bewildered by grace

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

--Emily Dickenson

I love Emily Dickenson, and always have. She's my favorite poet. I found this one recently, posted in part on Facebook by a mom I know who is now going through the same thing with her son that we did with Bella in September. Neurologists, MRI, waiting, worry, and that gut wrenching fear that encompasses everything you have ever known. And somewhere beneath, hope that maybe you'll scrape by. Maybe you'll get lucky, that you won't hear the words many terrified parents have heard before. You won't see a doctor shake their head and talk about treatment and things to expect that scare you half to death. Literally scare you so badly that you can't figure out how to live through it.

We got lucky. I pray she does too. I don't know her, never met her and likely never will, but my heart aches for her. For the way she feels when she lays awake and looks at her beautiful son. For the way her heart stops when they take him from her arms to poke him with needles, put him to sleep, and try and make sure that his brain will be okay. I want to hug this mom. I want to tell her that it'll be okay, and I want her to know that I've been there too, and that I'm still scared. I pray that the hope wins out for them too.

~I'd live at the spa. Or go once a week. I don't care how "high-maintenance" and hoity-toity (a phrase I LOVE to use) it makes me sound, if my benefits covers massage at TighNaMara, I may go every ten days or so. Peter said he'd happily watch Bella, I'll go to the spa, have a swim in the mineral pool (free to spa guests) and a massage for an hour or so. Since massage is covered, my outlook on life has greatly improved. A couple hours of alone time, a massage, and home.

~I would get a tub like the one we used yesterday. It was hand pounded copper, and retains heat beautifully. It had a big hump in the middle so that when you lay in it, it supported your knees, taking pressure off your lower back. Not sure how much pressure is created when you're sitting in the water, but whatever, it was nice. I love being in the bathtub. LOVE IT.

~ I would eat out a lot. I love trying new foods, seeing how people make things beautiful and tasty.

~ I would have such a beautiful kitchen that it would entice me to stay at home and cook, just to be in there. I would have copper pots, and a beautiful gas stove and would feel like I was on a cooking show every time I boiled water.

~I'd live in a log cabin. Maybe this one. And I would have a lot of land, and no neighbors in sight. Not that I have an issue with my neighbors now, but I'd really prefer to be alone.

~I'd have a little four stall barn and I'd teach my daughter to ride. And when things got stressful, we'd hop on and run up into the hills and come back when we feel better.

~I'd travel. It's been so long since I've gone anywhere that I can't think about it or I develop a twitch. I'd let Bella see the world.

~I'd never go back to work. I'd stay home with my beautiful little angel, homeschool her and have dinner on the table for Peter when he gets home. Or have dinner reservations.

But yesterday felt like a million dollars. What an amazing anniversary. I'll post photos soon. I used my camera underwater though, and although it's made for that, I'm waiting a few days before I take out the memory card in order to ensure that it's totally dry. Because I'm paranoid like that.

But it was six whole hours, where nothing was required of me, where my worry for Bella seemed a lot farther away then it usually does, and where I got to actually talk to my husband. It was glorious, and not because of the spa, though it helped. It would have been nice to just sit on a couch somewhere in front of the fire and say, "hey! I know you! How've you been lately?" That was nice.

Thanks mom and dad for watching our angel. You have no idea what those six hours meant to me.

Being a mom is so so different than I thought it would be. And maybe it's different because of the way my pregnancy ended with so much fear and uncertainty, and then Bella's life began with so much fear and uncertainty.

I feel like I am having a hard time connecting with other moms. I feel isolated with everything that Bella and I have gone through together, because there's nobody that really understands that. There's a mom and baby group at the health center that I keep meaning to go to, but in talking to a friend the other day, don't know if I'm up for it. I need to be more positive about things like that. So many of my feelings are different that I know they would have been if everything had been okay. Maybe this isn't making sense. I'll grab another coffee and think about it.

Okay, here's the thing. I feel like the only thing moms talk about is parenting. Go figure right? And of course that's fine. It's even good. But I feel very much like an outsider in these conversations. Because I just don't care, and I can't figure out a way to get myself to care. When I was pregnant I was always on Baby Center. What milestone was my baby blueberry at this week? Fingers and toes! How exciting! A heartbeat! A gender! There were all these things you looked forward to. And generally, you do the same with a new baby. She looked at me, smiled at me, held up her head, rolled over, sat up, talked, ate solids, slept through the night, etc. Moms LOVE to talk about this. They compare and contrast and give advice about how to get a baby to eat solids, take a bottle, sleep through the night. There is a wonderful sense of community they feel when they do this, and I'm glad that it's there.

Our milestones are different. I don't check to see if she's doing anything new this week, and I couldn't tell you when she rolled over for the first time. I check her mark. I check her brain for swelling and I try not to think about what I'd do if her brain swelled and I try and keep her medications coming on time. I call her doctor, her pharmacist, her specialists. I don't have any advice about getting her to sleep through the night, because until very recently, with her steroid dose, it wasn't even an option, and she still doesn't do it. And I don't feel like participating in a conversations about it because I don't care if she's a year before she does it. I can get up with her. I know she's not going to be ten and waking me up three times a night to make her a sandwich. And I become easily frustrated with moms who are exasperated at three months that their baby isn't sleeping through the night, and exasperated with moms who are so proud that their baby does. Because it so doesn't matter.

Okay, so here's the confession, and I realize I'm a jerk for feeling this way. I really do. But I simply cannot take hearing a parent complain about their child in any way. I get that being a mom is a HUGE change and that moms need to be able to vent, and I know your whole life changed and nothing in your daily routine is the way it used to be, whether you have your first baby or your fifteenth. I know that we all don't know what we're doing and we need each other and we need the community of being able to share and vent and ask advice. But I came too close to having my routine change not at all. I came so close to having no reason to get up in the middle of the night, except to stare at an empty bassinet and cry my eyes out with an ache that would never go away.

I know if none of this had happened, I would be the type of mother that I feel so different from now. I'd have been such an anal, by the book mom. I'd have gotten Bella on a strict schedule and tried to do everything just right, and maybe she'd have been a better kid for it, and maybe I'd be a better mom for it. But I can't. I don't care about those things. I don't care when she sleeps through the night, eats solids, walks, crawls, etc. I care even less than Peter sometimes. And I don't know if that makes me a bad mom. I don't know if I'm a bad mom if I let her co-sleep, not only because she needs it, but I do. I need to wake up in the night and feel her warm sleeping body breathing softly next to mine. I need to convince myself a thousand times a day that she's okay, that she's going to be okay. My liver isn't going to kill her, and her mark isn't going to affect her brain or her eye or her airway. I need to convince myself that that horrible day in the hospital was just a really close call. That I haven't hurt her in any way from having her on steroids for so long. I need to know that her heart murmur is gone and that her heart is working fine and that these current drugs aren't going to change that.

I need her. She's the most amazing thing in the world, she's such an incredible treasure, and I need her. I don't need her to sleep through the night. I wouldn't mind, but I don't even try and work at it. And when we sit in the dark in our rocking chair and I feel her little hand crawl up the front of my housecoat to find my skin, and I hear her sweet sighing sounds that she makes when she's happy and falling asleep, part of me hopes that she never sleeps through the night and I feel sorry for people who have babies that do. Because I know that one day that is not too far from now, she'll walk into the house, toss her car keys on the table and call "Night mom!" and go to her room and shut the door. And I will LONG for this. My arms will long to hold her in a bundle on my chest and snuggle her to sleep.

Maybe everything traumatized me to the point that I possibly have too much perspective. I certainly don't have enough grace. There are times where it's hard not to feel angry at people who have it so easy, and I know that I don't see what they may actually be going through. There are times when I feel annoyed at people for not having the same perspective that I do, and yet, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Not ever.There are times where I could kill someone for asking about her mark and times when I could kill someone for ignoring it. The worst is to ask and then ignore the answer. I know people are just trying to make me more comfortable, but I so long for someone who just understands this. Who doesn't think that I'm a bad parent because I don't know that I really do parent Bella. I play with her. I enjoy her. I don't try and teach her anything other than that I love her and will always be there for her. If she tries to crawl and gets frustrated, I pick her up. If she wants to eat ten times a night, then I feed her and my poor husband goes to work dead tired and we sit in our jammies all day. I forget to give her a bath because she was playing with me, and I forget that if I want her to sleep through the night, I should teach her to nap by herself. But I cuddle her and she falls asleep and I breathe her in and just can't bear to put her down. People who follow Baby Wise would think I'm a hideous parent, and maybe they'd be right, but again, I just don't care.

It's just that with very few exceptions, I don't know how to talk to other moms. I don't know how to not feel embarrassed or elitist when they ask if she sleeps through the night, or if she's hitting certain milestones. I feel like I'm neglectful if I don't know the day she rolled over, like how could a good mother not know something like that? Have marked it down in a baby book and remembered that date? And without giving someone the long story it's hard not to just feel like an outsider, even though I'm a first time mom too.

So I avoid the mom-and-baby groups. I give people answers they like to a question that is too complicated. "Are you sleeping any?" "Enough." "Is she a good baby?" This question always makes me laugh. Do people actually say no? "Terrible baby, this one. Don't know what we're going to do with her. " She's a perfect baby. I don't know if she's ahead or behind in her development, and I truly don't care, so questions about her weight and abilities are all hard to answer. I had no idea what she weighed for about two months. We had so much time away from the doctor that I forgot to weigh her. It felt too nice to not have to go that I couldn't even bear to bring her to the health unit to check. I currently don't know how long she is. I've never known what percentile of anything she's in. She's here. She's alive and she's happy and she laughed at Peter the other day and I caught it on videotape. Yesterday when he walked in she called "hi" from the couch, clear as a little bell, and we died laughing. Last night I almost forgot to give her her medicine, and I'm terrified of doing that. The other day her breath caught and for a moment I was so worried about her airway that I couldn't do anything else but hold her and cry and try to convince myself to be rational. I dreamed about being back in the hospital with her, and the way she looked on that little bed, so sad and small and sick and I woke up so scared I had to have Peter pray with me before I fell back asleep, with her snuggled into me and remembering that I said I would never co-sleep. I pray every night that I will wake up in the morning and that mark will have vanished and I can just be a normal parent, and not such a basket case. But I wake up and it's there and then she smiles so hugely at me and screams as though she's just won the lottery and I laugh and pick her up and we start another day together and I thank God that we do.

I don't know if after all this, this is still making any sense. I need to get it out somehow, and part of me needs for people to understand, and part of me needs to understand it myself and I still don't feel like I do. But she's here, and she's okay and that's all I ever wanted in all the world.


EDIT: Just to avoid any confusion here. If you're reading this, I'm not talking about you. Just so we're clear. I just needed to vent today, and maybe needed to realize how seriously screwed up this has all made me feel.

Sorry for the following post: It is New Year's after all.

Oh yipes. I knew it had to happen someday. I got on my Wii Fit and did a body test. I can't even tell you how sad I was afterward. I was preparing myself for a really terrible number, and it was six pounds more than what I was fearing. I have never in my life looked at this amount of weight and tried to figure out how to make it leave. It's a three year old. How do I get rid of enough weight that you could make another person out of it?

I am trying not to sink into thinking about how revolted I feel with myself. I knew that it was going to be ugly when I got on that scale. I'm devastated that I literally just let myself go for 14 months and now I have to try and make that all back, hopefully in half that time. I feel like someone who left for work with a spotless house and came back to find everything in it moved about five inches. It all looks about the same, it's familiar, but everything is in the wrong place. It's unsettling, and depressing to not recognize myself in the mirror, and yet to see attributes there that I once liked. Oh dear. Peter told me that he missed the way I used to look. Not even slightly upset. I miss it too.

Anyway, enough of the whining. I will not "diet". I know I can. I lost 17 pounds on South Beach just before my wedding. But it came back. And I'm nursing. I can't just cut out 85% of food groups (like fruit, for instance) and expect that Bella will be okay with that. Here's the plan, because it will make me feel better to see it on a list:

Steps to Looking Hot (or Respectable) by July 1st.

1.) Strap Bella into her carrier, and go for a walk every morning, weather permitting.
2.) No pop. Not one drop. Wine? One glass per week. No more.
3.) At least 30 minutes of exercise on my Wii Fit, five days a week.
4.) If Peter works until 9pm, he eats dinner ALONE.
5.) Every time I grocery shop, must have a healthy weekly meal plan, and 85% of my cart must be produce or protein. An easy way to remember: Don't shop in the middle of the grocery store. Stick to the edges.
6.) No food after dinner. No dessert anytime.
7.) Watch my carbs. Lots of protein, lots of fruit and veggies, and drink lots of water.

Seven steps seems like enough. I'm telling you right now, I'm going to have trouble not eating at night. I'm starving all the time because I'm nursing. I'll figure it out. Now, I've got to go slap on some sweats and take Bella for a walk. Wish me luck. I'll keep you posted. I'm not motivated enough to also make a new blog like Melissa. You're just going to have to hear about it here. Sorry.

I did it! I completed Bella's blanket, and I'm actually pretty happy with the results! I made it bigger than I originally thought, but I'm glad it's something that hopefully she can use for a while. I hate receiving blankets because they're all so small, I really like the ones I made with Grandma and my mom, and the one Auntie Sue sent me for that reason. They're nice and big.

We wanted to not go crazy on toys for her this year, since really, she doesn't have a lot of hand-eye coordination quite yet, so we tried to do special gifts. There's a book, the blanket, a journal that I'm copying my some of my pregnancy posts in. Her daddy got her a beautiful framed photo of the two of them that we're going to hang in her room. Tonight I'm going to my mom and dad's, while Peter's working, and then coming home, moving our mattress into the living room, making some appies, and opening a bottle of wine and watching White Christmas with my two favorite people in all the world. And we'll all open our new Christmas jammies, even Bella. I'm so blessed this year. She's so perfect, and he's such a great daddy and husband. I don't care what's under the tree. I've already got everything in the world I want. Except a Kate Spade bag. I'll live.



Merry Christmas Everyone! I love you all.

I'm going to read it. I watched the movie, and I hated it. I'm sorry, maybe that's too strong. Something in me did kind of twinge as I reminisced about being young and everything being that big a deal (like I'm so calm and stable now) but seriously, if I saw one more teen heartthrob shoot a moody look across a crowded room, forest, street of a quaint town, etc etc, I was going to stab myself in the leg. It was just over the top. But a lot of people who I know and love have read the books, and said they're great. That they're so so much better. People who have similar tastes as me have said that I would love them. And not 13 year old people.

So here I go. I'm not sure if I'll quit by tonight, but I'm going to give it a fair shot. Mostly because I'm too lazy to go to the library, pay my fines, and find something else to read so close to Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas, I will put a Christmas-y post up here before the 25th. Likely of my blanket, taken with the new camera that Peter won for me at his Christmas party! I'm pleased with the blanket and plan to finish tomorrow. Gotta run, it's late and Bella needs to be medicated and snuggled to sleep. And I need to get some reading in. Wish me luck, I'm trying to keep an open mind.

To budget around the hollidays? Why? Because I'm an idiot who likes to set herself up for guilt and failure? We all know I have no math skills whatsoever. We KNOW this!

Every stinking year. Here's the thing: I'm a sucker. I'm a sucker for the perfect gift, for the perfect Christmas Eve meal. I'm a sucker for anything that would be cute for Bella's first Christmas. Here's the scenario:

Mellie is nearly done shopping for Peter. Just needs a last minute stocking stuffer and then we're done. Whilst walking through the cologne section of The Bay she comes across "Black" by Kenneth Cole. She smells it, imagines Peter wearing it, and goes a little weak in the knees. $10 stocking stuffer becomes $90 gift set. I don't just blow a Christmas budget; I annihilate them.

With Peter getting stuck in the States, and getting our car brought across the border, we do not have money to burn this year. We don't have money to spend. But I have a line of credit with a 2% interest rate and no minimum payment, since I work at the bank. So Mellie walks into the store this year, needing one more gift for Peter and gets suckered in by some pimple faced teen sales guy, who probably lives with his mother, has no overhead and no brand new baby girl who needs diapers, gripe water, and a myriad of cute sleepers on a regular basis. Of course he'd buy one of these! Of course he would! And now he can afford to, on the commission from my sale. Stupid girl.

The thing is, I am still rotating between a pair of maternity jeans and an old pair of pre-pregnancy jeans that are getting so worn out they're going to disintegrate off my unrecognizable butt. I have no pants that fit. Not one pair. I need to buy some pants. But I put it off, since honestly, I'd rather Peter have a gift under the tree that makes him light up, laugh and say "honey! what did you do?!". And really folks, I'm not going to like how I look no matter what the pants, so why put myself through the torture of figuring out what my "new" jeans size is? Why?

I have zero self control when it comes to gifts for Peter and Bella. None. Every December I resemble one of those people on TV whose finances are so out of control that they don't even look at the bills. I don't. If my checking account runs empty before payday, I transfer some money over from the line of credit and go from there. January to November, I behave. Except for birthdays, and anniversaries, that's more of the same, just not to the same degree of wanton idiocy. I swear, something happens to me in December that says, "bah, whatever. We'll figure it out in January. Think of how happy he'll be on the 25th!!"

Oh well. Merry Christmas to Peter anyway. He'll be thrilled. Until he sees the bank balance.

Last year, mommy sat in front of her Christmas tree and cried. I had been waiting for you for so long, and I felt a little hole in my heart where I knew you fit. I was afraid that hole would always be there, that you may never come.

I prayed that next Christmas I would cuddle your little sleeping body next to the tree. That's all I wanted in the whole world. I wanted you.

Sometimes when I look at you I just can't believe you exist. I can't believe how beautiful and sweet life can be, now that you're here. Falling in love with you is the most amazing, incredible feeling I've ever felt. When you wake up in the morning next to me (though we're trying really hard to get you to sleep in your own bed) and you open your big dark eyes, see my face, and smile as big as you can, I feel like nobody on earth could ever be as happy as I am. When I'm trying to sleep and I can hear you squealing and talking to Daddy, I just can't help but laugh a little, and get up, and come see what you're up to. I love to watch you learn things, and to see you get so excited when you figure out how to reach up and grab your little kitty on your playmat so that he'll sing a little song. I don't think I've ever understood the beauty of God's creation until I saw you. There were glimpses of it when I saw mountains, or the ocean during a storm, but never like this. I can't believe he created you. That your little fingers wrap around mine, that you fit perfectly in my arms, that your lungs breathe in and out, you blink, you smile. It's amazing to me just to watch you live, sleep, kick your little legs. Every movement you make feels like a miracle.

More than anything though, I love to hold you when you sleep. I love to feel your little hand crawling up the front of my shirt to find my skin, and when it rests there, you sigh and you completely relax. I love that you snuggle. I'm completely addicted to the smell of you, it's nearly narcotic. I could inhale you until I go dizzy from it. When you sleep, I close my eyes, and put my face in your neck, where I can feel your soft hair touching my cheek and breathe you in. I try not to think that one day you will be too big for me to do this. That one day, you won't need me to go to sleep. So I think of things we'll do then, that we can't do now. Play. Cook. Horseback ride. Read. When I think of you being able to wrap your arms around my neck, to hear you say you love me and Daddy, then I'm okay with you getting bigger. I can't wait for those days.

For now, we spend hours each day on our rocker, snuggling. And last night, your Daddy and I set up our Christmas tree. When you saw it all lit up, you smiled so big! And when we were all done, Daddy sat next to me, I wrapped you in a nice warm blanket, and rocked you to sleep. And I sat there and realized that I got my Christmas wish. I got you. And you're safe, and beautiful, and so desperately sweet. You've made our lives so incredibly wonderful, it's hard to know what to want for Christmas this year.

I love you so very much, my darling baby girl. So much.

Nothing, that's what.

I can't believe I blogged 30 times in 30 days. I nearly made it except for the internet being down yesterday. Oh well.

All of this, and I really don't know that I've said much. I think December will be nice for all of us. No rushing to the computer at 11:30.

Anyway, thanks all for reading, and for writing, I like reading your blogs, even the ordinary day ones. I'm happy for the new bloggers, like Jonathan, and Uncle David and Auntie Carolyn and Robyn. Good times. I hope this keeps up.

And now for something completely different:
I said I'd do it, and I did.







All I have to say is this: I'm not blogging tomorrow. Or maybe even the next day.

This is appearing about an hour and 37 minutes late. But it wasn't my fault, my computer wasn't connecting to the internet. Peter fixed it.

Date night went well. I only cried a little as we were driving away and a little again when my dad called me 10 minutes before we got home asking how long we'd be because Bella was refusing to take a bottle and was crying. Other than that, she did fine, and so did I. Next time I'll try a movie. Dinner was delicious, the appies were incredible, the mains were good, but the sides were totally uninspired. What can you do? We had a great time either way.

As for the bottle, we tried it again today and it worked like a charm, so who knows what that was about.

Anyway, it's nearly 2am and I'm going Christmas shopping tomorrow with Robyn. And I'm supposed to put up a link to her blog. And tell people to comment. She should keep blogging. So there you go. Go comment on Robyn's blog.

Peter and I are going on a date tonight. Alone. I am up at 8:30 stressing about it already. My mom and dad are going to watch Bella.

The plan was to go to dinner and a movie, but that would have worked out to about three and a half hours, and I just don't think I can do it. I didn't say this to Peter, just sat in the car trying not to hyperventilate. He mentioned that he actually liked my original plan, which included reservations at a really nice restaurant in Cedar but no movie. I don't know why we deviated from the first plan anyway, it's been causing me endless stress, thinking about being away from Bella for nearly four hours. He asked if we could just do what I had planned first, and I nearly fainted with relief.

The restaurant is in Cedar, so it's a half hour from here, and dinner will take about an hour and a half, so we're still looking at almost three hours, but that's not too bad. I can do that. I just didn't think I could do four.

Here's the scoop. I know all moms stress about this the first time. It's always hard. I've been away from her for two hours while Peter's home with her, and I am fine. And both of us were away from her for nearly three hours once before, and I think my problem lies there. She was having her MRI. It happened on the worst day of my life, and they told me when she went into the MRI that she'd be about a half hour. I remember every moment of those two extra hours. And when I got to see her again she wasn't fine. She'd been poked six times before they'd gotten her IV in. I can't imagine how she must have cried, and I wasn't there for her. I couldn't be.

I know this isn't the same. I know if she's really upset, my mom can call me, and I'll rush home to her. I know she won't actually even get really upset. She's so good, and so happy. She knows and loves my mom, was smiling for her like crazy last night. She'll be in her own environment. I know she'll be okay, and I know the longer I put this off the harder it will be. So we're going to go.

I'll let you know tonight how it went.

Last night we had Thanksgiving. My hen turned out okay, since I realized that my fig preserves were moldy and I had to wing it (no pun intended) with something else. My hen had a neck when I unwrapped it. I nearly threw it away, but composed myself and called Peter in to deal with it. I am no Julia Child, I'll tell you that. Once the hen was de-necked (okay that "word" makes me nauseated), I crammed some onion and garlic inside it and made a glaze on the stove top of some orange tangerine juice I had in the fridge, some white wine, and a bunch of maple syrup. It turned out okay. Guinea hen tastes remarkably like chicken. So much so that you wonder why you spent 13 bucks on a little chicken when a whole one is only 8. 10 if you want them to rotisserie it for you. I could have done that, and brushed it with maple syrup and that would have been it. And saved myself three bucks. We used to have guinea hens that lived outside our first house. They are horrifically noisy, they sound like a child screaming while being shaken violently. The first time I heard it, I rushed outside, certain something terrible was transpiring in my backyard. Eating one felt good on that level, I don't mind telling you. Ha ha! Revenge is mine, you noisy freak of nature.

Anyway, not at all the point of this post. Dinner came out okay. We also tried celeriac (ugliest piece of produce you can buy, I think) and they're tasty. And I cooked turnips for the first time, and they were also yummy. My stuffing was the best, I think. Want a good stuffing recipe? Take a box of stove top turkey stuffing, and add to it a cup of celery, about three or four cups of mixed mushrooms (spring for shitakes, they're delicious) and about a cup and a half of dried cranberries, and a half a small onion diced small. Instead of water, add about a cup of chicken stock, and a cup of white wine. Or more, or less, depending on how moist you want it. Toss it in the oven for an hour. It was pretty spectacular, and I don't like stove top stuffing.

Also not the point of this post.

Bella did so great last night while I was getting stuff ready. Slept on her own, not a care in the world. Two minutes before Peter came home, when I was filling water glasses and lighting candles, she started to cry. So in walks Peter to see his frazzled wife, a mess in a pair of pants with who knows what spilled on them, maybe sauce, maybe spit up. His baby is looking adorable in her happy thanksgiving shirt and screaming. He smiles, looks at the beautiful spread of food, and goes to sit down. He says grace and Bella screams along and I'm trying to hold her and calm her down while we have a nice quiet meal. No doing. I move to the rocking chair with her, and she starts to quiet. But my food is getting cold so Peter tries to move it near me and spills about a quarter of a bottle of wine, all over my plate, floods it totally, and all over his pants and the floor. He gets up, runs to change, and mop up the floor before we totally ruin our throw rug. He's mad the way only Peter can be at himself when he does something that he thinks is stupid and embarrassing. It makes me laugh a little, but I'm trying not to. By the time Bella is done crying, and the floor is clean, our food is stone cold. We heat it up in the microwave and turn on the football game and drink our wine. I made it just past halftime before I fell asleep nursing Bella with my shirt half off. Peter let me sleep.

Somewhere in there, I remembered another feast I made for him for his Thanksgiving. I remembered how beautiful everything looked, and the candlelight, and sitting at the table together with the fireplace on. I had brushed my hair and had some make up on. Wait, I bet I have a picture.





But all I kept thinking was that I wouldn't trade that for this. I kept thinking that we were right in the middle of a memory that one day we would talk about at pretty Thanksgiving tables with my makeup and my shirt on. We would eat warm food from the oven instead of the microwave and nobody would spill the expensive wine we'd splurged on and we'd laugh about the first Thanksgiving I tried to do with Bella. How tired we were that Peter spilled the wine and stormed around and I held Bella and tried to eat while simultaneously rocking a baby, dripping sauce over us both. It just seemed like one of those moments you know? That one day I would miss this mess and chaos and confusion while we figure out this mom and dad thing. That as I get better at this, I'm going to miss this part. I don't know, now it's not coming out right.

Either way, Thanksgiving was memorable and lovely. Wish me luck with Christmas.

Food makes me happy. Not just eating it, though that's lovely too. I love an excuse to try cooking something new. And loved having a reason to go to Whole Foods again yesterday. Today is American Thanksgiving. And, as I am married to an American, we do the feast twice a year. Since we had the big traditional feast on our Thanksgiving, I try and make his a little different, while not deviating too far from what should be on the table on Thanksgiving day.

Tonight's Menu:
Appetizer: Mini Crab Cake on a Bed of Spring Greens, Chipotle Garlic Aoli

Main: Roasted Guinea Hen with Fig Balsamic Glaze
Wild Mushroom and Cranberry Stuffing
Autumn Baby Ravioli in a White Wine Butter Sauce
Medley of Spiced Roasted Root Vegetables

Dessert: Pumpkin Pie with Spiced Vanilla Whipped Cream and Spiked Egg Nog Hot Chocolate

All served of course, with a very nice bottle of red wine. And before you think me too ambitious, I'm doing it all without a babysitter for Bella. But I'm totally buying the pie, and you'll notice the word "roasted" a couple of times there. This menu was planned hoping that all I'll have to do with Bella is the pasta. Everything else will be prepped this afternoon while Peter is at home, and then tossed in the oven at the appropriate times. But according to my modified recipe, I need to baste that stupid hen every ten minutes. That should be a good time. Thank goodness for my infant carrier. I made soup the other night with Bella tucked into it. She was pretty okay with that, though she doesn't much like doing the dishes. Can't say I blame her. I'm getting nervous thinking about it. Wish me luck. If we can't carry it off, or I burn that hen, I'm calling for pizza and wings and we're watching football.

I don't get my Christmas wish.

They lengthened the amount of time we're spending weaning Bella off the steroids. They added four more weeks. Double what I thought I had left.

That's four more weeks of stomach ache, the absence of hope for more than three hours sleep at a time, three more necessary medications and a mild case of thrush.

I'm tired. And disappointed.

I should just leave it at that. That has been my day so far.

It is 5:10pm. I am in my jammies. I have played most of World Three in Mario, and have been writing thank you notes from Bella's multiple baby showers and Christmas cards the rest of the time. And of course, nursing Bella, "fighting" with Peter about the heat being turned down (I'm a little funny about Bella getting cold, or anything close to it), and changing diapers.

Here's another selfish confession. I am truly very thankful for every gift we've got, and I love being able to tell people that. BUT, I love the stationary aspect of the "thank-you note". But if I wasn't a freak about beautiful paper and pens, I probably wouldn't have sent them. Don't get me wrong, I would have said thank you, and been just as grateful, but I'd have sent you a facebook note, or told you in person. I don't do it because it's the "proper thing to do". I just loved having a good reason to go to Michael's and get the cutest package of cards you've ever seen. Plus, I love an excuse to send, and receive real mail. I love getting anything in the mail that isn't a bill.

Here's the thing though. I don't know why we write down what we get and from whom. Do you really want your card to say, Becky, thank you for the adorable hat and the cute little shirt and bib. Doesn't that sound a bit formulaic? Don't you feel like you've gotten a form letter or something?

Dear (Insert Name Here)
Thank you so much for your gift of (insert correspoding present here). It was very kind of you, and we're so grateful.
Most Sincerely,
(your name here)

I will tell you that I thought of each of you while I wrote your card, and was really thankful, and wrote something individual to you. If you compare your cards, they are not the same. And they are on really cute stationary.

...then the last six months would have sent me straight to hell.

If you have kids, and you're reading this, I need you to do me a favor. Remember when you brought your first baby home from the hospital. Remember leaving with that tiny bundle and thinking, "they're really just going to send me home and see how I do?". Remember how unreal that was? To just take your baby home and get on with your life? And remember the weight of the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Remember the first time you were totally alone with your child? How scary that was? Remember how all you used to do was stare at them when they'd sleep, thinking, "don't you need something?". It's funny how little maintenance the first one really is. Before the hospital and everything I remember thinking, "seriously, I should be doing something shouldn't I?" Stupid me, the answer was to go to sleep. Oh well. Anyway, remember that feeling, and try not to roll your eyes at me during this post. Or go ahead. I'd laugh at me if I were reading it.

Today, I put Bella down for a nap. In her room, in her swing, all by herself. It took me a long time but I closed the door. I used our baby monitor. Then I cleaned out the fridge. I cannot tell you about the fridge. Oh, what the heck, you've been there. There were cabbage rolls from Thanksgiving in there, and guacamole from before then. There were things in that fridge that were older than Bella. It was horrific. I cleaned it out, washed the disgusting dishes that held the offending items and took out the abominable smelling garbage. And when I was done, I checked on Bella. Still sleeping.

So I made the bed. Peter and I will go to sleep in a bed that was made that morning for the first time in probably six months. I didn't make the bed much when I was huge and pregnant. I ran to the kitchen to listen to the monitor. Nothing but the tick-tick-swish of the swing. I went to see if she was alive. She was. So I swept the floor in the kitchen, and then for good measure, the bathroom. Still sleeping. So I did the mirrors, sink, and toilet. I threw in a load of towels. Still sleeping. I took out a load of clothes and folded them. And put them away. In the same half hour period. Folded AND put away. Where they belong! Not just in the bedroom on a chair, but in the drawers. And I swept my floors in the main areas of the house, and in my bedroom.

And she woke up. So I picked her up and walked her into the living room and she looked around like she had no clue where she was anymore. And then smiled at me. And I was so proud of her, of me, and of us that I cried. I can't believe that I cleaned my house while my baby napped. On her own. What an angel. Oh my goodness, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Today I got to be a wife and a mom. I've never done that before yet. I'm one or the other, and guess which one wins?

I also made a meal plan for the week, and a corresponding grocery list, and once we eat and watch Top Chef, and I feed Bella, I'm going to do errands. All by myself while Bella gets in some snuggle time with her daddy. I know. So laugh if you will, I will do it tomorrow at myself, but today I am simply amazed at myself. With no exaggeration, I am prouder of me today than when I got my high school diploma. When Peter got home for lunch, she was up, fed, medicated and changed. And his house was clean. And his wife was smiling. Unreal.

I mean, where do they get off? Stupid store. They should be housed in a corner of Stupidstore, except their prices are too high.

So by now you've realized you're about to read a ranting post. I went to the mall all excited yesterday with all my store credit everywhere. I had to go to the Children's Place, Babies R Us, and Baby Mexx. I never shop at the regular Mexx simply because I am not that trendy, and do not need to be constantly outfitted in linen. Do they even sell jeans? Anyway. I went to Baby Mexx to return a hat and socks I got. Apparently they were on clearance, so I got $10 off whatever I wanted in the store. I would have liked something for $12-$15. Nothing in that store is that price. Nothing. Maybe a pair of socks, but it seemed like a stupid waste to get a pair of baby socks for ten stinking bucks. But, wait! All of their infant clothes are 40% off! Maybe I can shop at Mexx after all!!

So I got Bella an outfit. With my $10 discount, and 40% off, I still spent almost $30. Can you believe that?! It's infant clothes!!! Made by infants in China! Where does the price come from? The fancy ribbon tag attached not with those plastic thingies, but by actual thread, and a little plastic clip, that also says Mexx? It's not like they're spending a lot of money in the real estate. The store is so tiny you can't flipping move in there. I hate children's stores that don't take into account that the people who shop there are mothers with STROLLERS! Morons. Anyway, where does the money go? I don't know.

But look at her. Could she be any cuter? Is that not the prettiest outfit you've ever seen? It may be, until I post pictures of her from Shawn's wedding (I'm working up to this, I look huge in all of them) and then her Christmas dress. Which I got at Children's place, along with a matching hat and panties, and a pretty pair of fleece pants for the same price. And the dress is to die for. I already have clippies to match. Anyway, this is our first and last outfit from Mexx. Stupid Mexx.


I woke her up to take this. I'm a jerk, and it looks like she may know it.


Look at the cuffs on the little knit pants! And how perfectly her little moccasins match. Seriously, I could also rant about people who treat their kids like accessories, but man, having a little girl is like being a little girl again yourself. Playing dress up and dollies all at once. I adore being her mom for more reasons than all the baby clothes, but it's hard not to love the clothes.


I had to enlist Peter to make her smile. She's such a little Daddy's Girl. Don't you just want to eat her?! Or take her to a little ski chalet and snuggle her in front of a fire? Man. I can't tell you how much I love this little girl.

Oh, and if you haven't had enough, there's another photo on Bella's Blog.

I'm going to do this in the morning, and hopefully save you another super lame post.

Do you know what I love more than most things? Store credit. It makes me exceedingly happy. My work friends threw a baby shower for me and my friend Tiffany the other night (who had the cutest set of red haired twins you've ever looked at, a boy and a girl!) and I got so much stuff! Seriously, if you've sent me a baby gift, I'm ever so grateful, and you'll get a thank-you card as soon as I can write about a hundred of them. I'm working on it, and I also have Christmas cards! Oh yipes, I'm starting to stress out.

Anyway, back to the store credit. I got a couple of things that I actually have doubles of (that's how many gifts we keep getting, we're starting to double up) and so I get to take some back today. I have a beautiful sweater and jeans for the Children's Place, and a matching hat and slippers from Baby Mexx and a gift card for Babies r Us. And the mall is all decorated for Christmas, and Santa will be there. One weekend soon, we need to take Bella for her Santa pictures. I want one of these more than I am afraid of the germs. Hopefully I won't offend Santa if I sanitize my baby right after they're done with their photo.

While I am gone, Peter said he'd put up our Christmas lights. There are two houses on our cul-de-sac that already have them up. Everyone decorated for Halloween as well. I can tell this is going to be a fun place to live. Loads of kids. And cats that poop in my yard, but that's a post for another day. Anyway, Peter offering to put up the lights is a really sweet way of saying he'd rather do hard labor outside in the rain than go shopping with me. Oh well. He's too much of a voice of reason in the baby section anyways. Who needs it? Maybe I'll call my friend Joy and have her come with me, and her husband can help with the lights. They need to come and pick up their Bailey's anyway.

I can't tell you how excited I am for Bella's first Christmas. Can. Not. Wait. I also bought her a little gingerbread house kit, that I plan to decorate exclusively in pink candies. Stop rolling your eyes - it's going to look so stinking cute! With a little sign in the yard that says "Bella's House". I'll post a photo. For thinking the entire time I was pregnant, that I was having a boy, I am absolutely in love with having a daughter. I love all things pink and girlie and frilly. Okay, time to get in some Mario before I have to go the the mall! YAY for Christmas and weekends! Do you think Peter would allow a couple of pink Christmas lights with our white icicle ones? Pink is the new red and green folks. It totally is.

This is about to be a very lame post.

Robyn and Luc are over. Bella is happy. We had shepherds pie for dinner, but I tried to make it with roast beef instead of ground. It was delicious, but texturally, a total failure.

We're going to play Super Mario Bros for my Wii. We can all play at the same time, in the same level. This makes me super happy. Mom came over today, we played all of world one while dad snuggled Bella.

I have a hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's. Joy, if you're reading this, never leave alcohol at my house again. I guess I owe you.

That's all I got, folks.