Throwback Thursday: Tiny Baby, Big Kid

It's hard to believe that this tiny baby is now this big, goofy kid.

Kindergarten

I sent my boy off to Kindergarten today. We've been preparing for this day for weeks, months really, talking about the things that he'll do and learn. I've been trying to get him excited, to avoid the tears and separation anxiety so many people talk about.

I may have done too good of a job.

We walked into the school this morning at 7:40. Well, I walked. Alex was bouncing around like a demented bunny on a steady diet of amphetamines and coffee. It was all I could do to get him to hold still long enough for the obligatory first day of school photo.

We walked down what felt like the shortest hallway in the world, me trying to slow him down and Alex rushing to join the throng of children heading for the check-in table. Reaching the table they ask what group he's in. "Orange," I say, proud to have remembered this important fact. While I have my 5 second conversation with the teacher, Alex has already located his name tag and is attempting to peel the backing. The teacher smiles as I stick the tag to Alex's shirt, pressing firmly to make sure it sticks, to ensure that everyone knows my baby's name today.

We follow the crowd to the Auditorium, Alex dragging me along. As soon as we walk in the sound hits me, dozens of children in various states of excitement and dismay. Alex makes his way to an empty seat in the front row, next to a boy in a green shirt, eager to make a new friend.

The boy is sad, however, and Alex is baffled by this.

And that pretty much sums it up. To him, this is all an adventure, the first step into the most exciting thing he's ever done. How can anyone be scared or sad or lonely or nervous when everything is so grand? And just like that, the sadness that was welling inside of me evaporates, morphing into delight at the joy he feels. I kneel down, giving him a kiss and receiving a lick in return (a delightful habit he's developed lately). I hug him and move to stand when he throws his arms around my neck, squeezing tightly. "Love you, Mama," he whispers in my ear. I laugh, relieved that he needs me after all and hold him tight. Just seconds later I disentangle myself and step away.

"Be good today," I tell him, mock stern. He grins, mischievous. He settles into his chair and I move towards the door, and just like that, I'm no longer the focus of his world. He looks around as I watch, kicking his feet as he takes it all in. When I reach the door I turn back one last time, expecting him to be watching.

He is not, of course, not my independent boy. I call his name and blow him a kiss. He sends one back and I'm gone, leaving him in the hands of people I've just met, letting him go, just a bit.

For Alex - My Almost Big Boy

I love...

how you think cuddling and snuggling are different. To quote you: "Cuddling is touching and snuggling is no touching!"

the way you love music; you sing all the time, and it makes me smile whenever I hear your little off-key voice.

how proficient you've become with the computer. You use it better than some of the people I work with, and I'm so proud that you're diving full force into the technocentric world we live in.

how happy you were when you discovered that our new king sized bed is plenty big enough for the three of us to cuddle without Daddy grumbling that he doesn't have any room.

that you want to hold my hand, even when we're just walking around the house. I know our hand holding days are numbered.

your ninja moves. You flip and kick and air-punch your way across the living room several times a day, always with a cry of "Watch my moves, mama!"

your enthusiasm for make believe. We were playing restaurant the other day, and you were so involved that you tried to eat the sandwich you made. You quickly discovered that felt food is not as good as the real thing.

the look of concentration on your face when you're really focused on something. I wonder what's really going on in that mind of yours.

the way you sneak into my room in the morning, unplugging your iPhone with as much stealth as possible, hoping to get a few uninterrupted moments with your favorite apps. I usually wake up because you walk like a herd of elephants, but I let you think your sneaking works, because you're always so pleased with yourself.

how you still think mommy kisses make everything better. I don't know how much longer this particular magic will keep working, but as long as it does, I'm happy to kiss your boo-boos - even the ones on your stinky toes!

how big you are now, but how you're still so small at the same time. I want to freeze this age, almost five, and keep you like this forever... almost a big boy, but still young enough to need your mama.

I love you, Alex.

Thanks to Allie, over at Having a Fields Days, for the idea for this post. Her list for Sarah Hazel is so sweet.

Gratitude and Resolve

The turning of the new year is an amazing thing. It marks not only the passage of time, but also the anniversaries of all that we have gained. It gives us a concrete, markable point during which we have the opportunity to think, really think, about all that has gone before. I'm not saying we can't do this throughout the year, but we get so caught up in the day-to-day that time just slips past, running through our hands like water, vanishing before we've even realized it was something we needed to hold on to.

The last couple of years, though, I've really sat & thought about all that I have to be thankful for, all the joy that I have in my life and also the opportunities I've let slip by. Things haven't always been easy; there are times when I want to crawl into a hole & pull it in after myself, but that's just the day-to-day grind. When I step back and really consider, I realize that things are great, that I'm right where I want to be, and that I have a head full of plans for where I'm going

So, without further ado, the annual list of sappy thankfulness and wishes for the future:

This Boy

cheesy grin courtesy of toddler notions

of what constitutes a smile

Sometimes, I don't even have words for what I feel for him. When I watch him sleep, it takes my breath away. Hearing his laughter is like the sun shining, even during the times when it seems like all I can see is a downpour on an overcast day.

There was a time when I thought that I wouldn't have children, then out of nowhere he was there. A surprise, a shock, an adjustment if I'm being perfectly honest. And even now, there are times, lying in bed, that it all feels unreal. The idea that this perfect person is lying in his crib, just on the other side of the wall, it stuns me anew. I turn up the monitor, just so I can hear him breathing as I fall asleep and I wake with a smile when I hear "Mommy! Where are you?"

Lately he's been challenging, defying us in ways that he never has. He sneaks candy, touches the Christmas tree, grabs things off of Jym's desk, tries to play with my computer, refuses to nap (and then turns into a monster 4 hours before bedtime) and on one heart stopping occasion he ran away from me in a parking lot. He's two, and he's testing limits, exploring his world.

I marvel at the person that he's becoming. I marvel that he is becoming a person, that I get to watch it happen right in front of me. He told me today that his favorite color is blue and it staggered me: how is he big enough to have opinions already? How is he old enough to know these things? But he is, and I soak it up, savoring the becoming & trying to clutch him tight to me at the same time, to keep him small.

But, at the same time, its so easy to just mark the time, to wish away the hours until bedtime. There are days when all he wants is to play with his trains, to run his cars around on the floor for hours at a time. I love to be with him, but when I'm being honest with myself I can admit that toy trains and cars just don't do it for me. I find myself longing for the day he'll be able to sit quietly next to me and read a book. This year I will work harder to hold those hours of trains and cars and make believe close. I will get down in the floor and make choo-choo noises. I will make sure that he never knows that mama doesn't love trains as much as he does, because as sappy as it sounds, his happiness is my own. When he looks back at his early years I know he won't remember many details, but I want his to remember the feelings, especially the feeling of an actively involved mom and all the joy that brings.

This Man

On the porch at Belle Meade, during
our 10th anniversary trip

He is patient, though he will say he is not. He is kind, though he thinks he's a hard ass. He is funny and smart and cuddly and a great cook and a great father (although if he could jump in with the potty training, that would be great). We met when I was 19, and I thought he was sleazy (he is, just a little, like a good used car salesman). I mostly avoided him for the next 2 years, despite the fact that I was drawn to him (or maybe because I was drawn to him, who can tell the mind of a 19 year old girl?). When I finally gave in, he swept me off my feet. We started dating in April and were engaged by June.

There have been hard times, there will be hard times again in the future. But he is there, a rock for my raging river to flow around. Steady and stable, he tempers my moods and keeps me on an even keel when I want to throw caution to the wind, shirking responsibilities and obligations. He helps me be the person that I want to be, he encourages me to do the things that I dream of. When I fret, when I sink into depression he is there, holding out his hand, a lifeline to bring me back.

All those words to say this, simply this: I love him & in 50 years I'll love him still. So this year I will strive to be the patient one, to become more steady and be the person he can lean on. When he needs support, I will not huff impatiently and I will not roll my eyes. I will do things to make his life easier, like he does for me. On occasion, I may even cook dinner (or maybe not, I'd like to keep this realistic).

This Lady

With Alex at Walt Disney World, December 2008

My mother-in-law is, in my humble opinion, the greatest mother-in-law in the history of the world. She comes to our house almost every day and takes care of Alex while Jym and I work. As much as it sucks to leave Alex to go to work, she makes it easier. Alex adores her and she thinks he hung the moon. She helped us buy our house and she's currently given up her garage for more then a month while we try to fix Jym's car. She is supportive, in a no nonsense, zero tolerance for bullshit, Italian mother way and has helped us with so many things that I've lost count.

This year I will be a better daughter-in-law. I will not take her for granted. I will thank her for all the time she gives to our family. I will even take her to lunch, for no reason other than that she is awesome.

These Folks

My parents with Alex, July 2010

My relationship with my parents has not always been the best. I was a rebellious teenager, running wild, said condition exacerbated by my father's struggle with addiction. Things were hard when I was growing up, money was tight and we were far from the Rockwellian version of a perfect family.

But they always loved us and did the best they could. And now that Alex is here, I am desperate for him to know them. They love him beyond anything I could have ever imagined from two grandparents, showering him with attention, filling his time with laughter and joy whenever they're able to visit.

Those visits are too infrequent, however. So this year, I resolve to visit more, to make the 2 hour drive to their home as often as my overstretched finances will allow. My father has myriad health problems, and as much as I hate to think about a time when he'll be gone, I know that it's coming. It could be next month or it could be years from now. The not knowing is hard, harder than I know how to put into words.

So, what I want is to give Alex as many memories as I can, to fill his mind and heart with his Papaw. I want my son to know my father, to remember him and I know that time is limited, so I'll give up some of mine (and some money, too... $3.00/gallon for gas, ack!) to make sure that he does.

That's the big stuff and there are so many more things: my job, my home, cable television, bloggers that make me laugh & make me think, homemade cookies and a million little things that add up to a happy, content life. This year I will savor those things, I will soak them up, I will wallow in the everyday joy. This year I resolve to really live, and love, my life.

Turning Two

Yes, this post is ridiculously late. Alex is almost 2 months past his 2nd birthday, but cut me some slack; I have a two year old.

Oh, dear lord, I have a two year old.

I'm not entirely sure how that happened. I mean, I understand the theory - the earth rotates and revolves, minutes pass, the minutes add up to hours, days, so on and so forth, but the actual reality of the fact that Alex is two just seems to escape me.

He's so much a big boy these days. Full sentences and independence and telling me "No!" and deciding what he wants to eat all by himself (and seriously, if you try to feed him something else you will be met with tears of woe and the refusal to allow even a molecule of the undesirable foodstuff to pass his lips). But at the same time, he's still so very much my baby. Sleepy time cuddles and singing lullabies and snuggling up to me in my chair just so he can touch me.

He's not so much with the potty training, using a fork & spoon or dressing himself (undressing is another matter, he's all over that one), but the other stuff, my mind boggles.

He talks, or more accurately, he never stops talking. Sentences and ideas and plans and make believe and the recounting of memories in such a sweet voice that it brings tears to my eyes sometimes. Tears sparked by the hope that the joy he finds in these days will stay with him, that he will someday remember the sweet lazy days that we spend, laughing and playing, chasing and tickling, reading and cuddling.

He loves the water - pools, splash pads, garden hoses, sinks, bathtubs - water in all its forms. If it's wet and nearby he will find his way to it. This has led to some trauma on his part, and by trauma I mean the way his world falls apart when I won't let him stop and play in some filthy, muddy, insect corpse laden puddle at the park after a good rain storm. He falls to the ground, hands over eyes, wailing to make sure the world knows how miserable his existence is whenever this happens.

He is ridiculously smart, tearing apart puzzles and games designed for the 3+ set, and blowing my mind at the way he absorbs everything around him. His vocabulary is that of a 6 year old, and it's always satisfying, in that proud mama bear way, whenever someone comments on it. I'm so proud of him that I could burst, and I do my best not to sound smug, but if I can't brag about him here, then where can I? I know that all of you will understand (all, let's see... 1... 2... 3? Yes, all 3 of you.) the desire to shout his accomplishments from the rooftops.

He is also easily frustrated, giving up when things don't come easily. He doesn't feed himself with a fork or spoon. Not because he doesn't understand the idea, but because it's hard and when he can't do something right away he resorts to his fall back plan: "You can do it, Mommy." I fight the impulse to step in and help right away, because as hard as it is to see him fail, I know that he will be better for learning to do things on his own. This is not to say that I don't help him when it's obvious he needs it, but I'm making myself let him struggle just a little, make a mess when he eats, pushing him to try.

He is awkward with other children, calling all of them "baby" (which he undoubtedly gets from me calling him "baby" and "my sweet baby" all the time; seriously, he was almost a year old before he realized what his name is because I use pet names with him all the time). He doesn't know how to interact with them, and does much better with adults. I fully believe this is my own fault (not in a guilty, I'm the worst mother ever kind of way, though) for not getting him out to more activities. I always feel awkward around new people and I've been letting that slow us down, keeping us from taking part in playgroups and the like. We'll be signing him up for a gymnastics program soon, a Mommy & Me type class at a place specializing in toddler gymnastics, and hopefully that will clear up any lingering awkwardness on both our parts.

His emotions seem to be spinning out of control lately. I'm told that this is normal, just a part of being two. Hopefully everyone is right because it's either that or we're living with the world's smallest bi-polar person. He bounces from highs to lows faster than you can blink, and just when you're breathing a sigh of relief about a crisis averted in the store over a balloon (solution: he may hold the balloon while we shop, but not take it home because it needs to live with it's Mommy and Daddy; and yes, he seriously believes that) he's trying to pitch himself headfirst out of the shopping cart in order to get to "the pink one!" (baby lotion), "cookies" (um, any kind of cookie), books or seriously kid, what the hell, a pork loin? I've taken to picking out an item from the dollar section at Target and letting him lovingly fondle it while we wander around, just so I have something new and shiny with which to distract him.

So, to recap:

Birth
3 lbs 7.7 ozs

16.25 inches

One Year
19 lbs, 9 ozs
28.25 inchesTwo Years
26 lbs, 4 ozs

34.75 inches

Crazy mood swings, terrible (and highly amusing) tantrums, enough talking that you could drown in the words, hugs and smiles and kisses and cuddles. It just keeps getting better.

Baby Talk

His voice is clearer every day, it seems. The sounds come more easily, more distinctly. Of all the things that mark the passage of time, the changes that herald that he is no longer "baby" but instead "little boy" this is the one that tugs my heart strings the strongest.

I hear him talk, and somewhere in the back of my mind I can clearly hear the high pitched, almost mewling sound of a newborn's cry. I marvel over the consonants and vowels, coming together in the most extraordinary way, bringing me closer to knowing him with every word he says.

I revel in it, each new word, every phrase. The joy of hearing him express his wants, his needs. The joy of hearing him express his joy. Every new word is repeated, questioned ("dat?"). He seems to taste them, saying them over and over, making sure he's got it right. I explain them all, sometimes resorting to online dictionaries to make sure I'm getting it right.

Sometimes they are jubilant. "Mickey!" when I'm wearing a shirt I got at Disney World, over the moon with excitement at seeing the mouse.

Sometimes they are mischievous. "Blankie," he tells me when I go into his room at night, pointing to the floor with an innocent look, as though the blanket somehow flew over the crib railing of its own accord.

Sometimes they are plaintive. "Daddy?" he asks at night, giving me sad eyes before laying his head on my shoulder when I tell him that Daddy's still at work.

All these words make my breath catch in my throat. I want to clutch him to me, somehow force him to remain small, to need me. Because with every word he knows just a little bit more of the world, he's that tiny bit more capable. My head knows that this is good; my heart remains utterly unconvinced.

Caught mid sentence, just like his mother.

Things I Will Miss Someday

Spiky blonde hair in the bathtub

Sleepy cuddles with Goodnight Moon

A small voice asking for gape, ma-o (tomato) and the 'mote

Tiny clapping hands when a block tower doesn't fall over

Whee, whee, whee, all the way home!

Spaghetti sauce from chin to forehead

Soft, steady breaths on the baby monitor

Mommeeee! Daddeeee! Hi!

Unbridled joy over a single Oreo

Thanks to Kristen at Intrepid Murmurings for the post idea.

Wordless Wednesday: Christmas (Finally) Edition

Baby-proofing

You'd think, that after 18 months, we'd have this baby-proofing thing down, wouldn't you?

Behold, the consequences of not using locks on all of your cabinets:


Not pictured: the floor full of pots and pans that once filled the empty space on the bottom shelf.

Sigh... we've made a trip to Lowe's and the install is tomorrow.

Christmas post coming soon. I've got lots of pictures and it's taking forever to sort through them. I've loved reading about everyone's holiday and I promise that I'll have ours up soon!

Words, Words, Words

Can I just say that it completely boggles my mind the amount of words that Alex can say?

off and on (both sound like "ah" but he uses them in the right context)
boom! ("boo!", whenever he falls down)
pull ("puh")
mama
daddy
hat ("ha", a less cute, but more intelligible version than "tah", which he used until recently)
cheerios ("che-os")
truck ("tuck")
binky (bi-ee")
yum ("um")
no
nose ("no")
eye
tongue ("tuh")
book ("buh")
up ("uh")
down ("dow" - used often in conjunction with "boo!")
door ("tor")
blanket ("bla-ee")
light ("li")
shoe ("zhoo")
tickle (one of his first words, it still sounds like "dooka")
pot ("pah")
ball ("bah")
that ("tat?", when he wants to know the word for something)
dragon ("dah-on")
toe
block ("bah")
computer ("poo-uh")

I know there's more, but this list just amazes me. Yesterday (I swear that it was last week, at the most.) he was just a helpless newborn, bleating out his needs with crying. Today he pointed at the top of the fridge and and said cheerios. It blows my mind.

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.

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.

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.

Ick

Alex let us sleep in today. When I woke up, about an hour or so after I usually do, my first thought (Okay, my second thought. The first one was "I'm not tired. How'd that happen?") was to wonder what was wrong. Alex never lets us sleep late anymore. He's all "eh, eh, eh" and come get me mama as soon as his eyes open in the morning.

So, I went to check on him. As soon as I opened the door he started to stir, so I picked him up and took him back to our room. I figured I could get some cuddles before he started to throw himself recklessly at every dangerous object in the house. I laid down in the bed with him and he let his head sink to my chest. I buried my nose in his hair and took a big deep breath, looking for that elusive baby smell that seems to be disappearing at an alarming rate. I did not find the wonderful baby smell. What I found was... less pleasant.

Sometime in the night Alex puked on himself. And I let him sleep in it! Because I am clearly a candidate for mother of the year. His hair was crusty with it, the sheets were covered, even the side of the crib had ick all over it. And his beloved dragon, the one that my mother bought for him the day he was born, the one that he has never slept without, was coated in the stuff.

He seems fine now, but ick indeed.

The Outing

Okay... I know you're all dying to know what happened at the library. Sorry I took so long to get back here. There was work (not fun) and taking Alex to the pool (lots of fun) and then some more work (again, not fun). But! I'm back now and since I can hear you calling for the details of our library excursion I will not make you wait any longer.

We got to the library right as story time was starting. This means that I did not have a chance to locate any of the other moms from the group I was meeting. This made me a bit anxious. As I may have mentioned, I am not good with strangers. We sat and listened to three books that the library lady picked for us (a very interesting lady, with a face painting of Elmo and clothes that seemed to have been acquired at a bohemian flea market... not that I can judge; I run around in jeans and T-shirts all day, so when did I become the fashion police) (wow, was that the longest parenthetical ever?) There were two books about potty training (a little advanced for Alex, but he listened politely) and one about Elmo, who is evidently not the brightest bear in the woods trying to get back to Sesame Street. He lives there, right. So shouldn't he know his address? Maybe get a cab or something?

After the books most of the group broke up (There were about 25 moms and kids there). I gathered up our stuff (bottle and Gerber puffs) and then stood around awkwardly, trying to figure out how to approach the few women remaining. One of them finally took pity on me and introduced herself. After that the kids all played for a little while, climbing up and down the steps and trying to eat various things off the carpet.

Alex picks up dead bug using his close to perfection pincer grasp (damn you developmental milestones!)
Mommy: eeeewwwww! Give me that. icky icky
Alex: Wahhhh!
Alex then notices bright yellow tape on floor and all is forgiven.

After some stilted conversation (again with the not being good with strangers) and much admiring of everyone's little ones we headed out to Chik-fil-A. For those of you not in the south, this is a fast food place that serves... wait for it... chicken. Nothing but chicken in it's various boneless forms. Chicken sandwiches, chicken wraps, chicken soup, chicken nuggets. I'm surprised the desserts aren't made of chicken. We had a filling lunch, made a little less awkward by the need for me to supervise Alex's meal and then everyone headed to the play area. Alex was a little young for this, so it mostly consisted of me keeping him from eating everyone's shoes while making more small talk.

All in all it was not as bad as I expected. But, I don't think that I'll be going back. Maybe to story time, but probably not to lunch again. I'm just so bad with new people and to be honest, these women were a little too strongly about the religion for me. I mean, that's great if it works for them, but I just haven't figured out what its all about and having it that strongly in my face was a little off-putting.

So to sum up, we were not banned from the library, Alex did not throw a tantrum about his socks and the ladies were nice, just not for me.

Maybe next time I'll just take him to the mall for some retail therapy quality time.

An Outing!

Alex and I are going to the library tomorrow (well, later today). This will be his first "social" outing and I'm nervous about how its going to go. He's been out in public, of course, but tomorrow is a trip to attend story time and lunch with a mom's group that I found in our area. I've never met any of these women and my anxiety is rearing it's ugly head.

Its very hard for me to be social and meet new people. I always worry that they won't like me (I know, how middle school could I get?) and that I'll do or say something stupid or offensive. Not that I'm naturally stupid or that I normally offend people, but to say that I have butterflies in my stomach at the thought of introducing myself to a bunch of strangers is an understatement. It feels more like a herd of elephants churning up everything.

My fears for my own social success are now compounded by worries over Alex. What if they don't like him? What if he steals some other kid's toy and won't give it back. What if he pitches and fit and all the other mothers give me "that look". You know the one... it says "Thank God that's not my kid." I know that Alex is sweet and smart and adorable. He makes me smile and laugh and everyday I am amazed at the things that he can do and how fast he's growing. But...

What if he cries in the library... I mean, seriously, in the library! That's the quiet place, right? At least that's what was drilled into me when I was a child. Will all the other patrons hate me? My overactive imagination is now picturing us being banned for life due to the fact that I made Alex wear socks (which he hates) and that he got angry and ruined the story for all the other happy, quiet children. Help! This is crazy talk!

Okay... deep breaths.

I'm gonna go have a glass of wine and get a grip. The trip will not be a disaster. Alex will not hate me for forcing him to wear socks and the other mothers will like us.

Right?

Favorites

Alex is into so many things these days. He crawls like a pro and its scary how fast he can get into things that we would rather he not. Like the bathroom trash or the power cord to my laptop (which is evidently extremely tasty, as he whines with disappointment whenever I pull him away from it). He has some favorites that aren't so dangerous, and here they are, in no particular order.

• Lil' Crunchies Zesty Tomato flavor - yes the box says for toddlers, but they're exactly the same as the ones for younger babies, just a much better flavor. He would gladly eat nothing but these all day if I let him.
• Moose A. Moose from Noggin - this is the little guy that shows up in between programs. He plays games and sings songs. Every time he shows up on the screen Alex squeals with laughter and grins. When he goes away Alex loses interest in the TV again. He is definitely getting a Moose doll for his birthday.
  
• Anything that Mommy wants to throw away that makes an interesting sound. He currently has an empty water bottle and an empty formula can (with the scoop inside) in his play yard. He squishes the bottle to make a crunching noise and bangs the can on the hardwood floor, thus producing a two-tone effect as the metal rim of the can pings and the scoop inside bangs around. (and also making little bitty dents in the floor, don't tell our landlord.
  
• Yellow milk jugs with red caps. The milk that we normally buy looks like this. Whenever he spots one he wants it more than anything else in sight. He spent about 30 minutes on Mother's Day gnawing on the cap of an empty jug and banging it on the table.
• Spinach and Carrots baby food. We're working on getting him to eat more "big boy" food, but he does not want to give this one up. He once went through 2 jars in a sitting!
• Music - he falls asleep to it, it calms him when he's upset, it stops a tantrum in it's tracks. I hope that he never outgrows this love.
• Windows - We have floor to ceiling windows in our living room. Alex loves to stand with his face pressed up against the window and just stare at everything outside. Also, the curtains are fun to play with.

Religion?

I am not a religious person. I never have been. Even in high school, when I went to church 3 times a week I was really just playing at it. I had friends who went, so I went along for the ride.

Since my son was born I have been questioning, more and more, what all this stuff called life is about. Is there a reason for us being here? Is there someone up there watching out for us and guiding us?

Christians say that God has a plan for everyone and that He never gives you more than you can handle. There are times when these thoughts seem comforting. When it feels cozy and safe to know that all the pain that I experience is part of something larger. These feelings have intensified and deepened since Alex was born.

Alex was born 7 weeks early, on June 29, 2008. I have diabetes and although my blood sugar was well controlled it seems that it still caused problems. My placenta was failing and Alex wasn't getting the blood supply that he needed. My amniotic fluid was disappearing. The doctor doesn't know why, but that combined with the placental insufficiency caused Alex to stop growing at about 29 weeks gestation. I was on every other week visits because of my diabetes and as soon as the problem was discovered (about 30 1/2 weeks) I was put on bedrest at home. I rested for 4 days and my amniotic fluid came back up, the blood flow seemed stable. So, I was allowed to return to work on light duty. No lifting, no standing, no walking except to go to the bathroom. If it couldn't be done at a desk, I wasn't allowed to do it. After 3 days of light duty I returned to the doctor. My amniotic fluid was almost gone. My placenta had further deteriorated. The blood from the umbilical cord was no longer providing sufficient blood flow to Alex's organs. His body was shunting blood to his brain, a last ditch effort that the body makes to protect the most important organ. I was immediately admitted to the hospital.

Once in the maternity ward, more than 7 weeks before my son was supposed to arrive, I was hooked up to an IV and almost immediately given a steroid shot for Alex's lungs. The IV was for hydration, to try and restore my amniotic fluid. I was confined to bed for most of the day, with continuous monitoring of Alex's heartbeat and my own heartbeat and respiration. I was allowed to get up for 15 minutes a day, including bathroom breaks. I spent three nights in the hospital, receiving IV fluids and being monitored. My doctor was not optimistic about my chances of carrying to term at this point, but he wanted to keep me pregnant for as long as possible.

On my second day I received a second steroid shot (its a 2 shot series) and several visitors: my OB, the hospital's neonatologist and the hospital chaplain. The hospital that I was in is a Catholic hospital. They have nuns and offer mass. A chaplain visits all the rooms, and is available for counseling at almost any time of the day. I was uncomfortable with the conversation at the time, and relieved when a phone call interrupted it.

Looking back I wish that I had taken the chaplain up on her offer of support and assistance. Since Alex's birth (on the 4th day of my hospital stay, 33 weeks gestation exactly) I have marveled so many times at the miracle that he is. All of the things that the neonatologist and the NICU staff braced us for never came to pass. He wasn't on a ventilator (he never even needed supplemental oxygen). He started feeds through his NG tube as soon as I was able to pump for him (3 ml at his first feed, the little pig). He didn't have any of the typical preemie problems. No brain bleeds, no ROP (a condition of the eye that often affect preemies), no heart problems, no digestive issues, no breathing issues except for one episode when he was trying to breastfeed, a very stressful time for both of us due to the fact that his mouth was smaller than my nipple. He would open as wide as he could, but it just wouldn't fit.

Looking back on that time, and all the months in between make me question my place in this world. Makes me wonder if there is someone up there that has something in mind for my family. Would the universe have given me such a perfect child if there wasn't some purpose to it?

Sleeping Baby

Alex is sleeping. He is always asleep when I get home from work, and I hate that. I feel like I'm missing out on something essential in his life by not being the one to tuck him into bed at night. I tried for awhile to make his bedtime later so I could be the one to give him his nighttime cuddles, but we ended up with a tired, cranky baby. So, now he goes to bed earlier and I don't get to see him until morning. Morning seems awfully far away.