Our baby girl turned 8 weeks old yesterday.
People say she’s tiny, but she’s already grown so much to me.
I tried to capture her in all her little 8 week oldness. She’s changing so much, so quickly.
Her daddy’s in love with her side profile. And all the rest of her too.
I’m in love with her eyelashes. And all the rest of her too.
A friend said it best. “We couldn’t have ordered one better.”
Thank you God for our Emma Kate. All of her.
Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.
Our days zoom past.
Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.
And I’m not just talking about EK either.
Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.
Sometimes in addition to the aforementioned, we take pictures.
And on occasion, I’ll get a request from a family member for more pictures of EK.
They pretty much all look the same. EK is either sleeping or awake.
This past weekend my niece, Ash, decided to play photographer. Inspired by my friend Lacee who recently crammed my baby in a bucket and took some amazing pictures, Ash tried to reenact the same look, with some decent results like the one below.
I must go now.
One of us needs to eat, sleep, or poop.
And I’m not saying who.
My Darling Emma Kate,
I’m writing to you, my precious, even though I know you can’t read yet. But you’re so smart, I’m convinced it will probably only take you another couple of months at the rate you’re going! I want to capture your life and all its milestones, stepping stones, and rocky roads you travel until that glorious day when you string sounds together on paper and read words. Then we can write your life together. Won’t that be fun?
You’ve walked this earth for one month today. Technically you haven’t walked this earth. You haven’t crawled, scooted or even rolled this earth. Rather you’ve been lugged and toted, passed from person to loving person who simply adore you and practically come to blows over whose going to hold you next. Truthfully, I’ve actually witnessed 2 grown men holler, “I’ve got her” and race each other to your crib when you made the littlest possible squeak. Teenagers used to do that when the telephone rang, back when I was a girl.
You are simply adored. You have no idea how many people love you, and I do mean love you. Full, unmeasured, unconditional love. I update my Facebook status regularly with posts all about you and show your pictures and can you believe that people who aren’t even your blood kin call you beautiful!! And that’s because you are. Just remember to always act beautifully, okay? What your insides look like is more important in this life than your outsides. Beauty fades, sweet girl. But right now, you own it. You have the sweetest round face, the longest eyelashes, and the best smile of any baby I’ve ever seen. You’ve been smiling since we first saw you. People say it’s gas, but I believe you’re happy to be here. You had to wait a long time, but now you’re here.
Your pudgy belly hangs over your little newborn britches, making you absolutely squeezable. You are weighing in at a hefty 9 lbs .3 ounces and are 20 7/8″ long. The doctor says you look great, you are about in the 50th percentile in height, weight, and head size, which is just a big way of saying you’re absolutely perfect! Your lungs sound good. You are a healthy girl, fearfully and wonderfully made in His image, and oh how I thank Him daily for you.
You are strong and are beginning to hold your head up for longer and longer periods of time. You were alert from day one, and other than beautiful, it’s the second most commented aspect of your personality. Sometimes, it’s as if you are just going to open your mouth and start talking. Your aunt Jolea said it’s as if you have an old soul. My friend, Mrs. Z said you act like a 3 month old in a newborn outfit.
Lots of people say you look like your daddy, a few say me, and a handful say there are parts of your grandpa in you. Even I see that sometimes, especially when you first wake up all groggy acting, and tufts of hair from your balding head are sticking out on the sides.
I already think you’ve grown so much this first month, and I want time to slow down, but at the same time, I can’t wait to see who you’re going to be. Are you going to be outgoing? Daredevilish? Reserved? Quiet? Creative? Outdoorsy? Will you like peas and bananas or will you spit them out? I already know you’re going to love strawberries because I dreamed it. I can’t wait to hear you laugh, and I look forward to our future. We are going to have such fun.
You are the light of my life. My sunshine. You make me happy all the time, when skies are gray or blue.
You will never, never, never know how much I love you, baby girl.
XOXO,
Mommy
Our baby girl is already 3 weeks old, and has completely stolen our hearts.
The first time I watched the movie Raising Arizona, I couldn’t believe how stupid it was. But, in its defense, I didn’t really watch it. I busied myself with other things, catching snippets here and there while my husband sat in his chair giggling his little butt off at, in my opinion, bad actors.
At a later date, I watched a little more of it, and then a little more, until finally I’d seen the entire movie and understood it.
In case you’ve never seen Raising Arizona, it’s about a couple (one outlaw, one law enforcement officer) who can’t have any children so they decide to kidnap one from a rich man and his wife who recently had quintuplets. They figured that was too many babies for one couple and they probably wouldn’t even miss one anyway.
Here’s a little clip from the movie. This scene takes place right after they have abducted Nathan Jr. and have him in the car.
I so get this. I so get her. That woman is me in a nutshell. And J-Dub too.
We are utterly, completely head over feet in love with our new baby. To the point of tears. Add to that, my hormones which are up, down, east, and west and I can break down at any moment.
I have so many emotions. Indescribable emotions. From overwhelming love that I never knew existed…..
to guilt and remorse over the circumstances surrounding her birth……
to worry that every breath she takes is normal…….
to exhaustion from the past 11 days……..
to determination to give her the absolute best in life……..
to contentment when I feel her soft cheek next to mine…..
And to think, I am not alone. Every mother in the world has felt these same feelings.
What an honor to be a mom.
It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa. It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup.
When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a couple of cardboard boxes of belongings.
When we arrived home, it sat in the floor of the spare bedroom right behind the door. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I went about my day-to-day life and when I found time, I sorted through the cardboard boxes that had made the trip, discarding unnecessary things. But still, it remained.
When the spare bedroom began changing into a nursery, it sat on the floor watching while paint went on the walls, and office furniture was replaced with a crib. Like a child’s teddy bear with the eye missing and the stuffing coming out, it remained as a reminder.
It wasn’t valuable. It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t useful to anyone. But it was such a part of him that I kept it around. It’s funny how when someone dies, their everyday things become such strong reminders of them. For my grandmother, it was a silver fingernail file that sat beside her chair. She probably used it every day. For my dad, it was a grimy, white Easter basket he used to carry his medication. An Easter basket. While other men have a satchel or a tote, or even a gallon size Ziploc bag, my dad used an Easter basket.
“Take one daily with a meal.” “For management of high cholesterol, take one each day.” “Take each morning and evening.” The instructions on each bottle kept him going for several years. High blood pressure, cholesterol, blood thinners, aspirin.
When New Year’s Day 2012 rolled around, sadness overcame me. A new year, a new beginning, only without him. Moving ahead, moving on, I knew I must. But I didn’t know how. And then I was reminded:
“For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—-and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again.” 2 Corinthians 5:1 The Message
My dad no longer needed his pills. It was just a sad reminder to me of the temporary body that burdened him.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7
On Monday January 2, I carried the basket to the dumpster and set it in. Don’t think I didn’t consider taking it out and bringing it back in the house throughout the day. I was home on Tuesday, the 3rd, when the loud roar of the trash truck pulled up. I heard the lifting of the dumpster, the bang of the lids as it flipped over. I imagined the dirty Easter basket and the bottles of pills scattering as they fell. I sat on the couch as the truck roared away, thinking of my dad and his new body. No longer sick. No longer burdened.
Today, he would’ve been 69 years old. He left this world February 26, 2011.
He is dancing.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
I love you.
Upcoming monumental events cause me a bit of angst, anxiety, and apprehension.
For example, each August I methodically prepare to meet a new group of second graders. I hang posters, write out name tags, copy wonderfully engaging papers, plan ice breaking activities, and decorate my classroom door all in eager anticipation.
It seems that no matter how long I’ve been teaching, every August I still get nervous. With those nerves come dreams. My anxiety permeates my subconscious. It never fails, that my dreams are unpleasant. No matter how prepared I am in the real world, in dreamland I am usually very unprepared for the first day of school. My papers are not copied, the children are rowdy, no one knows which seat belongs to them, I’m late to class, or simply have no control over the students. After a dream like the aforementioned, I usually wake up, mop my brow, and expel a big “Whew, glad that was only a dream.” And then the first day of school comes off without a hitch.
Considering my past, I’ve been a little concerned as to why I’ve only dreamed about my baby once, and I haven’t dreamed about the labor or birth of my baby yet. I mean, it’s not as if this is not an upcoming monumental event! Or it’s not as if I’m not experiencing some angst, anxiety, and apprehension. By now I should be riddled with night terrors. But I’m not.
I woke up this morning with a smile. Why? Because she visited me in my dream, and it wasn’t a horrific labor that caused me to sit up with sweat gluing my gown to my back. Nor was she sick or crying. She was sleeping, and I walked into her nursery and there she was lying on her stomach (yes I know, she should be one her back).
She was a tiny little thing sleeping peacefully. I reached down into her crib and placed my hand on her back to rub her gently. She awoke. Not the sleepy-eyed, grumpy kind of awakening, but rather a “yea, my mommy’s here!” kind of awakening. You know how weird dreams can be, so although her body was small, she was much older and developmentally capable of more. She sat on her knees with her arms outstretched. I picked her up, but I couldn’t see her face. Her hair was brown and mussed and it grew down into a point on her forehead, kind of like Dracula needing a haircut in the worst way. I remember wanting to see her face so badly, wondering what she looked like. I was seeing her for the first time. I reached my forefinger towards her hair and swept it to the left out of her eyes. And there she was. She wasn’t anything spectacular or breathtaking to behold. She was a baby. My baby. A baby I’ve never seen before until last night.
She had small brown eyes, and chubby cheeks, and a pudgy little nose. And when she smiled, two little bottom teeth appeared. She was happy and energetic and glad to see me. It was as if she’d been waiting to see me as long as I’ve been waiting to see her. But what made the dream so realistic was the fact that her nose was dirty, and her eyes were sleep-filled. Little dried sleepies rested in the corner of her eyes, and her nose had run in the night and she had dried crusties on the edge of her nostrils.
Then I carried her to the living room and handed her to her daddy because I was late for work. My house filled with people, strangers that I didn’t know. I was upset because no one had woken me for work, and my face scrub was missing out of my shower, and someone had rummaged through all my cabinets and nothing was where is was supposed to be. Then I was running a race on the highway. You know how weird dreams can be.
I wanted to write my baby dream down however, because I am clinging to that image in my mind. As the hours pass, it’s vanishing, ever so slowly, because that’s what a dream will do. There will be a fading, and then a fragment here and there, until it’s forgotten completely.
We’re down to 11 days until her due date. On Thursday, I’m having a sonogram. There isn’t any concern, but the doctor would like to get a birth weight estimate and check my fluids. I think it’s just a way to get more money, but at least we’ll get to see her little face and I’m sure I’ll post the pictures.
And then, a few days after that, we’ll get to see her face for real. It won’t be long until we’ll stumble through the house in the dark, sweep her hair off her forehead, pick her up from her crib, clean her crusty nose and boogery eyes, smother her in kisses, tell her how glad we are to see her, and how much we love her.
It won’t be long.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Yes, I know the song refers to the Christmas season, but I disagree. I believe the Thanksgiving season is the most wonderful time. It is my favorite by far.
This thanksgiving, 2011, I am blessed beyond my wildest comprehension. There has been loss.
And there has been gain.
How much things can change in one year.
This time last year, I saw my dad alive for the last time. We sat on the steps of my old house on a beautiful Autumn day as birds honked above overhead. I mistakenly called them geese. He was quick to inform me they were sandhill cranes. He always loved the birds.
We took a drive around the old Celanese plant where he spent some time working years ago, and although we didn’t say much of anything, I’m sure he was venturing down his own memory lane, just as I am now. Days gone by. Out of reach.
I snapped this last picture of him and my sister lying in the floor, right before we watched Four Christmases together. He forgot that blue handkerchief when he left. It’s now washed and folded and put away in a box of things, along with a pair of glasses left forgotten. He passed away the following February, and I have missed him everyday since.
But we shall meet again, and there will be rejoicing.
This time next year, we will have a 10 month old little girl crawling around, possibly beginning to pull up, yanking all the popcorn and cranberries strands from the Christmas tree. She will have brown hair and brown eyes and little dimples on her knees. We will play peek-a-boo and patty cake, feed her pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream, and smother her in kisses.
And I’ll be tired, but it will all be worth it.
Things change. There’s no doubt I’ve changed.
And thank God for that.
Robert Frost said he could sum life up in three words. “It goes on.”
And thank God for that too.
I hope you take a moment to be thankful today and everyday. We are so blessed.
Praise God.
Cherish Loved Ones.
Be happy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Love,
Angel
I have a hot drink, a quiet house, and a long to-do list, but I’m going to sit a minute and write. I miss blogging. If I had my ‘druthers, I’d stay home, write everyday, and make preserves; or some other similar lost art. It sounds idyllic, but I’m sure it would get old after a while.
J-Dub and Ash have gone on a bike ride to a nearby, near-dried-up lake, and I’m sitting in my comfy chair, in my comfy preggo pajamas, listening to the flock of birds that live outside my window in an evergreen tree causing quite a ruckus.
Today I feel so blessed. Most days I feel blessed, but sometimes it is an overwhelming feeling that I simply can’t describe. I believe it has something to do with Fall. It’s quickly becoming my favorite time of year. or it may have something to do with my little baby to be, Emma Kate. Oh I dreamed of her last night. It was the most precious thing. She was about 5 or 6 months old, and had the biggest eyes you have ever seen. She was eating a strawberry. It was the first strawberry she’d ever tried. When she got a taste of it, her big eyes grew even wider. It was like a taste of heaven in her mouth. I loved waking up with that sweet image in my mind. I must plant strawberries this spring!
For the past two years, I have attempted a pumpkin patch, and have failed both times. Ash used to have a flower-pot of strawberries and they would produce about 3 a year. I hope to have better luck with my green thumb. Emma needs strawberries.
I’ve also been dreaming of my lost loved ones lately. My dad and my grannie have both been present with me in my dreams. It’s nice to wake up after being visited by a loved one, passed on.
But mostly, my blessed feeling has a lot to do with God. Isn’t he awesome? He has given me so much, even the things I thought I didn’t need. He knows our every thought before we think them. He knows the number of hairs on our head. He knows us better than we could ever know ourselves, and the most amazing thing is, He loves us still. His love is bigger and wider and deeper than anything we can fathom.
I hope you know Him. Somedays I’m an ungrateful child of the King, and I think I’m too busy to spend much, if any, time with Him. But He doesn’t hold it against me. He welcomes me back as a loving Father. He’s with us all ways. Even before we ever knew Him, He knew us. Right now I’m reminded of a scripture, Psalms 139.
1 You have searched me, LORD,
and you know me.
2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
4 Before a word is on my tongue
you, LORD, know it completely.
5 You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
17 How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
19 If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
20 They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
21 Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
22 I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
23 Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
24 See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
He’s always with us. Always there. May you have a blessed day.
Today my sweet husband turns 38 years old.
Remember when you were a little kid and made homemade cards? I’m still doing that. Especially after I’ve already gotten home from town and forgotten the dang thing.
He’s not home yet, because he’s still working.
That’s what he does.
Works his butt off. The word lazy is not in his vocabulary. Unless he’s talking to me. Nah, I’m only kidding. He may think it, but he doesn’t say it. He knows when its best to hold the tongue.
He has so many wonderful qualities. 
He’s a good drummer.
He’s a great cook.
A patient uncle.
Whose not afraid to get a little dirty.
A handsome devil.
A loving husband.
And my best friend.
Happy birthday, Jason!
Angel Wheeler 