The Big Deep

I need to sleep but I can’t. Sometimes, the end of a day is a sad thing, like the end of a book that is so good you just don’t want it to end, what will the end of life be? Like when I finished the Harry Potter’s? Or now that I’m waiting feverishly for Breaking Dawn and coming to the realization that Bella is got to become a vampire in one of these books for sure. But anyway, seriously, will it be like that just like when a story ends and there is a slightly stilling moment and then nothing? Or is there always something more? I hope so. I believe so, but with this little tiny bit running around who is so damn fragile I realize how scary life can be. Suddenly finding all the answers is important. It's not just about me anymore.
Have you heard the song "In the Deep" by Bird York? It starts of like this:

Thought you had all the answers to rest your heart upon. But something happens, don't see it coming, now you can't stop yourself. Now you're out there swimming... In the deep.

Have you you been out there? I've been out there a few times. There's this image from A Perfect Storm that haunts me, it's the last one (stop if you haven't seen it and don't want to the end ruined) where Mark Whalburg is floating in the big blue ocean. He's all alone. He's surrounded by miles of ocean, angry storm ocean at that, and he looks around at nothing but empty sea. He's dead. There is no hope. He made it out of the boat just to die in the water, alone. But he gives this little soliloquy to his wife, telling her he loves her. That love is what it is all about. In the movie his wife is looking out of window and she pauses, like she got the message, like her words carried on the wind. Foolishness you say? I don’t know. I swear when a good friend of mine was killed in a car wreck I knew the moment she was hit, for my heart stopped and my soul whispered her name to me.
There are moments like that, when you awake, and what on earth do you do then? That image, of floating out in the Deep has stuck with me. I was in Mexico trying to learn how to serve people but caught up in a whirlwind of worry about approaching my mid-twenties and still single. We had a bit of time to ourselves so I swam out into the ocean, as far as I comfortably could go. I faced out into the endless ocean and, as kooky as this might sound, I felt like God spoke to me. He told me, simply, to stop worrying about a husband, that he had one for me, and everything would be alright. He was right on that front and had I not been able to focus on my career to get it started than we would not have been able to keep him home with our daughter these first two years- something important to both of us- and I wouldn’t have found my soul mate had I demanded just any ol’ man back then.

Life keeps tumbling your heart in circles till you... Let go. Till you shed your pride, and you climb to heaven, and you throw yourself off. Now you're out there spinning... In the deep

See. That’s just it. It’s like we are laundry and we’re in the spin cycle and it hurts like hell, but oh how clean and warm and soft we’ll be. And Marky Mark was right, love is what it’s all about. It’s worth swimming up to the top, declaring to your one with your last breath just how much they mean to you. Why don’t we do that now?

In the silence,all your secrets, willraise their worried heads Well, you can pin yourself back together, to who you thought you were.Now you're out there livin'... In the deep.

Check out this video, this is an amazing song. I wish I knew how to just put up a video on my blog, sorry, but click here: In the deep.

Hello from afar

Hello. This is Court’s blog. She has been extremely impersonal and scheduled this. She is recovering from two Thanksgivings. There is a reason there is only one. A person's gut just can't take two. Did you know you can schedule blogs? You can. She loves it. She was able to go to a retreat and still keep her blog up, how fabulous is that? Is it cheating? She wonders. Thinks it just might be. Like say if you participated in NanoWrimo (she tried, gave up this year, may just try Nablapomo next year w/Bobeesah) but instead of actually writing you stole an old project and just entered that instead. She digresses. Scheduling things, ah yes. Did you know you can schedule human life entering this world? No, she is not talking about date night, though she quite obviously needs a date night as she is writing about herself in the third person (are you reading it to yourself in a creepy computer voice, like the one from Wargames? She hopes so, so she is not alone in this dorkiness) No she is talking about when they finally decide to have child #2 as she is not crazy enough to have a VBAC and so she will schedule her child’s birth. How fabulous is that? I mean Birth, on your day planner. This is a wonderful world we live in friend. And by the way if you don’t know what VBAC is than good for you. Stay here this is a place for mediocrity and where you will be well loved, she promises. And today is the G-day in her household. As in her hubby is taking the dreaded GRE. As well as Christmas decorating day. And you know how seriously she takes that. So maybe there will be another creepy computer post... Won't that freak you out? Until next time.

Contest for FREE baby stuff (easy)

Baby Luxe ( a fabulous site by the way) is having a Holiday contest which is extremely simple and they are giving away 20 awesome gifts: Leapfrog Didj, double stroller, a high chair and more bags, shoes and gifts for baby and mom. The sites the gifts are on are so awesome too and you totally could get started on Christmas shopping if you haven't already finished. If you have finished please don't come back to my site. No just kidding, but us lazy people are so in love with the internet when it comes to shopping. To enter the contest all you have to do is sign up for their daily newsletter and then comment back to them about the three gifts you want. The hardest part is choosing just three! Click here to go to contest.

Use Words

We tell my daughter to ‘use words’ often. Perhaps too often. Maybe we are expecting a dissertation on the isolation of the modern man from her? The thing is, she does use words, all the time, but we just don’t understand them. One day as she grew increasingly frustrated and started to squawk as she pointed at God only knows what we told her to use words. She looked up at me and proceeded to babble this insanely long sentence that sounded remarkably like English but wasn’t. It had the same ebb and flow of a conversation though, but the words were baby goop. My husband and I laughed, looked at each other and shrugged. I said that maybe next time we needed to specify: use English words so she would not just speak her native Kaiya. The thing is language is like learning anything else, you have to take it in steps. Some weeks she works on the vocab part, getting extra words added to her repertoire and other weeks she focuses on the syntax and will wander around the house rambling in babble language as she drags a Teddy behind her.
I suppose life is the same way. So I shouldn't berate myself for not having this parenting thing down yet, and neither should you. We'll get there. Until then we will babble and stumble our way through it.

Most meaningful gift

Thanksgiving? Smanksgiving! If you haven’t guessed already Christmas is my favorite holiday. I promise the ridiculousness will stop afterwards. Until then, you have to bear with it sister. I was reading about this one husband’s gift to his wife and got all weepy. He’s putting together a book of encouraging letters for his wife on a blog called The Mother Letter Project. (If my husband is reading this he’s probably thinking crap, why did that guy have to ruin it for the rest of us?) I encourage you to go to the site and check it out and submit a letter. I mean how cool is it to get to be a part of something so special for a struggling comrade? Here is what the sweet dad says about it:

Christmas day of 2007 came and went. It was the typical American Christmas—gizmos, gadgets, whatnots, and an oversized helping of turkey. Two days and a transatlantic flight later I was standing in a small other-continental village regretfully pondering my extra helping of Christmas turkey and materialism. I decided that things would be different in 2008.
This year, my wife and our extended families have decided to give a Christmas present to that little village. We want to spread our wealth, meager as it may be. We have decided to create presents for each other and donate the difference to our friends in the village. And here is where you come in.
I am creating my wife’s Christmas present-the Mother Letter Project. Simply stated, I am collecting a series of “open letters” from mothers, to mothers. Share your stories—no matter how raw or difficult. Share you concerns—no matter how foolish they may seem. Share your wisdom—no matter how you came by it. Share your mother story. The only request? Start the letter “Dear Mother” and sign it. I will compile all of the letters in a Christmas book for my wife. If you share a letter here or by email (motherletter@gmail.com) before Christmas, you'll get your own copy of the letters.

Good stuff, huh? This got me thinking about another special gift I got. My college roommate gave me a special gift our last Christmas together. All year long when she and our other roommate would do something cute I kept saying: I want to make an ornament out of you. (No idea why, but I was twenty and at the peek of my weirdness) so when she left town she had bought a little tiny Christmas tree with picture ornaments of each of them, me and some of my family. I was so touched at how thoughtful it was.
Not to toot my own horn (of course isn’t that what a blog is?) but one day when my hubby had a bad day at work and made an off-hand comment about wanting to go to the beach I got the bright idea to make him one. I went to Wally world and got a kiddie pool, a bunch of sand, some blue construction paper and went to town on my porch (my poor neighbors below me, I bet they’re glad we moved) so when he got home and went out on our patio there was a little tiny beach just for him. If you use this idea I would say get a bigger pool if you um, plan on intimacy, ahem. Anyway.
So what was the best gift you ever got? Or gave? If you come up with a really good one I may just add it to my list on the side.. Feeling negative, check out this post on Keeper of the Cheerios and comment on the worst gift your hubby ever gave you. (the post is not all negative, I learned a ton about forgiveness, so check it out anyway.)

La, La, La, La, Love!

So on Allisan Says blog some sort of alphabet chain about ten things you love is going around. I'm not sure if I'm ruining the chain by not passing it on or not but I got the letter "L" so here are my ten l, lovely things...

Love, of course. Seriously though, it is the best thing. It’s like our fuel. We were made for this. Without it we wither. With some of it we just want more. With more and more we just fill up and then are able to give to others as we should.


Litter, as in the one my kitty will have. Though I do worry she is too small and young, after all she is just a teenager in cat years. We feel bad for not having the ‘talk’ with her before she got knocked up.

Lights, most specifically Christmas lights. Even more specifically I really love the little lighted balls. Oh how I want to get one some day.

Lasagna, extra cheesy pleasy. No icky meat.

Lazy, oh how I love to just lounge around and do absolutely nothing. Darn I could have used L for lounge too.

Laying in bed with my hubby and baby.


Liquor, preferably something mixed with chocolate that tastes very yummy and gets me very tipsy.

Lemons, especially when I was pregnant. Oh my gosh did I throw up my socks all the time or what and they said this would help and guess what? It did a little. It’s a calming scent.

Leaders- and I stress good ones, because there is something so comforting in being led and being led well and by someone you can trust.

Ladybugs, because come on they are adorable. And black and red is such a fashion statement.

Shooting Stars

"I am not going to die, I'm going home like a shooting star."

- Sojourner Truth,
former slave, women’s rights activist, abolitionist, and great orator who passed away on this day in 1883


So I love shooting stars. I tend to think when they happen that in fact it is just for me. Like a flower God picks for me or something. At least now my self-centeredness does occasionally revolve around another person. When I saw this quote, before it actually sank in the depth and pain of it, my first thought was: Oh, how sad, Kaiya hasn't seen a shooting star yet. Someday she will. And I will tell her that God made that just for her. Because he did.

Oh Christmas tree

-I’m thinking about putting the tree up on Wednesday.
-No! Not before Thanksgiving
-(Pout) But I have to work after Thanksgiving and I’m off this whole week, this is the best time.
-Fine, I guess.
-And you have to help this year, after all with my foot hurt I can’t do it on my own.
-Fine.
-At least get the tree out for me.
-But I don’t know where it is.
-In the garage.
-Like I said, I don’t know where it is.

The ‘C’ in C-section stands for ‘Cross’

I've been thinking about preggos lately. Maybe it's because I just watched Rendition (fabulous by the way) and good 'ol Reese was such an adorable preggo. Or that preggo's have been all around me lately. So I'm living vicariously through them. No plans mind you. One is more than enough for us right now. But here is one thing I would really like to tell any preggo's out there (I know, you probably have not gotten ANY advice, right? but bear with me on this.) No one told me that when you have a c-section they strap you to a table with your arms out at your side like Jesus. This was slightly disconcerting and something I wasn’t altogether prepared for.
Ok, ok, I should have been prepared for it. I was one of those people that started off with a bang, reading ahead several months in the What to Expect when Expecting book and researching online this, that and the other. Then I fizzled out. My husband kept at it, reading ahead like a dork. At our ob appointments he would eagerly raise his hands and answer her questions while I sat there muttering darkly about it being his fault and glaring at him. Truth was I was terrified. I couldn’t get past the mind-boggling idea that a six to eight pound human was going to force its way out of my vagina, probably shredding it in the process. I retreated into a world of cookies and pickles.
When I came to the chapters on c-sections I skimmed them, smirking to myself that I was not going to be one of those women. By those women I meant selfish people who planned the c-section in the day-planner because they wanted to be in control. Where in the world I got that idea from beats the heck out of me. Ironically my own sister had two c-sections and I myself was brought forth into this world by way of Cesarean.
They were “exceptions” though, at least in my mind. For one thing, I’m a twin, so I figured that most twin births probably are C-sections. And my sister, well she’s about as big around as a bean pole and her hips were not wide enough. (Now, this should have been a clue, seeing as how I was thinner than her before I was pregnant but I think I figured if I ate enough cookies and pickles I would gain the girth I needed to heave-ho natural style.) And the heaving was the part I meant when I say natural, I sure as heck didn’t intend to try this without being seriously doped up. If I had had my way the Epiderul would have been started in the parking-lot. However after having contractions all day and then Mr. Epideral, as I was fondly calling him at the time, quit working the doctors informed me that baby girl was still way out in the outfield when she needed to be rounding third base. And before they even said the c word I started hyperventilating.
The thing is I never thought of myself as one of the crusaders. By crusaders I mean women who are determined to do it all themselves, no drugs, all natural with some yoga thrown in, and then breast feed the kid till he’s ten. Still there was something intrinsically saddening upon hearing the words “Blah blah blah C-SECTION blah blah blah.” This sense of somehow failing as a woman. My boss had just had one and remarked how much easier it was than her first birth. But see that’s just the thing, she was already in the club, and I was still submitting my application. Almost immediately my sister’s response came to mind. I remembered her telling me how disappointed she was when she heard she had to have one. My response to her was: what choice did you have? Then I politely reminded her that had she been born a hundred years ago she would probably have been dead. And this is what I clung too. That I wasn’t less of a woman for having to have a c-section, if anything I was a lucky woman for living in an age when I could have one instead of facing a probably very painful death or the loss of my newborn, or both.
A few months later when my friend was getting ready to have her baby I had told her a little about my experience. Sure enough, she too was having problems during labor and had to have one as well. When she thanked me for sharing and said it did help ease some of her fears I had this sense of connectedness with her in that our experience is not lessened because we lay drugged on the table while the doctors lifted our children out of us instead of us grunting and heaving the child out. And if we’re measuring based off of pain c-sections hurt like hell afterwards so Ha! We Win! (No, it’s not a competition, yes, I’ve learned my lesson.)

Two Days

I wasn’t prepared to miss my daughter so much when I went away on a women’s retreat this weekend. And while I sooo needed the chocolate hour, massage and plenty of girly time my heart was broken by her sad face when I left. All day long I had tried to explain it to her, but of course since she’s not even two yet this was like trying to catch water with open hands. She understood though, as soon as I sat perched in my friend’s van and I started to hand her back to daddy. The look that followed this new understanding was one of utter abandonment. “You. Don’t. leave. Me. Ever.” She’s right. I don’t.
The worst part was that all week long I meant to pump some milk for her but never got the chance to. And now that I’ve come out of the closet on this issue, yes I still breast-feed my daughter. I am shooting for two years and I seriously am hoping I won’t be one of those parents who nurses their kid till their like twelve. It is the one thing I can give her though and our special time. Plus I’m fairly certain Desert Storm 3 will start if I try to stop. All this to say that I am not the queen of breast feeding and deserve no reward for doing it so long I just have no spine when it comes to telling my daughter no. And I want some form of control. After all he gets to stay home with her and make all the rules, but he lacks boobs so Ha!
Back to missing my daughter. I had no idea I would miss her so deeply. That it would actually hurt. Here is the thing that gets me though, why do I forsake moments with her when I have them? Even now, I am so insanely frustrated with her because she has taken the wiggling while in mommy’s lap during nursing time to a ridiculous new level, all the while dragging my poor abused nipple around as it is firmly locked between her razor sharp teeth, and it is all I can do to not fuss at her about every annoying thing she is doing today, like pooping a second time after I finish changing the diaper. Seriously. Enough already child, mommy doesn’t have enough pain killer to hobble over to the changing station a thousand times today. I think I am experiencing the jarring sensation of being back in the real world, coupled with pain from my ankle and the terrorizing of a tenacious two year old.
It usually works this way for me, that when I have the thing (or person) I want most in the world I end up pushing it away or not appreciating it. Not until it/or him/her/ is gone do I realize, wow. I miss ____. How do I find what I have, when I have it, and appreciate it in a realistic way? If you have an answer I’m all ears. I’d also like to know if this leaving my child for some much needed mommy time will ever get easier. And while I’m exploring these questions it’d be nice to figure out how to not be so frustrated when returning from land of nourishment to land of messy living room filled with one very tiny loud person. Oh to go back to the land of truffles where happy people are playing fun games with dice and dancing. But see, even when she’s cantankerous all day long like today I’d still rather be dancing with her, my daughter.

Some blogkeeping notes and a word about gas.

#1 I have been informed by the people at Momdot.com that my post is listed there finally. Yippee. It's under http://www.momdot.com/ click on momblogs and i'm under #7. Right next to Last Shred of Sanity, how fun is that?
#2 I've done away with word verification on comments. Please don't spam me. I did it for all of our eyes. I swear I would go blind if I had to keep typing that in each time. Let's all band together and get rid of that, shall we?
#3 Stay tuned from our sponsor for a very important word on gas:
Gas
I have such wretched gas right now it’s like a bunch of overweight, unwanted raucous family members have moved into my gut and won’t leave. But instead of spreading out their suitcases they have pulled in furniture from neighborhood dumpsters and are setting up shop. Ick. And just when I think surely there simply can’t be any more, I mean, how big could my bowels be? It just continues on and on.

I warned you. It was in the title.

My full lap

It’s five in the morning. My daughter is perched looking at the screen, probably hoping I’ll start playing with the Pokey dog. Poor kid, only dog she has is a computer one. And now she’s laughing at the screen, I’m not sure why. It’s just the Microsoft Word Processor page. I see it so much all day long it makes me cry. Not Kaiya, boy that screen is funny. It’s her dorky laugh, one that is more of a guffaw than anything. Also on my lap is my big black kitty. Who occasionally stretches out a claw to swat at Kaiya. I think to claim more space on my lap. He only succeeds in sticking my thigh with his sharp little claws. And then sitting on my hip is our new kitten, whom the toddler occasionally reaches over to pet. And on top of all of this I have to pee.

I would push over a nun.

I am a competitive person. To a scary degree. There is this sweet, adorable person in my life who is the best friend a person could ever have (Bo Bee Sah). She got in her car and searched the city for me when she knew I had a bad day once. Even though she moved to California years ago we are still best buds because she just such a gosh darn cool person and the vision of us as eighty something miscreants flirting with boys and pulling our replaced hips together in the same nursing home fills me with happiness. (But Kaiya, dangit, if you read this someday and you put me in a nursing home I will so whoop your behind when I get to heaven and get my new hips again.) Yet when she posted that her baby had already learned the sign for please I immediately was jealous. I had been working on that one with Kaiya for weeks and her kid is like eight months younger than mine! Oh no, that is so not gonna happen. Not to mention that he is a BOY. My daughter will not be beaten by a boy. So I was out in the back-yard frantically teaching her the sign over and over. Kaiya looked at me, rolled her eyes (ok, almost), and then made the sign. It’s almost like I’m parenting a two-foot tall teenager. Still, sign learned and thus mission accomplished. I was elated.
Did I stop there? Of course not. While I didn’t gloat on her site, I did have the gall to send her an email. But here is why I love her for this was her response: “Oh, and I am so with you on the comparing/competitive nature of Mommyhood. There was this kid in my Mommy Group who started laughing out loud at, I swear, like 3 months. And he was born 3 months after D. So there was D...who might smile every now and again, and would laugh quietly, so I spent a few weeks there positively going crazy trying to get him to laugh out loud. I did it, too. So TAKE THAT (Poor victim child’s name) Ahem.”
This is the same person who almost got me kicked out of a church for laughing during communion. I believe she said something to the effect of: Jesus is crunchy. I might have said: and he’s stuck in my teeth.

Clumsy people are good on crutches

No seriously, we are. It’s because we have so much practice on them. As I was whizzing down the hallway to yet another doctor’s appointment the technician put up his hands like a traffic cop and even said a couple of ‘whoas‘. In case you are wondering if you missed the post about why I’m on crutches, don’t worry, you didn’t. There wasn’t one because the story is neither sexy nor cool nor cute. Ok so none of my posts are sexy but that is only because I’m worried my computer would like block it or something and as I am so not computer literate and would not be able to get to my beloved blog. Anyway, I digress..
I crutch well and I’m proud of that because I don’t walk well (obviously.) Lately even baby has taken to the crutches. She would pull on my finger, indicating to me that she wanted to go play and I would point to my hurt foot and say “foot.” She bought that for a whole minute then she turned, found my crutches, and brought them to me. As if to say, come on mama, you ain’t gettin’ off easy, that‘s what these horrid things (horrid=not a toy for me) are for. Thanks kiddo. Now if I could just teach her to bring me a Dr. Pepper and rub my feet.
So when Doc #58 (all I can say is dealing with Worker’s Comp has been so much fun) brought in Robo Foot for me I was a little dismayed that I wouldn’t need crutches anymore.
After all, I day dream about winning at Special Olympics for best Crutch Sprinter. (Dream big, that’s what I always say.) But then the nurse showed me how to blow it up and even gave me my very own blower upper thingamajig. And while my first thought was oh great another important, small thing I am doomed to lose, and my second was my cats will wreck it if my kid doesn’t first, my third was how cool is that?!? Then I put the sucker on and it actually was comfortable and did I mention you get to blow it up? But the very best part: now I really don’t have to shave my lower right leg.
Still, I miss my crutches. They lean looking at me with longing, kind of like the mop in that awful commercial where the mop send some lady flowers and what not. No idea what the commercial was for. I don’t miss having to lug them around because no matter where you put crutches they end up falling and usually just when you need to grab them again to get somewhere. Problem was solved in my house though, with my two-foot tall crutch picker-upper. And Crutch is my first nickname for my hubby. (The other nicknames, ahem, aren’t appropriate… don’t want to get locked out now do we?) Why, you ask? Because when we were first dating I had broken my other foot and on one of our first dates we were in a crowded room and he carried me to the couch. Someone said, oh look, how sweet, he’s her crutch. Or something to that affect. Needless to say, I’m sentimental about the word. But the Robo Foot is simply bad ass. And I get to make shooting noises at people when I point it at them. So, good-bye crutches. I’m sure I’ll be digging you out of the garage in another year or two. As long as Court’s in the world you can count on her to fall down.

Whisper Laugh

I taught her how to whisper the other day. It came in handy this morning when she was bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5:04am and kept bringing me books to read, toys to play with and juice bottles to open. All of this with whispered words between both of us, and I was quite impressed at how well she was doing remembering to whisper. Then she took it one step further as something, God only knows what, struck her as funny and she started to laugh. Even then she looked at me while she silently guffawed. I didn’t know it was possible to guffaw and still be silent, mostly silent at least- close enough for a two-year-old, but she did. Her shoulders scrunched up and eyes crinkled as silent waves of laughter rolled out from her. Of course I lost it and as my audible laughter filled the room she got this indigent look as she thrust her tiny finger to her mouth. Just exactly the same way I had been doing. She really is going to copy EVERYTHING I do, isn’t she?

Coolio Blogios

So these gals rock!

This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships!These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

1 Bo Bee Sah who happens to be my bestest friend in the whole wide word

2. My Crazy Life with a Toddler

3. Midwest Moms

4. In pursuit of fulfillment

5. Sippy cups and blackberries

6. A Bit Squirrlley

7. This Crazy Thing Called Motherhood

8. Faemom Penis stories? Anyone?

Guck

I remember reading on Dooce about her child saying her first wirty dord and sure enough mine learned it already. And not just any bad word mind you but the F bomb. Oh joy. What can you do? We tried to teach her to say duck instead. And since she has trouble with the ‘f’ sound it comes out guck for now. We are safe at least for a little while. Of course I had to go and blog about this so maybe not. Oh hi mom, cheers, no your granddaugther didn‘t just curse at you she is trying to tell you about her new favorite bird that swims!
We might have caught a break though, because when she would attempt her new favorite word (because it represents this fantasic sugary sticky thing) 'sucker' it comes out 'gucker' for some reason. So we ran with it. Yes baby, gucker, you can have all the guckers you want.

Really boring post on comments, but I need help!

OK, I'm trying to figure out this whole comment thing. I tried to change my page to make them more accessible and/or easier to see but it looks the same to me? Any bloggers out there on blogger who know how to make this easier? Thanks!

Wandering on her own

My daughter is cautious. Calculated. I don't think she gets that from me. I run head first into just about everything, especially mistakes, and usually several times. Probably she gets it from my husband. Of course when I'm grumpy this "cautiousness" is interpreted as "slowness" to me, making me grumpier. But my daughter, well she's still a toddler and cute enough to get away with it. After she finally started walking I realized now that she was mobile the dangers had increased exponentially and I encountered my other major parenting flaw: my incessant need for insatiable worry. My over active imagination has played and replayed hundreds of scenarios where some crazed psychopath snatches her before my eyes and takes off at lightening speed leaving me to imagine my baby being tortured and murdered. I sincerely hope my husband's genes override mine in this area, or at least that if she does turn out to be a worrier that it is drastically reduced. Like maybe that gene will get watered down with some of my husband's genes so that instead of thick sugary paste she'll end up with a glass of Kool-aid.
One day, while fighting every impulse I had to sprint to her side and then proceed to hover over her toddling steps, I watched her from about fifty whole feet away. This day was a huge break through for both of us in a sense because as I watched her toddle back and forth and gaze off into the distance at something I couldn't see (an angel? fairy princess? bee buzzing around?) I realized she is, in fact, real, and not just an extension of me. Yes, I am a horribly self-centered person. It’s a disease. Perhaps a child is the best cure for that though. Before I could live my life exactly as I wanted but then there was this tiny person who had no idea me existed. She only knew she existed and whee! She wants to run and with her freakishly large 90% head, and sadly my propensity for accidents, she so often bumps her head. Right now she has what looks like the state of Idaho smack in the middle of her forehead. Last week she ran into a tree. Not a small one mind you a gianormous one. I know there will be many more spills along the way and that like the nervous dad in Finding Nemo I can’t just lock her up to keep her safe cause then nothing good would happen to her either. More than anything I want my baby girl to have the fullest, happiest life possible, I just have to figure out how to do that safely. Thoughts, anyone?

UP!!

Up! She demands. It takes me a full minute to process that not only is she speaking English and not her native Kaiya but that she just demanded, from me, at 3 in the morning. A simple one word sentence, with the same tone as: Woman, where have you been? I’ve been crying for an hour! To which I want to reply: I KNOW. So have I. Quietly into my pillow, so that I don’t wake up your daddy because between his snoring and your crying I am so going to need a margarita come morning.

On Snails and Stuff

So I’ve been working on a project lately. It’s called the ‘I am not going to talk about my kid for a full five minutes’ project. Topics, anyone? How about snails. I hate stepping on them. I say this because in one day alone I stepped on like five. I don’t know why. It was weird. The sickening crunch though was quite unnerving. It was this weird bone-rattling sort of sound that you could feel in your teeth. Anyone? No. ok then. So my kid is just so darn cute I can’t help but write about her. And everyone gets squishy babies with big rosy cheeks. Squished snails with a crunch and I lose half my audience. Which would mean I’d have .5 people reading. And half a person is about as gross as a squished crunchy snail.

Holding on

Today she slept, well half slept and half drank, in my lap. I stroked her little head. The softness of her hair lulling me to a state of inner peace I have not felt in a while. Someone ought to bottle up baby and market it, they’d make a killing. She heals. She heals my soul, soothes me and restores me. Perhaps that’s a tall order for so little a one but she doesn’t even have to lift an eyelash to do it. Pretty darn effective if you ask me. I want to drink her all in, breathe in deeply and store it up for the rainy, dark and cold nights. But to rub her little head while she sleeps, and feel how fragile it is, how fleeting, is also scary. The soft spot sticks out and makes me worry that as small as it is it might have a giant target on it. Cause sometimes life seems cruel like that.

Maybe that is what scares me about Kaiya, is that I might need her too badly, too deeply and she’ll be taken from me. But simply being, simply sitting with her and stroking her head is all I have to do. It doesn’t have to be perfect, or maybe even make sense, it just has to be, I have to be, simply be for her. Be here for her.

I avoid things at times, scared to let in, scared to be too close, scared to hold too tightly to something that might be ripped from my little hands. What I would tell someone who is holding something too tightly isn’t to just let go, but to hold more lightly. If anything so your hand doesn’t cramp and so you can continue holding. That is what I need to do with my daughter, not hover over her every time she's running about for Heavens she will fall a thousand more times and bust her head again and again, but let her go freely. And the moments when she is still, to drink them in, to rest in them, to stroke her little head and just be. Just be.

Learning how to kiss.

I daydreamed that I would teach my daughter how to kiss. No, not in some creepy kind of way but as in I’m the cool hip mom. Hoping that we would have this semiotic, close relationship like on Gilmore Girls. Who knows? Maybe we will. Right now she still craps her pants several times a day so I’m working on that first.
Imagine my surprise when my baby girl turned the tables on me, and when she had only been here a month. She’s no procrastinator like her mommy. Her first kiss was something I did not even recognize as a kiss, but you see, that is where learning comes in. I had to learn, or relearn, what a kiss is. As she opened her mouth wide and put her lips to mine, still wide and not pursed together it was like she was going for in for a boob. Or maybe she was just too lazy to close her mouth, but you see that is how you should kiss. It’s all or nothing baby.

The Giggle Factor

To say my daughter's laughter is infectious does not do it justice. I don't even know that saying it has healing powers quite hits the mark either but it was the best I could come up with. Something about her full bellied, high pitched, almost a squeal laugh followed by a string of giggles purty as pearls fills my soul. I'll have to figure out a way to record it, so you can hear it. For now it is two o'darkaclock and I am hoping this is the ravaging thought that was keeping me from sleep.