There she goes

I had a post (or ten) in my head for tonight. But this one takes precedence. She crawled for the first time tonight, chasing after our bunny while I was at work and Dave was in charge. It had to happen some time, I suppose, despite all my hovering and waiting for each lurch to turn into a crawl.

It's exciting because I honestly didn't believe she would crawl before she walked. And once again, she has proven me wrong. I'll have to see it again before I say She crawls! because Lord knows she rolled over a few times, too, but she doesn't Roll Over. She's just content to be where she is, or in my arms. There's no in between, like crawling to me. If she can see me, she's content. Unless, of course, she wants to be in my arms and then crawling would never do anyway.



Here we go, on the next leg of the oldest journey ever traveled.

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lens deprivation

Nothing like the first sunny day of the new year to bring you out of a photofunk.

Over the holidays my dad and all his wonderful camera lenses were visiting. And of course, when he left they left as well, and I started suffering from (portrait and macro) lens deprivation. When my dad came out in the fall and in a (great heroic) act of generosity gave me his beautiful camera, I awestruck. I could barely control the camera, let alone appreciate and experiment with lenses. Now that my camera and I are good friends, lenses are the only thing on my mind.

If you haven't noticed my sidebar, I ought to mention that this year I am partaking in project 365, a photography challenge to take a photo each day for a year. Every day I'm trying harder to make that photo more than a snapshot, to use it to break through to my creativity and figure out my camera's full capacity.

I have a "big camera" (aka gargantunikon) and a "little camera" (aka my bitty cannon elph). For the first two week after my dad('s camera equipment) left, Gargantunikon's lens seemed so inferior that I lost my big camera mojo and reverted to carrying around Bitty Elph. I couldn't think of a single thing that I wanted to lug around my big camera for. Luckily, that has changed this week and I have thought of plenty of reasons to stash the Ginormonikon camera into my bag and pull it out not-so-discretely in public places.

I realized I've been associating shallow depth of field with good photography, though there are many photographers out there whose styles include a visible background. It makes me realize that I have a great lens for creativity, and in wishing I could blur out backgrounds, really I'm missing out on the opportunity to perfect my attention to detail.

So it's going to be my mission to shoot as much as possible with the lens I have, hunt out light that's sweet enough, play with light that's not, move around to hide or incorporate the background, and stop using my lens as a crutch to say, If only I had a better lens, I could have hidden that dirty pot in the background. Then, when I finally do get the lens of my dreams, it'll be like a vacation. If nothing else, it might make me more inclined to keep my kitchen clean.

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Three quarters turn

Dearest Bella,

Here we are, rocking in your chair, soaking up the rare winter sunbeam through our big living room window as I eat pb and sugar sandwiches and you snooze delightfully away. I may soon lick the peanut butter off my fingers, thus freeing up my left hand to join in typing so that you will have this letter this month, not next.

Each time you finally succumb to the sleep demons, I breathe a sigh of relief since they never take you without a fight. You've learned that shaking your head like the Tasmanian Devil can give you those extra precious seconds of energy that you need when fighting sleep. You know every dirty trick in the Professional Sleep Resister Manual, and employ them with full expertise. Normally I don't mind the entertaining Hour of Resistance, but your second tooth is grinding its way to the surface as we speak and you, my intolerant irritable irksome child, need your sleep.



What can I say about this month? We have gone three quarters the way around the sun, and what a trip it has been. It's hard to imagine all that your 8th month contained, Christmas already seems so far off. You showed us that you're still not a fan of food, snow after snow came down, you met relatives you never knew you had, and spent a week under to doting glow of your grandparents.



A new year has begun and all of those days from the 18th to the 31st have been filed away under 2008, the surface wiped clean. I wonder how long this will last, starting each month on the 18th, disregarding the flip of the calendar page. We can only hope for the sake of my brain that any future siblings will be born on 18ths as well.



This month you have learned that some of the things I ask of you just aren't worth fighting over. In fact, some are downright helpful. I think you're learning this lesson a lot faster than I ever did, and it gives me a great sense of relief. Instead of fighting me, you now raise your head in the tub when I reach to clean out your delightful neck cheese. And although your anemone hands still wave about, they no longer slip out of my grasp like Houdini slathered in butter when I go to grab them to lift you into a stand. In fact, yesterday I held out my hands and you took them, smiled, and helped pull yourself up. I think in that moment the heavens split and may have heard angels singing.



We are on the cusp of so many things. Daddy and I hold our breaths when we watch you reach for items on the floor, you are so close to crawling. You walk around with us now, too, when we hold you by the arms, though sometimes you get so excited you start to tap dance and those happy feet are highly contagious and you break into smiles and wiggles and giggles of all sorts. You've started clapping now, too. And I was astonished just before Christmas when I realized that you were playing peekaboo with me, diving into your pillow, waiting for me to exclaim Peek A Boo! when you shot back up, laughing.



It's been a gray world since the snow melted. Each day grayer than the last, as winters here go. When the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, I strap you on and we dart outside to collect its pale rays. You are my light in this winter, and for the first time ever it is only January and I find myself wishing for warmer days so we can play in the grass and I can push you on a swing, and I can watch you being a kiddo, doing what babies do best. Until then, I'll try my best to be content goofing off with you inside, sharing my knitting, sharing my chores, sharing my love on those dark dreary days.



Love, mama

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Sleep deprivation, cause and effect

December and January where I work are as busy to me as March and April are to accountants. Let me just say it's starting to catch up with me.

1. Load laundry directly from hamper into dryer without noticing. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

2. Lose First Felting Project Anxiety after husband hides knitted pumpkin hat in diaper pail and it emerges clean and perfectly felted. Worry that any intentional felting will not live up to these expectations: Knit. Forget about. Find felted results while folding diapers.

3. Remind teething daughter that you are always there to protect her by comfort nursing her each hour when she cries out in her sleep, clawing at you to escape from unknown monsters and pains.

4. Lie awake into the wee hours of the night next to aforementioned daughter, fully aware of how beneficial sleep would be, instead contemplating The Meaning of Life the Universe and Everything to fill the few hours until you must go to work.



5. Neglect to properly set 4am alarm. Or turn it off while sleeping. You'll never really know which as you jam pants on while you stuff food in your mouth and run for your car.

6. Find ecstasy in a sunbeam and a child-free nap. Make sweet snoring love to marshmallowy pillows, bury self in feathery goodness and wake up delightfully refreshed 15 minutes later.

7. Realize that although 15 minute child-free nap = 60 minute shared nap, it's still only fifteen minutes.

8. End list at eight items because your brain is too tired to know what else you've done this week, and editing out the numbers would be too labor intensive.

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The first lesson

Last night was a lesson in How to Not Set Yourself Up for Success and Thus Cause Self-Induced Frustration to Reach Intolerable Levels.

Previously I decided that my theme this year would be Gentle. It's my go-to, Think Before You Act word. Obviously I chose it because it is something that I need to focus on, and boy do I feel a long way off after last night.

I got home from work at my usual 11pm, and knowing that I have to bring Bella to my meeting the next morning at 8 (normally we get up around 11 so this would be verrry early for her), I asked Dave to keep her up so she would be sleepy enough to fall asleep as soon as I got home instead of our usual 12 or 1 bedtime. Of course, I completely ignore the fact that this child hates sleeping and only gets worse the less sleep she has.

So after some giggling and bouncing and happy playtime to wind her up, I suddenly expect her to snuggle up to me and fall asleep when I'm not even tired myself. I'm really not even sure where I initially came up with this plan. (Be gentle on yourself, Shawna, file it away as stupid plan #64 and move on.) After an hour of combat nursing, blabbering, cooing, whining and kicking, Bella falls asleep. And then she promptly throws up in her sleep all over the bed, snoozing right through my growls and heated mutterings as I attempt to clean up. When I finally wind myself back down to sleep, she wakes up ready to play in her sleep deprived giddiness.

By now I'm at wit's end and am no longer gently shushing her to sleep, but trying (and failing) not to lose my cool as she struggles to wrench herself out of my swaddling arms, aims yet another kick at my stomach and flips over to poke at Dave (who has to get up for work in 3 hours). Taking a step back to appraise the situation, I realize my actions are reactions, retaliations even, and I'm becoming increasingly angry as I find myself being less and less gentle and I'm blaming it on Bella when truthfully it's my ridiculous expectations. Stir in the pressure of now knowing both of us will be exhausted and cranky for my meeting, and I'm simmering in a fine soup and have no resources left in my bag of tricks to separate myself and rise above it all.

Finally Dave, who can't sleep over Bella's screams anyway (she hasn't been this furious since she was a colicky little babe), sweeps her away in a masterful bit of mercy. I get my ten minutes peace to regroup, fume, and reassess my expectations, and hop back into bed to comfort my messy, stressed out child with a refreshed and sympathetic perspective. Gently.

~~~~

With the quick temper I have, Gentle is a huge and important challenge for me this year. Eventually I will have the resources to be in a situation, recognize it for what it's worth and become transparent to it. Eventually I hope to become so transparent (repeat after me: I am an unpokeable bear) that I don't get myself so far into a situation that I need rescuing.

Just as with all lessons in parenting, you dive in head first and muck around until you finally realize your way. And then of course the terrain will change. But having even one success in my pocket will give me the confidence to know I can move through anything, learn to let it move through me.

A picture of Gentle will go on my wall this year, as an ever changing piece of word art, adjusted as often as necessary to encourage myself, mark goals and milestones, setbacks and achievements.

Gentle will stay within me during the day in every aspect and I fully expect its meaning to morph throughout a year's lessons. For now it means to treat myself gently when I initially fail where I assumed I'd excel. Be gentle to others at work. Treat Dave gently in return for all the amazing things he does for me, but not as a condition of those actions. Handle Bella gently, with gentle words and voice, not to transfer my anger and frustrations through gruff touch or harsh tones for pushing buttons that are mine and mine alone. And of course, be gentle in my own expectations of growth and in the challenges I will face. I'll even be gentle with myself if it takes a while to get the word up on my wall, because returning to art after a long time of just writing is a big step for me as well.

~~~~

In case you're curious, Bella behaved beautifully at the meeting, as always. I have sent all expectations for tonight out the door and on their way. Tonight we will relax and recoup from our sleepless night and adventure filled day.

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Dinner Time!

My dad took these shots while we were TRYING to get Bella to take some pureed carrots after Christmas. I've mentioned in the past how no matter what we try, she's just not ready for solids yet. She seems to be okay with the taste (usually) but the texture gets her every time.

I can't look at these shots without cracking up. They're hilarious to me because they show just how melodramatic about eating she is. I made like ten collages of different photos, and I laughed every time I saw the photos again.

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after midnight

I watched her clapping with a friend tonight, watched her realize its significance, this new means of communication. And now, in the wee silent hours of the morning, each of us on our second wind, she starts a conversation. She has just finished exploring the ins and outs of my teeth and gums and nostrils with her fingers and sits up to watch me, elation on her face. She claps, smiles, looks up at me and waits for me to mimic her, which inevitably results in a full grin.

We exchange claps in the dim light, the soft rhythmic pat of two little hands, two big hands, and four sandwiched together join the sounds of the rain whipping around in the darkness outside. Simple and timeless, mama and baby, together in the quiet sharing their day.

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Ah, snow

As it is almost 60 today and so gray that I'm resisting turning on every light in my apartment just so I can see where I'm going, I thought it would be a great time to reminisce about our bright sunny snow days.

Seattleites are use-it-or-lose-it when it comes to snow, as it often turns straight to rain. When we had our perfectly wonderful storm before Christmas, Bella and I went on a photo walk and encountered a few new neighbors sprouting up in yards. I had fun making snowmen as a kid, but I definitely don't remember this many springing up in front of every house during my childhood in Massachusetts. There was even a friend for Bunny (our bunny).

And the pièce de résistance:


This customer had a snow day as well, and decided to spend his day making a snow scene outside our local Starbucks. It marks an accomplishment for me 1. because at first I felt shy taking a picture of the snowmen with my camera (for my barista husband) but several customers liked the idea and followed suit, and 2. because later I actually asked a stranger if I could take his photo with his art. It was a fun day.

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Supersaturated New Year

The way Christmas should be celebrated, photo by PapaRazi

2007 was a slow year. Sadness and fear spattered with hope have a way of drawing out time. It was our newlywed year, the year we decided to start a family. I took our first loss as a sign that it was time to reevaluate where we wanted to live and make the cross country move we had always imagined. 2007 was a year of drastic changes, always looking forward as we trudged through it all.



Cue 2008, the last of the Slow Years. A year goes by so fast when you have a purpose in your life and it's amazing so many memories can exist in one time-space. Once Bella was born we were simply trying not to get whiplash from looking back as we struggled to catch up with the new pace. And the last couple of months went by at breakneck speed. It's like 2008 saw the New Year coming and was like, Oh Thank God, and started to run to pass off the relay wand.

Everything else from here on out will fly past our eyes and it will be my mission to savor it as much as possible.



I had an inkling, or perhaps mild dread, about how quickly life moves when children are involved, but I didn't know that it would go from five miles per hour to 50 over night. It's nice to have endless photographs to be able to freeze a moment and say, Yes, I remember that, but they really put things in perspective. No more scrolling through photos trying to look for the subtle clues deciphering which Christmas, which party, which season, which year we are reminiscing. Even photos without Bella still shout She's Here! A toy in the corner (or littering the floor), extra bags under my eyes (and coffee in my hand), that look that says Mama all over me (forgot to brush hair again). She's our little hourglass, each day another grain topping off the pile, another inaccessible moment added to our long list of memories.



After a wash of (joyfully generic) Christmas after Christmas, this will be the only one Just Like It, everyone together, one little baby happily soaking it all up. I can't fathom having a toddler running around next Christmas, I don't even try. On New Year's Day we waited for a table in a restaurant lobby with piles and piles of families. My mom asked a fellow mother how old her baby was, and then corrected the phrase since the girl was so much bigger than Bella, technically a toddler. To me she looked ten feet long and ready to start school. Twenty months, the mother replied. And I noticed it, that phrasing, a mother clinging to those last few months before resigning to years for age descriptions.

Twenty months. Exactly the age Isabelle will be this time next year, when I will be calling her by months, hoping that everyone still remembers she's just a baby. Once a baby, always a baby.

2009 here we come.

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for my parents

WE MISS YOU!!!














PS. You made it out just in time before Bella's cold attacked Dave and me. That must be one of the privileges of being a grandparent that they always talk about...

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