Twenty two already

Dear Bella,

You know what's funny about February? It's barely over (well, so it was on the 18th anyhow) and it already feels like the shortest month ever. We spent the first half of the month getting through your chicken pox, and the second half trying to figure out how to get you to sleep again. Once you recovered enough to not fall asleep in the rocking chair every day, you decided that naps were a thing of the past. Believe me, you may find that exciting at 1pm, but when you spend the rest of the day bouncing off the walls and exploding over nothing, I guarantee that it's not the easiest way to go about life.

Every step we take towards your birthday I find myself miles closer to the arrival of your little sibling. I'm still not sure what to make of it, but at the moment, I can't complain. I'm getting to see the sweetest side of you, crossing my fingers the real thing will be just as wonderful. You pet my belly and say hello, and we practice putting your bears to bed and nursing them. We set them up in circle around you while you read your books, and I can't help but love being shushed by you when your bears are trying to sleep.

Words are tumbling out of your mouth now faster than either of us can keep up. We find you listening in when least expect it, and you like to repeat the last word of all our sentences. This morning I said aloud (to no one particular), What's six times three? Eighteen? and I heard a tiny echo, Eighteen?

Of course, not all words are so easy to pronounce and you have quite your list of homonyms and accidentally elicit words. Yes, sock still starts with a c, and sit has an extra h in it. Teetee is synonymous with either TV or kitty. Ducky is the hardest one because often it also means doggie. All the rest tend to have hand signals, like wind and rain (wrrrin). I'm so glad you've finally taken to signing. Just the few simple things we know keep our lives that much more peaceful.

You spend the days running around at top speed (wwwwrun!), balancing block towers that are taller than yourself, and decorating all your 2000 parts with ink. Only recently have the pens gone into time out for misuse on permanent surfaces. Daddy thinks you are going to be a tattoo artist, and I'll settle for architect. But don't let your 22 month-old talents confine you. There's still time to try more. And believe me, I cannot wait to see all the little talents hiding inside you. Watching you explore your abilities is my absolute favorite part of this job.

I love you to pieces,
mama

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Confession

Bella has not been in my camera's limelight much since she started healing. My eyes are drawn to the new imperfections on her face, tiny little craters still red where the scabs once were. My perfect baby girl has scars on her face. Once again I feel overly protective - she should be too young for this - and simultaneously foolish that a few scars should matter so much to me.

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For the first time in her entire life, Dave and I are putting Bella to bed and letting her fall asleep alone. I'm starting up my photography business and need the time to work, and as adults, Dave and I just need the space. The routine this week has been a half hour of cuddles and stories and listening to us chat about our days. Then a kiss, and off we go.

Thirty seconds of crying feels like an eternity to me. Common sense tells me it's practically nothing. She's too distracted to fall asleep with me by her side anymore, but I don't want her to think I've deserted her. When I'm ready for bed, I tuck in beside her, give her a kiss, tell her I love her, and fall asleep to the rhythm of her breath.

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Tonight was my chance to catch up on my much neglected google reader. As I started chipping away at the 400 some odd posts, I came to a photographer's blog that I follow, reading it in reverse as I caught up. But it didn't make sense. I didn't recognize it. Whose blog was this? And then as I scrolled down someone sucked all the air out of the room. No, no, no. In all those days I was away, her beautiful baby boy had died.

I was struggling through Christmas and family and scholarships and chicken pox and websites and collectors calling and a winter without snow. And she said goodbye to her youngest boy. Her sweet little two month old caught pertussis and died.

I couldn't help but cry as I caught up on her life, feeling guilty to have missed it, feeling now like chicken pox was a walk in the park and unemployment was a gift. Suddenly it felt like my baby had died and my own world had been turned upside down. The internet is a funny place, that way. Motherhood is a funny thing, that way.

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Events like this break into that primal motherhood fear - the knowledge that, try as we might, there is only so much we can do to protect our babies. That everything is okay until suddenly it isn't anymore. I can't help but succumb to this feeling, crying for mamas everywhere, and for a moment I'm reminded why my voice cracks every time I try to sing the second verse of You Are My Sunshine. I have had to wake up without a baby in my belly; never once since Bella was born have I woken up without her. It's unfathomable.

Yet, there I was, reveling in the fact that my baby (now sporting scars as testament to how sick she was just two weeks ago) had gone to sleep with a teddy that night - relieved that I might get four months to reclaim my life before I give it away again. And this mama would give anything to see her baby's brand new smile again, to kiss him on the forehead one last time.

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My tears change to sad, guilty tears of relief as I sneak away to check on my own baby, to crawl in beside her to feel her warm soft cheeks, fluttery eyelashes, wiggly toes and sleep whimpers. Yet this mama's story has ripped me raw again and it's a long sleepless night as my heart keens for her. Bella inches closer to me in her sleep to grab onto my arm, knowing finally I'm there to replace her teddy. Instead of repositioning her back into her crib, tonight I don't mind sleeping like a sardine. Tonight the kicks will come from inside and out, and one night's lost sleep doesn't seem so bad.

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perspective

I remember very distinctly one day while I was working at a coffee shop (Starbucks, cough cough, hence the addiction) a mom came up to the counter holding her three year old. Look mommy, palm trees!! She was so excited and so proud to have recognized such a thing there in Maryland, and her mom had no idea what she was talking about. The girl pointed behind me a few more times, and when the mom realized what her daughter was talking about, she replied, No, sweetie, those are stacks of cups. Lo and behold, behind me we had stacked the cups high in preparation for our morning rush, and they were leaning over à la palm trees, each cup forming the segmented trunk. And I have never looked at a stack of cups the same again.

I can't imagine what it must be like as a child to see things quite literally from a different perspective. Stacks of cups look like pictures straight out of a story book. Letters don't form words, they form shapes. Teddybears are babies and orange peels make great body decorations. Strawberries pictured on the back cover of a magazine are the most important part of the entire issue. It's not just that children have an effortless imagination - they have yet to step inside the box that constrains most of our adult thoughts.

Today Miss Seven Hours of Sleep Isn't Enough (I could have told her that last night when she refused to go to bed) needed some cuddle time, so I picked up a gardening book and sat in the rocker to read to myself. Five minutes later when Bella perked up and got a hold of my book, she started leafing through it. Imagine my surprise when she started pointing at a pictureless book, repeating, Moon! Now it was my turn to be the confused mom as I looked down at a giant letter C starting the paragraph. And I happily agreed with her, why not? It looked just like a crescent moon.

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Love the one you've got

Usually it's late in the evening when I go to brush my teeth and change my clothes and happen to glance in the mirror. What the heck did I eat today? Oh right, there's a baby in there. I mean, not that I forget during the daily kicking and the 100 trips to the bathroom and the cozy maternity pants (hey man, I'm never going back), but this pregnancy has been strange. I've felt... disconnected.

I'm not anxious that I'm not going to love this kid as much as I love Bella. I've been around enough to know that the heart has an amazing capacity to just keep growing. But my experience with Bella has been so perfect. A natural birth, no complications, a happy baby (when she wasn't colicky, but whatever), a baby that lit up lives in an extraordinary way at her slightest glance. Who can live up to that? Our life is good right now. Why did I want to change that? Nobody can promise the next child will be happy and healthy and ease right into our lives.

And although this pregnancy was 100% planned and 10,000% wanted, it just came sooner than I had expected. Now I'm struck with a protective feeling, a bit of jealousy for my time with Bella. I don't want to have to divide my time. Bella is time consuming and patience-testing and I know with a new born I will have neither of those, and that makes me sad. I don't want to kick her out of the bed months early just so she'll get used to it. I had no intention of weaning her, nursing just became too much of an ordeal. I miss being able to wear her around, to carry her when she's too tired on walks, to hold her so she's involved around the house.

So I suppose it's not that I'm not already in love with the baby I'm growing. It's just that when I was pregnant with Bella I had nowhere else to direct my attentions. Now I have Bella, and only five months (crap. four by the time I post this.) left of Just Bella. By the time the baby is here it'll be all baby baby baby, and right now I'm just wrapping myself up in baby Bella time. Bella cuddles. Bella stories. Bella walks. Bella naps. (Or lack thereof. Lets not forget to savor tantrums with only one child to manage.) I have a feeling the new baby won't mind.

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Savoring: Long overdue

It has been a very long time since I posted a savoring post. There are so many little blessings in my life that are often obscured by day to day stress. When I look back on this time in my life, I'm sure I'll remember it being incredibly difficult, but the last thing I want to do is forget the little things that made every day enjoyable in spite of it all. Hmmm, reviewing the list, it looks like it's all Bella. But that's not true, we did have a sunny day this week! But I've also been completely housebound, so it's kind of a reflection of the month.

Oatmeal baths times 1000.


Story time before bed.


Falling to sleep with my nose in her hair. Boy am I going to miss this when we have to move her to a separate bed. How do people do it?

The little echo has begun. She repeats things we least expect her to, like cook, yeast, bear, dough (man she loves bread dough-and cooking), pee (hahah), Nemo (sounds like Momo)...



Funny little speech quirks that make me giggle every time. Right now she replaces /s/ with /sh/ so we get yesh (which I love) and the ones that have us laughing every time are sock (which she pronounces with a c) and tv (which she pronounces as teetees). yes, we have a sad sense of humor around here.

Letting a sick baby get away with more than she normally would.


Bangs in her eyes - they're long enough now!

Little kicks and wiggles from the baby. Especially since Bella has wanted to be held so much lately it's starting to feel like sibling rivalry.

Just this week she has decided there's a baby in her belly too.

Short hair so I won't have to cut it since there's no chance we'll be brushing it for a few weeks. She's got at least 100 in her hair alone.


Movies from the library, specifically ASL signing shows that Bella loves.


If you give.... books, because I have been reading them for at least five years now and they are still not old. The drawings always have something new to notice.




Cuddles from a sick clingy baby, because I never know which nursing will be our last. I'm ready to stop nursing now that it is painful, but I'm not ready to give up my Bella time.

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