Reminiscing, Already

Dear Kaelyn,

Tonight, for some reason, sleep eludes me. It has finally really hit me that this week has ended and this coming week, I return back to work. My last full week as a stay-at-home mom is over. I know and I've constantly told myself that many moms have done this and most when their little ones are even younger than you, but the heart rules over the mind in this case and I am still somehow having trouble focusing on the blessing of being home for so long, versus the sadness of parting.

I'm sure both of us will adapt and become accustomed to life after the transition, and all will go on quite well, but tonight... tonight it is just hard to think about leaving you.

As I lay in bed listening to your soft sleeping breaths and your daddy's louder ones, I couldn't help but reminisce about that first day with you. I ran through the events in my head until the tears came pricking to my eyes as I recalled the details. And I knew I had to write them down somewhere...

I remember so clearly the first hour or so with you, lying skin to skin against me, snuggling up and hungrily rooting around making little snuffling noises like a baby animal. In that instant, I felt keenly that the heroine of the hour was truly you and not I who birthed you, because you were this exhausted new wee one who had just made a strenuous and traumatic journey, and still then bore on to take your first breath and cry and then determinedly latch on and energetically eat your first meal before finally resting. I held you close, trying to soak in the reality that you were finally here and that I -- we -- had really completed the monumental task of birth. There were tears and achingly huge smiles, an overflowing of joy. That hour flew past, and the memory of it, so many minutes seemingly compacted into a moment, is etched in my mind as if it were yesterday.

Your grandparents arrived to meet you for the first time, and after some small talk your daddy took you in his arms while I hopped out of the semi-upright hospital bed to try to use the bathroom for the first time after the birth. My lack of any drugs allowed me to be able to do this unassisted, but I was still unprepared for the dizziness from blood loss that came as I walked to the toilet in the little room inside my birthing room. Alarmed, I snatched desperately at the handicap handrail to steady myself. The aftermath of the birth was everywhere and I refilled the peri bottle I'd been given again and again, trying to rinse some of it away as best as I could. The birthing site, newly stitched up, was unbelievably sore and painful as the stream of water hit it.

I remember catching sight of my face in the mirror above the sink and feeling stricken, unconsciously letting the bottle fill to overflowing beneath my fingertips. My reflection looked gray and colorless and more tired than I'd ever imagined I could look; the too-big blue hospital robe had blood on it and hung off one shoulder. I don't think I could have looked much worse. There were days ahead that I didn't know of then, where the hormones would kick in hard and I would cry and complain about the healing process and the horrors wreaked on my physical self. But at that time, even as I took stock of the somewhat gruesome details of the aftermath, my head was in a euphoric cloud. I had YOU. You were right outside that door in your daddy's arms and you were perfect and whole and peacefully asleep at that moment.

I toddled back into the birthing room in a fresh robe, this time with the help of my nurse, who'd rushed in once she heard that I'd attempted to get around on my own, and sat gratefully down in the wheelchair she'd brought. I sipped a cup of water and a small cardboard apple juice box comfortably while I enjoyed the exclamations from your grandparents over you. Finally, your daddy laid you, swaddled in a hospital blanket and wearing a purple cap handknit by the mom of the attending midwife, back in my arms and began gathering our things to move to the recovery room in the mom/baby unit. I vaguely remember the rest of the family's chatter, but mostly I only had eyes for you. I kept my eyes on you, pretty much oblivious as we were wheeled out of the birthing room, down the shiny linoleum hallways to our small but private recovery room. While pregnant, I'd imagined that ride down the hallway with you in my arms many times, envisioning how proud and triumphant your daddy and I would be. But there was no way I could have imagined the way I felt at the actual moment: so blessed, so overwhelmed, so enamored.

The room was sparse, as most hospital rooms are, but it was small and cozy and had a view of the street in front of the hospital with its ever-changing scene. There was a large clear box with a padded bottom on a metal cart next to the hospital bed that I was helped onto, to serve as your bed for the night. You didn't spend much time in it, though -- we held you for the majority of that first night of your life.

The night was spent learning to breastfeed, sharing a somewhat edible hospital meal (they only gave a meal for mom that night) and then eating a celebratory take-out meal that your daddy went and picked up nearby, changing your first sticky, tarry black meconium diapers and meeting new nurses as they traded shifts. At that time, visitors beyond our parents weren't allowed, something I'd been quite disappointed to learn months before. Now, I was almost glad. Between feedings and diapers, naps and the occasional text message, we held you and marveled over you and your ten fingers and ten toes, your tiny lips and tightly closed little eyes. Your exhausted daddy and I both took turns taking small naps to refuel our energy as adrenaline wore off. I found the time awake wasn't too hard, though we were having a pretty rough start at breastfeeding. I was so fascinated by you, so taken with you and I could not get enough of looking at you. We talked to you, kissed your little cheeks and nose, said silly things that parents say to their babies in unconsciously higher tones and tried to guess who you looked like most. (At that point, it was definitely Daddy!)

When morning came and the blurry night was over, I felt elated that we'd made it successfully through our first night as parents, though I also felt like I was standing at the bottom of a huge mountain of a learning curve, looking up and realizing I had to climb it on what small amount of physical strength I had left in me. There were some papers to fill out, my healing progress was being monitored and some tests needed to be run on you (I cried along with you when they pricked your little heel to get a small blood sample), but we jumped through the hoops quickly and were told we could be discharged about 24 hours after your birth. We were smiling from ear to ear at the news. It was time to bring you home.

Cause and Effect

So much about this first stage of parenting is about making decisions, choices that will hopefully put your baby on their merry way to being a healthy, balanced child. Breast or bottle, co-sleeping, CIO methods, babywearing, etc. etc.

As a new parent, one is the recipient of lots of advice, both asked-for and unsolicited. A common phrase is "don't do/do do (insert practice or attitude) so that your baby will turn out/won't turn out (insert condition)." Let her cry it out! Otherwise, she'll be spoiled. Give her formula, it will help her to sleep better. Don't let her fall asleep too much in the car or else she won't be able to sleep without movement! Start solids; no, don't start solids yet. Don't get in the habit of babywearing. Make sure she takes a bottle or she'll become too dependent on you. And it goes on and on. I have to wonder sometimes, though -- how much of child's end character is the direct result of parenting choices, vs. just the child's personality and individual temperament?

I think babies differentiate from each other starting from the beginning. Some sleep through the night soon after coming home from the hospital. Others (like mine) are a few months old and still not quite there. Is that more because of the type of individual each baby is, or because of some action on the part of the parent(s)? I'm sure the answer is some combination of the two, but still, I look at siblings, including my own, and marvel at how different they are from each other despite having very similar upbringing.

I'll be the first to admit that I have thus far turned out to be much more of an "attachment parent" than I foresaw that I'd be. To keep this post succinct, I won't divulge details about what that means, but I sometimes wonder if I'm spoiling little K by making certain parenting choices, ones that people had told me not to do for fear of raising a spoiled brat. But then, I look at her. She is a baby, my baby, just a few months out of the womb. So dependent and so trusting. I look at my lovely sister-in-law and her beautiful girls and the nurturing, yet balanced way she parents them. And then I don't worry, because this little one needs love and security right now more than anything else -- as an adopted child myself, I can attest to this with no hesitation. Who am I to do anything but all that is in my power to provide that?

The Home Stretch

Yesterday marked the 37th week of pregnancy and you are officially considered full-term, baby girl. I'm still in the office this week finishing up my last week of work, and there are still a few preparations to be made for your coming, but for the most part your daddy and I are as ready as we are going to be.

Somehow, I haven't really been able to express how carrying you has physically affected me -- because obviously, it has, in so many ways. It's hard to capture it all in mere words, but the fear of forgetting it all compels me to at least try...

I don't think I could have imagined that pregnancy could affect one's body, in its entirety, to such an extent. I didn't want to do weekly recounts of all the physical changes, lest it make me take on a negative attitude about my body, but knowing it'll be over soon has made me mentally look over the running list of pregnancy ailments symptoms and just marvel at what it has been like. It has been magnificent in some respects and plain downright miserable in others. There is a certain undeniable beauty and thrill in pregnancy because of the meaning behind all of the changes -- there is a real, live baby in there! -- but, unfortunately, adjusting to the physical changes can overshadow some of that thrill (the emotional highs and lows don't help, either!).

I think, from the outside, I'm one of those pregnant women other pregnant women seem to loathe: I haven't gained all that much visible weight except in the boobs and stomach, no water retention or stretch marks to speak of. But, even so, it has been incredibly difficult trying to adjust to the constant changes in my body. While I admit I cannot relate to those with the opposite problem, the lack of "proper" weight gain due to severe nausea, and despite my best consumption efforts, was a very scary thing, especially when concerns that you were measuring too small became reasons for non-routine tests and ultrasound early in the third trimester (whereupon we found out you were actually doing fine, yay!). The horrible vomiting and nausea up til 22 weeks, the ever-constant bleeding -- we're talking bloody noses, bloody gums, hemorrhoids (TMI?) -- along with random skin changes/rashes, mood swings, tons of snot, incontinence, insomnia, body aches and an overall "heavy" feeling all make for general physical unhappiness, even as I try to embrace my new image overall.

This isn't to say there haven't been some incredibly rewarding physical aspects of being pregnant. Being able to feel you move and kick with your little limbs and becoming accustomed to the charming sensation of you-with-hiccups has been amazing, to say the least. I love that I've unconsciously learned your little in-utero habits, becoming used to feeling you become active at certain times and in certain situations. I love placing a hand over the left side of my belly and feeling you push a little knee into it, or patting the top part of my stomach area where your little butt is, now that your head has descended downwards. Despite the discomforts I've experienced, I love the feeling of closeness I have with you as a physical part of me. I can't wait to meet you outside of my body, but a small part of me will mourn when you're released into the world and are no longer with me every hour of every day. In this sense, I'm aware that pregnancy is fleeting, and experiencing it has changed my life...

The Stories We'll Tell

I think it's fair to say that your daddy and I are the individuals most eager to meet you, baby girl, but I know for a fact that we're not the only ones excited for your coming (could it really be coming up so soon?). I can't wait for you to meet most of your grandparents and your great-grandma.  And of course, there are those whom I wish your life could have been blessed by, but for whom we'll have to share the memories of instead.

Tomorrow we are saying a final goodbye to your great-grandma as we bury her in the same cemetery where your great-grandfather also was laid two years ago.  It saddens me to think that your life will never be touched by hers in person, and I sometimes feel frustrated that you were thisclose to being able to meet her. 

Your great-grandma was among those most excited about you, once we told everyone you were on the way.  She reassured me things were all right when I was spending most of my days feeling sick as a dog, telling me how her three pregnancies (your great-auntie, great-uncle and grandpa) went.  "It's good thing... means baby is growing," she told me when I told her how much trouble I was having keeping any food in my stomach during the first trimester.  Later, as you grew more and my belly began to swell up, she always asked if you moved around a lot and how you were doing, if I was doing a good job keeping you well-fed and growing.  The very last time I saw her, I showed her where you were poking your bony little feet out on the left side of my belly.  She was always quiet and reserved, but that made her laugh.

Some of my most vivid memories of her are surprisingly from when I was a very young child myself, and stayed with her occasionally during the day.  I remember her house with its orange-brown carpet, olive green linoleum and creaking floorboards.  I remember the antique cream-colored crib, complete with faded illustrations and pastel balls in a cutout on the headboards, that she'd put me in for naps during the day as a toddler.  I rarely slept during those times, opting instead to pull myself up, push aside the curtain covering the window next to the crib, and watch her next door neighbor as he tended his garden outside.  Sometimes she'd come in and catch me and make me lie down again, but other times she let me skip out on naptime and watch cartoons with her in the living room instead. She could be strict, and she had expectations of her grandchildren and their behavior, but all of us knew she had a big soft spot for each of us.

The beautiful new white crib that you'll be sleeping in a few months after you arrive is a gift from her, little girl.  How I wish sometimes that she would have been able to lay you in it and smile -- because as stoic and aloof as she seemed at times, I know you would have made her smile.

I hope your daddy and I remember these special people who have been such a big part of our lives, and always make an effort to tell you about how they helped us become who we are today.

Parental Eccentricities

Your daddy and I had a funny conversation the other day about bad habits -- not our vices, but more insignificant things -- we have that you might find annoying. All people have habits, and thus all parents, and I would be lying if I said we could address and change all of ours before you arrive and are subjected to them.  Some you may pick up yourself (a common lament in our household currently -- "If we keep doing this, baby girl is going to be WEIRD") and some will probably have you vowing to make sure you don't do the same.

For me as a daughter, an example that comes to mind would be a habit of your lovable, well-meaning grandpa.  He loves to watch movies, but sometimes he will get super excited and give away parts of the movie, much to the chagrin of those watching it for the first time.  Case in point:

Me (watching "House of Flying Daggers" forest fight scene): How in the world can she fight all of them like that when she can't see anything??  She's going to get killed!
Your grandpa (getting excited): Well, see, you THINK she's blind...
Me: ...... DAD!

When I replay that memory in my head now, it actually makes me laugh.  As I grow to appreciate my own parents more and more with age, I find myself loving their eccentricities because those little things are a part of what makes them, them (and admittedly, I've somehow picked up some of their habits myself).  Somehow, those things have even become endearing.

I think at some point between when you're a little girl and an adult, there will probably be a season where we'll seem very old and annoyingly out of touch with the reality of you and your peers.  But my hope is that someday, despite our many little quirks, you'll feel towards us, the way I do about my parents.

On Becoming a Mommy

Dear little girl,

I have to be honest with you. Sometimes -- a lot of times -- I feel that I will be woefully inept when it comes to parenting. Of course I have no experience with it thus far, so I can't reasonably expect to feel completely ready when I don't truly know what's ahead, and there's a first time for everyone. Still, when it comes to you, there are so many things that I fear.

My fears go beyond pushing you out into the world. As delivery inches closer, I do harbor a certain amount of apprehension (10 centimeters never seemed so huge in my life!) but I have much more towards the things that will unfold afterwards.

A father of three whose counsel I respect deeply told me two things that he had learned about parenting: 1) I must be able to release my own expectations of the type of person you will be and 2) I cannot protect you from everything.

I have so many hopes and dreams for you, little girl, and it's hard not to let them turn into subconscious expectations. It's hard not to think of who I am, and who your daddy is, and hope that you'll somehow embody our best traits. But I vow to love you for who you are, if you are lovable and when you are not. I want to help you learn and become the person God wants for you to be, even and especially if that is someone different than who I might naively expect you to be.

I will not be a perfect mommy, but I want to be one that has faith and humility to admit when I'm not. I want to be a mommy who tries her best to nurture and protect, but realizes when human capacity is reached and trusts God for things only He can control... and even for those things I think I can control.

Because of you, I want to be a better person.

Saw an old guy today
Staring long at a chess game
Looked like it was half-played
Then his tear splashed between
The bishop and the king...oh
He turned his face to mine
I saw the Question in his eyes
I shrugged him half a smile and walked away
It made me sad, and it made me think
And now it makes me sing what I believe

Heard a young girl sing a song
To her daughter in her pale arms
Walkin' through a rainstorm
“Because you're here my little girl
It's gonna be a better world'...oh
She turned her face to mine
I saw the Answer in her eyes
I shrugged her half a smile and walked away
It made me smile, and it made me think
And now it makes me sing what I believe

It was love that set our fragile planet rolling
Tilting at our perfect twenty-three
Molecules and men infused with holy
Finding our way around the galaxy
And Paradise has up and flown away for now
But hope still breathes and truth is always true
And just when we think it's almost over
Love has the final move
Love has the final move

Chris Rice - The Final Move