Hope you're all getting Sherlocked with me again this Sunday night - love that show beyond reason.
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2014
baby announcement for nerds.
Our family photographer, Chrissy, and her videographer husband just released the cutest, nerdiest baby announcement I've ever seen:
Hope you're all getting Sherlocked with me again this Sunday night - love that show beyond reason.
Hope you're all getting Sherlocked with me again this Sunday night - love that show beyond reason.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
an interrupted life.
I eat breakfast standing up, holding a baby, or in snatched bites while brushing messy toddler hair and running a comb through my own, my oatmeal bowl perched precariously on the bathroom counter. I eat lunch in between endless demands to "watch this!" and "play with me!" Every night, I slap dinner on the table, say a prayer, and then head upstairs to put a baby to bed while my food grows cold.
At night, when the girls are in bed, I fold a shirt or two, then run in to replace a pacifier for the 12th time, or I watch ten minutes of a show I started yesterday before having to reassure my whimpering daughter that the train going by isn't scary, after all. Even when I'm out of the house, the text messages about who is crying or whether going in to check someone's diaper will make the situation worse or better. And while I'm out, it's hurry hurry hurry so I can be home within 90 minutes or - if the stars are perfectly aligned - 2 hours so unless I draw a detailed map and plan of attack before I leave, I inevitably don't have time to finish all the errands I needed to. Or I'm halfway through sewing a hem when someone announces, "Hey, I'm stopping my work for the night because I need a break, so let's hang out."
Interruption. It's the hardest thing for me to cope with at this stage of parenting. I get so used to not being allowed to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time that I can't even read a book anymore - I can't allow myself to settle in and enjoy the characters or storyline because I'm always looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to need me to jump up and attend to something on their to-do list while my own collects so much dust I can barely read what's on it anymore. It's why I have a million supplies for household improvement projects but nothing to show for it. It's why there are three unpublished drafts sitting in my Blogger posts, waiting for me to finish them. And it's why this one will have to go to print now, before I've even read through it for typos, because a baby's 45 minute nap just ended and whatever else I was going to say here will just have to wait, like everything else.
At night, when the girls are in bed, I fold a shirt or two, then run in to replace a pacifier for the 12th time, or I watch ten minutes of a show I started yesterday before having to reassure my whimpering daughter that the train going by isn't scary, after all. Even when I'm out of the house, the text messages about who is crying or whether going in to check someone's diaper will make the situation worse or better. And while I'm out, it's hurry hurry hurry so I can be home within 90 minutes or - if the stars are perfectly aligned - 2 hours so unless I draw a detailed map and plan of attack before I leave, I inevitably don't have time to finish all the errands I needed to. Or I'm halfway through sewing a hem when someone announces, "Hey, I'm stopping my work for the night because I need a break, so let's hang out."
Interruption. It's the hardest thing for me to cope with at this stage of parenting. I get so used to not being allowed to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time that I can't even read a book anymore - I can't allow myself to settle in and enjoy the characters or storyline because I'm always looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to need me to jump up and attend to something on their to-do list while my own collects so much dust I can barely read what's on it anymore. It's why I have a million supplies for household improvement projects but nothing to show for it. It's why there are three unpublished drafts sitting in my Blogger posts, waiting for me to finish them. And it's why this one will have to go to print now, before I've even read through it for typos, because a baby's 45 minute nap just ended and whatever else I was going to say here will just have to wait, like everything else.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
fly, little bird. // phoebe ruth
I intended to write this story within a week or so of her birth - and here it is, 5 months since. Better late than never, I guess. (Pictures throughout are courtesy our birth doula, Kim Wheaton.)
I had thought, since pretty shortly after finding out my estimated due date, that I was actually due on August 18th, and that date was stuck in my head for a long time. When Friday, August 16th rolled around (a weekend when I knew my OB was on call), I was starting to feel a little panicked - Jason was due to start teaching classes in just over a week, my mom (who was visiting to help out with Lorelei once the baby came) had to be home for surgery on August 28th, and it seemed like no baby was in sight. My doula had gotten in touch that morning to let me know she'd be out of town that night but within a 90 minute drive, so to call her if anything happened. I figured I was in the clear.
The morning was a busy one: bought some evening primrose oil to get things moving, visited some former work colleagues, took Lorelei to the park. I put my labor bag in the trunk of my car, "just in case." I decided to take a nap after lunch when L went down, and when I woke up, I noticed my Braxton-Hicks contractions didn't feel like Braxton-Hicks anymore. I started using my handy-dandy contraction timing app but figured it was probably nothing.
Lorelei, my mom, and I spent the afternoon playing - I didn't mention anything about the contractions, but I did text Kim to let her know that things were feeling "different." Even after Jason got home, I kept the news to myself, because the contractions didn't seem to be progressing too much and I didn't want to worry anyone or concern Lorelei. I had been wearing a necklace with Lorelei's name and birthdate on it all week - not even taking it off to shower - and I was feeling especially forlorn about what were possibly my last moments with her as my only child.
Once my sweet girl was in bed, I told Jason I was worried about bothering Kim during her fun evening out but that I thought that I was pretty clearly in labor. I was starting to have much more intense contractions at that point, but I think Jason was fooled by my demeanor, because he didn't seem concerned about the timeframe at all. Around 8:30, I told him to call Kim and tell her things were happening sooner rather than later. When he tried to get me to talk to her myself and I told him I couldn't, Kim said, "I'm on my way."
We headed out the door to the hospital at 9:30pm - I was in a panic that I was ruining Kim's date night, but there was very clearly nothing I could do - and we forgot a million things at home because we had put off making the decision to go to the hospital until I knew that if we didn't go rightthatminute things might get dicey. My experience checking in, heading up to labor and delivery, filling out all the paperwork, and finally being in "my" room was so different than it had been with Lorelei's birth; the first time, my water broke and contractions didn't start for hours afterwards, but this time, I had to grit my teeth to get through all of the questions and the dozens of pages to sign. Near the end of the never-ending signatures, Kim arrived, and she coached me through what she thought was a contraction but was actually the extreme pain of an inexperienced nurse putting in my IV. By 11pm, I was finally done and the real work started.
I should probably say here that, although I gave birth to both of my daughters without any pain medications or interventions of any kind, I might not initially be the kind of person you'd think would attempt an unmedicated birth. As I prepared for my second delivery, I confided in my doula that I am not someone who finds birth empowering. I hate pain. I hate not being in control of any aspect of my life. So the thought of surrendering to the most intense experience imaginable was crippling to me. I kept dwelling on everything about my first birth experience that had been scary and upsetting and negative, and it became impossible for me to think about giving birth again without feeling overwhelmed by anxiety and fear. I spent the summer gathering quotes and readings to bring me strength (thanks, friends who contributed), painting pictures of what I wanted this birth to be like (metaphoric ones, of course), and trying to find books about childbirth that were honest about the terrifying reality of what I was going to have to do but were still, somehow, hopeful and optimistic. Nothing much helped.
I had painted a picture of my first birth with an image of a clock all tied up with angry red thread - I had been so pressured by time and was so aware of every second as it ticked by - but I can't provide for you a moment-by-moment account of my second labor. From 11-12:30, it was incredibly hard work. I felt consumed by the pain, by my heightened sense of my own body and physicality, by the emotional strain. My eyes were closed most of the time and I could barely think in a straight line. Mostly what I can remember is thinking that this was so hard, too hard, and that I couldn't get a firm grip on anything - that I was completely out of control and drowning in it all.
And therein lies the difference, I think: my ability, somehow, to surrender more successfully to the drowning this time was what enabled me to, in fact, be more in control of the experience of birth. Going in knowing how mindblowingly difficult this was going to be - to have no false hopes of pain-free labor, to have no illusions about the intensity of what I'd be facing - gave me the strength to get through it instead of trying desperately to resist it. And so everything just tumbled forward, faster and faster, instead of inching by, minute by minute.
I suddenly knew I had to push, but I was still contracting - and that terrified me. In my first labor, there had been a definite shift from labor contractions to pushing ones. This time, everything was happening all at once, and I didn't think I could do it. My doctor - a huge proponent of unmedicated birth and a very gentle soul - had been given the call to wake up and check on me because I seemed close - and even though I wasn't measuring 10, she told me to go for it. 20 intense, delirious, guttural-scream-filled moments later, our second daughter was born.
Phoebe Ruth entered the world into a quiet, darkened room - made that way by my amazing doctor, who saw no need at 1:04am to turn on all the lights. My water never broke until, at the last moment, my OB did it herself, so I wonder if Phoebe would have been born "in the caul" - I guess I'll never know. When Lorelei was born, I cried from the sheer exhaustion and emotional upheaval of it all. This time, no tears - just relief. Holding her and nursing her for the first time - before any tests or measurements happened (so grateful for an understanding doctor!) - felt familiar, comfortable, normal. Somehow, despite all my trepidation, this birth had been scary and intense and out-of-control and just as crazy hard as the first time - but it had been good, too.
Later, Kim told me that it's always fascinating to her to see which of her clients end up using interventions and which do not - she said that (barring medical emergency, of course) it can sometimes come down to personality. And so I suppose my desperate need for control was a good thing - because it enabled me, twice, to undergo a terrifyingly difficult ordeal simply because I'm unbelievably stubborn. During both labors, I certainly felt that I couldn't go through with it - but I never, not once, actually considered giving up (unless you count deciding to just not have the baby at all and go home instead, which I fantasized about almost from start to finish). Despite my worries about not seeing birth as a spiritual experience or feeling any joy at the prospect of childbirth, bringing my daughters into the world entirely on my own was just something I was going to do - end of story.
And so my birth art came to be, after all - the image of a bird rising from my outstretched palm, flying forth unfettered by me or the ticking of a clock or anything else. She is named for the bird, of course, and also for my beautiful grandmother Phyllis (her middle name is an homage to my other grandmother - maiden name Gloria Estelle Ruth Althoff - and it will also serve as her Hebrew name; Lorelei Jane, whose Hebrew name is Eliora, is named in part to honor Jason's two grandmothers, Jane and Ellen). She is my determined little Leo, and I'm grateful to her for listening to my silent inner monologue that night: "Phoebe, we have to do this together. We're in this together." I'm so, so glad that I'm never going to do this again. And, in a way, I'm also glad I got to do this again.
I had thought, since pretty shortly after finding out my estimated due date, that I was actually due on August 18th, and that date was stuck in my head for a long time. When Friday, August 16th rolled around (a weekend when I knew my OB was on call), I was starting to feel a little panicked - Jason was due to start teaching classes in just over a week, my mom (who was visiting to help out with Lorelei once the baby came) had to be home for surgery on August 28th, and it seemed like no baby was in sight. My doula had gotten in touch that morning to let me know she'd be out of town that night but within a 90 minute drive, so to call her if anything happened. I figured I was in the clear.
The morning was a busy one: bought some evening primrose oil to get things moving, visited some former work colleagues, took Lorelei to the park. I put my labor bag in the trunk of my car, "just in case." I decided to take a nap after lunch when L went down, and when I woke up, I noticed my Braxton-Hicks contractions didn't feel like Braxton-Hicks anymore. I started using my handy-dandy contraction timing app but figured it was probably nothing.
Lorelei, my mom, and I spent the afternoon playing - I didn't mention anything about the contractions, but I did text Kim to let her know that things were feeling "different." Even after Jason got home, I kept the news to myself, because the contractions didn't seem to be progressing too much and I didn't want to worry anyone or concern Lorelei. I had been wearing a necklace with Lorelei's name and birthdate on it all week - not even taking it off to shower - and I was feeling especially forlorn about what were possibly my last moments with her as my only child.
Once my sweet girl was in bed, I told Jason I was worried about bothering Kim during her fun evening out but that I thought that I was pretty clearly in labor. I was starting to have much more intense contractions at that point, but I think Jason was fooled by my demeanor, because he didn't seem concerned about the timeframe at all. Around 8:30, I told him to call Kim and tell her things were happening sooner rather than later. When he tried to get me to talk to her myself and I told him I couldn't, Kim said, "I'm on my way."
We headed out the door to the hospital at 9:30pm - I was in a panic that I was ruining Kim's date night, but there was very clearly nothing I could do - and we forgot a million things at home because we had put off making the decision to go to the hospital until I knew that if we didn't go rightthatminute things might get dicey. My experience checking in, heading up to labor and delivery, filling out all the paperwork, and finally being in "my" room was so different than it had been with Lorelei's birth; the first time, my water broke and contractions didn't start for hours afterwards, but this time, I had to grit my teeth to get through all of the questions and the dozens of pages to sign. Near the end of the never-ending signatures, Kim arrived, and she coached me through what she thought was a contraction but was actually the extreme pain of an inexperienced nurse putting in my IV. By 11pm, I was finally done and the real work started.
I should probably say here that, although I gave birth to both of my daughters without any pain medications or interventions of any kind, I might not initially be the kind of person you'd think would attempt an unmedicated birth. As I prepared for my second delivery, I confided in my doula that I am not someone who finds birth empowering. I hate pain. I hate not being in control of any aspect of my life. So the thought of surrendering to the most intense experience imaginable was crippling to me. I kept dwelling on everything about my first birth experience that had been scary and upsetting and negative, and it became impossible for me to think about giving birth again without feeling overwhelmed by anxiety and fear. I spent the summer gathering quotes and readings to bring me strength (thanks, friends who contributed), painting pictures of what I wanted this birth to be like (metaphoric ones, of course), and trying to find books about childbirth that were honest about the terrifying reality of what I was going to have to do but were still, somehow, hopeful and optimistic. Nothing much helped.
I had painted a picture of my first birth with an image of a clock all tied up with angry red thread - I had been so pressured by time and was so aware of every second as it ticked by - but I can't provide for you a moment-by-moment account of my second labor. From 11-12:30, it was incredibly hard work. I felt consumed by the pain, by my heightened sense of my own body and physicality, by the emotional strain. My eyes were closed most of the time and I could barely think in a straight line. Mostly what I can remember is thinking that this was so hard, too hard, and that I couldn't get a firm grip on anything - that I was completely out of control and drowning in it all.
And therein lies the difference, I think: my ability, somehow, to surrender more successfully to the drowning this time was what enabled me to, in fact, be more in control of the experience of birth. Going in knowing how mindblowingly difficult this was going to be - to have no false hopes of pain-free labor, to have no illusions about the intensity of what I'd be facing - gave me the strength to get through it instead of trying desperately to resist it. And so everything just tumbled forward, faster and faster, instead of inching by, minute by minute.
I suddenly knew I had to push, but I was still contracting - and that terrified me. In my first labor, there had been a definite shift from labor contractions to pushing ones. This time, everything was happening all at once, and I didn't think I could do it. My doctor - a huge proponent of unmedicated birth and a very gentle soul - had been given the call to wake up and check on me because I seemed close - and even though I wasn't measuring 10, she told me to go for it. 20 intense, delirious, guttural-scream-filled moments later, our second daughter was born.
Phoebe Ruth entered the world into a quiet, darkened room - made that way by my amazing doctor, who saw no need at 1:04am to turn on all the lights. My water never broke until, at the last moment, my OB did it herself, so I wonder if Phoebe would have been born "in the caul" - I guess I'll never know. When Lorelei was born, I cried from the sheer exhaustion and emotional upheaval of it all. This time, no tears - just relief. Holding her and nursing her for the first time - before any tests or measurements happened (so grateful for an understanding doctor!) - felt familiar, comfortable, normal. Somehow, despite all my trepidation, this birth had been scary and intense and out-of-control and just as crazy hard as the first time - but it had been good, too.
Later, Kim told me that it's always fascinating to her to see which of her clients end up using interventions and which do not - she said that (barring medical emergency, of course) it can sometimes come down to personality. And so I suppose my desperate need for control was a good thing - because it enabled me, twice, to undergo a terrifyingly difficult ordeal simply because I'm unbelievably stubborn. During both labors, I certainly felt that I couldn't go through with it - but I never, not once, actually considered giving up (unless you count deciding to just not have the baby at all and go home instead, which I fantasized about almost from start to finish). Despite my worries about not seeing birth as a spiritual experience or feeling any joy at the prospect of childbirth, bringing my daughters into the world entirely on my own was just something I was going to do - end of story.
And so my birth art came to be, after all - the image of a bird rising from my outstretched palm, flying forth unfettered by me or the ticking of a clock or anything else. She is named for the bird, of course, and also for my beautiful grandmother Phyllis (her middle name is an homage to my other grandmother - maiden name Gloria Estelle Ruth Althoff - and it will also serve as her Hebrew name; Lorelei Jane, whose Hebrew name is Eliora, is named in part to honor Jason's two grandmothers, Jane and Ellen). She is my determined little Leo, and I'm grateful to her for listening to my silent inner monologue that night: "Phoebe, we have to do this together. We're in this together." I'm so, so glad that I'm never going to do this again. And, in a way, I'm also glad I got to do this again.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
two sisters, one mother.
Friends, I have so many things I want to blog about and there's just no time in between nursing sessions and playdoh/block tower/My Little Pony sessions and the occasional nap and shower. But I can't help but share this picture with you:
I spent nine months - and more, even before I was pregnant - worrying about how having a new baby would affect my relationship with Lorelei. Her infancy was fraught with challenge and difficulty, largely because being plunged into motherhood was something my psyche just wasn't ready for. Whether it was the sleeplessness, the hormones, the nursing difficulties, or just the dramatic change from full-time Me to full-time Mom, I struggled for months. And as a result, I think, my relationship with my amazing little girl is one of fierce loyalty, because what else could have kept me going through all of that? So even though I was excited to bring another little baby into our family, I felt desperately sad about how it would change the close bond between mother and daughter.
The first night after Phoebe was born, I was alone with her while Jason went out to dinner with Lorelei and the extended family we had in town to celebrate - and he ended up being gone for hours to help put our big girl to bed and gather a few things to bring back to the hospital. Stuck in bed, unable to put her down to use the bathroom or eat much dinner because she was so fussy and ravenous herself, I cried and cried, thinking about how much I wanted to be the one singing "our" lullaby and stroking her hair instead of being tethered to a baby who had no relationship with me yet and, but for one reason, probably wouldn't notice if I wasn't there anyway. It felt like The End of our happy little threesome.
But Lorelei has always had a funny little way of teaching me valuable lessons that I really need to learn. My fierce love for her is reflected now in her fierce love for her sister - the adoration she feels for "Baby Phoebe" is palpable (in fact, sometimes Phoebe would probably prefer not to have her sister be so touchy!). Constant kisses, running over to check on her, looks of concern when she fusses or cries ("Mommy, Phoebe needs some milk") - Phoebe is usually the first word out of her mouth when she gets up from her nap or gets home from playing at the park with Daddy. Lorelei couldn't care less about other people's babies, but her baby? She's the most important thing in her world right now.
And seeing that fierce sister love is helping my fears to subside and my own love for Phoebe to grow and grow. Those sad hours in the hospital are a distant memory and are being replaced by happy memories of cuddling with my squishy little newborn who grunts when she sleeps and always smells a little bit like spoiled milk and that hard-to-describe new baby scent that fades much too quickly. And my relationship with Lorelei? Just as close as ever, even through her growing pains as she adjusts to being one of two. I know there's a long road ahead and many bumps on it, but I know we'll all make it over them together.
And as I watch my two daughters begin to know each other, I'm reminded, often, of this beautiful quote I once read on another blog:
To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. - Clara Ortega
Here's to my girls growing ever young together.
all photos in this post: Bella Baby Photography
I spent nine months - and more, even before I was pregnant - worrying about how having a new baby would affect my relationship with Lorelei. Her infancy was fraught with challenge and difficulty, largely because being plunged into motherhood was something my psyche just wasn't ready for. Whether it was the sleeplessness, the hormones, the nursing difficulties, or just the dramatic change from full-time Me to full-time Mom, I struggled for months. And as a result, I think, my relationship with my amazing little girl is one of fierce loyalty, because what else could have kept me going through all of that? So even though I was excited to bring another little baby into our family, I felt desperately sad about how it would change the close bond between mother and daughter.
The first night after Phoebe was born, I was alone with her while Jason went out to dinner with Lorelei and the extended family we had in town to celebrate - and he ended up being gone for hours to help put our big girl to bed and gather a few things to bring back to the hospital. Stuck in bed, unable to put her down to use the bathroom or eat much dinner because she was so fussy and ravenous herself, I cried and cried, thinking about how much I wanted to be the one singing "our" lullaby and stroking her hair instead of being tethered to a baby who had no relationship with me yet and, but for one reason, probably wouldn't notice if I wasn't there anyway. It felt like The End of our happy little threesome.
But Lorelei has always had a funny little way of teaching me valuable lessons that I really need to learn. My fierce love for her is reflected now in her fierce love for her sister - the adoration she feels for "Baby Phoebe" is palpable (in fact, sometimes Phoebe would probably prefer not to have her sister be so touchy!). Constant kisses, running over to check on her, looks of concern when she fusses or cries ("Mommy, Phoebe needs some milk") - Phoebe is usually the first word out of her mouth when she gets up from her nap or gets home from playing at the park with Daddy. Lorelei couldn't care less about other people's babies, but her baby? She's the most important thing in her world right now.
And seeing that fierce sister love is helping my fears to subside and my own love for Phoebe to grow and grow. Those sad hours in the hospital are a distant memory and are being replaced by happy memories of cuddling with my squishy little newborn who grunts when she sleeps and always smells a little bit like spoiled milk and that hard-to-describe new baby scent that fades much too quickly. And my relationship with Lorelei? Just as close as ever, even through her growing pains as she adjusts to being one of two. I know there's a long road ahead and many bumps on it, but I know we'll all make it over them together.
And as I watch my two daughters begin to know each other, I'm reminded, often, of this beautiful quote I once read on another blog:
To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. - Clara Ortega
Here's to my girls growing ever young together.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
one week.
A few pictures of Phoebe on her one-week birthday, in a rare moment of wide-eyed awareness:
Friday, June 7, 2013
plans.
You guys, my to-do list keeps getting longer and longer. I add more things than I take off. Anybody else having the same problem?
The big stuff, right now, is all baby-related. I saw this nursery and totally fell in love!
I had intended to make a quilt for the new baby myself, but with only about 10 weeks to go (o.m.ggggggg) I finally admitted to myself that I just don't have enough time, so it's all ordered on Etsy and should arrive in a month. Meanwhile, my mom and I are working on the details: crib skirt, throw pillows for extra cushiness on the rocking chair, a mobile, wall hangings. The picture above is definitely my inspiration, but I'm excited to show you how it all looks once we have everything ready. (And all those boxes out of the way...) I shared a sneak peek of my fabric on Instagram - hop on over to see it! And check out my Pinterest pregnancy board for more details about what I'm working on.
And because I always struggle with guilt, I'm making some new things for Lorelei's room, too - especially needed since she'll be moving to her "big girl" bed in just a few weeks! Lifting her in and out of her crib is becoming pretty problematic for this growing mama, so let's hope she's ready for the transition. Things I've learned so far: pinking shears are more expensive than you might think.
Any big projects in your future? Share in the comments and/or provide a link to anything you've recently accomplished - I'd love to ooh and ahhh over it all!
The big stuff, right now, is all baby-related. I saw this nursery and totally fell in love!
photograph taken by from Jess at CINO - click on image to go directly to Craftiness Is Not Optional's post about her amazing DIY nursery
I had intended to make a quilt for the new baby myself, but with only about 10 weeks to go (o.m.ggggggg) I finally admitted to myself that I just don't have enough time, so it's all ordered on Etsy and should arrive in a month. Meanwhile, my mom and I are working on the details: crib skirt, throw pillows for extra cushiness on the rocking chair, a mobile, wall hangings. The picture above is definitely my inspiration, but I'm excited to show you how it all looks once we have everything ready. (And all those boxes out of the way...) I shared a sneak peek of my fabric on Instagram - hop on over to see it! And check out my Pinterest pregnancy board for more details about what I'm working on.
And because I always struggle with guilt, I'm making some new things for Lorelei's room, too - especially needed since she'll be moving to her "big girl" bed in just a few weeks! Lifting her in and out of her crib is becoming pretty problematic for this growing mama, so let's hope she's ready for the transition. Things I've learned so far: pinking shears are more expensive than you might think.
Any big projects in your future? Share in the comments and/or provide a link to anything you've recently accomplished - I'd love to ooh and ahhh over it all!
Friday, May 31, 2013
how to throw a long-distance baby shower
A comment on my house tour post yesterday reminded me that I've been meaning to tell you about an unorthodox baby shower I organized for a dear friend of mine a few months ago!
My dear friend Stephanie is due to have her second baby - a little boy! - in just a few weeks, and when I was pregnant she and her mom organized a lovely shower for me back home in Minnesota. I knew I wanted to do something to celebrate her impending arrival, but I didn't know how to go about it...because she lives in London! (She and her family moved there shortly after her daughter's first birthday.) So, how to honor our guest-of-honor when none of us could actually be with her for a party?
I did some browsing online and couldn't really find exactly what I was looking for, so after a few email exchanges with some of Stephanie's close friends, I came up with an idea: invite Stephanie's nearest and dearest to shower her from afar by asking everyone to send something to her in the mail (or, as the Brits say, "the post") during a specified week so cards and gifts would all arrive around the same time. (I decided asking people to mail something on one specific day was just too tricky to coordinate - this way, people could make it work with their busy schedules). It seemed like a good solution when an in-person party just wasn't feasible, because Stephanie would still have the fun of lots of boxes and surprises to open all at once.
To make it seem a little more celebratory, I decided to send "party-in-a-box" invitations. Since Stephanie lives in England, I chose "afternoon tea" as my theme and used orange and blue as the colors for the boxes, since those would be the colors of the new baby's future nursery. I found some lovely tea party invites from Two Pooch Paperie on Etsy and worked to change the wording to fit my vision for the long-distance shower. I made sure to include very detailed instructions about when and how to mail a card or package but also included contact information in case they had questions.
I then purchased individually-wrapped silk teabags, tiny jars of clotted cream, and small packets of shortbread cookies and wrapped them up with tissue paper and ribbon so each shower guest would have a package of sweet treats to open and savor in Stephanie's honor.
I wanted the shower to be a surprise, but I thought it was important for Stephanie to know what to expect, so a week before the "party" was to begin, I sent the same package to Stephanie along with coordinating thank-you notes and a letter of explanation so she'd be able to see what everyone else had received and know what was coming.
It would have been much better, of course, to open presents and eat cake together, but I loved coming up with a fun solution for how to celebrate a beloved friend even when she's an entire ocean away.
Can't wait for her baby boy to come this month :) Thanks for giving me a much-needed creative outlet for my party-planning obsession, Stephanie!
My dear friend Stephanie is due to have her second baby - a little boy! - in just a few weeks, and when I was pregnant she and her mom organized a lovely shower for me back home in Minnesota. I knew I wanted to do something to celebrate her impending arrival, but I didn't know how to go about it...because she lives in London! (She and her family moved there shortly after her daughter's first birthday.) So, how to honor our guest-of-honor when none of us could actually be with her for a party?
I did some browsing online and couldn't really find exactly what I was looking for, so after a few email exchanges with some of Stephanie's close friends, I came up with an idea: invite Stephanie's nearest and dearest to shower her from afar by asking everyone to send something to her in the mail (or, as the Brits say, "the post") during a specified week so cards and gifts would all arrive around the same time. (I decided asking people to mail something on one specific day was just too tricky to coordinate - this way, people could make it work with their busy schedules). It seemed like a good solution when an in-person party just wasn't feasible, because Stephanie would still have the fun of lots of boxes and surprises to open all at once.
To make it seem a little more celebratory, I decided to send "party-in-a-box" invitations. Since Stephanie lives in England, I chose "afternoon tea" as my theme and used orange and blue as the colors for the boxes, since those would be the colors of the new baby's future nursery. I found some lovely tea party invites from Two Pooch Paperie on Etsy and worked to change the wording to fit my vision for the long-distance shower. I made sure to include very detailed instructions about when and how to mail a card or package but also included contact information in case they had questions.
I then purchased individually-wrapped silk teabags, tiny jars of clotted cream, and small packets of shortbread cookies and wrapped them up with tissue paper and ribbon so each shower guest would have a package of sweet treats to open and savor in Stephanie's honor.
I wanted the shower to be a surprise, but I thought it was important for Stephanie to know what to expect, so a week before the "party" was to begin, I sent the same package to Stephanie along with coordinating thank-you notes and a letter of explanation so she'd be able to see what everyone else had received and know what was coming.
It would have been much better, of course, to open presents and eat cake together, but I loved coming up with a fun solution for how to celebrate a beloved friend even when she's an entire ocean away.
Can't wait for her baby boy to come this month :) Thanks for giving me a much-needed creative outlet for my party-planning obsession, Stephanie!
Stephanie and me in 6th grade orchestra approximately one billion years ago - not my best photo ever, I must admit.
Friday, April 5, 2013
it's a...
GIRL!
So many of you guessed right - I don't know how you knew when I didn't! We're so excited to have two sweet little sisters to raise together. :)
Happy weekend!
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
doubts, fears, and superstition.
I don't think of myself as a glass half-empty kind of person, but when it came to learning whether we were having a boy or a girl this time around, all I could focus on was the negative. To wit:
"It's a girl!" - Jason would feel left out as the only male in the house; middle school and high school years would be horror movie drama fests; there might be more competition between siblings of the same gender; how could I stop calling Lorelei "my best girl"?
"It's a boy!" - circumcision. I know this is a no-brainer for a lot of people - either for it or against it - but for us, it's an agonizing decision. Both Jason and I are opposed to circumcision as a general rule, but since our children will struggle with Jewish identity already with a shiksa for a mother, it's hard to put yet another barrier in place for a son when it comes to acceptance as a fully-fledged Jewish male.
Argh!
At this point, we actually know what we're having - we had our ultrasound Wednesday afternoon - but we're waiting to share the news because I'm having a little "boy or girl brunch bash" on Friday morning with some friends from my moms' group. So, in advance of our big reveal on Friday, here are the results of a bunch of sex prediction superstitions so you can place your bets:
Chinese Gender Predictor: girl
Carrying high vs low: boy (this is hard to tell without a baseline for comparison!)
Heart rate: girl
Sweet vs sour/salty: indeterminate - I've wanted lots of fruit and salty potato chips!
Mayan even/odd predictor: boy
"Glow" vs. "stealing beauty" breakouts: girl
Ring on a string: swings back and forth; according to some, that means girl, and to others it means boy!
Morning sickness: girl
Drano test: sooooo not happening, because I'm not shelling out for a bottle for something this goofy.
Get your guesses in - I'll tell you the big news on Friday!
"It's a girl!" - Jason would feel left out as the only male in the house; middle school and high school years would be horror movie drama fests; there might be more competition between siblings of the same gender; how could I stop calling Lorelei "my best girl"?
"It's a boy!" - circumcision. I know this is a no-brainer for a lot of people - either for it or against it - but for us, it's an agonizing decision. Both Jason and I are opposed to circumcision as a general rule, but since our children will struggle with Jewish identity already with a shiksa for a mother, it's hard to put yet another barrier in place for a son when it comes to acceptance as a fully-fledged Jewish male.
Argh!
At this point, we actually know what we're having - we had our ultrasound Wednesday afternoon - but we're waiting to share the news because I'm having a little "boy or girl brunch bash" on Friday morning with some friends from my moms' group. So, in advance of our big reveal on Friday, here are the results of a bunch of sex prediction superstitions so you can place your bets:
Chinese Gender Predictor: girl
Carrying high vs low: boy (this is hard to tell without a baseline for comparison!)
Heart rate: girl
Sweet vs sour/salty: indeterminate - I've wanted lots of fruit and salty potato chips!
Mayan even/odd predictor: boy
"Glow" vs. "stealing beauty" breakouts: girl
Ring on a string: swings back and forth; according to some, that means girl, and to others it means boy!
Morning sickness: girl
Drano test: sooooo not happening, because I'm not shelling out for a bottle for something this goofy.
Get your guesses in - I'll tell you the big news on Friday!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
is my family complete? // deciding when to have another child
Once we decided that we felt two kids was the right number for us, the next big question we had to face was when. There are so many different schools of thought out there and since I am an inveterate pro/con list maker this proved to be a stumbling block for me/us for a while. Here's how we figured things out:
The first several months of Lorelei's infancy were extremely trying for us physically and emotionally. I know that there are other parents out there who put off - sometimes permanently - having another child because they are still recovering from the difficulty of the first. We decided we had two options: wait until Lorelei was pretty self-sufficient (relatively speaking) until we dealt with babyhood again to try to make it easier on ourselves, or go with the rip-the-bandaid-off method of getting two infancies out of the way sooner rather than later. That would mean a gap of 4-5 years between pregnancies or, based on the timing of our decision-making, getting pregnant again immediately.
Courtney and Lorelei, about two weeks old
On the one hand, waiting a while seemed nice. It would give us time to really enjoy Lorelei's early years, Jason could get through the tenure process at his university so we could breathe a little easier, and it would give us time to settle into our decision to have another child in the first place. Plus, I was a little scared off by the looks on the faces of moms I saw in the grocery store and at library story time who were attempting to wrangle two children under the age of two or three.
On the other hand, we knew that research seems to indicate children who are two or three years apart have a stronger chance of developing a childhood friendship (though siblings with a bigger age gap seem to be just as likely to be friends as adults). Even though things are much easier with Lorelei now than they were in the first few months, we are still "in the trenches" and the thought of sleepless nights again doesn't seem as bad as it might if we were a few years removed from them. Both Jason and I are close in age to our siblings (20 months for him, almost exactly two years for me), and we both liked that growing up.
But it took an offhand comment from someone to make us realize what our decision had to be. In the middle of a conversation about having more than one child, a woman I know said, "If you're planning to go back to work after your children go off to school, you'll be a stay-at-home mom for a pretty long time if you don't space them close together." Lightbulb moment. In that instant, I realized that, while I'm certainly glad to be at home for now, SAHM-hood is not my ultimate destiny, and I needed to keep that as a crucial factor in our decision-making. I don't know why it had never occurred to me before, but both Jason and I agreed that we needed to get the ball rolling for my own sanity - even if it meant temporary insanity with having two kiddos in diapers.
Of course, it's not always possible to control how you space out your children, and we're lucky that both times we tried to get pregnant we were successful relatively quickly. Two to two-and-a-half years apart felt right to us, and I'm looking forward to sharing some of our experiences raising two kids relatively close in age with you. But I also know that, just like with the decision whether or not to have more than one (or any at all!), it's totally a personal decision based on your own lifestyle and preferences. If you're in the middle of making the decision, don't forget to try that visualization technique I mentioned in my other post on this topic; it's been a huge help to us in finally stepping away from the pro/con lists!
I'd love to hear about your own decisions about sibling spacing - whether it's your own siblings, your kids, or your thought process as you plan for the future!
Sunday, March 10, 2013
is my family complete? // on deciding to have another baby
I wanted to take a minute to write about our decision to have a second child, in large part because the decision-making process was difficult for us and I wished that there were more first-hand accounts out there. Ultimately, of course, the decision is intensely personal - but I hope this is helpful to someone, somewhere!
The first 6-7 months with Lorelei were brutally hard on us. Jason and I were convinced that she would be our one and only, because I didn't know if I could go through what seemed to be interminable infancy again. And then, somewhere around 13-14 months, we realized that we had emerged from the dark cloud and that life had settled into a comfortable existence again - one that we were happy with.
So that left us with a quandary: were we done with having babies?
meeting our darling nephew for the first time - I was five weeks along
The first 6-7 months with Lorelei were brutally hard on us. Jason and I were convinced that she would be our one and only, because I didn't know if I could go through what seemed to be interminable infancy again. And then, somewhere around 13-14 months, we realized that we had emerged from the dark cloud and that life had settled into a comfortable existence again - one that we were happy with.
So that left us with a quandary: were we done with having babies?
Thursday, August 2, 2012
adventures in motherhood: 62 weeks.
[Fair warning: this is a post about breastfeeding. If you are a male relative, a former student of mine, and/or somewhat squeamish, abort mission now. Otherwise, don't blame me if this is too TMI for your liking.]
I never really knew if I wanted to have children at all -- but I have always had strong convictions about what I would do if I ended up becoming a mom. One was staying home full time with them through their earliest years. The second was breastfeeding. Both of those decisions ended up rocking my world in ways I could not predict -- and 62 weeks later, as my breastfeeding relationship with Lorelei comes to a close, I'm feeling pretty proud, relieved, sad, and sentimental.
The first six to eight weeks of breastfeeding were excruciatingly difficult for me and for Lorelei -- I cringe to think about sitting alone in my rocking chair, trying for half an hour to latch her on while she cried, flailed her hands in front of her face, got such severe hiccups that nursing caused her to choke, or kept her mouth so tight that it was too painful to bear. Once I figured out the problem (OALD) and took steps to repair it, the blood and tears subsided -- and then of course came new problems: refusal to take pumped milk in a bottle, distracted nursing, biting, nursing strikes. But through it all I had my goal in mind: a full year of nursing.
Once Lorelei was 9 months old and eating three solid meals a day, I started planning for the inevitable. When she was 11 months old and still nursing 8 times every 24 hours (and sometimes more, because she was waking up so many times at night), I decided to follow the advice in my trusty copy of The Nursing Mother's Companion and start cutting out one feeding at a time, very slowly. [The part where I was supposed to replace each nursing session with a cup of milk didn't happen, but not for lack of trying.] Every two weeks, I cut out one more, until it was the beginning of July and she was down to first thing in the morning, right before bed, and once during the night. When my mom came to visit just after my brother's wedding, I figured that was as good a time as any to start eliminating the morning nursing session; I knew Lorelei would have a hard time with it, but "Gramma B" was a great distraction.
Within a week, Lorelei eliminated the nighttime feeding on her own and started taking milk from a cup. And then on Monday night, after her daddy kissed her good night and we settled in for her bedtime nursing session, Lorelei pulled away from me, crying, and I realized I wasn't letting down anymore. I gave her a cup of milk and snuggled with her for a while, then put her in her crib and she went right to sleep. And that was that.
I definitely thought I had more time -- I planned to have one last, memorable time nursing her before stopping, and I did a lot of crying on Monday night when I realized that we were done for good. But 62 weeks of being housebound out of devotion to my darling daughter was a pretty good run, I'd say. And despite giving up caffeine and alcohol, and the plugged duct, and the two bouts of mastitis, and the boxes and boxes of nursing pads and inability to wear most dresses or anything strapless, and the crazy hormonal roller coaster (especially, intensely, at first), I'm really happy that we stuck it out together.
Happy World Breastfeeding Week -- hats off to moms everywhere who breastfeed their babies for one day, one week, 3 years, and anywhere in between.
I never really knew if I wanted to have children at all -- but I have always had strong convictions about what I would do if I ended up becoming a mom. One was staying home full time with them through their earliest years. The second was breastfeeding. Both of those decisions ended up rocking my world in ways I could not predict -- and 62 weeks later, as my breastfeeding relationship with Lorelei comes to a close, I'm feeling pretty proud, relieved, sad, and sentimental.
The first six to eight weeks of breastfeeding were excruciatingly difficult for me and for Lorelei -- I cringe to think about sitting alone in my rocking chair, trying for half an hour to latch her on while she cried, flailed her hands in front of her face, got such severe hiccups that nursing caused her to choke, or kept her mouth so tight that it was too painful to bear. Once I figured out the problem (OALD) and took steps to repair it, the blood and tears subsided -- and then of course came new problems: refusal to take pumped milk in a bottle, distracted nursing, biting, nursing strikes. But through it all I had my goal in mind: a full year of nursing.
Once Lorelei was 9 months old and eating three solid meals a day, I started planning for the inevitable. When she was 11 months old and still nursing 8 times every 24 hours (and sometimes more, because she was waking up so many times at night), I decided to follow the advice in my trusty copy of The Nursing Mother's Companion and start cutting out one feeding at a time, very slowly. [The part where I was supposed to replace each nursing session with a cup of milk didn't happen, but not for lack of trying.] Every two weeks, I cut out one more, until it was the beginning of July and she was down to first thing in the morning, right before bed, and once during the night. When my mom came to visit just after my brother's wedding, I figured that was as good a time as any to start eliminating the morning nursing session; I knew Lorelei would have a hard time with it, but "Gramma B" was a great distraction.
Within a week, Lorelei eliminated the nighttime feeding on her own and started taking milk from a cup. And then on Monday night, after her daddy kissed her good night and we settled in for her bedtime nursing session, Lorelei pulled away from me, crying, and I realized I wasn't letting down anymore. I gave her a cup of milk and snuggled with her for a while, then put her in her crib and she went right to sleep. And that was that.
I definitely thought I had more time -- I planned to have one last, memorable time nursing her before stopping, and I did a lot of crying on Monday night when I realized that we were done for good. But 62 weeks of being housebound out of devotion to my darling daughter was a pretty good run, I'd say. And despite giving up caffeine and alcohol, and the plugged duct, and the two bouts of mastitis, and the boxes and boxes of nursing pads and inability to wear most dresses or anything strapless, and the crazy hormonal roller coaster (especially, intensely, at first), I'm really happy that we stuck it out together.
Happy World Breastfeeding Week -- hats off to moms everywhere who breastfeed their babies for one day, one week, 3 years, and anywhere in between.
Friday, June 22, 2012
clowning around.
I tried to come up with a title for this post that was alliterative and clever involving Friday, fun, and flour, and it just wasn't happening.
Here's how Lorelei and I spent a recent morning when there wasn't much else to do:
If you're interested, Lorelei's outfit was a custom order from Handmade by Jenn (thanks, Mom!). And yes, we used whole wheat flour for our sensory playtime because that's how we roll around here.
Happy weekend!
Here's how Lorelei and I spent a recent morning when there wasn't much else to do:
If you're interested, Lorelei's outfit was a custom order from Handmade by Jenn (thanks, Mom!). And yes, we used whole wheat flour for our sensory playtime because that's how we roll around here.
Happy weekend!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
adventures in motherhood: why is it so hard to make friends as an adult?
Though this weekly post series is ostensibly about my life as a mom, I could very easily be writing this one just from my perspective as someone past the college years. Why doesn't anyone ever tell you how hard it will be to make friends once you're not in school anymore?
Jason and I were reflecting -- enviously -- on my brother's social life the other day. Granted, he has no children, but he's only 2 years younger than we are and he seems to be "out with friends" any time we try to get ahold of him. "How does he know that many people, let alone know them well enough to call them friends?" my husband was saying grumpily. And then it hit us: my brother lives and works in the city where he graduated from college -- so most of his friends are his old college buddies! (No fair.)
When I taught in Colorado for five years, I was lucky enough to work at a school full of kindred spirits, so I made strong connections with my coworkers. Most of us were in similar "life situations" (late 20s or early 30s, transplanted from all sorts of places across the country, married or in long-term relationships, pursuing a career in education out of passion for it rather than necessity, invested in working for progressive social change), so it was easy to bond over our commonalities.
And then I moved to Illinois and started working at a very traditional public school where the teachers all grew up around here, went to two or three schools within easy driving distance of here, married someone from here... it's not that they weren't friendly, but the message was fairly clear from most of them: "I already have an established life and circle of friends, and I don't really have room for someone new who doesn't fit the mold." And the few people I did connect with? Well, it's not easy to stay in touch now that I'm at home during the hours we used to spend together.
There are three main moms groups in town, and one of them isn't accepting new members. I have tried to go to events hosted by one of the groups, but I always end up feeling out of my element. And the final group -- where there are definitely kindred spirits, which is so, so lovely -- tends to be moms of older toddlers, so they often meet at times when I have to be home with a sleeping baby. I enjoy my time with them when I get to see them, but I don't feel like I've made any super close friendships (yet). It'd be nice to be able to hang out with other moms and kiddos close in age to Lorelei during the daytime rather than having to sacrifice my few sacred hours of time to myself at night, too...
I think that's part of the reason blogging has become such a big part of my life. When I check in on blogs from people like Emily, Margaux, Jennifer, Amber, Nicolle, Manda, D., Leah, and Megan, it feels like a virtual playdate: they all have babies who are a very similar age to mine so we can commiserate, swap tips, lend a sympathetic ear, and feel in general like we're not alone in these parenting struggles. Wish we could do it in real life, too! I'm so jealous of Libby and her group of friends who are all soon-to-be mamas -- how wonderful would it be to go through something like that together?
Do you have any tips for finding adult friends, especially if you live far away from where you grew up or went to school? Have you tried using cards like the ones PJ is offering up in her giveaway? I'd love to hear your insights!
(image)
Jason and I were reflecting -- enviously -- on my brother's social life the other day. Granted, he has no children, but he's only 2 years younger than we are and he seems to be "out with friends" any time we try to get ahold of him. "How does he know that many people, let alone know them well enough to call them friends?" my husband was saying grumpily. And then it hit us: my brother lives and works in the city where he graduated from college -- so most of his friends are his old college buddies! (No fair.)
When I taught in Colorado for five years, I was lucky enough to work at a school full of kindred spirits, so I made strong connections with my coworkers. Most of us were in similar "life situations" (late 20s or early 30s, transplanted from all sorts of places across the country, married or in long-term relationships, pursuing a career in education out of passion for it rather than necessity, invested in working for progressive social change), so it was easy to bond over our commonalities.
(some of my favorite people from Colorado)
And then I moved to Illinois and started working at a very traditional public school where the teachers all grew up around here, went to two or three schools within easy driving distance of here, married someone from here... it's not that they weren't friendly, but the message was fairly clear from most of them: "I already have an established life and circle of friends, and I don't really have room for someone new who doesn't fit the mold." And the few people I did connect with? Well, it's not easy to stay in touch now that I'm at home during the hours we used to spend together.
There are three main moms groups in town, and one of them isn't accepting new members. I have tried to go to events hosted by one of the groups, but I always end up feeling out of my element. And the final group -- where there are definitely kindred spirits, which is so, so lovely -- tends to be moms of older toddlers, so they often meet at times when I have to be home with a sleeping baby. I enjoy my time with them when I get to see them, but I don't feel like I've made any super close friendships (yet). It'd be nice to be able to hang out with other moms and kiddos close in age to Lorelei during the daytime rather than having to sacrifice my few sacred hours of time to myself at night, too...
I think that's part of the reason blogging has become such a big part of my life. When I check in on blogs from people like Emily, Margaux, Jennifer, Amber, Nicolle, Manda, D., Leah, and Megan, it feels like a virtual playdate: they all have babies who are a very similar age to mine so we can commiserate, swap tips, lend a sympathetic ear, and feel in general like we're not alone in these parenting struggles. Wish we could do it in real life, too! I'm so jealous of Libby and her group of friends who are all soon-to-be mamas -- how wonderful would it be to go through something like that together?
(some of my girlfriends from back home in MN at my baby shower -- wish we lived closer!)
Do you have any tips for finding adult friends, especially if you live far away from where you grew up or went to school? Have you tried using cards like the ones PJ is offering up in her giveaway? I'd love to hear your insights!
Friday, June 15, 2012
round 'em up, cowboy.
Some links to love for your Friday:
Hot off the presses -- Brent's intimate look at being a stay-at-home-dad. So nice to get the perspective of Melissa's other half! (Also, I loved this post of hers recently, since it relates so much to what I've been thinking about.)
Oh, fashion bloggers -- this guy has you pegged.
A feminist takes on the brigade of Disney princesses.
A post on Postpartum Progress has The Feminist Breeder in a tizzy -- what do you think?
Two great giveaways: one for baby and one for you!
A humorous look at how hard it is to be a parent -- even for a few hours.
Until next week...
Hot off the presses -- Brent's intimate look at being a stay-at-home-dad. So nice to get the perspective of Melissa's other half! (Also, I loved this post of hers recently, since it relates so much to what I've been thinking about.)
Oh, fashion bloggers -- this guy has you pegged.
A feminist takes on the brigade of Disney princesses.
A post on Postpartum Progress has The Feminist Breeder in a tizzy -- what do you think?
Two great giveaways: one for baby and one for you!
A humorous look at how hard it is to be a parent -- even for a few hours.
Until next week...
Thursday, June 14, 2012
adventures in motherhood: pushing + letting go.
Do you actively push your child towards the next developmental leap, or do you tend to sit back and enjoy the ride?
I've had this on the brain lately because Lorelei isn't walking yet. I'm not concerned -- she's barely over a year and is a fantastic crawler who doesn't seem to need another method of locomotion -- but it's a milestone that everyone asks about once they find out how old she is. I didn't walk until I was over 15 months old and clearly turned out just fine, but there's a little bit of pressure for Lorelei to get her feet moving in time to be the flower girl for my brother's wedding next month. So I sometimes, just a little bit, try to encourage her to take some steps by herself. And she promptly sits her butt right down onto the carpet and goes back to poking her baby doll's eyes with her fingers.
When I see other moms on the playground, I sense that a lot of them are eager to share what amazing new tricks their babies and toddlers are mastering, and I certainly love sharing Lorelei's exploits, too. But when and where do you draw the line between encouraging their development and dropping them into the deep end before they're ready? I'd like a toddler who can put on her own shoes, use the potty, and feed herself without making a mess as much as the next mom. But I'm trying really, really hard to enjoy our current stage instead of rushing into the next one.
I'm going to keep right on offering a hand when Lorelei wants to take a few steps, repeating simple words and phrases over and over when she points at her favorite objects or new ones that have just grabbed her attention, playing stimulating music and taking her on "educational" outings and planning playdates for her social development. But I'm also not going to worry that her playmates are doing things she isn't quite ready for -- the girl's gotta set her own pace, because (as my old principal used to say) this is a marathon, not a sprint.
Instead, here's a list of unique-to-her talents Lorelei has mastered at this point:
insisting on having the milk carton on the table in front of her at breakfast so she can "mooo" at the picture of the cow on it to her heart's content
shaking her money-maker with wild abandon if you utter the phrase "wiggle butt" in her general vicinity
waving furiously at anything she sees that she likes -- a squirrel outside, a picture of a baby in a book -- in a way that tugs at your heartstrings because it is so sweet ("Hello! I like you! I hope you might like me too!")
using her pretend bank as a cup and laughing hysterically when the "coins" fall out onto her face (or, better yet, into her mouth)
"reading" Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes by pointing to all of the babies' fingers and toes and then pointing to her own...on pretty much every single page
What amazing and unique milestones is your little one working on right now?
Lorelei's favorite activity recently: looking longingly at the big world outside her door
(p.s. don't you love that baby mullet? It kills me.)
(p.s. don't you love that baby mullet? It kills me.)
I've had this on the brain lately because Lorelei isn't walking yet. I'm not concerned -- she's barely over a year and is a fantastic crawler who doesn't seem to need another method of locomotion -- but it's a milestone that everyone asks about once they find out how old she is. I didn't walk until I was over 15 months old and clearly turned out just fine, but there's a little bit of pressure for Lorelei to get her feet moving in time to be the flower girl for my brother's wedding next month. So I sometimes, just a little bit, try to encourage her to take some steps by herself. And she promptly sits her butt right down onto the carpet and goes back to poking her baby doll's eyes with her fingers.
When I see other moms on the playground, I sense that a lot of them are eager to share what amazing new tricks their babies and toddlers are mastering, and I certainly love sharing Lorelei's exploits, too. But when and where do you draw the line between encouraging their development and dropping them into the deep end before they're ready? I'd like a toddler who can put on her own shoes, use the potty, and feed herself without making a mess as much as the next mom. But I'm trying really, really hard to enjoy our current stage instead of rushing into the next one.
I'm going to keep right on offering a hand when Lorelei wants to take a few steps, repeating simple words and phrases over and over when she points at her favorite objects or new ones that have just grabbed her attention, playing stimulating music and taking her on "educational" outings and planning playdates for her social development. But I'm also not going to worry that her playmates are doing things she isn't quite ready for -- the girl's gotta set her own pace, because (as my old principal used to say) this is a marathon, not a sprint.
Instead, here's a list of unique-to-her talents Lorelei has mastered at this point:
insisting on having the milk carton on the table in front of her at breakfast so she can "mooo" at the picture of the cow on it to her heart's content
shaking her money-maker with wild abandon if you utter the phrase "wiggle butt" in her general vicinity
waving furiously at anything she sees that she likes -- a squirrel outside, a picture of a baby in a book -- in a way that tugs at your heartstrings because it is so sweet ("Hello! I like you! I hope you might like me too!")
using her pretend bank as a cup and laughing hysterically when the "coins" fall out onto her face (or, better yet, into her mouth)
"reading" Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes by pointing to all of the babies' fingers and toes and then pointing to her own...on pretty much every single page
What amazing and unique milestones is your little one working on right now?