Today, baby girl, you are NINE. MONTHS. OLD.
Wow. Just rolling that age around in my mouth and mind feels weighty. Apparently you were quite impressed with it this morning as well, for as we sat together petting the kitties good morning, I turned to you and told you excitedly, "Ali! You are nine months old today!" and your eyes grew big and round, your mouth broke into a smile, and you started clapping! Seriously. That actually happened. Why should I even be surprised anymore when you are perfect and adorable??
What an fantastic month it's been. You are learning and growing and changing at light speed now, and it has been so amazing to witness it all. We'll start off with the biggest and best: you're mobile!! After months of being perfectly content to sit and play with whatever has been within reach, you finally decided that you wanted more. The first step was you learning how to go from sitting down onto your belly (without crashing face-first to the floor). Once you had that maneuver down, you started figuring out how to get where you wanted to go. Your first mode of transportation was what I call "inch-worm-wiggle-scooching." You kind of just . . . well . . . inch-wormed your way toward your goal, usually in a bit of a sideways direction, kind of like a sand crab or sidewinder snake. It was only a couple of days before you figured out the true "forward" direction, and now you're unstoppable! You haven't really figured out true crawling up on your hands and knees, so you do what is called creeping or army crawling. You pull with your arms and push with your feet, but you stay down on your stomach. You can get over, under, around, and through things, though! You are one determined little lady! And when there is something across the room that you REALLY want, you get there fast and make determined little grunts of effort with every push/pull. A-DORABLE. Your favorite is to crawl into or through spaces . . . you like to crawl into bookshelves and under cribs at school, and one of your favorite games at home is for us to make a fort with the couch cushions and to crawl around and through them.
In other physical developments this month, you have also learned how to go from laying on your stomach to sitting up! You did this one time when you were about 7.5 months old, but seemed to have forgotten how. Seeing as how you are spending a lot of time on your tummy now what with your mobility and all, and you were getting pretty frustrated that you would finally get where you were trying to go, and then be stuck on your stomach when what you really wanted to do was sit up and play with whatever toy you had worked your way over to! Then last Friday it just "clicked." You sat up five or six times at school and you've been doing it ever since. You are a much happier baby now that you can pretty much get down, move, and get back up to sitting whenever you want. It was pretty funny the other morning to look at you on the baby monitor and see you sitting up in your crib, playing with the mesh bumper! You daddy lowered the crib that very same day. What a big girl you are!
You are also clapping anytime you hear anyone say "Yay!!!" So we say "Yay!!!" a lot because the truth is that baby clapping is awesome. You get the biggest smile on your face every time you clap. And you're pointing, too! You point to people, you point to toys, you point which direction in the house you want to go when I'm carrying you. You are also starting to share with others; when you have a toy or piece of food, you hold it out to me or your daddy, as if inviting us to enjoy it as well. Then we give it back and you hold it out to the other. We do that back and forth, taking turns with your toys, until you decide you'd like to keep it and stick it straight into your mouth.
You wave hello and bye-bye any time you hear those words, with your wave varying between facing you, facing out, and a close-fisted wave that looks like you're revving a motorcycle engine. Most days when I pick you up from school, you rush over to me, and the second you are in my arms, you turn to your teachers and wave "bye bye" to them. It makes us all laugh and makes my heart burst. The sign for "all done" also involves a version of waving hands, and you are just now starting to wave "bye bye" when you are done eating--your way of telling us that you're all done! Such a smart little cookie you are. The sign for "more" involves bringing your hands together, and we're just starting to see the beginning of that, even though it usually turns into clapping. That's close enough to get across your meaning, though!
You are starting to build things and stack things and put things inside other things rather than just being "Ali the Destructor" where all you were interested in was knocking down and dumping out. Last night we were playing with emptying and then filling a bowl, when suddenly you dumped everything out and put the bowl on your head! You then looked at me with your trademark grin, and I couldn't help but laugh. Such a funny girl you are. Speaking of funny, you have also started cracking yourself up! You laugh at pretty much everything now: peek-a-boo and getting tossed in the air and people popping out from behind walls. But you are also starting to laugh at stuff that you do, including when you tell yourself jokes. I'm serious. Many times when we are headed somewhere in the car, you will sit in the backseat and jabber on and on to yourself in your own little language. Every few minutes you will punctuate your monologue with a giggle or chuckle, as if you are the funniest thing you have ever heard. And to be honest, you really ARE the funniest thing I have ever heard! Your talking is so advanced--not only are you starting to really enunciate your words (this morning, your sound for kitty sounded more like "kkk-tay" than your old "kkk-ttt"), but you are mixing your syllables in such a way that I can't even type out what it sounds like! It is definitely your own little language, and I have no doubt that you are going to be chattering nonstop sometime soon.
When I read you your bedtime stories every night, you help me turn the pages of the book. Sometimes you start before I'm done reading the page, as if to tell me, "yeah yeah yeah, I know what happens. Let's keep it moving." Other times you sit and stare at the page, delicately touching the drawings with your sweet little pointing finger, looking up at me as if to say, "Look, Momma! Look at this cool thing on the page!" The world is full of such wonder for you, such discovery. It is amazing to witness.
This month you've started to develop the sweetest little snuggle. Up to this point you've been on the go, always interested in what's happening somewhere else, always energetic, always confident and outgoing. This month, though, you've started snuggling into me, resting your head in the corner of my neck and playing gently with the skin on my arm. I know it's just a phase. I know eventually you are going to outgrow your mom-snuggles and be back to your energetic, confident, go-go-go self . . . so I am relishing every single second of your sweet, sweet snuggles that I get.
You have broken two more teeth this month: the two bottom teeth on either side of your middle bottom teeth. It is so cute to see your sweet toothy smile! And we can tell that your top two middle teeth are on their way in. Four teeth in three weeks . . . oi vey! Luckily you are a champ at teething just like at everything else, and it only seems to bother you for a day or two at best.
I never feel like I have enough time with you, enough time to play, enough time to explore the world, enough time to snuggle into each other. I want you to know that I relish our time together, that every minute with you means more to me than anything ever. And when I kiss you goodnight at the end of the day, I really take that moment to stop and thank you for the best day of my life (every day with you is the best day of my life).
Happy 9 months to my crawling, waving, pointing, jabbering, laughing, snuggling baby girl. What an amazing month it's been.
Love forever and ever,
Mom
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
T-R-O-U-B-L-E
Apparently baby girl spent almost half the day yesterday at school lying in the castle while three of the boys in her class gathered around the outside of the castle, peeking in at her. When she noticed them peeking in, she would start giggling and laughing.
Apparently she also has a "favorite" boy, who she follows around the room.
Apparently she has also been known to lay her head on his lap and he'll "read" her stories.
I think Travis Tritt had it right: I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Apparently she also has a "favorite" boy, who she follows around the room.
Apparently she has also been known to lay her head on his lap and he'll "read" her stories.
I think Travis Tritt had it right: I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
3 More Lesson on Parenting I've Learned from Running . . . and Biking and Swimming
The other day I came across this blog. In it, the author explores the 9 lessons on parenting that she's learned from running, everything from finding your own pace to remembering to rest and recover. I think I found it particularly insightful and compelling given my own athletic background and my own slooow pace as a jogger.
I would, however, like to offer 3 more lessons to add to the list, taken from my triathlon training days.
1. DO remember to focus on the next step, not the next mile.
When I was training for my half-ironman, I often found myself getting overwhelmed at the task in front of me. When I would show up for practice and our coach would tell us we were doing a 50-mile ride through Austin's most challenging hills, I could feel my heart and mind start to race and the panic start to rise in my stomach. I had to conscientiously force myself to stop thinking about the big, overwhelming picture and start thinking about the smaller, much more manageable next step. I have to get on my bike and ride to the end of the street. I can do that. It's not scary. And when I got to the end of the street, I focused on the next step. I have to turn right and ride to the park. I can do that It's not scary. The same went with running. I have to run up and down this hill ten times?? I felt my throat start to constrict with just the thought. But if I changed my focus and thought to myself, "I have to run up this hill one time," or, some days, "I have to run halfway up this hill" or "I have to ten steps up this hill," and suddenly the hill wasn't so overwhelming. Suddenly the task was manageable.
And so, by focusing on one small step at a time--and quite literally, some days I really had to think to myself, "I can take one more step. I have one more step in me"--I found myself able, at the end of the practice or the end of the race, to have accomplished one big fat amazing thing.
The same goes with parenting. If I think to myself, "I am in charge of raising this child, of turning her from a baby into a fully functioning adult, of guiding not only her intellectual development but also her emotional, social, and spiritual development as well," I am knocked sideways with the enormity of the task at hand. How on earth can I ever be successful at that? But if I look at it on the smaller scale, if I think to myself, "I have to go home and hang out with my daughter tonight and show her how a ball bounces or how to play peak-a-boo or how to turn the pages of a book," well, that's not scary. That's easy. And fun. I can do that.
I used the same technique when my husband returned to work after the birth of our daughter and I suddenly found myself at home, all day every day, with a tiny little squirmy baby and no one else. The idea of having to take care of her all day by myself, of the million "what ifs" that ran through my mind ("What if she won't stop crying?" "What if she won't sleep?") often left me feeling short on air. I truly had to focus on the next step--we'll go play on the play mat now. That's not scary. I can do that.--in order to get through each day.
So it just becomes a change in perspective, of lowering your vision until life becomes not a giant, insurmountable challenge but a series of small, easy tasks that you have no problem completing. Of course it helps to look up every now and then to make sure that you have not veered off course and are running or biking or swimming into the weeds. But once you do that, don't forget to duck back down and focus on the here and now.
2. DO remember that you're not going to come in first, so get over it.
In one sprint triathlon I did, I was in the first wave: 10 to 34-yr-olds. I remember lining up with a 12-year-old and thinking, "well, this just isn't fair . . . for her. How intimidating to be up against all these adults!" Let me tell you, I got beat SO BAD by that 12-yr-old in the swim that it took me 11 miles of the 14-mile bike ride to catch back up to her. And then we were probably a whole 50 steps into the run before she passed me again. That's right. I got my ass handed to me by a 7th grader. (That was the same tri where I also got beat by a 70-year-old. Yep. It was a humbling day.) It's one thing to get beat by the current world champion (which has also happened to me. Yes, the list of people I've lost to is long and distinguished.); it's a whole other thing to get trounced by a child. And it's happened in every race. I get passed by people who are younger, older, bigger, and smaller than me. By people who have top-of-the-line gear and people on mountain bikes.
Now, the point here is not to dwell on how much I suck. It's to emphasize that there will always be someone better than you. Unless you are the world champion, you are going to get beat. Heck, even the world champion gets beat on occasion. The key is to not focus on the people who are going faster than you, the people who are passing you. That 12-year-old and that 70-year-old had great races. But you know what? I had a great race, too. I enjoyed the hell out of myself. I smiled at the cows as I rode by. I stole a kiss from my husband in transition. I walked on the "run" and visited with other racers. Because it's not about coming in first; it's about putting together a great race--whatever that means for YOU.
There are always going to be parents who have more than you, who seem to be doing better than you. More toys. More crafts. More free time. More money. Parents whose kids are reading early and doing long division by the time they break their first molars. I have a friend who is a super mom. She bakes cookies from scratch and takes homemade end-of-the-year presents to her daughter's classmates at school. I live in awe of her Mom-skillz. But I never compare them to mine. Her life as a mom has nothing to do with mine. I am living my own mom-life. And I'm having a crazy good time doing it, even though it doesn't include baking cookies from scratch and doing arts and crafts (yet, anyway!). Remember to focus on your own race, your own journey. It's not about who comes in first, it's about enjoying your own unique experience getting to the finish line.
3. DO remember to celebrate how far you've come.
It's not just about celebrating the good runs, the runs--and days with your kids--that go better than you ever could have hoped, that make you feel like a total bad ass, like the Chuck Norris of the running/parenting world. It's about stopping to look back over the ground you've covered. When I would get to the end of a run, or the top of a hill, I often stopped and looked back and really took the time to celebrate what I had accomplished. It never failed to make me swell with adrenaline and pride. And happiness. Look what I did. Go me!
Four years ago I had never done a single triathlon. I had never ridden a road bike. I had never swum for anything other than pleasure. I had never run farther than three miles. Two years later and I had completed my first half-ironman. Those two years saw such growth in my own ability and endurance. Not only in the three sports, but I ate healthier and took better care of my body as a result. So often it's tempting to simply take your accomplishments for granted, to constantly look forward to the next challenge, the next goal, the next hill. But if you do that, you fail to reward yourself, even for a moment, for the challenges you have overcome, for the goals you have attained, for the hills you have conquered.
A year ago, I was blissfully pregnant. I dreamed about soft baby skin and sweet baby smells. I was caught up in the vision of parenthood and knew nothing of the reality. And now, here I am, mommy to an almost-9-month-old, and I can honestly say that I feel like a pro. I can do most things in life, including cooking, folding laundry, and typing blog posts, one handed. I can change a diaper, entertain a crying child, talk on the phone, and keep a cat away from a soiled onesie all at the same time. I can get my baby to sleep and eat and laugh and learn. And you know what? There was a HELLUVA canyon between the peak where I was a year ago and the peak where I'm at today. I have learned so.much. about parenting. And I am so proud of myself and of my husband when I stop and look back and think about how far we've come. It was hard. There were tears. There were moments we thought we couldn't do it. But we remembered to just focus on the next step, and we gave ourselves every possible thing we thought we needed in order to be successful. And here we are today. Out the other side of newborn phase numero uno and enjoying a life more fulfilling than we ever knew possible.
Don't forget to stop, every now and then, and think about how far you've come. How much you've grown. How much you've accomplished. Those things deserve to be recognized and celebrated!
So there you have it. Three more things that I've learned about parenting from swimming and biking and running. What have your own hobbies--athletic or otherwise--taught you?
I would, however, like to offer 3 more lessons to add to the list, taken from my triathlon training days.
1. DO remember to focus on the next step, not the next mile.
When I was training for my half-ironman, I often found myself getting overwhelmed at the task in front of me. When I would show up for practice and our coach would tell us we were doing a 50-mile ride through Austin's most challenging hills, I could feel my heart and mind start to race and the panic start to rise in my stomach. I had to conscientiously force myself to stop thinking about the big, overwhelming picture and start thinking about the smaller, much more manageable next step. I have to get on my bike and ride to the end of the street. I can do that. It's not scary. And when I got to the end of the street, I focused on the next step. I have to turn right and ride to the park. I can do that It's not scary. The same went with running. I have to run up and down this hill ten times?? I felt my throat start to constrict with just the thought. But if I changed my focus and thought to myself, "I have to run up this hill one time," or, some days, "I have to run halfway up this hill" or "I have to ten steps up this hill," and suddenly the hill wasn't so overwhelming. Suddenly the task was manageable.
And so, by focusing on one small step at a time--and quite literally, some days I really had to think to myself, "I can take one more step. I have one more step in me"--I found myself able, at the end of the practice or the end of the race, to have accomplished one big fat amazing thing.
The same goes with parenting. If I think to myself, "I am in charge of raising this child, of turning her from a baby into a fully functioning adult, of guiding not only her intellectual development but also her emotional, social, and spiritual development as well," I am knocked sideways with the enormity of the task at hand. How on earth can I ever be successful at that? But if I look at it on the smaller scale, if I think to myself, "I have to go home and hang out with my daughter tonight and show her how a ball bounces or how to play peak-a-boo or how to turn the pages of a book," well, that's not scary. That's easy. And fun. I can do that.
I used the same technique when my husband returned to work after the birth of our daughter and I suddenly found myself at home, all day every day, with a tiny little squirmy baby and no one else. The idea of having to take care of her all day by myself, of the million "what ifs" that ran through my mind ("What if she won't stop crying?" "What if she won't sleep?") often left me feeling short on air. I truly had to focus on the next step--we'll go play on the play mat now. That's not scary. I can do that.--in order to get through each day.
So it just becomes a change in perspective, of lowering your vision until life becomes not a giant, insurmountable challenge but a series of small, easy tasks that you have no problem completing. Of course it helps to look up every now and then to make sure that you have not veered off course and are running or biking or swimming into the weeds. But once you do that, don't forget to duck back down and focus on the here and now.
2. DO remember that you're not going to come in first, so get over it.
In one sprint triathlon I did, I was in the first wave: 10 to 34-yr-olds. I remember lining up with a 12-year-old and thinking, "well, this just isn't fair . . . for her. How intimidating to be up against all these adults!" Let me tell you, I got beat SO BAD by that 12-yr-old in the swim that it took me 11 miles of the 14-mile bike ride to catch back up to her. And then we were probably a whole 50 steps into the run before she passed me again. That's right. I got my ass handed to me by a 7th grader. (That was the same tri where I also got beat by a 70-year-old. Yep. It was a humbling day.) It's one thing to get beat by the current world champion (which has also happened to me. Yes, the list of people I've lost to is long and distinguished.); it's a whole other thing to get trounced by a child. And it's happened in every race. I get passed by people who are younger, older, bigger, and smaller than me. By people who have top-of-the-line gear and people on mountain bikes.
Now, the point here is not to dwell on how much I suck. It's to emphasize that there will always be someone better than you. Unless you are the world champion, you are going to get beat. Heck, even the world champion gets beat on occasion. The key is to not focus on the people who are going faster than you, the people who are passing you. That 12-year-old and that 70-year-old had great races. But you know what? I had a great race, too. I enjoyed the hell out of myself. I smiled at the cows as I rode by. I stole a kiss from my husband in transition. I walked on the "run" and visited with other racers. Because it's not about coming in first; it's about putting together a great race--whatever that means for YOU.
There are always going to be parents who have more than you, who seem to be doing better than you. More toys. More crafts. More free time. More money. Parents whose kids are reading early and doing long division by the time they break their first molars. I have a friend who is a super mom. She bakes cookies from scratch and takes homemade end-of-the-year presents to her daughter's classmates at school. I live in awe of her Mom-skillz. But I never compare them to mine. Her life as a mom has nothing to do with mine. I am living my own mom-life. And I'm having a crazy good time doing it, even though it doesn't include baking cookies from scratch and doing arts and crafts (yet, anyway!). Remember to focus on your own race, your own journey. It's not about who comes in first, it's about enjoying your own unique experience getting to the finish line.
3. DO remember to celebrate how far you've come.
It's not just about celebrating the good runs, the runs--and days with your kids--that go better than you ever could have hoped, that make you feel like a total bad ass, like the Chuck Norris of the running/parenting world. It's about stopping to look back over the ground you've covered. When I would get to the end of a run, or the top of a hill, I often stopped and looked back and really took the time to celebrate what I had accomplished. It never failed to make me swell with adrenaline and pride. And happiness. Look what I did. Go me!
Four years ago I had never done a single triathlon. I had never ridden a road bike. I had never swum for anything other than pleasure. I had never run farther than three miles. Two years later and I had completed my first half-ironman. Those two years saw such growth in my own ability and endurance. Not only in the three sports, but I ate healthier and took better care of my body as a result. So often it's tempting to simply take your accomplishments for granted, to constantly look forward to the next challenge, the next goal, the next hill. But if you do that, you fail to reward yourself, even for a moment, for the challenges you have overcome, for the goals you have attained, for the hills you have conquered.
A year ago, I was blissfully pregnant. I dreamed about soft baby skin and sweet baby smells. I was caught up in the vision of parenthood and knew nothing of the reality. And now, here I am, mommy to an almost-9-month-old, and I can honestly say that I feel like a pro. I can do most things in life, including cooking, folding laundry, and typing blog posts, one handed. I can change a diaper, entertain a crying child, talk on the phone, and keep a cat away from a soiled onesie all at the same time. I can get my baby to sleep and eat and laugh and learn. And you know what? There was a HELLUVA canyon between the peak where I was a year ago and the peak where I'm at today. I have learned so.much. about parenting. And I am so proud of myself and of my husband when I stop and look back and think about how far we've come. It was hard. There were tears. There were moments we thought we couldn't do it. But we remembered to just focus on the next step, and we gave ourselves every possible thing we thought we needed in order to be successful. And here we are today. Out the other side of newborn phase numero uno and enjoying a life more fulfilling than we ever knew possible.
Don't forget to stop, every now and then, and think about how far you've come. How much you've grown. How much you've accomplished. Those things deserve to be recognized and celebrated!
So there you have it. Three more things that I've learned about parenting from swimming and biking and running. What have your own hobbies--athletic or otherwise--taught you?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Inside Out
Baby girl was an inside baby for 267 days.
Thanks to the awesomeness that is charting, I know, to the day(ish), exactly when her little soul was born. From December 22, 2008 to September 15, 2009, she grew inside me. She relied on me. I fed her and sheltered her and gave her everything she needed to grow. She went from a single tiny little cell to a fully-developed baby, 8 pounds and 1 ounce and 20.75 inches of perfection. From a tiny little cell to hair and fingernails and soft baby skin.
For 267 days I felt her kicks. I stared in wonder at my moving stomach. I sang to her and poked her and danced to hip-hop music in the hopes of giving her some rhythm. I held her, as I held my stomach, and dreamed of stroking her little cheeks, of holding her to my shoulder and smelling her baby smell.
And today, baby girl has been an outside baby for 267 days.
From September 15, 2009 to June 9, 2010, she has grown outside me. Exactly half her life. She has still relied on me for nearly everything. I've fed her milk my body has produced, but she is now eating "real" food, too. Meats and fruits and veggies, things that were grown elsewhere, not here in her mother's body. And her father has been there to shelter her, too. She has slept in his arms as well as mine. She has gone to school and developed relationships with other people. She has learned to crawl and clap and point and turn the pages of a book. She is learning how to express frustration and has developed preferences, favorites. She is becoming her own little person.
For the first half of her life, she and I never spent a single second apart. For the second half of her life, we are learning to exist apart more and more.
As of tomorrow, she will officially have been outside, separate from me, for longer than she was inside, connected. And every day that follows she will grow more independent, developing her own unique life and personality separate from mine. And of course that's a good thing. That's what every parent wants for their child--to see them grow and develop and come into their own.
But I hope she knows, I hope she always remembers, that no matter how old she gets, no matter how far she goes, no matter how separate we feel, she can always rely on me to support her and help her grow.
Today. Ali's Inside Out day. Today, I am remembering the first half of her life, the half she and I were one. And today I am celebrating the second half of her life, the half in which she has begun her own journey, her own life.
How lucky am I to have experienced the first half . . . and how lucky to have witnessed the second, and to continue to witness her amazing life as she grows.
Happy Inside Out day, baby girl. What an amazing 534 days it's been.
Thanks to the awesomeness that is charting, I know, to the day(ish), exactly when her little soul was born. From December 22, 2008 to September 15, 2009, she grew inside me. She relied on me. I fed her and sheltered her and gave her everything she needed to grow. She went from a single tiny little cell to a fully-developed baby, 8 pounds and 1 ounce and 20.75 inches of perfection. From a tiny little cell to hair and fingernails and soft baby skin.
For 267 days I felt her kicks. I stared in wonder at my moving stomach. I sang to her and poked her and danced to hip-hop music in the hopes of giving her some rhythm. I held her, as I held my stomach, and dreamed of stroking her little cheeks, of holding her to my shoulder and smelling her baby smell.
And today, baby girl has been an outside baby for 267 days.
From September 15, 2009 to June 9, 2010, she has grown outside me. Exactly half her life. She has still relied on me for nearly everything. I've fed her milk my body has produced, but she is now eating "real" food, too. Meats and fruits and veggies, things that were grown elsewhere, not here in her mother's body. And her father has been there to shelter her, too. She has slept in his arms as well as mine. She has gone to school and developed relationships with other people. She has learned to crawl and clap and point and turn the pages of a book. She is learning how to express frustration and has developed preferences, favorites. She is becoming her own little person.
For the first half of her life, she and I never spent a single second apart. For the second half of her life, we are learning to exist apart more and more.
As of tomorrow, she will officially have been outside, separate from me, for longer than she was inside, connected. And every day that follows she will grow more independent, developing her own unique life and personality separate from mine. And of course that's a good thing. That's what every parent wants for their child--to see them grow and develop and come into their own.
But I hope she knows, I hope she always remembers, that no matter how old she gets, no matter how far she goes, no matter how separate we feel, she can always rely on me to support her and help her grow.
Today. Ali's Inside Out day. Today, I am remembering the first half of her life, the half she and I were one. And today I am celebrating the second half of her life, the half in which she has begun her own journey, her own life.
How lucky am I to have experienced the first half . . . and how lucky to have witnessed the second, and to continue to witness her amazing life as she grows.
Happy Inside Out day, baby girl. What an amazing 534 days it's been.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Mommy Worry vs. Mommy Guilt
I was diagnosed with skin cancer in 2007. We caught it early, got it out quickly. It should have been a non-event, a blip on the radar screen of my otherwise pretty kick-ass life. But the ripple effects of that non-event have been far reaching. We are still paying off the medical bills and will be for another year at least. I have had more than 20 spots removed in the last three years, each of them leaving behind a lovely scar, tiny circular reminders that what happened in 2007 didn't stay in 2007.
I have also subsequently developed a deep distrust and borderline hatred for all moles.
When baby girl was about a week old, I started noticing a freckle forming on her wrist. It is the only "blemish" on her skin. And I hate it. I stare at it and hate it, wondering if it is cancerous, or pre-cancerous, wondering if it is going to do to her one day what my mole did to me.
As I watched that freckle darken, I convinced myself it was growing and changing, so we took her to a pediatric dermatologist when she was six months old. The doctor said it didn't look like anything to worry about, took a bunch of measurements, and then we agreed to come back in three months to see if anything had changed. Well, the time is almost here, and the more I look at that freckle, that mole, that spot on my baby's wrist, the more I just want it gone. I imagine the edges are scalloping, and at this point I don't even know how much of what I see is reality and how much is just fueled by my own fear and hatred of it. I want it gone. I don't want to have to worry about it anymore. I don't want to have to imagine evil cells growing on, sinking into my daughter's body.
Then I think about the implications of removing it. I think about us having to wrap her in a sheet tightly so that they can give her a shot to numb the area. I see in my mind's eye her screams when she realizes she's being held down. I imagine her looking at me with confusion, an accusatory look of betrayal and pleading. I think about the pain I will be causing her. Those shots hurt like a motherfucker . . . I know . . . I've had over 20 of those shots in the last 3 years. I think about her cries when she just gets her normal vaccination shots, and I know this shot is going to hurt her ten times worse. And then I think about the little stitch she'll have to have, and the scar that will remain there forever, a permanent mark on her otherwise flawless body. A mark that would be a forever reminder of my own fear, my own hatred of a mole that may or may not be anything at all. I think about all the scars on my body now . . . and I don't want to do that to her. So then I change my mind about removing it and think we'll just keep waiting and measuring and monitoring.
And then I think about the ramifications if I'm wrong.
What a shitty, shitty choice to have to make. On the one side, my mommy worry knotting my stomach, making it hard to breathe. On the other side, my mommy guilt over letting my own fear, my own issues create physical pain and permanent scarring for my sweet, innocent daughter.
What a shitty, shitty choice.
Still my life rocks from the ripples of 2007.
I have also subsequently developed a deep distrust and borderline hatred for all moles.
When baby girl was about a week old, I started noticing a freckle forming on her wrist. It is the only "blemish" on her skin. And I hate it. I stare at it and hate it, wondering if it is cancerous, or pre-cancerous, wondering if it is going to do to her one day what my mole did to me.
As I watched that freckle darken, I convinced myself it was growing and changing, so we took her to a pediatric dermatologist when she was six months old. The doctor said it didn't look like anything to worry about, took a bunch of measurements, and then we agreed to come back in three months to see if anything had changed. Well, the time is almost here, and the more I look at that freckle, that mole, that spot on my baby's wrist, the more I just want it gone. I imagine the edges are scalloping, and at this point I don't even know how much of what I see is reality and how much is just fueled by my own fear and hatred of it. I want it gone. I don't want to have to worry about it anymore. I don't want to have to imagine evil cells growing on, sinking into my daughter's body.
Then I think about the implications of removing it. I think about us having to wrap her in a sheet tightly so that they can give her a shot to numb the area. I see in my mind's eye her screams when she realizes she's being held down. I imagine her looking at me with confusion, an accusatory look of betrayal and pleading. I think about the pain I will be causing her. Those shots hurt like a motherfucker . . . I know . . . I've had over 20 of those shots in the last 3 years. I think about her cries when she just gets her normal vaccination shots, and I know this shot is going to hurt her ten times worse. And then I think about the little stitch she'll have to have, and the scar that will remain there forever, a permanent mark on her otherwise flawless body. A mark that would be a forever reminder of my own fear, my own hatred of a mole that may or may not be anything at all. I think about all the scars on my body now . . . and I don't want to do that to her. So then I change my mind about removing it and think we'll just keep waiting and measuring and monitoring.
And then I think about the ramifications if I'm wrong.
What a shitty, shitty choice to have to make. On the one side, my mommy worry knotting my stomach, making it hard to breathe. On the other side, my mommy guilt over letting my own fear, my own issues create physical pain and permanent scarring for my sweet, innocent daughter.
What a shitty, shitty choice.
Still my life rocks from the ripples of 2007.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Ten on Tuesday
1. I had 3.5 days off this weekend and spent every.second of it with baby girl. LOVED it, and HATE being back at work today. Could be my crazy hormones given that I just started AF today, but I'm all weepy and hating being a working mom when all I constantly hear about is play dates at sprinkler parks from moms who have all day long to traipse around with their kiddos and sit by the pool side sipping juice boxes and dishing about their husbands. I have a bad case of the Mondays and it's not even Monday. Ugh.
2. Baby girl was F.U.S.S.Y. last week and the beginning of the weekend. We knew she was teething again and were just on the lookout for the tell-tale breakthrough that would spell relief for us all. Finally, finally we saw them--two more bottom ones, one on either side of the two middle bottoms that she already has. She's getting them two at a time. An overachiever, this girl is, just like her momma.
3. Then we checked out her top gum this weekend and a couple of friends pointed out something I had missed. A tiny little ridge of white, just peeking through. Scratch that two-at-a-time thing. Make it THREE at a time. Sheesh. She jumped from two teeth to five in a matter of a few days. No wonder she was Cranky McCrankmeister.
4. Yeah, I started AF today. Which means no sex for me for at least four more days. Considering it's been over a week since our last rendezvous thanks to TH being in the doghouse for being a stupid idiot, and that makes one cranky, weepy, feeling-the-need-to-reconnect-with-my-husband woman. And no, we do not have sexy time during the monthly visit. And yes, I do realize two weeks without sex is not the end of the world. But considering that's longer than we've gone without sex since I got cleared after having baby girl, and taking into additional consideration the aforementioned (see #1) hormones, and it SEEMS like the end of the world. Boo hoo.
5. Apparently TH may have mentioned something to his mother about being stressed and the whole idea of TTC #2. So she decides that she needs to weigh in on when we should start TTC #2. And it makes me want to (a.) throat punch her, kick her in the shins, and spit in her general direction . . . not necessarily in that order, and (b.) get KU right.this.second just to shove it in her meddling face.
6. I'm not usually that angry when it comes to my meddling MIL. See #1 and #4.
7. I'm kind of scared about baby girl moving from purees to real food. Purees are easy. I whip up a batch of veggies or fruit and freeze it into serving-sized cubes, or just go to the store and buy a yummy-sounding meat mixture (split pea/turkey/wild rice? Yes please!). Real food is hard. I don't want to feed her what we eat. We eat crap. Mostly because I'm a working mom and I don't have time to rush home at the end of the day and whip up a healthy, organic, well-balanced meal. And partly because we're in our 30's and have had basically 30 years to develop certain tastes (hello Whataburger) that may or may not be the healthiest options. So yay for baby girl actually helping her mom and dad to eat healthier, but whenthehell am I going to find the time to cook her--and us--healthy fresh food all the time?
8. We spent the weekend out with friends at birthday parties, on the lake, at pools, having cookouts, etc. One of the days, naptime rolled around while we were over at a friend's house. They set up their pack-and-play for us, and I went in to attempt to get baby girl down for a nap in a new and interesting environment. I got her to fall asleep in my arms, but when the time came to move her to the pack-and-play, I looked at her sweet, sleeping face, her cubby little cheek pressed up against my arm, her tiny little hand lightly holding the fabric on the front of my shirt, and I just couldn't do it. She hasn't taken a nap in my arms since she was 12 weeks old. I held her for the entire nap and loved every.single.second.
9. Speaking of the birthday party, not once have I left one of my friends' houses (EVER . . . well, you know, ever since having a baby) and not felt like my kid is getting shafted with her toys. I feel like everyone else has such cool toys! And then there's my kid, whose absolute favorite toy in the entire world is an empty plastic water bottle. And then there's my husband, who grew up poor and communist, who thinks that she has more than she needs already ("You know what toys I had when I was a kid? Knives and rocks!"). I'm not ashamed to admit that the materialistic influences of American society have worked on me. My kid is awesome and needs a water table, dammit. And a music table. And a cool microphone thingy. And a bubble blower. And a train that she can ride around. And then I think about our bank account and remember that she needs food (see #7) and a college education more than she needs a bubble blower and I return to my senses and reluctantly hand her another empty water bottle.
10. Baby proofing. We needs it. We covered our plugs and thought we were done. Apparently kids like to open drawers and push buttons and stick their fingers into VCRs. Didn't see those coming. Anything else I'm not thinking of? Do we have to get rid of our curtains???
I'm ready for another 3-day weekend. Does that count as a #11? I don't give a flying fahrvergnügen. (See #1. And #4.)
2. Baby girl was F.U.S.S.Y. last week and the beginning of the weekend. We knew she was teething again and were just on the lookout for the tell-tale breakthrough that would spell relief for us all. Finally, finally we saw them--two more bottom ones, one on either side of the two middle bottoms that she already has. She's getting them two at a time. An overachiever, this girl is, just like her momma.
3. Then we checked out her top gum this weekend and a couple of friends pointed out something I had missed. A tiny little ridge of white, just peeking through. Scratch that two-at-a-time thing. Make it THREE at a time. Sheesh. She jumped from two teeth to five in a matter of a few days. No wonder she was Cranky McCrankmeister.
4. Yeah, I started AF today. Which means no sex for me for at least four more days. Considering it's been over a week since our last rendezvous thanks to TH being in the doghouse for being a stupid idiot, and that makes one cranky, weepy, feeling-the-need-to-reconnect-with-my-husband woman. And no, we do not have sexy time during the monthly visit. And yes, I do realize two weeks without sex is not the end of the world. But considering that's longer than we've gone without sex since I got cleared after having baby girl, and taking into additional consideration the aforementioned (see #1) hormones, and it SEEMS like the end of the world. Boo hoo.
5. Apparently TH may have mentioned something to his mother about being stressed and the whole idea of TTC #2. So she decides that she needs to weigh in on when we should start TTC #2. And it makes me want to (a.) throat punch her, kick her in the shins, and spit in her general direction . . . not necessarily in that order, and (b.) get KU right.this.second just to shove it in her meddling face.
6. I'm not usually that angry when it comes to my meddling MIL. See #1 and #4.
7. I'm kind of scared about baby girl moving from purees to real food. Purees are easy. I whip up a batch of veggies or fruit and freeze it into serving-sized cubes, or just go to the store and buy a yummy-sounding meat mixture (split pea/turkey/wild rice? Yes please!). Real food is hard. I don't want to feed her what we eat. We eat crap. Mostly because I'm a working mom and I don't have time to rush home at the end of the day and whip up a healthy, organic, well-balanced meal. And partly because we're in our 30's and have had basically 30 years to develop certain tastes (hello Whataburger) that may or may not be the healthiest options. So yay for baby girl actually helping her mom and dad to eat healthier, but whenthehell am I going to find the time to cook her--and us--healthy fresh food all the time?
8. We spent the weekend out with friends at birthday parties, on the lake, at pools, having cookouts, etc. One of the days, naptime rolled around while we were over at a friend's house. They set up their pack-and-play for us, and I went in to attempt to get baby girl down for a nap in a new and interesting environment. I got her to fall asleep in my arms, but when the time came to move her to the pack-and-play, I looked at her sweet, sleeping face, her cubby little cheek pressed up against my arm, her tiny little hand lightly holding the fabric on the front of my shirt, and I just couldn't do it. She hasn't taken a nap in my arms since she was 12 weeks old. I held her for the entire nap and loved every.single.second.
9. Speaking of the birthday party, not once have I left one of my friends' houses (EVER . . . well, you know, ever since having a baby) and not felt like my kid is getting shafted with her toys. I feel like everyone else has such cool toys! And then there's my kid, whose absolute favorite toy in the entire world is an empty plastic water bottle. And then there's my husband, who grew up poor and communist, who thinks that she has more than she needs already ("You know what toys I had when I was a kid? Knives and rocks!"). I'm not ashamed to admit that the materialistic influences of American society have worked on me. My kid is awesome and needs a water table, dammit. And a music table. And a cool microphone thingy. And a bubble blower. And a train that she can ride around. And then I think about our bank account and remember that she needs food (see #7) and a college education more than she needs a bubble blower and I return to my senses and reluctantly hand her another empty water bottle.
10. Baby proofing. We needs it. We covered our plugs and thought we were done. Apparently kids like to open drawers and push buttons and stick their fingers into VCRs. Didn't see those coming. Anything else I'm not thinking of? Do we have to get rid of our curtains???
I'm ready for another 3-day weekend. Does that count as a #11? I don't give a flying fahrvergnügen. (See #1. And #4.)
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