Wordless Wednesday: Joy

Ten on Tuesday

1. I love, love, love living with a foreigner. Every day brings new hilarity. Take this conversation we had last night as an example. It started when he tried to get baby girl to sit cross-legged.

TH: Sit Indian style, Ali!
Me: That's not what they call it anymore. It's not PC.
TH: Oh, sorry. Sit Native American style, Ali!
Me: (laughing) No, it's because it's stereotypical to assume that all Native Americans sat that way.
TH: So what do they call it then?
Me: Criss-cross applesauce.
TH: WHAT?!?! Why applesauce??
Me: Because it rhymes with criss-cross.
TH: That's a stupid reason. Why not call it criss-cross albatross?
Me: (dying laughing) WHY??? Why would they reference a bird?
TH: An albatross is a bird???? I thought it was a fish . . .

And so on. I have no idea if American guys are like this. But seriously. He cracks my shit up.

2. You know what else cracks me up? This picture. She kept trying to catch the bubbles, only to be dismayed when they would disappear into thin air as soon as her chubby little fingers made contact. After two or three times of this, she stopped trying to grab them and started giving them the side-eye. Funny girl.

3. Baby girl clothes are the CUTEST. The only problem is that we don't have enough occasions to wear all her cute stuff. I send her to school in cotton pants and a onesie--I figure she needs to be comfortable, right? So we have a closet full of dresses and such that just aren't getting worn. So on Sunday, we instituted Fun Dress Sunday. That's right. We played dress up and took pictures for no other reason than it was gorgeous weather and gosh darn it, she needs an occasion to don some of her dresses!
4. We call her two teeth "chompers." Check 'em out.
Too cute. Or, I guess I should say, two cute. Love them.

5. Baby girl is really working on her waving. She is constantly curling her fingers and watching them in fascination. Most often she waves at herself. Other times she tries to wave while holding a plastic ring . . . since she can't curl her fingers, she ends up bending her wrist back and forth so that it looks like she's fanning herself with the ring. Sometimes she keeps her fist closed and just bends the wrist back and forth so that it looks like she's revving a motorcycle engine. She is also starting to connect the wave to "bye-bye." She has a toy that says "bye-bye" if it sits unused for too long. She can be totally into something else, having long forgotten about the toy, but then it chirps up with a "bye-bye" and she mimics it back, saying "ba-ba" while curling her little fingers. I need to catch all this on video sometime soon.

6. She's also working on her mobility. While she's still not holding herself up on her hands and knees yet, she's getting to where she'll push up on them. The problem is that her arms are overpowering her legs, so she just keeps pushing herself backwards. So she sees something that she wants, tries to get to it, and just ends up getting farther and farther away. Then she'll squeal in frustration. And we can't help but laugh at how awesome it all is to watch a baby learn new skills. Another thing I need to catch on video.

7. Speaking of videos, our video monitor crapped out two nights ago. Well, it didn't technically crap out, it just succumbed to a static storm. We went back and forth with different configurations, different placements, turning off our wireless router, turning off our home phone, etc. We finally got it to be *okay* if it's in the bathroom, backed up to the wall where the transmitter is in her room. But that means it's not on my bedstand anymore. That means I can't just peek in at her at any point in the night. And I miss that. So we're going to keep trying to get it to work, back on my bedstand where I like it.

8. I'm late. Well, as late as you can be when breastfeeding and not on any kind of regimented birth control, leaving my body free reign to be all willy-nilly with my cycle. Even so, my cycles have been surprisingly, wonderfully regular ever since they started back up at 12 weeks postpartum. Yes, I took a test. It was negative. So who knows? Looks like I'll just keep testing once a week until something happens. It sucks not knowing what is going on.

9. I got a mom suit. Swim suit that is. At a special store that sells special suits that have a bit more . . . um, support. Turns out I'm a D! Holy hell. I started at a small B. The suit was tre expensive, but it makes me feel hot, and that is in kind of short supply these days, so I say totally worth it.

10. You know what's not expensive? Baby clothes at the Carters outlet. After realizing that baby girl doesn't have much of a summer wardrobe, we hit the outlets on Sunday to see what we could find. I ended up getting 8 pairs of shorts, 7 onesies, 2 dresses, 2 sleep sacks, and a shirt for . . . (drumroll please) . . . $75!! I was so happy. And now we have a ton of cute little tanks and shorts for her very first hot Texas summer as an outside baby. Squee!

Ma-Ma

The short story: holyshit she said "ma-ma" when she saw meeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The long story: Baby girl is a talker. Coming from a French-Cajun mom and a Russian dad, that's not really a surprise to anyone. While not really a big fan of rolling or crawling or any of her other gross motor skills, her verbal skills have always been a bit ahead of the curve. She has a wide range of babbling syllables that she mixes to her heart's content: da, ma, ba, la, na, k and any variation therein. She knows the meanings of the words "kitty" and "more." She's picking up on "bye-bye," though for her it's more like "ba-ba" and her chubby little fingers curl toward her on the wave and not at the person departing. But you get the idea. She's a talker.

Even though she can mimic back sounds to our heart's content, we hadn't really seen her connect any one sound to its concept yet.

Yet.

Today. Today I walked into her day care, dripping from the rain outside, drudging from the weight of another long, hectic work day. As always, as I stopped to cover my shoes with little booties before heading into the infant room, I looked through the big window to see what my little girl was up to. Usually she'll glance at the person in the window (me), and it will take her a beat or two, but then she will recognize me and break into a giant smile and start flapping her arms. Best part of my day.

But today. Today, I stood there, covering my shoes, waiting for her to look up from her toys and her friends to notice me. She looked up. We caught each other's gaze. I waved and gave her my biggest "hi baby!!!" smile. The light of recognition in her eyes. She smiled back. And then. And then. Her little lips. They moved.

And in my head I could hear her tentative whisper, the volume she speaks in when she's experimenting with a sound. I could hear her as I watched her lips move. "Ma-ma." Like she was trying out the sound. Like she was seeing if that sound was the one she was searching for, the one that fit the face she saw in the window. She said it again. "Ma-ma." Like a test. To see how it felt in her mouth. To see if it clicked with her thoughts. And then, satisfied with herself, her sudden cheeky little grin. She had said it. Mama.

I stood in the window, waving and grinning like a maniac, my heart exploding into a thousand pieces, oblivious to the fact that my shoes were covered and I could rush into the room and scoop her up in my arms and twirl around with her, listening to her say "ma-ma" over and over and over again.

She said it one more time, with more confidence. "Ma-ma." And then went back to her toys, as if, approving of the giant leap she had just made, she could resume her life making Ernie pop out from behind a red plastic door.

But that moment was real. It was all mine, tucked into my heart forever and ever.

She knows me.

She knows that I'm her mama.

The First Line

When TH and I used to talk about what we'd be like as parents, the joke was that while we may attempt to do the whole "united front" thing, in reality he would be the fun parent, the "good cop," and I would be the disciplinarian, the "bad cop." As much as I hated this and would get irritated by him seemingly creating that reality, those role expectations, so far in advance, the inescapable truth is that they are grounded in reality. I have always been disciplined. I push myself. I set goals and want to accomplish them, regardless of the uncomfortable details that may be thrown into the bargain. And now that baby girl is here, those roles have proven (not surprisingly) to be pretty accurate. I'm the one who reads the baby books, who does the research, who sets our trajectory. So while I may not like the label, I do acknowledge that it fits.

And in truth, I didn't think I would mind being stern as a parent. My own dad was . . . well . . . let's just say we learned where the lines existed quickly. And we never, ever crossed them. And my brother and I were raised as polite, well-behaved children who have both turned into successful, hardworking adults. There has to be something to that. And I always knew that it would take a version of that sternness, of that discipline in the home, to have my own children turn out the same--polite, well-behaved, hardworking, respectful. I knew this and never had a second thought about it.

Up 'til now, there hasn't really been any disciplining going on with baby girl. There's not a lot you can do with a baby that young. When they cry, they cry because they need something from you. When they do something they're "not supposed to," like grabbing the cat's tail or smacking their hand into their own dirty diaper, it's not because they are consciously testing the boundaries but because they really can't yet grasp obscure concepts like "should" and "shouldn't." Up 'til now, there's been no point in taking a stern tone with her, or trying to teach her the meaning of "no." Up 'til now.

Now baby girl is seven months old and is starting to understand us. Though she can't speak back to us yet, she knows the meaning of words, like her name and "kitty" and "more." She'll do something, get a reaction from us, and then keep doing it to see if she can get the same reaction. She's starting to grasp cause-and-effect. And while this emergence of skills, this development, has been my most favorite thing so far to watch in her, I know it also means that it's time to start showing her where some lines exist.

One of the cutest things that she does is blowing raspberries. She'll stick her little tongue between her lips and blow until spit is flying everywhere. We'll laugh like maniacs and do it write back to her, prompting her to do it again. We'll go back and forth with this, laughing and having a whole "conversation" of just blowing raspberries back and forth at each other. Adorable, right? Funny? Irresistible?

It totally is. Until she does it at the dinner table with a mouth full of pureed black beans. Cue shower of black beans on Mom. So, I drew baby girl's very first behavioral line. I didn't smile back at her. I told her in a low, calm voice, "No. We don't do that at the dinner table." She smiled, thinking I had just missed it. Wasn't this the game we played all the time? She did it again, eyes, twinkling, waiting for me to reward her with a laugh and smile and return raspberry. But I didn't. I looked at her with a blank face and again said, "No, Ali." And for the first time in my life, I saw confusion in her eyes. And it broke my heart into a million pieces.

I could just imagine her wondering what was wrong, why I wasn't playing our game together like I usually did. She gave me another, tentative, blow with a questioning look in her eyes. I just watched her and didn't respond. I wonder if she had any idea how hard it was for me not to laugh, not to smile, not to play our usual game. Then I offered her another bite of food, and when she took it and didn't blow it out all over my face, I gave her my biggest smile, my happiest voice, and rained down praise on her. Joy flooded her face--"Yay! Mom's back! Let's play!"--and she tried her raspberry again. I stopped smiling, shook my head slowly, and sat back in my chair, saying calmly, "No, Ali. Not at the dinner table." And her smile faded. And my heart broke.

And we did this back and forth a few times until she learned that she wouldn't get fed if she was blowing raspberries, that she wouldn't get smiles from mom. She stopped doing it and finished the rest of her dinner with gusto, amid much praise and smiles and songs from me. And when we finished dinner and were outside playing in the swing, we resumed our funny raspberries game.

It was the first time I've done anything to try to "discipline" my baby. And it was so much harder than I thought it would be. To see the confusion in her eyes, to see the smile fade from her lips, her cheeks--I felt awful. Even though I know it was the right thing to do, I felt absolutely awful. It was the first time in my life that I've wished there were no rules, nothing that she ever had to learn that would be hard for her, no boundaries, no lines to be drawn. Even though I know that's not what's best for her. Even though I know that she needs me, as her parent, to show here exactly where those lines and boundaries are.

Now I understand . . . or at least I have a glimmer of understanding . . . what parents mean when they say things like "this is harder on me than it is on you." And I know that baby girl won't understand me if I ever utter that phrase to her. She won't understand the heartbreak I felt at seeing her smile fade when I wouldn't blow raspberries back at her at the dinner table. Eventually, when she's older, she'll get mad at me when I draw a line. She'll feel betrayed, like I'm not supporting her. She'll feel like we just don't understand her, like we're old fuddy-duddies who are hopelessly out of touch with what it's like to be a child.

I wish I could tell her in those moments that I do understand. That I love her. That I want what's best for her. That while 99% of me just wants to blow raspberries at the dinner table with her and live a life of never-ending games, 1% of me knows that this isn't what is really the best thing for her. And that 1% is the "mommy percent," the part of me that will do what's best for her always and forever.

Now I understand . . . or at least I have a glimmer of understanding . . . that disciplining a child is a hard, hard, HARD thing to do. I was naive to think it would be an easy matter to raise a child to follow the rules. And though I love her and will do whatever I have to do to do what's best for her . . . I know now that my heart is going to break a million times over while I do it.

And I hope she knows, when she's grown, when she has kids of her own, when she has to draw her very first line with them, I hope in that moment she knows how much I wanted to blow raspberries back at her.

O is for Optimism

When thinking about O, optimism is the first thing that popped into my mind. I initially rejected the idea, thinking it was too similar to the attitude talk that started this whole thing off. After all, optimism is a specific type of attitude. I mulled over other O's, words like opportunity and outgoing and open-minded. But when I thought about what was really important, what I really want you to grow up knowing, I came back to optimism every time.

Optimism is the ability to see the good potential. It is the marriage of hope and faith. Hope is when you look to the future and desire a positive result, and faith is when you look to the future and believe that positive result will come true. Optimism is the practice of doing those two things so much it becomes second nature. So much it becomes you, becomes your default way of thinking about the world, of reacting to it.

You'll notice that I just said practice. It's true. Optimism takes practice. It takes years and years and years of practice. You will have to keep practicing optimism every day of your life. It will get easier--the more you do it, the easier it will be for your mind to slip down those familiar paths of hope and faith. But life will continue to throw challenges your way, and each one will put your optimism to the test. Not only will life challenge your optimism, but other people will, too. There will be many in life who will scoff at your optimism. Those who will say it is impossibly idealistic. Naysayers who claim that their negative, limited and limiting views aren't pessimistic, but rather, realistic. These people will try to convince you that your optimism is naive, that it only sets you up for disappointment. It is hard for me to say which of these--life's own challenges or the critique rained upon you by others, many of whose opinions you will hold in high esteem--will be harder to overcome in your journey to be optimistic.

And you may wonder, why bother? If optimism takes so much work, if others seem to think it's folly to persist, then why bother? Isn't it easier to not get your hopes up? Isn't it easier to lower your expectations, to expect the worst out of others, out of life, out of yourself?

And if we're being honest . . . yes. Sometimes it is easier to expect the worst out of things. If you don't ever get your hopes up, it's hard to be disappointed. If you never allow yourself to get too high, then falling will never really hurt.

But, here's the key, baby girl: it's not worth it. It's not worth going through life with low expectations. It's not worth expecting the worst out of others. Optimism is what gives our day-to-day existence beauty. It's what coats our lives in a silvery shimmer that makes you tingle and smile with the thought of what's to come. You know that happiness you feel when something great happens to you? Optimism is what gives you that same happiness in the hours and days and weeks and months leading up to that moment of greatness. A pessimist lives life low, scattered here and there with moments of happiness. An optimist lives life high, scattered here and there with moments of sadness. Which would you rather experience?

Remember--the world will be what you make of it. Be optimistic. Have faith in others. Have faith in humanity. And have hope for the future, hope that every wonderful thing you want will come true for you. Be optimistic, and let your optimism guide your actions. Yes, sometimes you will be disappointed. Sometimes your reality won't live up to your vision. But the rest of the time, the rest of the time you will be creating your own successes, you will be living in a bliss that exists when you truly believe there are good things for you in life, good things happening now, good things on your door step, good things just around the corner.

An optimistic attitude--the daily practice of hope and faith--will bring about the very blessings you are striving for. It will create a reality that lives up to your dreams.

And that is something you can believe in.

7 Months

Today, sweet baby girl, you turn 7 months old. Remember back when I thought that 3 months old sounded old, when I felt like it marked the threshold of infant and baby? I have the same feeling today, the same sense that we have crossed some kind of boundary. Seven months. More than half a year. I know you're still a baby, but you're not a baby baby anymore. Not a little baby. You're a sweet, funny, energetic, happy, delightful baby. A baby who is more and more, every day, developing your own little personality. And more and more, every day, I am totally head over heals in love with you.

One of the most delightful developments of the last month is the evolution of your sense of humor. You are not, have never been, a giggly baby. It takes a lot of work to make you laugh. Your dad can do it best by smooching your right shoulder and arm pit--I think his stubble is the key to tickling you just right to get that awesome cackle of a laugh. But lately you have been cracking yourself up. Sometimes it's in the car on the way home from daycare. You sit back there and sing and talk to yourself, and sometimes, on the best days, you laugh. I have no idea what you are thinking about that makes you laugh, what adventure or silliness from your day at school you are recalling--but to hear you laughing all on your own back there makes my day. Another time you burped particularly loud after eating and then laughed at the sound you had just made. You love being tossed high in the air, and the higher we toss you, the louder you cackle. But the best is when you smile and laugh at your dad and me when we are laughing at you. It's like you know that whatever it is you are doing is entertaining us, and baby girl, you dig that. You watch us laugh, grin delightedly, and then do whatever it is again. My favorite example of this is a couple of weeks ago when you kept trying to pick up a freckle on my chest. I started laughing at your intense concentration of picking up that darn freckle, which made you look up at me, smile, and then try to pick up the freckle again, looking back at me quickly to see if you could make me laugh again. You, my dear, are quite the ham.

You are really working on your hand skills, including clapping, waving, and banging things together. You now pat me on the back when I carry you around, as if you are constantly telling me, "Good job, Mom!" I love it. You are a pro at clapping your hand against our outstretched hand, and you are working so hard on being able to clap your own hands together. Right now you holler (your version of "YAY!" which is what we say when we clap) and wave your arms up and down, hitting yourself in the tummy. So. Cute. You have discovered that you can curl your fingers and wrist, and are starting to wave at yourself, the way you see us waving at you. I can't wait until you can actually wave goodbye. You have also discovered that when you hit things together, they make noise! So now you are constantly banging toys together, against the wall, the table, a plastic bowl, and sometimes your head (that doesn't make noise, and you usually end up hurting yourself and holding your arms out to us for comfort and snuggles, which we are always too happy to oblige).

Another cool development to see is that you have started to develop an opinion. You have a favorite bath time turtle, and can pick this particular turtle out of the group of five bath time turtles that float around the tub with you. I can hold out two toys and you will look at them both before actually picking which one you want to play with at the moment. You also have a very strong opinion about the foods you eat. While in the beginning you took to solids without missing a beat, the more foods we try, the more we are discovering foods that you are really not a fan of. When you get one of those foods--you are currently not a fan of peas or zucchini--you let the food sit on your tongue and proceed to dramatically gag and make the most horrified, disgusted faces. It is quite hilarious, and you are quite the little drama queen. But when you find a food you like, you wait patiently for it with an open mouth . . . unless we are slow getting that spoon to you, in which case you squeal at us as if to say, "Focus, people!! I want more! Hurry up!"

You have not yet started crawling, which I have to admit I'm a little thankful for. I like that I can put you down somewhere to play with your toys and you still stay there. (Unfortunately you are also figuring out that we can put you down somewhere and you have to stay there, whereas we do not. You suddenly don't like to be in the living room while we are in the kitchen cooking dinner. You yell at us until we come and pick you up and love on you, making you magically perfectly content once again. I have started cooking dinner one-handed, and I think you like seeing all the different activities that go on up close and personal.) You are able to get the things you want though. You can spin yourself all around when laid on your tummy, and if you are sitting upright and there is a toy within reach, you can fold yourself in half--putting chest, chin, face straight down onto the floor in between your legs--grab it, and then sit right back up. If we stand you up and put you next to something, you are able to hold onto it and stay standing. And you look around with a big smile on your face, as if you are quite proud of yourself.

You are putting together all kinds of different syllables and saying things that sound like real words now--Mom, Ma-ma, bubble, and of course, your ever favorite da-da-da-da. This morning I think I heard the "n" sound for the first time!

Your hair is getting longer and is starting to develop the tell-tale curls that suggest that you may have your momma's hair texture, if not color. Your daddy loves your little curls. I think he's pointed them out to me seventeen times already. If you don't already know it, I think he's pretty smitten with you. The other fun thing about your longer hair is that you are starting to get bed head--whereas before your hair was always pretty much perfect all the time, now when you wake up in the morning it is messed up and sticking out every which way. Honestly it may be even cuter that way than it was when it was short and smooth and perfect.

You love the swing your daddy hung on our back porch. You love your sippy cup we give you at dinner time, and it is so cute to watch you grab the little handles on either side and drink from it yourself like a big girl. And of course, you love, love, love your mom and dad.

And we love, love, love you.

You make our lives funnier. Brighter. Sweeter. Happier. And filled with love in every corner of every second.

Happy seven months, baby girl.

Love,
Mom

Blowin' My Mind

I was talking with some friends the other day about when we would all be TTC (trying to conceive...remember that one from the good ol' early days of this blog?) again. I blithely responded that our original plan was to stop preventing (if pull-and-pray can actually be called "prevention") when baby girl is nine months old, and then start actively trying again--paying attention to all the fertile signs, etc--when she turns one. It was the same answer I've given a thousand times, the same timing that TH and I have talked about for years.

And then I started doing math.

She turns seven months old this week. Seven. As in, only two away from nine.

Holy hell.

You see, before when I gave that answer, baby girl turning nine months old seemed so. far. away. It was easy to say that we'd be ready to jump back into the game at that point because, well, we weren't at that point.

But now, now we're two short months away from being at that point. Two months. Two months is NOTHING. Consider my mind blown.

I don't think I'm ready. Don't think I'm ready to stop thinking about the here and now and start thinking about the future. Don't think I'm ready to stop giving 100% to baby girl and start having a portion of my mental capacity taken up with a future . . . and then gestating . . . sibling. Don't think I'm ready to return to the world of restricted diets and exhaustion and nausea and clothes that don't fit and swelling and sleeplessness and let's-not-forget-peeing-every-twenty-minutes. And this coming from a woman who LOVED being pregnant. Loved it. Every second of it. Couldn't wait to do it all again . . .

Except it turns out I can wait.

Maybe I'll change my mind. Maybe we'll hit the 9-month mark and I will wake up that morning and be suddenly ready, ready for the excitement, ready for the anticipation, ready to make our happy little family of three a happy not-so-little family of four.

But here, now, today . . . I'm not ready. I'm loving, LOVING our lives right now with baby girl. And I'm just not quite ready to do it all over again.