Today (12/14/12)

Today you tried watermelon for the first time, and you loved it.  I could only place one small piece on your high chair tray at a time; otherwise, you'd pick them all up one after the other and shove them in your mouth at once.  Watermelon juice ran down your chin and you practiced chewing with your five (very nearly six!) teeth.

Today, like always, you took took your socks off almost immediately after I put them on.

Today you are fussy and moody because of that nearly sixth tooth.  Your right front tooth.  You hate when I apply Orajel to your teeth and gums, but it soothes you almost immediately.  As soon as you see me pull the tube out you begin to lick your lips and make a face.

Today you crawled head-first into one of your favorite blankies and then started to roll like an alligator.  When the blanket was wrapped snugly around your head many times and you couldn't get it off, you began to cry and I had to rescue you.

Today your favorite game is covering your head with the aforementioned blanket and trying to crawl, stand up, and walk around without being able to see.  So far you have only had minor bumps and tumbles, but this game terrifies me.

Today you chanted "mama, mama, mama, mamamamamama" as I changed your diaper.

Today in honor of your mood I will read you one of your new books:  The Grouchy Ladybug.  Ladybug (or Sophie Bug) is my nickname for you.

Today a package arrived from Target.  It is filled with shirts and tunics I ordered for you in 12 month and 18 month sizes that were on clearance.  As I type this, you are sitting next to me on the floor, watching the Sprout channel, and tearing open the plastic around the shirts with your teeth.

Today there was a school shooting in Connecticut, and 20 elementary school kids were shot in their classroom.  I had to turn off the news because all I can do is cry and hug you.  I'm scared to ever let you out of my sight. 

Dear Frijole/Undertoad Crossover

Dear Frijole,

As I write this, you are 8 1/2 months old.  You've now been out of me longer than you were in me.

You have five teeth at various stages of coming in.  You love avocados, hummus, cheese, yogurt, and yams.  You love to dance, and you and your father are the only people in the entire world who like the sound of my singing.  "Yo Gabba Gabba" and "Dora the Explorer" get you excited, and you lick the TV screen to show your appreciation of the characters you like best.  When you take a bath in the evenings you love to play with your pink rubber duck.  Always as we are finishing your bath, we say goodbye to Duckie and he quacks and "kisses" you on the cheeks and nose and your smile gets so huge.  Sometimes you murmur "mama" in your sleep and it does something in my chest that I can't quite describe.

Some of my favorite moments of the day come when you wake up.  You sit up with blanket marks on your face and sleepily rub your eyes.  You'll play quietly with your animals for a few minutes:  touching them, patting them, biting them, burying your face in them.  When you notice me watching you, you break into a grin and eagerly stand up in your crib to reach for me.  I hug and nuzzle you and take in your baby smell.  I could pick you out of hundreds of babies just by smelling you.

You are--many times over--the most beautiful thing in my world.  I can barely believe that I am lucky enough to have such a beautiful, sweet, playful, inquisitive little girl to love.  The responsibility of guiding you into becoming a confident, courageous, compassionate young woman is a daunting one, but one that I take very seriously.  

I can't look at newborn pictures of you without weeping, because every day takes you further away from being my tiny baby.  It is bittersweet to be leaving your babyhood behind, but it is amazing to watch you learn and grow and change.  You are my greatest joy.

Love,

Mama

First word

On Sept. 25, 2012, you said "mama"!

I knew it was coming, as you'd recently started working the "ma....." sound into your babbling.  But, oh, to hear the word!

You were playing in your little papasan-type chair next to your daddy and I as we were finishing dinner.  You chattered away, and all of a sudden there it was.

Mama.

I was so excited and sent a flurry of text messages to our friends and family.  Sophie said mama!  You smiled, not knowing what the fuss was about, and continued to play and chatter away.  And since then you've been saying it more purposefully.

Yesterday when I was unpacking in the dining room, you were playing with the packing materials on the floor beside me when I walked into the kitchen to put something away.  Immediately you were crawling after me, your hands frantically slapping at the tile in your haste, as you called after me, "mamamamama!"

The most precious words I've ever heard.  I'm such a sap for you!

Oh, who am I kidding?  I was already.

The baby in the mirror

Dear Frijole,

You've gotten to be an excellent (and rather funny) little crawler and you couldn't be cuter. The look of pleasure and curiousity on your face as you set out on an exploration around the house is contagious.

Two nights ago you were happily exploring our bedroom. You eagerly rounded the corner of the doorway to have a look at the hall when you came face to face  with your reflection in the floor-length mirror. You screamed.  I had been sitting on the bed watching you and at your scream my body jerked forward and was instantly behind you, reaching down to pick you up. At my sudden appearance in the mirror you screamed again and the look of horror on your face as you gazed bug-eyed at it was unmistakable.

My poor girl.

I was afraid at the time that I had just witnessed the formation of some crazy mirror phobia. But I am pleased to report that since then you bravely approached the mirror again and the two of you have made an uneasy peace.

Care and feeding

For several days now, you have been eating solid foods.  Feeding you has been interesting.  I have learned several things.  For instance, you are a far cleaner child after eating without a bib than you are with a bib. This is because in between each and every single bite you would insist on cramming the entire bib--until it nearly choked you--into your mouth.  That means that in between each and every single bite I had to extract the bib from your mouth.  Thus, within two bites both sides of the bib was covered front and back completely with whatever you were eating and drool and well, yuck.  But you were obsessed with that bib--you would not leave it alone!  Finally I just ditched it all together.

For your very first meal, I fed you some baby oatmeal.  You weren't sure about the first couple of bites, but by the third you had grabbed for both the bowl and the spoon I was using and tried to shove them in their entirety in your mouth.  I was jazzed.

You were quickly bored with oatmeal, and since it took a few days for our Baby Bullet to arrive and because 98% of our kitchen stuff is still in storage, I cooked and then pureed all your food by hand.  Really it wasn't too bad except for the butternut squash.  Yikes.

You love to eat!  We've had to experiment a bit to figure out our scheduling and seating arrangement and all that, but today I felt like we were starting to hit our stride.  You ate three big meals enthusiastically, and so far carrots, squash, and sweet potatoes are your favorite.  With the exception of letting you suck on my apple slices, I've purposefully delayed the fruit a bit.  Tomorrow we will try both bananas and peas for the first time. 

I actually love making your food.  I love knowing exactly what you are eating and how carefully it was prepared.  I love the organizing and the labeling and the planning.  And it is gratifying to see you waiting with your mouth open like a hungry baby bird.  I know it won't always be this easy to get you to eat vegetables, but for now I am enjoying it while I can.

Your grandma actually got very nervous when I told her about cooking your food.  *Her* kids ate jarred baby food, and she argued that, "There's a lot of additives in those jars that she wouldn't get otherwise."  (Exactly!  Ahem.)  I think she thinks it's some hippy, granola-eater thing I picked up in San Francisco.

Six Months

Dear Frijole,

You, my big old baby girl, turned 6 months old today.

We moved from San Francisco to Concord in mid-August when you were turning five months old.  Then the changes in you from 5-6 months blew me away.  About five minutes after you learned to crawl you learned to push yourself into a standing position.  And then you learned to sit up.  We have begun baby sign language, and you've now begun solid foods.

Overnight you became so fiercely independent!

When you were around 3 1/2 to 4 months old, I began holding you up in a standing position on my chest.  Soon "standing" became your favorite thing to do, and you've never looked back.  You've gotten quite interested in climbing, and from what I can tell you show no sense of self-preservation.  You are eager to fling yourself from any high point.

I can see hints of me in you.  In flashes of your facial expressions.  In your shyness and uncertainty around new people.  In those situations you prefer to stand back and watch, taking it all in quietly.  How well I know that feeling.

One person who endlessly fascinates you is your big brother, Darius.  When he is visiting I can barely get you to focus long enough to eat, because you are so interested in what he is up to.  Even if it is really nothing at all.

As you have gotten more interactive, he has come to really enjoy playing with you, too.  He bodyslams your animals in front of you and holds them just out of your reach, and you don't quite know what to make of all that.

Right at this moment you are the perfect baby.  You sleep all night.  You smile almost all day.  You are good at playing quietly and intently with your toys for long periods of time.  If only you wanted more of my hugs and didn't push me away every time I try to snuggle you like a baby.

You fight fiercely to let me know you are a BIG GIRL, even though you don't have the words for it yet.  I can already hear them.

And that is how I know I am one of THOSE MOMS.  One of those moms I never quite understood before I became one.  And I vowed not to be one!  One of those moms who mourns continuously as her children get older because they are closer and closer to the day they will leave.

I love you so hard!  And it's a beautiful, powerful, benevolent love unlike any I've ever known.  It's corny, but loving you, and gazing at your chubby, sturdy little limbs bent in sleep and clipping your tiny little razor blade nails has been more soothing to the part of me that was hurting for so long than I ever thought possible.

I got behind in my letters to you, but that's because I have been busy being your mama, with getting our family into a better home, and with living day-to-day with chronic pain.  I am working on resolving that issue so that I can be a much more fun mama for you.  As it is I practically fall down from exhaustion after I put you to bed.

But we have a lot of laughs.

Love,

Mama

Mama talk

Scene: I have just given you your evening bath. You are laying across my bed as I rub Baby Magic on you and your father watches.

Mama: Sophie! What's wrong?  Why are you crying? What you just had some people would pay good money for! A warm bath, a shampoozle, a pee-bird wash, and now lotions...

Papa: Wait. Did you say "shampoozle"?

Mama: Yes.

Papa: Nice. And "pee-bird wash"?

The happiest baby on earth

Dear Frijole,

After going through a significant fussy period, the past two weeks with you have been blissful.  You have been sleeping all night and spending the day as the happiest, sweetest, and most cheerful baby on earth.

For awhile you demanded to be held every minute of every day, but lately you have been more content to sit or lay beside me and hang out, taking everything in.

Yesterday you rolled from your back to your stomach for the first time.  You've been close to doing it for days, and it was fun to watch you finally achieve it.  Except that once you did it, you found yourself on your stomach where you hate to be!  So then you got angry.

You love your daddy.  So much.  You watch his every move and make happy little squeals to get his attention.

So far, 3 1/2 months is the perfect age.  I am told six months is even better!

Love,

Mama

Portraits of me and my bambina

Dear Frijole,

Long before I ever knew I was having a baby, I longed to have my uncle Joe take pictures of my future little one.  He does wonderful work, I love him dearly, and it meant a lot to me to have him photograph my child.  He happened to be in San Francisco right after you came home from the hospital and volunteered his services.  I couldn't believe my luck.  Here are a couple of my favorites.

You weren't very happy most of the shoot, mostly because you were cold.  We shot these in your auntie Tash's kitchen.  We sat right next to the window as the daylight was fading, and Joe's friend Larry held up a piece of aluminum foil to reflect light on us.  For such limited circumstances, I think they turned out pretty well.

Of course now he has to photograph you every time he's here--about once a year.

Love,

Mama

Month three

Dear Frijole,

You are now about 10 weeks old and you are getting so much more alert and active!  You are still just a tiny thing--10 pounds, 1 ounce--but you have grown three inches longer since you were born for a grand total of 22 inches.  You have begun smiling tons and trying to giggle.  Except you are still mastering making different sounds come out voluntarily.  Sometimes your noises seem to surprise you and your eyes widen when they escape your mouth.  In the mornings when I peek into your bassinette you see me and immediately smile.  It makes my day.

You and I lay on the bed together and talk all the time.  I lay you beside me and while you gaze up at me I talk to you, tell you stories, sing you songs.  You just listen and listen and you never take your eyes off me.

The vast majority of the time you hate "tummy time" and as soon as I lay you on your tummy you either a) roll back over immediately, b) start to cry, c) make really pissed off, indignant noises, or d) all of the above.  But when I can get you to stay there you work on pushing yourself up with your tiny little arms so that you can lift your head and look all around.  My blue-eyed baby.  I don't know if your eyes will eventually change colors, but for now they are clear and blue and intent.

This month we got a Bumbo seat!  I have wanted one forever.  It is a little baby chair that helps you sit up so you can look around and be part of the action.  The first moment in the Bumbo seat was not the happiest, but soon you didn't seem to mind.

This month we also had a very scary fire at your aunt Tash's house.  You and I were the first ones out the door!  It was cold and windy outside as we huddled and waited for the firemen to arrive and put out the fire.  I wrapped my body around you to keep you as warm as I could and covered your ears from the piercing sirens.  I thought you would cry, but you did not.  You just grabbed a handful of my hair in one fist, closed your eyes, and snuggled into me.  Then you and I holed up at a neighboring house while the nasty chemicals were cleaned up and the house was aired out.  It was an exhausting, emotional Monday for all of us.

Frijole, right now as I write this to you our little family is facing some tough financial problems.  Your daddy and I are working very hard to resolve them.  You are the most important person in the world to us, and you eat before anyone else does.  You, in fact, are the only one with plenty of everything--food, clothing, diapers, love and attention--and that's the way it should be.

I never want you to experience many of the things I experienced when I was little, and one of those things was hunger.  There were some years in my childhood where my family was very, very poor.  Sometimes the only meat we had was what my stepdad hunted, be it deer, rabbits, or squirrel.  (We never ate a possum.  I would like to emphasize that now.)  When I look back at my first grade picture it brings tears to my eyes to see how skinny and gaunt I was, with big hollow eyes, and to know that I was hungry.

I remember the winter I was in 6th grade, around 1988-89, I was so embarrassed that my mom could not afford a winter coat for me.  I was mortified by the old shabby, holey, and too-small one that I had that I chose to go without one at all when I went to school.  I would stand in the snow at the bus stop trying to appear stoic in the cold and hoping no one would notice my lack of coat.  Inevitably they did and they would ask, "Why aren't you wearing a coat?  Aren't you cold?"  I lied and said that I just didn't normally get that cold--I mean, what could I say?--but, in truth, I was freezing.

I hope you never experience that brand of shame.

I am applying for jobs so that I can rejoin the world.  And while it will be good for me in many ways when I get one, the thought of leaving you for so much of each day is heart-breaking to me.  I am conscious that your babyhood is slipping away and I want so much to experience every minute of it with you.  My sweet Sophie-girl.

I love you.  So much.

Love,

Mama

First Mother's Day

Dear Frijole,

Today is Mother's Day.  My first one as your mama.

The day started off like our other days.  When you woke up in your yellow and white striped jammies, I picked you up and kissed you as you blinked and nestled into me.  I fought your fiercely kicking little legs to wrestle your diaper on.  I snuggled you against me and gave you your bottle.  You ate and spit up on me.  I laughed and cleaned us both up and hugged you.

At this time last year I was so sad from losing your sister, and I didn't know if I ever would or could be where we are now.

Being your mama is hard, Sophie, but it's the best thing that ever happened to me.  Yes, I worry more than ever.  Yes, I am usually exhausted.  Yes, there always seem to be things that need done that I don't ever get to.  But my heart is open in ways it never has been.

I love you so much, my sweet, tiny baby girl.  I love watching your grow and change and become your own person more and more each day.  I can't wait to celebrate many more Mother's Days with you.

Love,

Your mama

Daddy's Diaper Philosophy

Dear Frijole,

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays your daddy is off from work.  I look forward to these days, in part, because he watches you while I do things like shower and take long naps.

When I woke up from my nap today, you were wearing different clothes because he said you had peed all over the other ones you were wearing.  When I asked how this had happened, he said it was because you were trying to poop.  Further pressing revealed that he was concerned the diaper was impeding the progress of your little poo as it came out, so he decided to "unstrap" your diaper and let you poop freely.  This is when you peed all over the place--while "unstrapped."

I thought this was hilarious and texted it to your grandma while I giggled.  "Why is this funny?" he asked.

Month two

Dear Frijole,

We are in the middle of your second month of life, and--to be honest--you are kicking my butt a bit.

The first month was so easy!  You never cried unless you were hungry or needed changed.  When you were awake you were happy.  You have been very fussy in the last couple weeks.  Usually for hours at a time.  Given your symptoms, you may have a touch of colic or maybe a milk allergy.  Today I got some soy-based formula and some gas drops to see if they help your tummy troubles.  When I look at your little face and see your distress, it breaks my heart!  Except for sometimes when you take breaks in between wails your little bottom lip quivers and you whimper.  Then I can't believe how cute you still are even though you are crying.

This evening I gave you a warm bath to soothe you and hopefully help you go to sleep.  You lay back against the bathtub seat and looked at me like, "Why are you doing this to me?"  You have my eyes and I recognize some of my own facial expressions in you already.  It is strange to look at my little Mini-Me, but also wonderful.

Today I put together your new swing that we got as a gift yesterday at our baby shower, but realized I needed batteries for it.  I ran across the street to the corner market, but they didn't have the size we needed.  Tomorrow is the earliest I can get them, and this evening I felt willing to pay someone a thousand dollars to bring me four size C batteries.  We'll just have to hang on until then.

One thing that you really seem to enjoy is getting in bed with your daddy and I in the wee hours of the morning.  After I feed and change you, I climb back into bed with you so that we can both try to go back to sleep.  You seem very content to snuggle against me under the covers and to kick your daddy's back repeatedly until you doze off.  I love this routine.  Your papa does too, but he is a little less crazy about the kicking part.

Go easy on me, love.  This job is a hard one.

Love,

Mama

Early morning snuggles

This is one of our favorite things to do early in the morning every morning:

Month one

Dear Frijole,

You are three weeks old--almost a month!--and you couldn't be a more pleasant baby.  I am in love with so many things about you.

I tell everyone you could sleep through a freight train and it's a good thing.  With 3 parrots, a wild cat, a three-legged lizard, four adults, a four year-old little boy, and plenty of doorbells and visitors, our household is rarely short on noise.  Once in awhile you'll stir a bit, but then you go on and sleep right through it all with contentment.

When you cry and I come to you, you settle down immediately as I change, dress, and/or feed you.  So far you're not fussy at all and regularly get the most adorable hiccups in the world.

Some would say that you're so new that you still remember what it was like before you were born.  I don't know if that's true, but when I watch you I can see you getting used to this new form you now occupy--trying to get these wild, swinging appendages under your control, and trying to raise and move your little bobbing, turtle head with mastery.

I love watching and listening to you eat.  I had a lot of guilt about not breastfeeding, but listening to you suck down your formula with lip-smacking gusto and hearing your coos and grunts of approval, I feel better.  You gained 9 ounces in one week between doctor appointments and Dr. Clark was impressed.

If you wake up a little restless, you quickly jam your fingers into your mouth, suck enthusiastically for a moment, and then nod back off to sleep.

Although I am tired and find myself nodding off during daily activities, this first month hasn't been as bad as I was expecting.  Sure, I am sleep deprived, but I was almost ALWAYS sleep deprived over the last several years.  I have become convinced that insomniacs have it a little easier as new parents because they are often up at all ours of the night like myself.  Now that I have you to care for, my night-time activities are just a little more structured than they were before.

Grandma was here staying with us the first week you were home and it was incredibly helpful.  I worried that we would get in each other's way or compete to meet your needs best.  But she was very strategic about offering her help and a spare pair of hands.  She didn't give a lot of unsolicited advice, and she kept me company while I was up with you during the night.  It was hard seeing her go as I knew my routine would become a lot lonelier.

One night when I began to cry because I mistakenly thought the baby monitor was on but it wasn't and when I came in the bedroom you were howling, she comforted me.  "Honey, you're doing a good job," she said.  "She knows that you come when she needs you and she is taken good care of.  You're fine."

I hadn't realized her approval was so important to me until that moment.

I love taking pictures of you and try not to bombard everyone on the planet with them TOO much.  It's just that I'm so proud of my beautiful baby girl and am constantly amazed by her movements and expressions and activities.

I love being your mama, Sophia.  I still cry a lot and am occasionally overcome by emotions and tenderness and fear and love when I look at you.  I never get tired of your little face.

Love,

Mama

All my maps have been over-thrown

(aka:  Your Birth Story)

Dear Sophia,

On a warm Friday night in March, I sat with your daddy on the couch and tried to pay attention to the TV.  I don't get to spend enough time with him, so I wanted to sit next to him as long as I could stay awake.  We shared some pretzels and held hands until finally I was so sleepy I could barely hold my eyes open.  Around 9:30pm, I went in to the bedroom and climbed in bed.  The cool darkness was an immediate comfort and I began dozing off.  I had been so physically uncomfortable in the previous couple of weeks that I barely slept at all and any that I could get was a welcome respite.

I had been in bed curled up on my side for about a half hour a trickle of warmth went down my leg.  My eyes jerked open.  Even though it was a common occurrence that when you kicked my bladder I would pee, I knew this was not pee.  I lie still and waited.  A few seconds past and the trickle started to turn into a small stream.  I was pretty sure this was amniotic fluid, but I always assumed my contractions would have started before my water broke.  I stood up in the dark bedroom and gushes of warm water soaked my black leggings.  Startled, I cried out to your father.

"Ivan!  Come here, please!"

He was dozing off on the couch in the living room and sleepily murmured, "Hmmm?"

My urgency increased as the implications of what was happening were dawning on me.  "IVAN!" I called sharply.  He was up and off the couch quickly as I made my way to the bathroom with the cell phone in hand.  My knees quaked but I tried to hurry so as to avoid soaking Auntie Tash's carpet.  Was I supposed to be worried about the carpet at a time like this?  I wasn't sure.

"What's wrong, baby?"  your daddy asked.

"I think my water just broke!" I breathlessly answered as I shut the bathroom door behind me.  I huddled on the toilet and called Labor and Delivery at UCSF hospital.  As they were advising me to come to the hospital, your auntie knocked on the door to check on me.  "They want me to come in," I called through the door.

We got ready quickly and piled in the car.  I self-consciously sat on waterproof pads in my wet pants.  I hadn't bothered to change them because there were still periodic gushes of liquid coming from me.  I felt water-logged.  Your aunt Tash drove and daddy sat in the back seat.  We were in a good mood and laughed and joked on the way to the hospital.  We marveled that I wasn't in any pain because we had all privately imagined this night going very differently.  This wasn't as dramatic as we'd all expected.

It didn't take us long for us to get to the hospital.  By 10:45pm I was in a gown and on a bed talking to Dr. Quinn in a hot little room with Tash and daddy packed in there.  I was still so sleepy!  How could I possibly have the energy to give birth tonight?  I wondered.  I was scared I wouldn't be able to do it.  When they established that you were breach with an ultrasound and informed me that other risk factors made them want to perform a C-section on me, I was relieved.

The contractions progressed rapidly from there, and by 12:30 I was given medication to slow them down because you were coming too fast.  I was so thirsty by then but wasn't allowed to have anything to drink since I would be getting anesthesia.  I kept asking, "Are you sure I can't have just a little sip?" and was repeatedly and good-naturedly told no. 

Nurses bustled about prepping me for surgery and having me sign paperwork and around 3:00 am I was wheeled into the operating room.  "Where is my partner?" I kept asking.  Dr. Quinn's eyes appeared in front of me behind a surgical mask.

"Don't worry," she assured me.  "I won't forget him.  We'll bring him in last thing before we get started.  I'll make sure."

People swarmed around me and I was embarrassed that I required all this bother and attention--at least a dozen people were in the operating room and engaged in actions of various sorts:  counting surgical equipment out loud, monitoring my vital signs as the epidural injection was delivered to my spine, double-checking my identity and condition prior to beginning surgery.  By the time Dr. Quinn brought your daddy into the operating room, I was numb from the navel down and laying crucifix-like on the operating table.  The doctors and their surgical tools were obscured from me by a curtain across my chest.  I smiled with relief when I saw your daddy come in wearing the hospital garb.  He took a seat near my head and kissed my cheek.  "Here we go," I whispered.  He squeezed my hand gently so as not to disturb my IV.  Or, more likely, he squeezed my hand and I cried, "Watch out for my IV!" so he squeezed more gently.

You entered the world quietly at 3:45 am on Saturday, March 17, 2012.  Once they said you were out and had whisked you away to clean you off and check you out, I strained to listen for you for the first time.  For a moment I heard nothing and then you began to cry softly.  I smiled with relief and happily breathed, "There she is!"  They called out your time of birth and weight (6 lbs., 8 3/4 oz.) and soon after they had put a little striped hat on you and swaddled you snugly and carried you over to be near me.  I got my first glimpse of you as the nurse held you next to my face as I lay on the operating table.  I kissed your cheek repeatedly and said, "Hi, baby!"  I couldn't believe you were actually here.  They didn't let you stay long and off  you were whisked again.

The night would go on to be surreal.  One minute I was sitting with your daddy at home and the next minute I was somebody's mother, destined to be pooped on, puked on, yelled at, whined to, and given many an eyeroll.  When I finally got a cup full of ice chips from a kind nurse, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my whole life.  I sat up in bed answering doctors' and nurses' questions, munching my ice, and thinking, I wonder how my baby is doing?  What are they doing to her right now?  What is her take on all this?  Oh my god, I just had a baby! 

For the first 12 hours or so, when I looked at you it was with a mixture of intense love and fear.  This little helpless person!  Needs me!  Counts on me to do the right things, to make good decisions!  And you know what?  I needn't have worried that I wouldn't feel enough for you right away.  I quickly understood the mother who was in the news recently for covering her children's bodies with her own during an earthquake and subsequent building collapse.  This...little person I grew in my body.  Suddenly I physically need her.

One night during our hospital stay I followed the nurses advice to skip the 3am attempt at breastfeeding, allow them to feed you formula, and stay in bed and try to get a little more sleep.  But I woke up missingyou and your babyness so intensely that I started to cry.  I called for the nurse to take me in my wheelchair to the nursery so that I could at least sit near you.  An ICN nurse was feeding you a bottle and looked startled to see me.  "Everything okay?" she asked.

The tears that had been filling my eyes began to fall.  "I just missed her," I explained, "and I needed to see her."  She smiled and patted me and handed the bundle that was you over to me.  I snuggled you close and sniffed your silky hair.

I know that I am biased, but honestly you're the sweetest little baby I've ever seen.  You are so good!  You smile easily, soothe yourself well already, and are so snuggly and warm and precious that I can hardly bear it.  Today you have a stuffy nose but you rarely complain and are even patient with us as we suck the snot out of your tiny little nose.

Grandma has been with us visiting since before I got home from the hospital, and believe me when I tell you that you are absolutely adored.  We dote on you.  I will hate to see her go, because the social and emotional support (not to mention the extra pair of hands) has been a really lovely thing.

You are home, my sweet Sophia.  You are healthy and perfect and (thank god!) not inside of me anymore.  You will always be my little Frijole, and I plan to keep writing to you indefinitely here.  I want to document your growth and milestones, and I want to be sure you have my words no matter what happens to me in the future.  I want you to know how very loved and wanted you are.

Love always,

Mama

From an early age, you were transverse.

Dear Frijole,

I knew you had changed positions in there but good lord, girl!  Sideways?  Really?  You need to stop fooling around and arrange yourself head down, because this show's about to get on the road and you've got them talking C-sections.  Although I am strongly advising you to consider taking up a different position, secretly I am proud of you.  May there be many boundaries you are willing to transverse in your life.  And please don't let my rules make up the bulk of them.

During the last few days you've been in this position, your little bottom has created a serious hump in one (off-centered) part of my stomach that goes up and down as you wiggle around in there.  I find it rather hypnotic to watch and rub.  Plus, to be honest, it's totally creepy and alien-like.  I hope to see a foot or a hand pressing out soon.

I met our doula yesterday morning.  She's helping with your birth and one of the first faces you will see when you make your grand entrance from some as of yet undetermined orafice on my body and into this world.  She is a very nice, earth mothery type of lady who wants to help me have an empowering childbirth, so I'm trying to calm the eff down and follow her advice for both of our sakes.

Love,

Mama

On doom

Dear Frijole,

One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them.  A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal.  Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.

Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish.  She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid.  I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.

The doom is kicking in a bit.

This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF.  She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor.  (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed.  Ahem.)  As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!"  Honestly, I felt faint.

I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT.  And shit's getting REAL.  Today I bought DIAPERS!  I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE!  I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated. 

I find myself thinking weird things, too.  Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out.  I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?!  And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks.  Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet.  But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent!  And surely that is momentous.

It's not just that kind of pressure, either.  There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly.  And I appreciate it.  Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."

Holy shit!  Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about?  There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no.  No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life.  But allegedly there will be soon!  And how will I respond when put to the firing test?  Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed?  Or will I feel...something else?  And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else?  How can one know how one will react to such a situation?  Is it always so intense and predictable?  It can't possibly be!

In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done!  I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need.  Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together.  I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again.  The home stretch is overwhelming.  Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother.  Which I'm definitely not.  You should probably get used to that now.

Love,

Mama

Breathe

Dear Frijole,

33 1/2 weeks.  Almost 8 1/2 months.

It is early in the morning and I am up for the third time tonight.  Aside from sleeplessness due to being uncomfortable and achey, you are pressed up against both my stomach and diaphragm which makes for lots of indigestion and shortness of breath.  When I sit up in bed for the millionth time, your sleepy daddy murmurs, "You ok?" and falls back asleep immediately.  I let him sleep because he has to go to work and I get up again restlessly.

We just moved in with your aunty Natasha and cousin Lucas for the next 6 months.  This move was meant to help us all save some money and so far is working very well.  I felt very fortunate that I was able to hire ladies to help pack up our old apartment as well as movers and cleaners to make my labor during the move much, much easier.  Plus your father worked very hard.

One of the women who came to clean our old apartment, Marada, was also in her eighth month of pregnancy.  At first we congratulated each other and happily admired that we were both about to have little girls.  But after she got to work, I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees amidst strong cleanser fumes.  I felt guilty thast she was working to make things easier for me when she also needed to be getting off of her feet and resting, plus I couldn't believe she was able to get down on the floor when I can barely bend over. 

"How are you able to do this?"  I asked her.

With her scrub brush in hand, she sat back on her heels, blew the hair out of her eyes, and shrugged, "I have to."  I felt so unhappy and over-privileged and...white.  When she asked shyly if she could drink from a four year old bottle of water I was putting in the recycling bin, I felt worse.

I tipped Marada and her assistant well but I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I could help more.  We don't have much money, but I am so grateful for what we do have.

At any rate, the best news is that the move is over and all I have to do now is get ready for you.  Your grandma is poised to jump on an airplane to San Francisco as soon as I go into labor.  I think she is as impatient for you to be born as I am.  You know, you bring a lot of smiles to her face and mine and you're not even here yet.  Already people are lining up to hug and kiss you.  My sweet baby girl.

Love,

Mama

Third trimester impatience

Dear sweet Frijole,

You have been baking in my oven for nearly 31 weeks now--that's 7 1/2 months. You are already so big in there that my organs are squished up against the sides of me. I can't imagine what this will feel like in a few more weeks!

Twice now I have experienced Braxton Hicks contractions in the middle of the night and I must say they are no fun. Supposedly my body is practicing to push you out. Getting ready for the main event. It lets me know we're in the home stretch, though, and for this I am very happy.

Soon I (and by extension, you as well) will be meeting with our doula Meg to discuss giving birth to you and how she can help your daddy and I during this process. He felt a little nervous about this prospect at first because he wanted to be right there helping me during your delivery. I assured him that he still will be! But he will have some of the pressure taken off of him now and he can relax more and focus on holding my hand and helping me to feel less afraid.

Everything makes me cry still, Frijole: shows on the Discovery channel that show babies in the womb, the absence of my grandparents, shopping for bassinet sheets, solo acoustic performances of Jeff Mangum, running out of juice. Even talking to Meg on the phone tonight about when we would meet up made my eyes mist over.

You, on the other hand, seem pretty happy and active. Honestly, sometimes I think you're trying to break your way out down there. My friend Carrie just had her little girl and I absolutely crave pictures of her. I want to look at babies so much! I watch videos on YouTube of babies getting baths constantly because they are so precious. 

I don't mean to rush you, though. You need to take your time and grow strong and healthy before you come out. I can't wait.

Love,

Mama

In which I forgo all attempts at complete paragraphs in order to complain more freely

Dear Frijole,

You are getting big.  Very, very big. 

I can't wait to meet you, but I am getting uncomfortable.  Very, very uncomfortable.

I think you have a small marching band in there with you.

Turning over in bed is a challenge, bending over to do anything...well, forget it.  Getting close to the sink or stove is impossible. 

Everything makes me feel suddently claustrophobic.  Even (especially?) maternity pants. 

I am trying to pack this apartment.  We have very little room to begin with, and no room to put anything once it is packed and the cat is underfoot every single second and I start to cry at the drop of a hat because everything suddenly feels hard and overwhelming.

I haven't had many cravings with you, but lately all I want is sandwiches.  So that is what we are having.  Sandwiches of all types!  Turkey, ham, BLTs, club sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches.  I want them all the time.  At least they are economical. 

On the positive side, your grandma got us a camera so we can take lots of photos and videos from you.  Your father thinks it is hilarious to tease me about taping your birth.  I promise him it will be the last thing he ever does.

A cute two-bedroom apartment has opened up two blocks away from us.  The bedrooms are a good size and it is in our price range and I want it so badly that I can barely think about it.

Once we get a rocking chair, you and I are going to spend some serious time in it.  De-stressing.  Maybe it's time for that prenatal massage from auntie TK.

Love,

Mama

Waiting

Dear Frijole,

I got to peek at you one last time by ultrasound yesterday--the last time I'll see you before you enter the world.  You were a rowdy little thing in there; once again the technician had a hard time measuring you.  At the moment I am 27 weeks pregnant with you and you are head up.  This is no surprise to me because I feel both your feet kicking my bladder simultaneously nearly every day.  Supposedly we don't have to worry about your position until 35 weeks, but I go ahead and worry a little now just for good measure.

At the time of the ultrasound you were laying on your stomach with your little legs crossed.  Every time they would get a good view of all four chambers of your heart, you would seemingly purposefully push your arm at the camera to block the view.  I laughed, but I was the only one in the room amused as the ultrasound ended up taking an hour and a half as a result of your antics.

Guess what?  You are going to be one well-dressed girl.  My lovely friend Diana has given us a virtual boat-load of clothes for you ranging from newborn sizes all the way up to 3T (though I can barely fathom you will ever be that big).  You now officially own more shoes than I do.

A final piece of news:  after much angst, discussion, and attempted (and failed) negotiations with our landlord, your daddy and I will be moving to another apartment March 1.  I am anxious beyond belief about it all--especially the cost of the move--and terrified we won't be able to find a nice place in a decent neighborhood where you and I can take walks.  Your daddy can take one look at my face and know when I am worrying about the move and he spends a great deal of time reassuring me.  All I can do for now to ease my mind is to take care of the items I can control now, such as booking our movers.  On Feb. 1 I will hit the ground running on the apartment search.  It makes me tired just thinking about it.

Touching your soft pajamas and looking through your baby things makes me feel better.  I can't wait until we are all settled in a new place and just waiting for you to make your grand entrance.  I'm so excited to meet you.

Love,

Mama

On baby/mama cell exchange

During pregnancy, the mother and fetus exchange cells and some of those cells can live on forever in the two bodies after the child is born.

During pregnancy, cells sneak across the placenta in both directions. The fetus's cells enter his mother, and the mother's cells enter the fetus. A baby's cells are detectable in his mother's bloodstream as early as four weeks after conception, and a mother's cells are detectable in her fetus by week 13. In the first trimester, one out of every fifty thousand cells in her body are from her baby-to-be (this is how some noninvasive prenatal tests check for genetic disorders). In the second and third trimesters, the count is up to one out of every thousand maternal cells. At the end of the pregnancy, up to 6 percent of the DNA in a pregnant woman's blood plasma comes from the fetus. After birth, the mother's fetal cell count plummets, but some stick around for the long haul. Those lingerers create their own lineages. Imagine colonies in the motherland.

Moms usually tolerate the invasion. This is why skin, organ, and bone marrow transplants between mother and child have a much higher success rate than between father and child.

Whoa.

(all taken from kottke.org and direct quote from article by Jena Pincott "Our Selves, Other Cells.")

In the year of your birth

Dear Frijole,

It makes me very happy to tell you that I am almost 25 weeks pregnant with you--that's over 6 months!  Just in the last couple of weeks I have started to feel you all the time, and you certainly make your presence known.  You happily kick and punch in there, and I swear sometimes it feels like you're practicing gymnastics.  I never get tired of feeling you, although you do protest if you don't like my sleeping position and we should probably work on that.

It feels momentous to me that it is now the year in which you will be born.  I try to pay attention to things more now--the price of gas, the cost of bread, what I do to fill a whole day by myself--because I want to remember what I was like before you will have arrived in my life.  I know and welcome the fact that I will never be the same again.  I'm not sure I will ever get another good night's sleep knowing that you are in the world and away from my body and might need my protection.

I think about you constantly:  what I want for you, what I want to teach and show you, what mistakes I'll probably have to let you make on your own.  Your daddy and I talk to your big brother about you and he is very excited to meet you.  I fold and refold the clothes I have for you so far, and I stroke the soft blankets and sniff the lotion I will rub on you after I give you a bath.  I dream about you at night.  We talk about you as if you are a separate person in the room already.  "What do you and Sophie Minophie want for breakfast?"  your daddy might aske me.  That is his special nickname for you.  You will probably have many.

For now I try to be patient.  I budget money and purchase the items you will need when you come home.  I try to memorize what it is like to feel you moving in me, because soon we will never have this time together again.  I get tired and take a lot of naps, but I wouldn't trade carrying you in me for the world.

Love,

Mama