Tag Archives: mommyhood

12 months

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It’s unbelievable.

It’s inconceivable.

It’s unfathomable.

I’m sitting up in bed with you sleeping soundly beside me,  studying your precious face and shaking my head in disbelief.  Can this really be true?

One year, Emma Kate.  One year.

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This time last year, after a serious ordeal of labor and delivery, you made your appearance and have been a joy to me every single day since.

Let me tell you a little about yourself.  First off, nearly every recent picture I have of you is blurry because you are on the go all the time.  You took your first wobbly steps almost 4 weeks ago, and now you are practically running.

You love songs, books, babies, dogs, fish, cats,  bath, outside, and your momma.

You dislike someone trying to feed you, laying still to get your diaper changed, having something taken from you, sleeping alone, and being left with strangers.

You can talk a blue streak.  Some new words you began saying this month are juice, more, fish, Elmo, Emma, and no, no, no.

You love to talk on the phone and often have someone’s cell phone up to your ear pretending.  You like to put things in little hidey holes too.  I opened the pots and pan cabinet and found a sippy cup and found a sock in a cereal box.

A blurry picture of you with your necklace.

A blurry picture of you with your necklace.

Your daddy thinks you might be a girly-girl because you love bracelets and necklaces and wear them around the house.  Even if it’s not a “real” necklace, you turn it into one.  You were wearing a cell phone cord around your neck, dragging it on the ground the other day, and you’ll put anything on your wrist that’s circular and then walk around holding your arm up so it rests on the crook of your elbow.

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You like to watch Elmo’s World and sing the Barney song with your Grandy.  When she starts singing, you begin to sway back and forth and give a big hug (with a grunt) and blow a kiss too.

You’re really super affectionate mostly and pat the people you love on the check and give kisses and hugs.  But with people you don’t know very well, you are reserved and solemn, barely cracking a smile or interacting, but instead sitting back and watching.

You make us laugh all the time at your new antics.  And I love to watch you walk.  You have this funny side-step-shuffle with your elbows bent upward.  You also learned to drink from a straw this month.

You still only have 6 teeth, your eyes are big and beautiful,  you are cute as a bug, and you have learned how to really cry hard when you aren’t getting something you want or something is being taken away from you.

You still don’t sleep all night long, but I guess there’s worse things in life, and we’ll all survive.  We’ve made it 12 months so far, I’m sure a few more months won’t kill us.

This past year, you have taught me  to love more than I ever knew I was capable of.  You have taught me to savor the moments because they vanish so quickly.  You have taught me to see the world with the same kind of newness you do, and to adore chubby little bellies and dimpled hands.   You are my baby girl.  And even though your first year is now behind us, and we are moving into toddlerhood, you will always, always be my baby.

I love you so very much sweet one.

XOXO,

Mama

Tight Spaces

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Forgive the quality of the photos in this post.  I think I must have been drunk when I took these.  Just kidding.  Really, they were taken with my phone, which is so old it’s considered a dumb smart phone.

Lately our little EK has been quite the explorer.  Finding just the right spaces to crawl into is her current obsession.

First, she empties the small space to make room for herself.

And then she climbs in.

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She’s especially partial to cabinets.

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Although she doesn’t discriminate.  Sometimes, she prefers drawers.

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And occasionally, she’ll attempt to fit herself in a canvas bin.

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When she’s not squeezing into small spaces, she’s climbing on top of them.

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And going after what she wants.

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Even if she has to get on her tippy toes.

The To Do List

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I try to start my day off with a list of to-do’s.   Not because I want to, I actually despise lists, but because without one, I’m pretty dad gum worthless.  We all know that one person who doesn’t have a lazy bone in their body right?  Well, that’s not me.  My body is chock full of lazy bones.  206 to be exact.  I can whittle away the hours doing nothing and be perfectly content.  It shows too.  My laundry and refrigerator are proof.

Lists are my husband’s thing.  He swears by them.  Each day, he makes a list for his day and is fully self-driven enough to accomplish more than he has written down.

I’m fully self driven enough to make a list and then sit down.

I try.

I usually fail.

But I try.

Here’s my list from about 5 days ago.

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Yes, you read that right, it says “Get Dressed”.  I always do, but if I write it down, at least I can scratch one thing off.  It makes me feel as if I’ve accomplished something.   Trivial maybe, but something.

But as you can see, nothing is checked off this list.  And I did some of these things, I really did.  But I never came back to check the list to see what I did and didn’t do.  I’m still waiting to blog the rat pic, it’s coming, be aware.  And I’m still waiting to exercise.  It’s probably not coming, be aware.

As I was writing my list, my little Emma Kate wanted to write her own list too.  So she took the pen and I guided her little hand as she jotted down some of her to-do’s as well.  Now I realize to the untrained eye, it may appear to be a bit of scribble, but it’s not.  Don’t feel bad if you can’t read it.  It’s kind of like speaking pig-latin.  Either you got it, or you don’t.  I got it.  Call it mother intuition or deciphering phonetic writing of elementary children for too long or just a weird sixth sense, but that list is perfectly legible to me.

EK’s To Do List

1) Pull out all the Tupperware lids from kitchen drawer

2) Remove the dish towels and burp clothes and scatter them among the kitchen floor from kitchen drawer #2

3)  Open the cabinet drawers in the dining room and eat the Scentsy bars of wax

4)  Be sure and get the toilet brush in my mouth at least one time

5) Fake mom out where she thinks I’m actually going to nap for more than 15 minutes

6) Pull books off the bookcase

7) Take off my socks

8) Eat crumbs from my high chair seat that have been there excessively too long

9) Throw my food in the floor

10) Smear snot all over my face

11)  Prevent mom from completing her to-do list so she has someone else to blame besides her 206 lazy bones

And like her daddy, she gets it all done and then some!!

10 months

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My dearest, sweet, little Emma Kate,

You are 10 months old baby.  It is nothing short of mind-boggling.  10 months!!  Part of me aches to watch you grow so fast.  Some days I long for that newborn who slept and cooed and watched the world behind those beautiful eyes.  But then the other part of me can’t wait to see you grow.  To watch you accomplish all that you can.  I try to cherish each and every day, even when they seem monotonous.  But they really aren’t.  You learn something new everyday.  You may not be a newborn anymore, but you still watch the world from behind your beautiful eyes and it is fascinating to see you learn.

You are straight up adorable.  That’s all there is to it.  You started singing this month.  Your Grandy and Ash taught you to sing  ”la, la, la”.

You do motions to The Itsy Bitsy Spider, and you really wash that spider out!  And the sun comes out with your little arms reaching way up to the top of your beautiful head.  You are all grins too.  You are sure proud of yourself when you do something big like that.

You clap your hands along with “When you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands”, and you still love your books.  You’re favorite has always been Pete the Cat–I Love My White Shoes.  Your Grandy bought you a Pete the Cat stuffed doll and your aunt Jo got you Pete the Cat–Rocking My School Shoes and you love reading them with somebody or by yourself.

You’ve learned how to open drawers and cabinets this month and empty them completely out.  Now, you need to learn how to put it all back!

You can say mama, dada, bye-bye, night night, num-num (which means yum yum) and you started saying “Ash” plain as day.  It is adorable!  Now you just say it all day long.  You definitely understand everything we say to you.  When I ask you “Where’s Ash?”  You start looking towards her bedroom here trying to find her.   You can comb your hair and brush your teeth (in a perfect 10 month old way), drink from a cup (with not much spilled down the front), feed yourself with a spoon and fork (when we load it up of course), and give hugs and kisses.

Pulling up has become old hat to you now, and just this week you’ve started standing alone for longer periods– like about 8 seconds.  Might not be sound long, but it is when you’re balancing huh baby?  Or riding a bull, which you will never ever attempt, just so you know.  I just felt like we needed to get that established right here and now.  You walk all around holding on to things, like the couch, the end tables, your crib.  Just like what you’ll do in the swimming pool in a few years.   You love to explore and you climb the porch steps up to the door.

You are a good-natured girl who knows what she wants and doesn’t want.  You don’t let anyone persuade you to do something you don’t want to do, which isn’t fun when getting your diaper changed, but will play an important role when you are a teenager.

You are beautiful, smart, happy, and loved beyond measure.

We take great delight in you, Emmy.  You are our girl!

XOXO,

Mama

Forgetaboutit!

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There’s this movie that probably came out in the 90′s or something called Donnie Brasco.  I watched it once, a long time ago, and it was a decent movie. Decent, if  you like filth, and violence, and mafia crime.  Sex, and cussing, murder and mayhem.  Which, hey,  Iain’tgonnalie,   I do. Sometimes I even like it in my movies.  Haha.  Oh boy, I crack myself up.

Anyway, you should watch it sometime, as long as you don’t go to church with me.   And if you do go to church with me, then it’s one of those classic “do as I say, not as I do” hypocritical, Christian, faux pas.

It’s got Johnny Depp and Al Pacino.  Two dark, handsome tough guys, who cuss an awful lot.   Somehow, hearing mafia dudes say farfignooten just doesn’t really cut it.   Johnny is a cop trying to bring down some huge mafia dudes, one of which is Al Pacino.  In order to do this, he goes undercover as a mafia guy and tries to learn all their secrets and stuff.

So there’s this great part of the movie where two guys (not mafia dudes) ask Johnny Depp to explain what “forgetaboutit” means.  Evidently, if you’re mafia, it’s one of those words you say all the time.

Right up there with farfignooten.

So Johnny tries to explain.

Forgetaboutit means you agree with someone.  ”Forgetaboutit!”
And sometimes you say it if you disagree with someone.  ”Forgetaboutit!”
Sometimes it means something’s the greatest thing in the world. “Forgetaboutit!”
But it also is like saying go to hell.  ”Forgetaboutit”
And sometimes, it just means, you know, forgetaboutit.

Since I’m no Johnny Depp, here’s the video clip, complete with cuss words.

We have a forgetaboutit at my house too.

It’s “mama”

When my 8 month old says it, she means I’m hungry.  ”mama!”
But sometimes she means I’m tired. “mama!”
Or if she wants to be held. “mama.”
But maybe she wants milk.  ”mama.”

And sometimes, it just means, you know,  mama.

sleeping, eating, and other motherly woes

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Of one thing I’m certain:  each day that I’m given is more proof of how little I know.

We’ve all been there, a time in our life when we thought we knew it all.  When we stuck our chest out and announced, if only to ourselves, “I got this.”

For me that was 7 months and 3 weeks ago.

 

Before her.

But now those days are over.  Although I’ve always felt like I relied on God, I can tell you that this day, today, without a doubt, I desperately need His grace, His direction, His wisdom, combined with His mercy and goodness and provision, tossed in with a good handful of His forgiveness and a shake or two of second chances.

Raising a child is hard. And I have a good one.  She’s not difficult, really.  Perhaps a touch stubborn and spirited.  She doesn’t sleep like other mother’s claim their babies sleep.  And she doesn’t eat like she’s supposed to.  She’s adventurous and bold, she’s determined and serious.   Sometimes she’s playful and occasionally you could even say she’s sweet.  Each day I ask God to help me and to forgive me.

If she has trouble sleeping, it’s because of me not her.  I have 0%consistency in my day.   Schedules are for trains.

If she has trouble eating, I’ll take the blame on that too, although she’s the one with her lips clamped together.

I’ve scoured the internet for help on every parenting subject that one could encounter with an almost 8 month old. (because the internet doesn’t lie)

*Breastfeeding
*co-sleeping
*baby wearing
*sign language
*pacifiers
*teething
*crawling
*separation anxiety
*night weaning
*sleep training

Plus lots more.
Through my hours upon hours of research, I’ve discovered there’s basically two camps of parenting.

1) “the force your baby to do what you want” camp

2) the “forget about your life, it’s officially over, make concessions for your baby’s needs” camp

I’m no longer looking for advice, I’ve received enough.  So really, you don’t need to give me any, but I will allow you to commiserate with me all you want!

I’m just writing to air my frustrations, state my opinions, and talk out loud.

Case in point.  Sleep trainers suggest that I put her in her crib for naps and at bedtime when she’s drowsy but still awake.  Not to rock her or nurse her, or give her any sleep crutches what so ever.  After placing her in the crib drowsy, but awake, she is supposed to put herself to sleep.  All on her own.  This has actually happened a time or two when she was smaller.  I can actually testify that when she’s in her appropriate window of sleepiness, as long as she’s not teething or gassy, when her diaper is dry, and her room is the correct temperature, as long as her nose isn’t stuffy or her socks aren’t too tight, and as long as the moon is in the second house, she will actually go to sleep.

But most of the time, when I put her in her crib, I get this.

Now, how can I tell her no and lay her back down, when for the last two weeks, I’ve been clapping and cheering every time she pulled herself up to standing?

Then she looks at me with this face of “aren’t you proud of me for pulling myself up, that’s a new trick you know mom.  When I’ve done it before you’ve danced a jig”, and yes baby I am so proud of you, and then she gives me the “aren’t you going to pick me up and hug me.  I’m whimpering over here?”

I’m at a crossroads.  If I pick her up, then she won’t understand she’s supposed to lay down.  And if I tell her,”no, lay down”, she won’t understand how proud I am of her for working so hard to stand up.  During this sort of dilemma, my maternal instinct usually wins.  The one that says love and comfort, hush her cries, make her feel safe and loved.  I know I’m reinforcing undesirable habits, but I can only pray that I’m building trust and reassuring her that she needn’t worry about her needs being met.

After giving this parenting gig a go for the last 8 months, I’ve come to some conclusions.

Of the little I know, this is what I know:

  •  All babies are unique.
  • I must figure what works best for my family.
  • If the situation isn’t a problem to the family, then the family shouldn’t let society (or the internet) convince them it’s a problem.
  • There’s really no right way to do this.
  • Most other mothers must be liars, wanting others to believe they have dream babies, or it’s been so long ago, they’ve forgotten.
  • I don’t have the answers and can only do my best.
  • I’m going to mess up everyday and I can only hope she doesn’t turn out to be Jeffrey Dahmerish.  Or worse.

 

God bless all mothers, everywhere!

 

Under the weather

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It’s September 15th, or is it the 14th?  Regardless of the number on the calendar, it is my favorite time of year.  It’s a dreary, overcast day and my thoughts bounce around randomly, like an annoying fly trying to find a place to light, but never satisfied for long.

I’m feeling a tad under the weather, which seems fitting with the forecast.  I want to curl up in bed with a book and hide all day.  I would too, if I didn’t have a 7 month old competing for my attention.  She’s a bit under the weather too, and just wants to be held, but doesn’t want to sit still once I pick her up.  She’s obsessed with reaching and grabbing everything from the side table, attempting to climb on top of my head, or rubbing her face frantically in my chest, smearing snot all over my fourteen dollar sweatshirt.  Desperate for a reprieve to blow my nose,  I did the bad mom thing.  I turned on the TV.

As most of you probably know, we don’t have TV.  I can see you scratching your head now.  How can I turn it on, if we don’t have it you ask?  Well, we have an actual TV, but we have no cable, or satellite, or even rabbit ears.  We do own a DVD though, so I dug through stacks of exercise tapes, sneezing and coughing as the piles of dust billowed, and discovered a cartoon belonging to my niece.  Kung Fu Panda.

Since EK only gets TV time when we’re visiting someones house or when she’s watching Blazing Saddles with her dad, which is so appropriate I might add, I thought this was a win-win situation.

I imagined her in a TV daze while I vegged out in an antihistamine induced state of mind on the couch.

Turns out, she doesn’t care too much for pandas.  Or Kung Fu.  A matter of fact, I think I heard her say, “Pandas?  We don’t need no stinking pandas.”

I’m left with no other option but to sit here with EK on my head, watching a cartoon mouse with a Fu Man Chu do jujitsu, using the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe my nose.  Good thing it only cost fourteen dollars.

 

 

The toughest job

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When I was a teacher, just a few short months ago, I used to believe teaching was the hardest profession there was.  In fact, I’ve been known to tell people that very thing.

Now that I’m a stay-at-home-mom, I have changed my opinion and believe mommy hood is the hardest job there is.

More than likely if I was an artist, I’d think that was the hardest profession to be had.

The toughest job, I’ve discovered, is the one I’m presently working.

Suzanne gave me a devotional book for moms.  ”A Time-Out for Busy Moms”.   I’m not sure if that really exists.  The book was in good condition when I first received it, but now the edges are ruffled and torn, tiny bite marks have dried the corners.  When I sit down to read it, EK is usually in her  favorite spot, my lap, and she would rather chew on it than let me read it.

She is a blessing and a challenge.  The simplest things are no longer simple.  Showers, toilet breaks, eating.  She has no regard for my basic needs.  She is an infant.  A selfish, needy, narcissistic little baby, just like every other baby that was ever invented.  She is at my feet when I fix a cup of coffee or when I wash the dishes.  If I walk away, she scuttles after me dragging her leg like a little hermit crab calling “mama, mama, mama”.  When she’s not at my feet or on my lap or in my arms, I must watch her like a hawk.  She’s exploring and discovering and learning things the hard way, like how a mousetrap feels on her little fingers.  All this, and we’re not even in the difficult age yet.  Give her enough time and she will be putting Cheerios in the toilet and displaying her artwork with permanent markers and nail polish on the dining room table.

To date, the biggest mess she’s managed is unloading about 15 wipies one by one, only after tasting each one first.

 

And yes, I took a picture.

I know other moms have this thing figured out.  They are doing a better job of it I know.  Their babies sleep through the night.  In their own beds to boot.  They eat their veggies and take a bottle so their mamas can leave them for more than three hours at a time.

I ain’t gonna lie, it’s a tough gig, and I’m doing the best I can.

Today she fell asleep in my lap and I was able to pick up my mommy devotional book.  We rocked while I read and it was one of the most peaceful and gratifying moments I could experience.  As I gazed down at her sleeping face, the corners of her mouth turned upwards and a small smile spread across her mouth. I imagined the angels were whispering in her ear.  I couldn’t help but smile too.

In the big scheme of things, this baby stage is such a short time in the span of her years.  Instead of wishing this and wishing that, I need to learn to appreciate every nuance and detail.   Before you know it we’ll be driving her to college.

I’m sure when I leave her in the dorm room, she won’t be the one crying then.

6 months

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Precious, darling Emma Kate,

Look at you grow, girl!  Mama doesn’t even know where to begin telling you about your very busy month. I have so much to say, so I guess instead of starting at the beginning, I’ll just start at the top.

Your hair. It has lightened up some, still brown,  and is thick on top and grows in a point like Dracula (just like my dream)but not a scary, blood thirsty Dracula, but rather a beautiful, bright-eyed smooch able baby girl Dracula.

Your teeth.  Yep, they’re there. Two shiny white pearls on bottom.  Finally.   You’ve been a dream teether, you haven’t fussed one bit, but we could feel these little suckers when you were four months old and have been waiting patiently.

With those new toofies you’ve tried some real food.

In your most humble opinion:

Rice cereal= bleck!

Peas= double bleck!

Strawberries= sour bleck! (unlike my dream)

The foods that have received an Emma stamp of approval are peaches, pears, avocado, and squash.  We’re trying to keep you away from sugar and junk food, but we did offer you a taste of frozen yogurt, but the cold surprised you so, I’m not sure which list it belongs on.

Your mouth.  It’s so sweet, and you have the best smiles to give. You are not much of a laugher, but full of grins.   You can make ma-ma, da-da, bye-bye sounds! And holy cow you are loud!  We tease you that you got that from your grandy.

Your butt.   You are sitting alone for really long periods of time, when just a couple weeks ago you were a weeble wobble on a round butt.   Now you’re an old pro.

Your Legs. They are fat!  But those thunder thighs aren’t slowing you down. You are moving and scooting! You use your elbows and one leg to pull and drag yourself around. But that left leg is like a dead man’s, just dragging around behind you.While I’ve  been typing, you have gone to the kitchen, gotten into the potatoes and onions, drug yourself  around to the fridge, then back to the potatoes.  Lazy is NOT your middle name.  You are simply amazing and are taking the world by storm.

Cankles? Yep, you got them.

Your toes.  Oh my goodness, I love to get those piggies because they taste so sweet.

That’s you from top to toes, baby girl.  You are our delight. It has been so much fun loving you the last six months. Gosh, you’ll never know how adored you are. I mean that. Completely, Totally, Altogether, Absolutely ADORED and LOVED from top to bottom.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, my dear one.  I love you!!

XOXO,

Mama

 

 

She Battles

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Each day, right after her cup of coffee, she laces up her tennie runners as her dad used to call them, straps the baby in the stroller and begins her walk down a lonely dirt, country road.  Slow at first, building steam, gearing up.  Just barely after she starts, her mind tells her to quit.  Gives her the talk.  Lists the excuses. But she has no excuses.  Time is no excuse.  Ability is no excuse.  Rain or snow is no excuse.  So she perseveres.  Each day she goes a little farther.  Pushes herself a little harder.  Forces herself to make it just past the cotton field with the new plants pushing through, then a little farther to the windmill.  Finally to the red barn where she can turn around.

Most days she prays.  She prays for her loved ones, she thanks God for her family, her health, her many blessings.  She thinks, she sings, she talks to her baby who bounces along with her Clifford pacifier in her mouth, the breeze blowing her little crop of hair.

She’s in the midst of a battle.  An all out war against the baby weight.  A daily struggle.  She remembers her former self.   The younger her, before marriage and pregnancy transformed her into a jiggly blob.  She curses her body.  Its slowness, its sluggish metabolism, its saggy skin and weakness.  But with the next thought, she recognizes its magnificence.  Its ability to create life, to bring it forth, to nourish and sustain it.

She makes herself run now.  From telephone pole to telephone pole she runs.  The next telephone pole cheers her on.  Encourages her, reminds her that the next one is not too far off.  Until her mind once again tells her to quit, catch her breath.

She walks now.  Pushing her sleeping baby. Gasping for air.  She passes the stench of death.  Something lying in the bar ditch beneath the tall weeds.  She turns her head as the smell of rot burns into her nose.  She imagines it a mouse, a bird, a skunk.  Surely the worst is over.  ”Decay faster you S.O.B.,” she mutters aloud.

Her body glistens with perspiration.  Her face is the color of beets.  Her shoulders tanned in the sun, the right one a shade darker than the left.  She turns into her drive, slowing to a snail’s pace.  At the front door, she lifts her dozing baby from the stroller and places her heavy head against her sweaty neck.  The air conditioning is a wonderful respite from the early morning heat.  Her eyes adjust to the darkness of the nursery as she places her in the crib to dream the sweet dreams of babies.

Her next battle is laundry.