Ending

Dear Hazel,

This is hard for me to write. Today I'm 39 weeks into this terrible pregnancy and it may be ending today and you will have a new brother in the house for the rest of your life. It's never going to be the three of us again. I don't do pregnancy well- I hate it, in fact. I hated being pregnant with you, and I hate being pregnant now, though this is a hundred times worse than before. I'm in much more pain, sleeping even less, have a bigger belly and no muscle tone left to hold it up. It's pretty awful. But the worst part of it all, and I cry every time I think about it, is that I have not been able to give you the attention and love and time that I want to. It's hard for me to pick you up, I have no lap to sit on, you watch a lot of TV these days, and I can't even get on the floor to play. It breaks my heart, because you are so amazing and incredible and all I want to do is focus myself entirely on you.

You are going to be two years old in a few weeks, my girl and I couldn't have wished for a better kiddo. Your dada and I are in awe of everything you do, and after you go to bed at night, he and I swap stories about all the cool, funny, brilliant, sweet things you did that day. You talk constantly, and say such funny things, and you have got to be the happiest kid I've ever met. You are totally fearless; I can't think of a single thing that you are afraid of in this world. Scary for me, but I know it's going to serve you well in the future and that it's a sign of great intelligence to be so curious and outgoing. You are very physical and kinesthetic; we go to a tumbling class at the Y with your friend Bea, and the two of you tear the place up. You are obsessed with the older kids who are training in there at the same time as you. Kids on the parallel bars, kids climbing ropes 30 feet into the air, doing back flips. You watch them intently, then march right over to try and do it yourself. No fear. You love watching the show Yo Gabba Gabba, sing along to everything, and are on your feet dancing away through the whole thing. You love your friends, and talk about them, kiss and hug them, and get so excited and happy to play with them. You dance. All the time. You climb everything. You run and jump and fall down and crack yourself up. In fact, you never, ever cry when you fall. You love swimming in the Y pool with your dad and recently you love snuggling up (alone of course, since you hate being contained in any way) in the big armchair with your blanket, whom you recently bestowed with the name, "BEEKO". And oh my goodness you love to draw. You call it "eyes" because we showed you how to draw a face with "eyes, nose, mouth, head, ears, hair", etc. You get very frantic when you don't have a chalkboard, paper, crayons, markers or something nearby with which to draw eyes. You even draw them on the glass door when you shower with dada in the morning. You sleep with your mini Magna Doodle, the best four bucks I ever spent. You crack me up.

Since I've been so disabled and lame the last couple of months, and since you are so social and independent and active, I thought it was time for you to go to daycare twice a week. We found a fantastic home-based place here in Ipswich on the recommendation of a friend, and I signed you up for two days a week, hoping to get you settled in there before the baby comes. We took you there for an informal "interview" on a Saturday morning, and you immediately marched off away from us, in a strangers house, and started to play. When we left about twenty minutes later, you threw a fit. I knew you would love it. I started slow and put you in for a half day at first. You did great, of course and again threw a fit when I picked you up. You have been for a few full days now, and just love it. I'm so happy, but it's bittersweet. Every milestone is a separation, and this was yet another one that flew by without a chance to even process it. Per usual, you are off and running. It's a beautiful thing, and I wouldn't have it any other way, but I miss you, too- terribly.

I'm not one of these mothers that wants you to cleave to me, live with me until we are both elderly ladies out of some selfish need to OWN your soul. "Your children are not your children," and so forth. I know that. I want you to be exactly who you are. I want you to go out into the world whenever you feel you are ready and I want you to see and do everything. I want you to work a totally crappy job and try to support yourself on minimum wage. I want you to get so drunk you swear you're never going to drink again- several times. I want you to have beautiful lovers that whisper secret things in your ear that will make you blush, and I want you to get your heart broken...and break a million hearts. I want to see you discover your path and get so excited about whatever it is you were put on this earth to do. I want you to live in a roach-infested, peeling-paint, cracked-window, too-hot, drafty old apartment and love it because it is yours. I want to see what you do to that apartment to recreate your idea of Home. I want you to learn, and travel, and stumble and pick yourself up because you are one of the toughest people I know, and you have already been through so much. I want to see you get mad after paying for a terrible haircut. I want to meet you for lunch and listen to you go on and on and on about all the exciting things in your head, too wrapped up in it all to even ask me how I am. I feel so blessed that I can watch you do these things and that your dada and I get to be the point from where they all started. We love you more and more every moment of every day to the point that we think we couldn't possibly love you any more. But we do. It's crazy.

(I can hear you downstairs right now saying my name, looking for me and my heart is literally melting at the sound of your voice. Perfection.)

Soon, as in this week, you're going to have a brother, and I'm sorry. I know it's going to be hard for you, but I'm hoping that in time the good will outweigh the bad. I'm hoping that your heart opens and it will be another person for you to love and depend on, another person to anchor your home, a person you can turn to when you can't turn to us. I hope that the two of you will have each other after you have moved on from your dada and I. In the best world, that's what will happen. I hope for as much. I hope he will be the best man at your wedding, and will be a playful uncle for your kids. I hope you'll love each other, and that you someday get over the "When do we send him back?" phase of your relationship. It's a wild experiment, you silly wonderful girl.

Things went by too fast, my love. I enjoyed every damn second of it, and have felt blessed from the moment I met your eyes. I've never taken you for granted, and I pray that I never do.

So full to bursting with love for you,

Mama

Moona es UP!

At 21 months old, some of Hazels words these days, though she adds more every day.

cup

flies (any bug, always plural)

moie (more)

cai (car)

truck

vroom

train

choochoo

up

down

nite nite

BIE!! (goodbye)

hi.

no.

yup.

thanks.

peeze (please)

mama or mommie

dada

butt

dis (this)

dat (that)

GABBOO GABBOO!! (asking to watch her favorite show, Yo Gabba Gabba)

hep! (help)

oh kay oh kay (said under her breath whenever she is nervous or concentrating)

ohhhhh nooooo!!!! (very dramatic)

boook (book)

poop

fart

dada's cup (beer bottle)

chubbies, or chow-bies (berries- took us a while to figure this one out)

cheese!

moona (moon)

Buba (our dog hector)

Other animals: cat, dog (and they say "foof!"), hoss (horse), baaaa (sheep), tur-tul (turtle), gucks (and they say "kak!")

hut (hot)

wa-wa (water)

wet

abble (apple)

noodle

eyes

nose

har (hair)

head

hat

go!!

brush (as a verb!)

pool

shower

ball

dirt

blocks

trees

pints and shit (pants and shirt)

sock

shoes

boots

why?

nice... (used for her favorite clothes, lotion being rubbed in, and stickers on her arm.)

bike

weeeee!!!

food

ice

bee-bee (baby, particularly important at this juncture)

P.U. (always said with a sniff in the direction of the offense, usually used to point out when someone farts.)

boobs (which she likes to point out on others)

beech (beach)

monies (coins)

wa-waruash (walrus)

sup (syrup)

dirt

house

beach

trees

one, two, three

four

five

all done

all gone

Hay-hay (this is what she calls herself)

She has recently been stringing some of these words together into short sentences and its so funny; "Is it hut? Noooo.....it's not hut" "Where mama go?" "The moona is up!" "Moie chowbees peeze." "Oh, Buba butt...P.U."

It's fun to focus our energies on all this good stuff. Tonight, actually right at this moment, is the one year anniversary of Hazel being rushed into emergency surgery to have the battery removed from her esophagus. We are, needless to say, still quite traumatized by the whole experience, and still extremely angry at Beverly Hospital. I expect that will only fade with time. Meanwhile, we are very focused on everything we have to be thankful for right now. Our daughter was not expected to live, and our family was almost destroyed one year ago this week, but she did and it wasn't and I'll never be able to forget how blessed we are.

Now if only I could take an Ativan with a wine chaser to fall asleep tonight.....

I Love This

"Your toddler will do what they need to do and it's not necessarily what you say. If you're patient then they will be patient. If you speak gently then they will be gentle. Whatever you want them to be you have to start becoming."  Helen Hunt

Excuses

I know that I am very behind on blogging.  After Hazel's birthday, I slurped this whole blog into a book that I'm going to get published for her, and have been sweating about getting the formatting right.  That has taken a lot of time.  I also have spent seemingly every moment worrying about Tuesday.  I'm petrified, paralyzed about Hazel's surgery and have crawled into a little hole of denial vacillating with terror.  I am gripping my bottle of Ativan and chanting to myself over and over, "We are in the best place in the world.  Best doctors in the word.  They do this all the time.  Taking every precaution.  Saved her life already and can do it again.  It's our destiny to grow old together.  Hazel is the strongest person I know.  We will be fine."  I'm chanting like my mantra, but sometimes it feels as though I'm just trying to convince myself of something magical.  I can't talk about it and make it become too real.  We will celebrate after it's over and until then, I'm just going to float.

e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me 

(i carry it in my heart) 

i am never without it 

(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate 

(for you are my fate, my sweet) 

i want no world 

(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart 

(i carry it in my heart)

...And This Is Now

At this moment I was pushing your body out into the world one year earlier. You are such a blessing. I love every moment of your life, every breath. You have created a million new lives with yours. I wouldn't trade a moment of this year. We love you a thousand times over. And over, and over. For ever and ever.

Some of Her Last Baby Pictures

Oh, this child. The moment she turned ten months old, the toddler came out, and the baby receded into the background. But this birthday tomorrow, as arbitrary as it can be, is the final cut- the coup de grâce of her babyhood. Every day she is doing something new. Today she said, "woof". She blows on her food like she is cooling it down. She does "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" with her hands and dances and sways to any song she hears. Even car commercials. She stretches her arms up when I ask, "How big is Hazel?" and I say "soooooo big!" and she cracks up. She climbs all over me like I'm her gym. Today I caught her stacking blocks, two at a time! She puts thing in a container, instead of just dumping them out. She talks to herself. She points to her crib when she wants her nap. This child is amazing, beautifulandperfect.

It's hard for me to be sad about my baby disappearing, when this emerging kid is so cool. It's been such a dramatic year for our family and it's impossible not to reflect on everything that has happened. There is so much to look forward to though that I can't contain myself. I'll be printing out this blog thus far into a hardcover book for Hazel very soon. All of your comments are going to be a part of it. Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you for loving my daughter like one of your own. Thank you for all of the love and support this year. Thank you for taking an interest in our little life, for checking in on us, and for introducing yourselves and your babies to me. You are all a part of my families life, and will always be a part of Hazel's childhood.

There are so many things coming up in the future- on March 10th Hazel is scheduled to go back to Children's Hospital Boston for another procedure. The scar tissue in her esophagus has formed a stricture, or a narrowing and she has had a lot of difficulty swallowing beyond purees. It's frustrating, because developmentally she wants to feed herself, but physically she can't swallow anything that she might be able to self- feed. They will put her to sleep under general anesthesia and thread a balloon into her esophagus under xray. They will inflate it to a certain pressure that will tear her scar tissue and hopefully open her esophagus. This is a procedure that Hazel may have to have repeated several more times. Can I ask you all one more favor- will you please think of her, and send us your best, strongst, healthiest wishes? There is still the risk of a rupture of the esophagus, but there is also the opportunity to get her swallowing again without choking, regurgitating and aspirating. It would be really nice for us all to be able to relax a bit.

But there are other things to look forward to- spring is coming, and while we are sad to see this snowy winter go, we can't wait for days at the beach, walking along the river, swinging at the playgroud, exploring in the woods, spending time at the lake in Maine, and with our friends in Vermont. This will be Hazel's first year in the Warren, Vermont Fourth of July Parade and at the Tunbridge Vermont World's Fair. Our CSA farm will be opening for the spring season, soon and Hazel can participate in all of the fun things going on there this year. Hazel will be walking any minute and she is ready to explore the larger world. We are so looking forward to everything that is to come. We love you more than anything, Hazel Porkpie.

Countdown

I'm thinking back to one year ago tonight, eating the pumpkin tortellini at Chianti's in Beverly that is rumored to put women into labor.  I didn't even have to place my order- our waitress saw me coming from a mile away and said, "I know what you came here for!"  We had just been to see my OB where I was told my cervix had not budged and the baby had not dropped into my pelvis.  He told me that if I went into labor, it would be unsuccessful, and that I would need a Cesarean, dashing my hopes for a natural birth.  I remember sitting at dinner with Jamie, depressed and talking about how I had been so focused on my estimated due date of February 19th for so long, and here it was going to pass totally event free.  I remember thinking that even if it didn't work, that at least I got to eat pumpkin tortellini with Gorgonzola cream sauce.  I remember I was wearing my favorite black maternity top and jeans.  It was very cold, and traffic on Cabot Street wouldn't stop for me to cross.  It was our last night out together for a very long time.  It was the last time my family was only two people.  It was the last night of my old life.  Cliche, but my last night living in black and white.  It seemed like an ordinary night back then, but in remembering it... it was extraordinary.

Thinking

I have never been as happy as I am when I'm rocking my baby to sleep at night.  The weight of her in my arms and her soft breath is worth everything in this world and the next.

Before

Oh, and by the way, honey- in case you're interested someday, this is a picture of mama when she was 18 and living in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. I had not seen it before the other day when an old dear friend sent it to me. This is what your mama looks like without all those silly tattoos. But you know whats cool? I remember the moment that this picture was taken- I was sitting on a balcony in Mexico City writing in my journal and it was starting to rain. I can even show you exactly what I was writing because I still have this journal. But the cool thing is that as I was sitting there, unbeknownst to me at the time, I had a little unhatched egg in my young ovary that was YOU. Crazy, hu? I love that I have been carrying you with me for this long.

Breaking My Promise

I had to come back to blogging really quickly to just say that today is a melancholy day. I noticed for the first time Hazel's body changing from Baby into Kid. Her visiting nurse came today to give her a check-up, and we stripped her down to her onsie to weigh her. Her limbs are getting noticibly longer and thinner, and her delicious thighs are losing some of the chunk and roll. Her belly is flatter and her torso is longer. God, is she long! It's very bittersweet. I'm going to miss my baby so much, but I'm so excited to meet my kid.

Residue

Finally, home is home again. We are still pretty traumatized by all that went down, and glimmers of how close we came pop up frequently. Just now as I opened up our blog to make this post, I realized that the last batch of pictures that I posted could have been the last pictures that I had of my daughter. I stare at them and think, these could be the pictures that I spent the rest of my life looking at, wondering what she would have looked like all grown up.

One of the days we were in ICU (they all blend and mix together- already our memory has the twists and holes that traumatic memories have) this reverend from the pastoral care department at the hospital came in. Now, I'm open to some spiritual support or what have you, so it wasn't unwelcome or anything, but I'm also just a tad bit busy staring at Hazel and watching each breath on her ventilator come and go, willing her to heal. So this woman comes in and introduces herself and she has like 8% of my attention as she is talking about something or other and I'm mostly humoring her because I used to be a medical Social Worker and I know how hard it is to impose yourself into someone elses crisis. Until she says, "You know, sometimes the blessing in these things happening is that we learn to not take things for granted as much any more." This is the part where I am this close to tearing her head off. I said to her, "I had to go through a lot of fertility treatments to get my daughter, and I was diagnosed with a chronic illness three months ago, so I have not really been in a position to take my baby for granted," which I thought was very diplomatic, all things considered. Then I turned my chair so my back was to her and made it clear that I was too busy watching (with quiet intensity) Hazel's little chest rise and fall to continue to humor her.

I am in love with Hazel beyond all reason. I am lucky enough that I have felt that since the moment I met her gaze. I have watched every perfect cell division in her beautiful little body with awe and wonder. I can't tear myself away from watching her sleep. She and I were made for one another, we fit perfectly. Every love song written is about her. For the rest of my days I will unfortunately carry the image of her turning blue, foaming at the mouth and reaching for me in terror. Of her reaching over the surgeon's shoulder screaming for me as he carried her off to the OR. Of her intubated. Of her hands tied to the bed. Of her coughing up bright, terrifying blood in my arms alone at home. I will never forget the hollow sound of my screaming, or what my husband looked like when he was broken, wracked, curled in a ball in the PICU hallway. I will never forget the feeling of desperately wanting to leave, to walk out of the hospital so that I would never feel what I was feeling because it was simply intolerable. Wandering with dizzy eyes because everyone said, "go get a cup of coffee," but feeling the physical pull back into her room like a rope around my waist. The nausea. Her thighs losing their delicious baby fat, wasting away, her limp arms and neck, her swollen ankles. The constant beeping. The nurses quiet head shaking, clucking, shushing. The doctors hugging me. Every moment makes my throat start to tighten up like hers did.

I am not having nightmares, but certainly flashbacks. Certainly this weekend there was a measure of denial, as we get back into our routine as quickly as we can. But Hazel is different. She continued to grow the almost-month that she was sick. Her hair is longer and curlier, her voice is different, and she laughs at everything all of a sudden. Our time stopped, we lost a month of our lives, but she grew on.

Thank the heavens for our friends, who have been kind beyond measure, for strangers who have been generous beyond my wildest expectations. For pranayama which has let in all the goodness and light and rid me of poison. For acupuncture and the amazing sister-mama who has started healing me with it. For massage because human touch is divine in it's ability to repair any damage to the soul. For those asanas which open the hips and shoulders and keep me standing. Thank the heavens for my husband who is truly my partner and the moment that I felt we were too drawn to support one another was the moment that I thought I might die. We have our girl. Our bright, shining, funny, sharp, silly, beautiful, warm, perfect, spectacular, brilliant, stunning girl who is our moon, sun, star. From here to the sky and everything in between I have never taken her for granted, and plan to spend the rest of my days bathing in her perfect breath.

Signed Sealed Delivered

Baby, I'm watching history and you are sleeping upstairs on your belly. In an amazing moment for our country, we have just elected the first black President of the United States, Barack Obama. He will be sworn in before your first birthday, and you will have already lived through a complete transformation in your country and in the world. We did this for you, baby. I have never been so proud of my fellow Americans before. I have hope again, and it feels amazing. Your generation will grow up in a different world. This is even better than when the Sox won the 2004 World Series, and you have no idea what that was like! This is a night of Thanksgiving, a beautiful evening full of promise and optimism. I love you.

Some Things I Love About Hazel

I love her laugh because it's this shrimpy little midget laugh and I'm addicted to it. I will juggle flaming knives just to hear it for a second. I love her thighs! Her chunky little drumsticks are so delicious and I am going to cry when they are gone. I love how I can describe her as just stacks of circles (layers of Michelin Man-like spheres stacked on top of each other, a perfectly round head, perfect Japanimation round eyes) and people get a fairly good picture of what she looks like. I love that when she is tired, she wraps her little arms around me and grabs me with her monkey-paws and lays her head on my shoulder. I love her voice, her talking and practicing, the breathy urgency in her expressions. I love the way she breathes when she is excited, like she can barely contain herself. I love how curious she is, always looking for something new and different. I love how anything that passes even remotely close to her mouth makes her almost close and bat her eyes as she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. I love that she has to lick everything. I love the good mood she is in in the morning. I love that her hair is starting to get curly in the back. I love that it's reddish, gold brown. I love that her eyes are bronze. Most might say they are brown, but they are bronze. I love that she looks best in bold colors, because mama HATES pastels! I love how proud of herself she is when she pulls herself up, or gets something she knows she probably shouldn't have. I love that she is my companion, partner in crime, my buddy. I love that she is me, but not at all me. I love seeing her unfold as this person on her own path, doing her own thing, and I have such an enormous amount of pride that she came from me, from my body, that I grew her. I love sleeping with her, snuggled up, so warm breathing slow and deep. I love her smell. I love her sense of adventure, and her fearlessness. I love it when I am holding her, and a stranger comes up to say "hello", and she gets shy and smiles as she buries her face in my chest. I love that when the dogs are fighting and wrestling, she gets excited and cheers them on. I can almost hear her yelling, "Get that little dog!" I love that I can't get enough of her, even when she is driving me crazy. I miss her the moment she is gone. I miss her when she goes to bed for the night, and I spend the rest of the evening looking at pictures of her. I love her because she made me a mama, and I'm good at it. She helped me find myself and my purpose. I love that she helps to keep my spirits up, and helps keep me healthy. As I prepare for battle, she is my courage.

And On We Go

OK, enough of that. It is time to be on with it. I had my lumbar puncture on Thursday and, yes it was horrible. I'll hear from my neurologist as soon as he knows something, but until then, I'm just trying to learn as much as I can about the various disease modifying drugs and so forth. My hands are still pins-and-needles, fingertips are numb and my torso is tingling and there's a real loss of sensation there. The neurologist thinks that this flare will pass without Solu-Medrol infusions and will leave minimal damage in it's wake. Let's hope.

I really need to thank all of the amazing women at Babyfit, who over the last sixteen months have become very close friends, and some of the most supportive women in my life. Also, my amazing sarcastic, laid-back, mama friends (The Momtourage) who I have shared countless margaritas with on Tuesday afternoons, who get my jokes, and who have all offered to help with Hazel at the drop of a hat. This mothering thing would be a totally different experience without you guys. Who would I drink beer with? Probably myself, and that is just sad. Jamie has been home for almost two weeks now and this process would have been intolerable without him, so a big shout out (HOLLA!) to his fabulous coworkers, who I know read this blog and wring their hands right along with us. I promise I will bring Hazel into the office as soon as this most recent project is over so Jamie can pass her around for some Lexecon Lovin'. Especially to Stephanie, Shauna, and Krystine.

Despite all this health bullshit, Hazel has not slowed down one bit. I think having her dad around has accelerated her development. Don't ask me why or how. I don't even know why I said that, but I do know that she is like a new kiddo around him. As of yesterday, she has finally started to crawl forward! For weeks she has been doing her backward Army-crawl and has spent hours stuck under armchairs and ottomans. She has made the connection between pushing off with her little feet and propelling herself towards what she wants instead of away from it.

Hazel, as of two nights ago, has also started laughing at things that she thinks are funny! It's so cool! We used to have to DO something to her (bite her armits, munch on the back of her neck, blow raspberries on her bare belly) in order to hear her shrimpy little laugh, but the other night when the three of us were laying in bed together, she just looked over at her dad and started to crack up. He wasn't doing anything at all, just gazing and smiling at her, but she thought it was the funniest thing! She would look away, and look back and belly-laugh. This morning she was doing it again. I think this is the start of a Sense of Humor.

Last week, Hazel was sitting on her dad's lap on the couch and she just looked up at me and started making chewing motions with her jaw. I sort of stared back at her, curious, and then the sounds started coming out; "dadadadadadadadadada...". Finally, we have a babbler! Since that Thursday evening, she has not shut up and we can't get enough of it. I loved the constant shrieking, and there still is a bit of that, but she has added to her vocabulary all of these speech sounds that she utters with this breathy urgency that we love. I have tried to get as much on tape as I can, but as soon as Hazel sees the video camera, she freezes and stares. Does not make for very exciting movies.

So, we have been visiting with friends and family, sending time with each other, playing witb Hazel, and doing our normal thing (aside from me having a nail jabbed in my spine). Life goes on. I will certainly update about mv health here as I learn things, but until then I am enjoying my daughter, beautifulandperfect and my husband without whom I am but a husk.

Pictures coming soon.

An Update, With No Good News

I hate writing these updates, especially since it is all going downhill for me. But I cannot stop writing, and I cannot stop this blog, as much as I would like to crawl into bed and never come out. I am compelled to record for Hazel the first year of her life, in all its detail. This is something that is going to effect her forever, and will shape her life and personality. I want her to know where it all started. And that it all started on September 11, 2008. And that the first six months of her life were lived in blissful ignorance and all-consuming love. I know she won't remember that, but Hazel, if you are reading this sometime in the far future looking for some kind of insight into me or you or us, know that the first six months of your life were filled with snuggles, naps, giggles, tickles, games, dancing, singing, friends and family. The only thing I ever want for you is for that to continue. Most of it will, certainly you will remain the most loved child there ever was, but things will probably change from here on out. You wont be aware of it though, and whether its a blessing or not I don't know. All I know is that from your perspective, in your memory, you will always have been someone who's mother has multiple sclerosis. But know that you weren't.

'Cause Babies Don't Keep

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958

Someone was kind enough to share this poem with me after I made this post here. I was just remembering it as I put Hazel down for her nap this morning. Here I am, downstairs, waiting eagerly for her to wake up again so we can go on with our play together. I know that I say it all the time, but it' still never enough: I don't know that I could ever communicate to Hazel how deeply in love with her I am. The thoughts that come in the worst moments, that something could happen to either her or I that would prevent us from living out our days with one another is nauseating, hyperventilating. I remember crying over her little sleeping body the week we brought her home because I realized that the best case scenario is that I will never see her whole life, that I will never get to see Hazel as a little old lady, with her grandchildren, feeding the birds at the park. I just cried and cried because I won't ever see all of Hazel's footsteps on this planet. And if I do, that's even more tragic.

Another time I became inconsolable because I realized that from the moment I pushed her little body out into the air, all of her energy was going to be directed towards separating from me. She already is arching her back and pushing away from me so she can get down on the floor and explore. I clearly remember the last time that she fell asleep on me and we napped with each other, skin to skin. Can you hear my heart breaking? But I so love watching her learn and explore. Nothing gives me greater pleasure that to see her grow into herself. So I let her go, and just force my cuddles on her another time.

I just love seeing the kiddo she is becoming; so different from me, but still familiar. She is probably the most persistent person I know, and so determined. She works so hard, never giving up, to get what she wants. She is precise, too. Always on time, and rigidly scheduled. When I listen to her and satisfy her needs, I am rewarded with the most delightful company! She is funny, spunky, charming and precocious. She smiles at everyone, reaches out towards everything new and different. Hazel is very novelty-seeking and high-sensation seeking. I can tell she is going to be so intelligent with this sort of intense curiosity. She is bored of a new toy within twenty minutes and simply must have something new to figure out. She is adventurous, never afraid of a strange situation and always seeking new people and places. She plays hard, kicking an punching and laughing herself into a lather, and she sleeps like a champ when its all over. I so admire her tenacity and silliness. Her curiosity and physical strength. Her determination and sweetness. And her ability to know when she needs to rest her body and mind. She amazes me. I hope that when she reads this years from now she understands how much I appreciate her as her own person. I also hope that she knows not just how much I like being a mother, but how much I love being her mother. I feel truly honored to be the mother of such a wonderful person, and I'm so lucky that she chose me to settle down with.

Hap Birth

Today is Hazel's half-birthday! I can't stand how big my heart is for her! I've loved the past six months so much, she has been such an incredible baby, and I'm going to miss that little baby so much. I am so excited to watch her grow, though and I'm swelling with pride watching her learn and change every day. It's almost scary how much she changes in such a short period of time; every day is something new. I feel so lucky that I have been able to stay home with her and see every little thing because I just drink her up. She has been so much more than I ever could have asked for, more than I ever hoped for. I'm the luckiest mama in the world, and I just can't wait for tomorrow to shower her little self with more love and kisses.

Sometimes I can't get my lips off of her, and I fear that one of these days I will swallow her whole! I feel like my mom-friends and I could sit around all afternoon talking about how delicious and yummy our babies are, and how we want to eat them up! I just look at her thighs and I swoon! I catch a whiff of her and I cant resist it. I actually gave her a hickey the other day. She was standing up in my lap and I looked at that little spot just behind and below her earlobe and I had to have it! I went for it and was giving her loud, sloppy kisses and she was laughing and cracking up, egging me on and I loved it, the sound of her laugh is intoxicating, and I'm besotted! Unfortunately for Hazel, when I came up for air, she had a big old hickey right on her neck. Oops. I cannot be expected to restrain myself though. She is too perfect. Oh, how I'm going to miss these days! I know that I'm going to look back on this time in our life as the most euphoric, and I'm trying to drink it all in but it happens so fast. Hazel, I know you won't remember this time, but let me assure you that I love you with every cell, every thought, every breath and I could just lay in the grass and look at the leaves with you forever.

So, the rain has finally stopped. Everything in the woods has grown to ten times its normal size. The lawns are greener than they have ever been. It has rained for two months. Finally we got some good beach weather, so my little family headed down to the water for dinner and the sunset the toher night. We decided to try Hazel in the water again, since the first time we tried it, things did not go over so well. She hated it before. She touched her toes in the smallest bit of ocean, her eyes bugged out of her head, and her little feet and legs sucked up into her pants so fast before the screams started. We went a bit slower this time, and since Hazel is so much older and wiser now, she handled herself much better.

Considering...

She loves to run her fingers through fringe.

Starting out with feet in wet sand.

Considering...

Closer...

Here it comes!

Not as bad as we expected.

Considering...

If I'm not getting the stink-eye from my daughter, I'm getting it from my husband.

I love the way she is looking at him...

Love.

Who's Boobs are These?

Finally National Breastfeeding Week is over and the judgement-fest can end. It's a topic that I have not blogged about because frankly, it isn't any ones business and to be honest, I still have a lot of negative feelings about how things turned out for Hazel and I. I thought that breastfeeding would be the most natural thing in the world. I was so looking forward to having that experience, and I felt so much support from my friends and from Jamie. My plan was to nurse Hazel for at least a year, hopefully two. I had heard that nursing can be difficult, but in a very vague way, so I had prepared by buying a couple of books. I had my breastfeeding chair all set up with the pump and the Lasinoh and a big bottle of water. I was psyched.

After giving birth, I nursed Hazel in the delivery room, our cord still attached to one another. It didn't go well, but that is to be expected and I didn't let it get me down. In my 48 hours on the maternity floor, I met with the Lactation Consultant four times; Hazel wouldn't open her mouth wide enough, it was hurting me, I was getting a blister, it hurt it hurt it hurt. Hazel's latch was terrible, and she wasn't getting anything from me, falling asleep, not swallowing. The LC trained me in how to use the SNS (supplemental feeder), a terrible contraption that would allow Hazel to breastfeed, but would be getting formula. I also had to use a nipple shield because of the pain involved. I thought things would even out soon enough. I made a follow up appointment to come back and meet with the LC's two days after discharge.

By the time I came back in to see her, Hazel was very jaundiced and we had to push fluids. I would nurse Hazel with the SNS and shield for 40 minutes (20 each side), bottle feed her the rest to help her metabolize the bilirubin, pump for 20 minutes, wash out the SNS, ice my boobs with the gel packs, and start the whole cycle over again. The most I ever got pumping was some condensation in the shields. I never got engorged, never leaked, never had anything...my milk never came in. I ended up on a regimen of fenugreek, Mother's Milk tea, massage, acupuncture, acupressure, chiropractic medicine, pumping like a mad woman, and relaxation. All while using the horrible SNS and meeting with the LC's. I kept this up for 17 days, sometimes without leaving the second floor of my house. Jamie brought me healthy meals and water. He took care of all of Hazel's other needs. I was getting depressed, crying all the time, sleep deprived, miserable, feeling like the worst failure. I knew things were getting really bad when I decided that I was never meant to be a mother; I was unable to get pregnant on my own and now I had to artificially feed my artificially conceived baby. When it was time for Jamie to go back to work, I knew that I couldn't keep it up all by myself. I had zero support from my family. No one came to help us when Hazel came home. I knew that after 17 days, the chances of my milk coming in were slim to none. I cried and cried. I didn't even own any bottles or formula. None of my books that I had bought for support told me what to do. They didn't even mention that this could even be a possibility. I was so angry. My OB offered me this drug called Reglan which can cause lactation, but a primary side effect was paralyzing depression. I think that was the last thing that I needed.

When I stopped nursing, and my breasts started to heal, I mourned. I was so sad, and I still am. I hate that I never had the chance to experience nursing Hazel, but part of me felt overwhelming relief. Trying to breastfeed was emotional torture for me, and I knew that I was about to enter a very dark place of shame and self-blame that is almost impossible to get out of. I was yanked back from that at the last possible second, but the feeling remains with me.

When Hazel was two weeks old, I started going to a mothers group at the hospital where she was born. Though the group was facilitated by a Lactation Consultant, and many women had breastfeeding questions, it was not a Breastfeeding Group. A couple of times, women new to the group would try to engage me in some trash talking about women who formula feed, but for the most part, I felt very comfortable. The women that I associate with from the group are amazing and supportive and non-judgemental. I would still feel a pang of shame mixing a bottle of formula in public though, and sometimes I did get "looks", especially when Hazel was very young. People would act shocked when they discovered that I was not breastfeeding, and I found myself explaining my situation a lot.

However, these are some of the gems that I have received from strangers: "You and all your formula feeding friends are ruining everything!" "I hope that your formula fed baby gets cancer and dies!" and my favorite, "Your formula fed baby is going to be serving fries to my breastfed baby!" Really? You're going to let your little genius eat fries? Methinks that they will be cancelling out some of those breast milk IQ points you're banking on.

Obviously I know that the people who say these things are horrible and nasty and stupid. I know that my brilliant, perfect daughter kicks a lot of ass just as she is. For centuries women have done whatever they needed to do to keep their babies alive. Parenting decisions are personal, and not for public comment. The loud and extreme minority feed off of this sort of self-righteous judgement that they feel is their right to broadcast without pause to the rest of us, who frankly just don't care what they have to say about our boobs. I and other mothers who have had a hard time breastfeeding due to a legion of possible variables gone wrong, are tired of defending our decision to keep our babies alive by whatever means necessary.

The promotion of breastfeeding, especially in certain socioeconomic and cultural centers is important. There is no question that Breast is Best when All Other Things Are Equal, but the promotion of breastfeeding over and above the support of other mothers in one of the most difficult parts of motherhood is not something that I support for a moment. If my daughter chooses to have children, I will do everything in my power to support her through that horrible first month postpartum, even if it means running out for a can of formula when her nipples are cracked, bleeding and burning from yeast and her baby is screaming bloody murder.

If you nurse your children, then way to go, mama. If you weren't able to nurse your children, then I feel you, girlfriend. And if you chose to not breastfeed for personal reasons, then I get it, sister. Either way, you're a warrior.

Queue the abusive comments........NOW.

Baby Haikus

prunes can be sticky
so can my hungry baby
keep them in your mouth

a lot of spit up
the dogs like to fight for it
im going to barf

splash splash in the bath
i will scrub the neck folds clean
make her butt a rose