm. Finally the spinal had me numb and they began. I'm told that it was very fast, just a few minutes from the first incision to Alex's birth, but I couldn't swear to that in court because I kept going in and out of consciousness. I don't remember his first cry, I didn't get to hold him, I didn't get to nurse him. I didn't even get to see most of him. One quick glimpse after he was cleaned, weighed and swaddled and then they took him to the NICU and me to recovery.

The rest of the day is a blur. I know that Dana came and saw me because there are pictures. I know that I was taken in my wheelchair to see Alex (catheter, IV and all), because there are pictures. A picture of my hand cradling his tiny head, seeming to engulf it. A picture of his perfect face, dwarfed by the pacifier laying next to it. A pacifier that looks like it was made for a giant baby, it covered half of his face, but it was the smallest that the NICU had.

I spent many hours next to his isolette, staring at him, memorizing his features. And all the while, regret and grief coursed through my body. I knew that this was the one chance that I had to do this. My health is not conducive to making babies. My doctor didn't really expect me to make it out of my first trimester and when I did I really began to hope and dream about the experience I wanted to have.

I still grieve over the loss of what I wanted. I know, we all know, that the end result is what's important. The baby at the end of the process is what matters, not how he got here. But...

But I look at my beautiful, perfect, happy, healthy son and it just doesn't seem all that important.

No Cool Spots On My Pillow

Is there some law of the universe that causes all babies, upon turning one year old, to become deranged monsters, intent on destroying the home they live in and their parents' sanity?

Alex was always such a laid back baby (except when he first came home, but that doesn't count, he only weighed 4 pounds). He was content to lie on a blanket, to play with his with his toys, to explore the areas of the house that we deemed safe (i.e. no litter box or sharp pointy things). I could go to the bathroom, eat a meal, check the mail, make a sandwich... no problems. He slept through the night, except for a few peeps that quickly passed. He ate everything that we placed in his general vicinity (okay, this is still true, but it seemed like this list needed three things... you know, to round it out.)

No more easy going baby. He has left the building, replaced in the night by this active, mobile, curious, loud, demanding, angry child.

Put him down: wails and teeth gnashing along with noodles for legs that leave him crumpled on the floor in a pathetic heap.

Leave the room: howls of outrage and despair and possibly even betrayal (How can you go to the bathroom!! Don't you love me anymore?!?!).

Try to give him the milk when what he wants is the banana: look of disgust, cries of anger, cup to the floor and an attempt to hurl himself from the highchair.

The sleep, though. That's what's killing me.

He wakes up and howls sometime between 2 and 3, but settles back to sleep with relatively little trouble. The trouble come about 6:30. He wakens, realizes he's alone and turns on his music box. This amuses him for about 0.3 seconds. Then he gets bored and since he's still exhausted (he went to bed at 11, after all) he starts screaming. Immediate satisfaction is demanded. My sleep fogged brain is yanked from slumber, adrenaline pumping. Is the house on fire? Did someone break in? Did someone break in and set the house on fire? Did someone break in and set Alex on fire?

The answer, of course, is none of the above. He just wants Mommy and Daddy. I stumble to his room, pick him up, cuddle him and dry his tears. He is now content and sleepy once again. They I try to put him back in the crib. This is a huge mistake, as I should know by now. He switches back into full blown panic mode, so I pick him back up and make my way back to bed.

Alex collapses on my chest and immediately passes out; I do the same. Jym has slept through all of this. Sounds good, right? Everyone's asleep so it should be good?

Wrong.

Jym is a furnace. Sleeping with him is like sleeping next to a campfire... in the middle of the summer... is equatorial Brazil. Alex has inherited this trait. What this means, for me at least, is sweat, and overheating and NO SLEEP! I wake up, over and over again. I try to switch to a cooler spot on the pillow. Sadly, it turns out there are no cool spots left on the pillow. But it is damp with sweat, so that's a great bonus!

Jym and Alex sleep on, blissfully unaware of the heat wave under the sheets while I doze fitfully until Alex wakes up for good, around 9:30 or 10. Then its time for breakfast and to start the day. Zombie Mommy strikes again.

This gets better, right? He will start sleeping better before college, right? Right?!

Alex - One Year

Alex turned one on Monday, June 29th. He had his one year check-up today.



Birth Stats
3 lbs, 7.7 ozs
16.25 inches










One Year
19 lbs, 9 ozs
28.25 inches








What a difference a year makes.

A year ago he was lying in the hospital, impossibly small. Today he grins at me and squeals with delight when I make one of his toy cars flip over. He pulls up on anything that will hold still (furniture, grown-ups, the cat... poor long suffering cat). He climbed up into my chair today, pulling on my pants leg and hoisting himself up with just the strength in his own body.

A year ago he had his first meal, 3 milliliters of expressed breast milk. Today he ate oatmeal,carrots, cereal puffs, most of a banana, what seemed like an entire zucchini and squash, mashed potatoes, juice, milk; I had to stop giving him the zucchini because just because its veggies doesn't mean its not overeating.

A year ago we had to weigh his diapers to make sure that he was peeing enough, checking that he was getting enough fluid from his IV and the milk he was tube fed. Today... well let's just say that we're no longer concerned about whether or not he pees enough.

A year ago I was crying in my hospital room, recovering from an emergency C-section, knowing that I would go home without my baby. Today we popped him in his car seat and took him to Pizzeria Uno (where he ate most of the previously mentioned veggies), just that easy.

He's strong and he's healthy. The heart murmur they picked up early on has vanished. His umbilical hernia has healed itself. He has eczema, but so do I, so no biggie. We'll put some cream on it and thank the universe for sparing us.

He's a normal one year old, this close to walking. He has several words and he actually listens to me when I tell him to put something in his toy bucket or to bring me something (I don't expect this to last long).

This year has been terribly hard and wonderfully easy at the same time.

Breastfeeding was hard, so hard. Milk that never came in, nipples that were bigger than his mouth. Giving it up was painful, but necessary for my sanity and my relationship with Alex. Feeding was never easy in those first months, but letting go of the guilt about my "failure" made meals a pleasure again. A time to smell his sweet hair and nuzzle his cheeks. Now, he eats like a champ and will even share with me (i.e. forcibly shoves food in my mouth when he thinks something is especially tasty).

Co-sleeping, once I gave up on the bassinet, was sweet, lovely and hard to give up, even when the karate chops to the throat and the kicks to the crotch made sleeping difficult. Snuggling Alex to sleep at night is still one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Sometimes I get him out of his crib when I go to bed just so I can wake up to his sweet smile.

He is an active, sweet, demanding, generous, sometimes cuddly, all-boy kind of boy. I can't wait to see what happens this year.

Looking Up

Tuesday was a hard day for me. I was feeling overwhelmed, beaten down from the inside. Today... well, I feel a little better. I'm certainly not happy-go-lucky, la-la-la, but it wasn't such a bad day.

I saw something that moved me, made me think that maybe someone's keeping an eye on me. When I got out of my car at work on Wednesday afternoon I spotted an odd shadow on the hood of my car. Glancing up at the antenna I saw a butterfly perched on top. It was slowly batting it's wings in the hot summer breeze. It's wings were torn, battered. They didn't look capable of achieving flight. But, there it was, keeping on, slowly fluttering. Glancing back on my way to the door I saw it take flight, spiraling into the sky, soaring away.

I don't know if its a sign; I don't know if I even believe in signs, but I think that I'm going to keep fluttering along. Maybe someday I'll soar again, too.

Missing You

How is it possible to miss someone you never even got the chance to meet? My heart has been heavy lately. I cry at unexpected moments and Jym is helpless to make it better. My sadness breaks his heart and baffles him. It hurts me to know that I'm hurting him, but I can't chase these feelings away.

Tonight, to myself at least, I finally let myself say the things that I needed to say.

I miss you. I want you back. I never got to meet you, and I never will, but I miss you like an open wound in my heart. If I could go back and change it all, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I know that nothing can change. You would still be gone and I'll always wonder who you would have looked like and think about the name I would have given you. I can only hope that there really is a place beyond this world, somewhere where we can meet and I can hold you in my arms.

I love you, precious baby.

Happy Father's Day

To Jym: loving husband, gentle father.

You will teach our son all of the important things in life.

You will show him what it is to be a man, to take care of your family, to make the sacrifices that are necessary to create a better life for us. He will see what it is to love a woman, to treat her with respect when all the world around us is showing him that its okay to put a woman down and treat her like a slut and nothing more than an object.

You will teach him baseball and math and hopefully how to hit the toilet when he pees. So many things that I can't even put into words. So many things that add up to being a dad. Everyday you will be here and he will see that.

Thank you Jym for making this surprise addition to our family a joy, for showing me that you are the father that I always thought you would be.

Falling

The amount of love and trust that my son gives me everyday is almost overwhelming. He knows that I will feed him, that I will give him kisses and cuddles, that I will play with him. And most of all that I will catch him.

He throws himself at me in the mornings, when we're lying in bed. I catch him in my arms and cuddle him close, only to have him struggle away so he can climb on Jym. Then he throws himself at me again, smiling the sweetest smile ever to grace a baby's face.

He climbs up to my shoulders when I'm standing in the bathroom, eager to get to the highest point. Then, with what I would swear is a maniacal glint in his eye, he flings himself to the side, grinning as my arms raise up to swing him around.

He sits on my lap, poking my nose and teeth. Then he slowly leans back, waiting this time, for me to grab his hands and hang him upside-down. Up and down, upright, upside-down. Over and over I catch him and keep him from smashing his precious little noggin on the hardwood that lies in wait.

And the joy on his face when I toss him above my head, the squeals of laughter as he flies through the air and again lands safely in my arms, it makes my heart feel as though it will burst out of my chest.

Except that it already has, and its crawling around the house, climbing on the furniture. All I can do is chase to keep up with my heart, to keep my baby boy safe. To make sure that he knows that he is loved. To catch him when he falls.