Dear God,

Please take care of my children.

I pray for a lot of things, but if you ever have to choose, always choose them.  Please keep them safe. Keep them healthy. Keep them happy.

Give them faith that everything will be OK, then help to make sure that everything ends up being OK.  Give them courage. Give them trust. Give them the ability to laugh, to cry, to feel. 

Surround them always with people who love them. Put people in their lives who have their best interests at heart. When their feelings are hurt, when their hearts ache because someone let them down, when their eyes swell up with tears; help them to learn from the experience, see that it wasn’t all for nothing and help them move forward.

And for the people who hurt my babies, God.  Please keep them far away from me. 

Please be the voice inside my children’s heads when they don’t know which choice to make. Help them to always choose to be nice and be good. 

Help them to chase their dreams. Help them to stand when they fall.  Help them to never give up.

Everything else will fall into place.

Help us to be the parents they deserve. To greet them with smiles and open arms, to lose count of the number of kisses shared throughout the day. To pay attention when their little voices speak to us.

Those voices are so very special. And they carry the thoughts of these two pieces of my heart. Help me to always listen. Really, really listen. 

Be with Craig and me as we remember that we created these two people. And when we did that we made them a promise. We promised them a family.  Help us to remember each other as we carry this family forward. 

And, please. If I can be selfish, please give me another day with my family. I will ask this of you every night for as long as I live. 

But they need me. And I need them. And they need each other.

We are a family, the four of us.  We are a team. We fit together. 

And we need that fit. We need the other six shoulders to lean on, the other three smiles, the other hands to hold. 

Give us another day, Lord. And another one after that.

Dear New Mom,

By now you’ve received all the pre-requisite baby advice. Everyone down to strangers at the mall have told you to cherish every moment because it goes too fast (it does). A co-worker has filled you in that you won’t be in your bathroom without an audience again for the next several years (you won’t).  Your best friend has probably given you a book on the 5S’s – guaranteed to soothe your fussy baby(it works) and someone has likely answered all your questions about the necessary and not-so-necessary baby gear. 

But here’s what they didn’t tell you: 

It’s just a phase. 

All of it.  The weeks when the baby cries every night like clockwork at 6PM – just a phase.  The days that she wakes up like clockwork at 4am after months of sleeping through the night – just a phase.  The cuteness of the month that she shakes her head and says “NONO” at everything you ask and the days when her fascination with the steps gave you heart failure – just a phase.  The times when she prefers her daddy to you and a week later when she wants you instead of him – both just a phase. 

Some of these stages of life will slip by you with barely a notice.  Some, you’ll try desperately to hold onto.  And, others, you’ll pull them through kicking and screaming because you can’t stand it for one more single second. 

I get it. I get that you don’t think it’s a phase.  When it’s the second night in a week that Chessa wakes up in the middle of the night crying and there are no new teeth pushing through and no fever or illness to speak of, I immediately panic. My mind goes a mile a minute wondering what changed, why is she waking up, what should I do and OHMYGOD what if she never sleeps through the night again.  I call my friends, I vent on Twitter, I Google parenting advice, or I put her down with an extra paci, a blanket or a new comfort item.  And then, the very next night, once I’m armed with a plan, she sleeps all night.  Because that was the end of that phase and now she’s onto the next one.  Like patting me on the back when I give her a hug or saying “Go away, Mommy,” when I bend down to kiss her.

So, let’s make a pact.  Don’t stop believing that you’re good at this mom thing.  You know your baby. You’ve been doing just fine this whole time and you’re still doing just fine.  I’m convinced that sometimes babies just have bad days (or weeks) too.  There’s a lot going on in their tiny little noggins so sometimes they go a little crazy.  Keep doing what you’re doing.  Stay consistent.  Take deep breaths and long sips of wine.  

And remember, that it’s just a phase. 

If you do, I will.

We started practicing for C’s birthday this week.  Meaning when you say to her, “How old are you going to be?”  She answers by holding up a finger and flashing you a cheesy grin.  And, when you start singing the first few words of Happy Birthday she starts bouncing and waving her arms like an itty bitty orchestra conductor, in diapers. 

So all of this practicing has got me thinking back to a year ago when I swore that this would be my last childless weekend.  (It wasn’t.)  I thought every twinge I felt was me going into labor.  (It wasn’t.)  And I was convinced that being a parent to a newborn would be easier than being 3,876 days pregant.  (Also, it wasn’t.) 

A year ago, my pregnancy was coming to an end and I was contemplating putting a note on my office door to answer all the the ridiculous questions I answered 43 times a day.  (No, I did not have the baby.  Yes, I am still here.  If I knew when he or she was coming, you’d be the first to know.  Yes, it’s possible I’ll be the first person to be pregnant forever.) 

I can’t believe her birthday is in less than two weeks.  I can’t believe that it was a whole year ago that I was rubbing my hands over my belly and feeling a baby move in response to my gentle jabs and pushes.  A year ago I didn’t know if we were having a boy or a girl.  I didn’t know if the baby would have my eyes and Craig’s kindness or my stuborness and his curly hair.  

I didn’t know what kind of mother I would be or that seeing Craig as a father would open up a vulnerability and unlock an emotion that I didn’t know existed.  I didn’t know that I would happily give up shopping and drinks at the bar for lunch squeezed in between the morning and afternoon nap at a family friendly establishment with friends and their little ones.  I didn’t know that I would care more that the baby was dressed warm for a football game than me looking cute. 

In 10 days, we will get a one-year-old out of bed.  She’ll be the same happy baby girl that we put to bed the night before and she’ll likely have no idea that it’s her birthday.  But as she toddles down the hall, helps to put her jacket on and waves good-bye as we leave for work, we’ll be fiercely reminded that a year ago, she was a squishy, dependent and cuddly newborn.

Once upon a time, there was a childless woman who loved to read.  There was nothing better than curling up with a good book and a cup of tea.  I loved books of fiction that varied from suspense to tear-jerking, funny to aspirational and always had one within arms reach.  Only one because I liked to dive right into another life within the pages and be immersed in it.  Put myself in the main characters shoes and live their lives for a while. 

Now? 

My nightstand looks like this: 

From the bottom: 

• Baby 411:  My favorite what to expect about keeping a baby alive book.  I love that it covers all of the basic parenting functions like keeping a child fed, diaper rash away and when to call the doctor.  I use it All.The.Time. 
• The Good Night, Sleep Tight Workbook:  I’m reading it for an upcoming book review with TLC book tours and because I’m desperate for something that will help me with C’s naps. 
• Such a Pretty Fat:  I’m borrowing this from a friend who gave it to me in July.  JULY, folks.  I was finishing up my last fiction novel in the summer and she gave me this one.  Swears that it’s a laugh out loud funny book and I can’t back her up because the last time I picked up an easy read book was in JULY. 
• The Silent Language:  The “required for work” reading I mentioned before.  And what I learned from reading this book is that I am not an academic kind of person.  I do not read books written about overseas cultures and the different perceptions of time and change and draw inferences to my everyday life.  My mind does just not work that way.
• Babyproofing Your Marriage:  After reading rave reviews on this book and a recommendation from my friend that swears by date nights, I jumped on the bandwagon.  Not because I think my marriage needs saving, but because I think I have some things to learn about being a  better wife while I try to find my footing as a mother. 

Apparently, along with the days that I could button my jeans, gone are the days that I could blow through a book in a weekend.  Quite honestly most of my free time (haha!) these days is spent reading blogs, writing this one, and chatting on Twitter.  I glance through the occasional magazine on a Saturday morning but I’ve found that my time for leisure reading has been replaced by reading books that I think will improve my parenting, my relationships or my career and losing myself in a smutty romance is a rarity.   

Am I the only one or have your reading habits changed since becoming a parent? 

I’d like to be writing a beautiful post right now about the joys and struggles of motherhood. How I look at C’s face and fall more in love every time I look at her.  Or even one about how I struggle with weekends because I want to turn off work, but my to-do list is still looming and I just know that if I put in a few hours over the weekend, my week will be much better.  Or, talk about how we went for a walk this weekend with C in her Baby Bjorn strapped tightly to Craig’s chest and the vision of my husband with my giggling baby girl was the best thing ever. 

But I can’t write about those things because I am dead.  The nap wars have killed me. 

I fall into the category of parents who think that kids do better on a schedule.  I also tend to think that it’s OK for them to cry a little and I believe the books that say it’s important for babies to learn to fall asleep on their own.  Or maybe, I’m just scared to death that they’re right and I will be breaking bad sleeping habits when she is old enough to talk and walk and thus it will be a hell of a lot harder, so really I’m just lazy and taking the easy way out. 

A few weeks ago, I thought I was working my way into the Mom of the Year competition by sort of getting C to sleep on her own and take naps that lasted longer than 30 minutes.  Then it turned out that she was sick.  Can you say observation fail?  So, instead of sleeping because I was such a rockstar sleep trainer, she was sleeping because she had a virus.  Still, I fought on.  Made a few changes to her daily environment including loading my mother in law up with sleep sacks and lullabies.  The weather broke so now they go on walks and she sleeps in the stroller.  And I thought it was getting better. 

Until this weekend.  When she took two 30 minute naps Saturday morning and then I missed the window for her afternoon nap.  By the time she realized she was sleepy she was also pissed and didn’t want to sleep.  So while I rocked and walked her, she screamed.  She didn’t want to be held.  Didn’t want to lay down.  Finally after 30 minutes of screaming, I gave up.  Another 45 minutes later, my mom got her to sleep.  Sunday, she fell asleep in my arms for her 9:00 nap and again after our walk around noon.  When she got fussy, Craig took her on a walk and she fell asleep. 

So at the end of another weekend, I feel like a failure.  Like maybe someone else knows my kid better than me.  Has a better “way” with her than I do.  Spends more waking hours with her and knows more about her schedule and patterns than me, who has to ask for a recap.  (Just a way to add a little more working mom guilt to my blog.) Leaving me to wonder what I can do to help my kid sleep better, longer, consistently. 

And, I’m stumped.  Because I’m worried that the stroller is becoming her crutch for sleep.  I know that we don’t want to be pushing the stroller around the house because that’s the only way she’ll fall asleep.  But I’m out of ideas, and at this point, I just want the child to sleep.  I’m trying not to get all worked up and react to a bad day.  Generally, she’s a pretty happy baby.  What I’m really looking for is someone, anyone, to say that she’ll be OK.  That, maybe, as she gets older, she’ll start sleeping longer.  That there’s nothing I can do differently. 

Anyone?  Anyone?

I don’t have Mommy instinct.  There I said it.  To everyone who said “you’ll just know what to do,” I say “you lied”.  I don’t know what to do.  When C was a wee one and went through a fussy spell every night in the early evening, I read “Happiest Baby on the Block” to learn how to soothe her.  I decided what to dress her in for bed because it was what a friend of mine dressed her daughter in.  When she got to the age that I thought she should be learning to put herself to sleep, I asked another friend for advice and bought “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child”.  We decided to start solid foods because the doctor said we could.  “Just knowing” has not been a part of my parenting experience.

So.  When I kissed the back of C’s head yesterday afternoon and it was hot enough to make me take her temperature (101.4) I immediately flashed back to our child birth class.  The one where a pediatrician came in and talked to us about when to go to the doctor.  My head was spinning as I texted friends, talked to my mother-in-law and called Craig.  My thoughts were jumbled, 90 miles an hour and went something like this: 

“My baby has a fever. OMG.  MY BABY HAS A FEVER.  It’s 101.4.  That’s high for babies, right?  The doctor said to bring her in if it was more than 101 and they were under 6 months.  Or was it 100 degrees and 3 months.  I can’t remember.  I think it was 101 degrees, under 3 months.  But she’s 5 months.  So, what do I do?  I should call.  No, I’m not calling.  She could be teething.  I’ll give her some Tylenol.  Ok, I should still call.  They’ll make me bring her in and it could be nothing.  Maybe I’ll give it an hour.  No, in an hour the office will be closed.  I think maybe I’ll call and ask if they can see her.  But Oh, hell, I haven’t showered yet today.  I’ll wash my face while I call.  OH MY GOD MY BABY HAS A FEVER.”

Craig made the decision easy and told me to call.  So I did and got an appointment for 6:10.  Where she played and giggled in the waiting room.  Another mother even said to me, “She sure doesn’t look sick”.  Then they took her temperature and found it was 99.4.  Could be a difference in thermometers, could be that the Tylenol kicked in.  Doctor gave her a clean bill of health and said to watch her an if it got to be 104 to bring her back. 

OHHHHH….104 is the magic number.  OK then.  Here is my first time mom badge and my $20 co pay.   Have a lovely day.

At just a week shy of five months old, C has clearly left her newborn stage in the dust.  Gone is the teeny tiny human that would lay on my chest in the afternoon and sleep for hours.  No longer can I cradle carry her in the sling.  She needs to be up, facing out, ready to take on the world.  Her hands and her legs are in constant motion, as if, given half a chance, she would take off running.  

While things may not have changed greatly – our days are still all about the rhythm of bottles, diapers and sleep – there is a definite difference between our baby girl at 4 weeks and our girl at 4 months.  I don’t want to be eating her birthday cake this fall and not remember the weight of a newborn who spent 16 hours a day in my arms. I want to file away the moments that she gazed into my eyes while I was feeding her with a look that said “I trust you.  I need you.”  I want to close my eyes and remember how the sound of my voice or the comfort of being wrapped up in a sling would immediately put her to sleep.  I want to remember the sweet smell of milk on her breath and the lavender scent of the lotion I used after her bath.   

Those first few weeks were filled with nerves and anxiety, with excitement and visitors and complete love and adoration.  The three of us became a family the moment she was placed in my arms and I want to remember how I felt when I looked at her.  How she screamed her head off until they laid her in my arms when she briefly stopped as I pressed my lips to her head and softly said “Hi baby girl.  I know you.”   

3 weeks in, giving a new meaning the phrase "sleep when she sleeps."

So much has changed.  Every milestone she reaches equals a stage or a moment of time that she’s leaving behind.  Instead of laying on my chest, she likes to lay on her side curled up next to me.  She no longer likes being held up to my shoulder for fear that she will miss what’s happening behind her. When I feed her instead of just looking at me, she’s touching my face, reaching for my cheeks or pulling on my ears.  She is slightly more predictable and just as opinionated as always.   She recognizes my voice, reaches for me when other people are holding her and follows me with her eyes when I leave the room.   

In possibly a few weeks, definitely a few months, this stage will have passed as well.  She’ll be crawling, or scootching across the room; we’ll be playing games of throwing things on the floor to see if Mommy will pick them up; and instead of the shoulders of my shirts having milk stains her bibs will be stained with baby food.   

My hope is that when that time comes I can remember the milestones and the every day moments that we’ve passed in the process; the tiny bits of time that have shaped myself, my baby and my family.

I feel awful saying this out loud but I really didn’t enjoy my maternity leave.  When I was nearing the end of my 40 week stint as a professional incubator, I had visions of snuggling with my squishy baby while watching TV and reading books.  Long chats on the phone with friends and family.  Shopping trips and lunch with the ladies.  Catching up on blogging, email and Facebook.  Basically just six whole weeks of Saturdays and Sundays. 

Instead I pushed out a child and was thrust into this brand-new life with an itty bitty (well, not that itty bitty at 8lbs 4oz thank you very much) baby who was easy by most accounts, but still, a brand new baby.  And we had a lot of stuff to figure out together.  Like those hours in the early evenings when she just cried.  For no good reason.  And I wanted to throw myself on the floor and cry right along with her.  Or the times that she projectile vomited and I wanted to run for the phone to call my husband, my mother and the doctor because O MY GOD a baby should not have that much stuff coming up.  Or the never-ending challenge of trying to determine if she was hungry or tired or just pissed that she pulled the short stick and had to go home with me. 

Then there was the coming to terms with the new me.  The me that had to choose between bathing and eating some days.  Bathing almost always won because it was the only that made my lady bits feel better.  And speaking of lady bits, I spent 5 damn weeks medicated, sitting down ever so carefully and scared to death that I was going to forever feel like someone took a baseball bat to my crotch.  It took me a good two weeks to pull out a mirror and check out the damage for myself.   The new me was always in sweats, never in make up and desperately wanted to slip into my pre-pregnancy jeans. 

The thought of leaving the house seemed like both an escape and a death trap.  I wanted to leave the house, see people, be human again, but that meant leaving my child or taking her with me.  Leaving her seemed to go against every fiber in my body, but taking her?  That means putting her in a car and driving.  On a road.  With other people.   You see where I’m going here? 

I figured it out.  As my six weeks came to an end, the lady bits started to feel a bit more like normal (although it would be another four weeks until the bleeding stopped – that’s right folks, I bled for TEN EFFING WEEKS).  I got some of my energy back. I mastered the Happiest Baby on the Block soothing techniques.  I learned how to bath with the baby in her bouncy chair and grab a granola bar on the way out the door.  I took a deep breath and took C with me when I left the house.  I finally got back into those jeans. I met a friend and her little one for shopping and had a jolly time pushing the girls around in their strollers. 

And then two days later I went back to work.  So now that I sort of feel like a better version of my former self, I think I would like a redo on my maternity leave.

Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. 
Listen to the shouldn’t, the impossibles, the won’ts. 
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me…
Anything can happen, child.  Anything can be. 
- Shel Silverstein

Hello Baby Girl. 

Four months old today.  Four whole months.  Like every letter I write you I could marvel about how big you are or how cute.  I could go on and on about how much I love you and how the squeals and giggles that you greet me with when I walk in the door after a long day at work, make whatever annoyance or frustration I’m bringing home melt away. 

But I think instead I will talk to you about the things I want you to learn as you grow up.  And while it’s not fun to hear this and your daddy would give his left arm to prevent it, I want you to know that sometimes you will have to fight for what you want.  Whether you are learning to walk, trying out for a starting position on the basketball team or interviewing for a job.  Sometimes you will fall.  I want you to get back up. 

Get back up and try again.  Put one foot in front of the other.  Practice.  Kick. Scream. Cry.  But get back up.  You are already such a determined little girl that I have no doubt that if you dream big dreams you will achieve big things.  You will find people along the way that will tell you can’t.  There will be voices in your head that tell you to just give up; to go home.  But I want you to remember that you can do anything you set your mind to.  Stretch your imagination.  Reach for the stars. 

Your mommy and daddy will be with you every step of the way. 

I love you, sweet girl.

Thank you, Dear Lord for making it so that children can’t remember their first few years on this earth.  Because I am sure that if C could remember that two months ago, we took her to this same place, held her down and let a stranger stick a needle in her thigh.  THREE TIMES.  That she would surely begin to scream the moment we pulled into the parking lot. 

I hate the thought of her getting shots.  I’m far more nervous about these shots than I was the 2-month immunizations.  Probably because at the 2-month appointment, she screamed and I sobbed.  Her little scream was clearly a “You hurt me” scream and it shattered my heart into a million pieces. 

I will pay a four hundred gazillion dollars to the person who invents immunization shots that will not hurt my baby. 

PS. Other than her legs being a little sore if I held her a certain way, she was totally fine after like, 2 minutes.  How did your little ones react to shots?