Made Marian

On The Night You Were Born- Part 4

2011-06-28T22:02:00.003-04:00

Sweet Girl,

From the day you were born perfect strangers would stop me on the street, take a look at you, and then say (with a kind of faraway look in their eyes), "it goes so fast." At first, I was annoyed by the interruptions, even a little hostile to the idea that someone would tell me how I was going to experience my time with you.

Oh little one, they were right.

How could it possibly be that tomorrow we will wake up and celebrate your fourth birthday? A few minutes ago I was changing your diaper and trying to snap up your onesie. Now you dress and put your sandals on the wrong feet all by yourself. You have ideas about fashion and food that every so often collide with my notions about the same and you've become a savvy negotiator. You have big ideas, you make up stories, you don't want me to stick around at play dates. All this happened so fast it makes my head spin. But I've always like hanging out with four-year-olds; they were my favorite age to babysit back in the day. What good fortune that I now have a live-in four year old!

This hasn't been the easiest year for your momma. We left Atlanta in September and moved back to the place you were born. It was a really, really hard move for me as I mourned the distance we would live from Mata and so many of our friends in Atlanta. I cried nightly about the fact that you would be leaving Glenn School and Anna Kate and Sara Harper. About the only thing that kept me glued together some days was the fact that you seemed to roll with all the changes so well. Packing your toys didn't faze you, saying final goodbyes to friends was a genuine, but not overly emotional, affair and you were excited about the possibilities in our new home. Your sense of adventure and flexibility got me through some rough days. It sounds crazy to say that I watched and learned from you; but I think that's what happened. I tried to see the exciting possibilities through your eyes, I got giddy when the potential of new, lasting friendships sprung up in our path and I tried to live in the present, with you as my role model. So thank you, Marian, for helping me through a tough time. And in the face of all my worrying, I sit here tonight writing from Mata's house (you're downstairs sleeping in her bed), preparing to send you to Glenn School camp tomorrow and gearing up for your birthday party with Sara Harper and Anna Kate tomorrow evening.

Since this blog seems to have turned into a birthday blog (alas) it seems like I should offer a broad outline of the past year. To say that you've spent the last year becoming more of who you are sounds odd but it feels right. When I look back and think about the year from two to three I see constant movement and bold steps forward in development. This year feels like the softer, gentler version of the year before. This is the year you put finesse on your language skills, built subtle interpersonal skills and discovered the ability to sit and entertain yourself for long stretches of time. I love to sneak into a room, or hide around a corner, when you're playing by yourself and just listen the worlds you create and marvel at your command of language. You often sound so grown up that it makes my heart ache a little bit.

You're still an avid observer of the world around you careful about jumping into new situations and meeting new people. I've stopped thinking of you as shy or bashful. Instead, as the woman who rang us up at Trader Joe's said this week, "it just shows that you have good sense not to talk to every person you meet for the first time." It doesn't take long to win you over, but you do take some time to watch and observe before you engage. Good sense, indeed.

You are crazy about play dates. Last year I wrote that every morning you woke up and wanted to know what we were going to do. This year, you wake up and want to know who you will play with. I try not to take it personally that you would prefer I not be present for your play dates. You have new friends at school and outside of school that have enriched our lives. You have become especially good friends with Naeem, also a newcomer to DC and the son of my new friend, Tanory. Naeem doesn't play well with every kid his age, he's what many old southern women would refer to as "a handful." But you, Marian, bring out the best in him. His parent's relief at having a friend who plays so well with him is evident every time we get together. I love that you have the patience and the skill to navigate a friendship that would be frustrating to many other kids your age.

Tomorrow we will have a dress-up/ballerina/pizza party at Mata's house. That's if you stop throwing up. You were feeling fine today, chasing Joseph around the house at full speed, when you suddenly stopped and starting puking. Later, through runny eyes you said, "I don't want to be sick on my birthday." Oh lord, please don't be sick on your birthday. The minute it was evident you were sick tonight I felt this incredible protective instinct kick in. I wanted to protect you from all the ill, from all the yuck and, most of all, from the disappointment of having your birthday party at camp and at the house tomorrow called off. This kind of desperate feeling is not unlike some of the feelings I felt in those first few days after you were born. It's a scary thing to hold a little tiny being in your hands and realize that you can't protect them from every cold germ, every sad goodbye and every bump and bruise along the way. But if you're lucky enough you get a kid who says, as you did tonight, "I don't want to make other people sick." If you're lucky enough you get a kid who can pick up where she left off with old friends and make new friends with ease. If you're lucky enough, you have a kid just like you.

I love you, Marian. If there's any justice in the world, you'll wake up feeling fit as a fiddle and ready for a cupcake.

1:23 on the 4th

2010-10-03T22:29:00.003-04:00

Joseph, it doesn't appear that I'm going to be able to stay awake until you turn one. We have traveled a long way over the course of the past two days and I think the road weariness has caught up with all of us.

Tonight we are back in Atlanta, with the exception of Poppa who just got off a plane in Washington, D.C. This is the town of your birth so it does feel right to be back on Zimmer Drive where so much of the action took place. Earlier this evening, when I had you on my hip on a trip out to the van to find our sheets, I decided to retrace a few of my steps from this time one year ago. Your Poppa, sister, Peanut and I took one last good walk just before we decided it was time to head to the hospital. Tonight, I held you in my arms as I made that same short journey up the street. I sang a little song as we went along -- you do like music -- and briefly told you the story of your birth. I thanked you for making the trip so easy on me and told you how happy I was that you decided it was time to come out and see your momma's face.

Your birth still feels like a miracle to me. It seemed one minute I was wandering through labor thinking you might never come and the next minute, you were practically here. I say practically because I remember quite clearly thinking, as I was pushing, that there was just no way this (meaning YOU) were going to come out. Many studies show that women are able to remember details of the births of their children with the same amount of clarity no matter how many years have passed since the actual event. I hope that this is true; there are a few memories that I would want with me at the very end. The birth of you and your sister are the two that I would hold onto with dear life. I can remember the sensation of the warm water lapping against us as I held you against my chest, the sound of you voice (loud!) and the joyful surprise of finding you a boy. I was nearly certain you would be a girl.

One year has gone by at the speed of light. I said just tonight that it feels like you've always been here, or at the very least you've been around ten years or so. But the fact that you don't say many words (other than "ut-oh" which was your very first and still your most distinct word) and you're a little unsteady on your feet (but you are most certainly walking more than you are crawling) betray the fact that you've only been with us a short while. Still, it seems like I've known you longer than this.

You are such a happy little person, already you seem to find it easy to be entertained by a leaf on the floor, the sound of a spoon banging on a table or whatever it is Marian is doing at the moment. She makes you laugh like none other and the sound of two children laughing together has got to be one of the sweetest in the world. When she does something that makes you laugh I think my heart might explode. Your smile is impossible to turn away from and your eyes smile as often as your mouth. Sometimes, when you are nursing, I will tell you have stinky feet just to watch the corner of your eyes crinkle up in laughter. You think that's hilarious. Sometimes, I'm actually telling the truth.

I've almost made it to midnight. But it's time to turn in for the evening because we have celebrating ahead of us tomorrow, a continuation of today's four-generations birthday party. I love you beyond any ability to put it into words. I will continue to try, however, each time I pull you in close and kiss your neck. You are my sweet baby boy and this year has been a gift (and sometimes, I'll admit, a challenge). You are mine and I am yours forever and ever. Happy birth-day, thank you so much for finding your way to me.

On The Night You Were Born- Take 3

2010-06-29T23:07:00.001-04:00

I just arrived home from a childbirth class, hoping to wrap up my doula certification before my two-year deadline passes. It wasn't until I was pulling away from class tonight and caught a glimpse of lightening across the sky that I realized that I might have shared with all these anxious women where I was three years ago tonight. Funny, it was the streak across the sky that reminded me of sitting in a bathtub in D.C. watching a storm roll in and out as I waited for you to arrive.

The past year has been miraculous. I'm not sure what I expected from a two-year-old but I know I'm writing this tonight simply amazed by what you've turned into and how you've grown. Since I've done such a poor job at keeping this blog, I'll offer a few general observations about the past year and things I've learned from you.

You love to go. Nearly every morning when you wake up the first question you ask is, "Momma, where are we going today?" Of course, you have your favorite places, the park in particular, but you are happy to hear we're going anywhere. You love the grocery store (Trader Joe's is a true destination) and if we slip into Richard's Variety Store you nearly explode with excitement. I love that so many places can be of interest and that you are able to find the unique in the ordinary.

This past weekend we went on a hike in the Smoky Mountains with our friends Roy, Julie and their twin girls Riley and Frances (8.5 year olds). The hike wasn't terribly strenuous but it was hot and we made a short trip last a long time with continuous side trips off the trail into the mountain stream where moss covered rocks made easy paths from bank to bank. You had the stamina of a mountain goat and you were so eager to get in the water and climb the big rocks. I've mentioned before that you seem to take after your father when it comes to aversions to sticking to well marked paths. This trait does not seem to be fading away the older you get. I did tell Poppa that if you end up free diving or rock climbing without ropes, I will blame him entirely.

You have a way with words. There were times this past year when I couldn’t imagine that the words I heard coming out of your mouth were really yours. Like the time, several months ago when you were outside swinging from the magnolia tree and you looked at me and said, “that’s really unattractive.” It wasn’t really the words that surprised me but it was the pitch perfect delivery. The sponge metaphor is overused but it holds true; you soak in everything and find ways to use your newly minted vocabulary whenever possible.

One of the greatest developments recently is your love for make-believe. You’ve started naming things and using made-up words to describe things when you can’t easily think of the appropriate word. Your favorite names, at the moment, are Poinky, Sota, and Hader (sounds a little like Hater but you assured me the other day that your dog, Hader, was not grouchy). In an interesting twist, you’ve decided that Joseph’s name is Marshall. The genesis of this name is a complete mystery to me but you’ve stuck by it steadfastly. One day when we were playing make-believe and I told you that my name was Poinky and my little boy was named Marshall you dropped your jaw and exclaimed, “I have a brother named Marshall, too!”

You are a good friend. Our first parent-teacher conference was such a joy. I’m afraid that each child is allotted only a handful of perfect parent-teacher conferences and I would hate to have you peak too early. But for a first preschool conference, I couldn’t have asked for more. Your teachers said that you are the kid that most often engages other children in play; that if one of the children is having a tough day and finding it hard to plug in they will often tell him or her to find you and join in your activity. I have watched your friendships develop over the past year and I have been so impressed with your patience, your willingness to share and your compassion. I see other children gravitating to you and I watch the way you welcome them to play with you. Granted, you are a cautious observer yourself initially, but once the ice is broken you are a ton of fun to be around. We have been lucky to find such good friends for you. Then again, maybe you found them yourself.

Each day that I get to spend mothering you is a blessing—the very definition of grace. Sure, we have our moments. It turns out you have a bit of a stubborn streak and are willfully independent (secretly, I treasure these traits as well, even though I can’t afford to encourage them on a daily basis). But the feel of your hand in mine as we cross a street, your arms around my neck for a good night hug or your smile first thing in the morning are gifts beyond measure.

Happy Birthday, Marian. I love you to the moon and the stars (and, as you sometimes offer, “all the way up to the shower curtain”).

Laughing Matters

2010-02-15T13:40:00.004-05:00

Once again, I'm writing from the living room at Nona and Granddaddy's house. This does not bode well for the future of the blog since the last time we were here was six weeks ago and I'm not sure when we're scheduled to be back. I must learn to write from our house.

We are here for our third annual Mardi Gras trip and it's fun to watch you, Marian, figure out how to score loot. We went to the Pass Christian parade yesterday and you were not at all certain that it was going to be fun. But a few shiny neck bobbles and one stuffed bear handed to you directly from someone on a float, seemed to change your attitude. By the time we left, you were running back and forth from the curb by yourself and sitting comfortably atop your Poppa's shoulders waving your hands above your head and saying, "Throw me some beads, mister!" Joe, you fed and slept through the whole affair.

Marian, you are a devoted and loving older sister. Whatever we expected from you, jealousy or indifference, has not come to pass. Joe is who you reach for when you wake up and who you demand to kiss before going to bed. Joe-Boy, a name you've coined, is equally devoted to you; although he seems to know when you've hit manic territory and has perfected his "get me out of here, now, and I mean it!" scream.

It is fascinating and heart warming to watch your relationship develop. Yesterday, as we drove back from the parade and Joe was screaming at the top of his lungs, I asked you to sing to him. Within minutes he was happy, a wide grin stretched across his face, as you clapped and made funny faces. You seem to be able to turn his mood around better than anyone and every time it happens if feels like the world rights itself and peace settles in.

Joe, you laughed for the first time on your three month birthday. This is,to the day, the exact same time that Marian laughed. We didn't catch that first giggle on video but we did catch your first laughing fit and as that's what I've posted here. There are no words to describe what happens to parents when they hear that sweet sound for the first time. It's an explosion; literally, it feels like your chest might just burst open. And it feels like that the fifth, sixth and tenth time too. You laughter stops time.

Two babies has pushed me to the brink of sanity several times. In fact, your Poppa will tell you that on his first day back at work full-time in January I called him in tears. Every parent of more than one child has warned me that it's way more than two times the work. But it's also full of more than two times the wonder and joy. I am thankful, every minute, for this bounty.

Joseph's Journey

2009-12-24T16:38:00.008-05:00

I have no idea what to name this blog now. This has kept me from writing, although to be honest, it is more than my inability to name the blog that has kept me from updating. It feels like such a big job to introduce a new life, and I am intimidated by big jobs. Although I did birth you, and believe me, that was a big job.

Joseph, you joined us on October 4th, 2009 at 1:23am. You were born underwater with Margaret and Anjli (the midwives), Susannah (the doula), and your poppa in attendance. Your labor was a breeze but pushing you out I found to be downright uncomfortable. It turns out that pushing 9lbs. 14.5 ounces would make just about anyone uncomfortable. I did start writing your birth story just a few days after you were born and because I have yet to post Marian's birth story, I don't feel so bad about not finishing yours.

I began your sister's blog on the day that her umbilical cord fell off. It felt like such a holy little moment that I couldn't help but sit down and write. Sweet Joseph, your umbilical cord fell off in the bathroom of Jason's Deli as I was changing your diaper after a whirlwind trip to the Center for Puppetry Arts with Marian, Nona, Mata and Aunt Katie. I heard something hit the floor and almost didn't take the time to look down. But there it was, the last little piece of the cord that connected me to you, on the cold tile floor. I picked it up and carried it around in my diaper bag until just yesterday when Marian found it and said, "This is Joseph's?"

Things are different when you're the second child, as I'm sure you'll come to discover in your own time. There is a little less time for the kind of sitting around and staring at each other that induces wonder. You got hauled around to Glenn School, the grocery store, cultural attractions and the park (and that was just in the first four days) and rudely woken up from nearly every nap you managed to catch. I was worried about this at first, thinking that maybe we would not have the chance to bond in the same way that I did with Marian in her first few days on earth.

But then there were those moments in the middle of the night when you would wake me up with your squirming (you're already a much better sleeper than Marian ever was) with a smile spread across your face. You and I would steal away to the living room and curl up on the couch under a mound of blankets and just cuddle. You, nursing yourself to sleep, fit perfectly in the curve of my body and my chin resting on top of your head felt exactly right. The love would wash over me all at once with an intensity that is hard to describe.

Today is Christmas Eve and we are at Nona and Grandaddy's house in Mississippi. The house is gorgeous, there are already a zillion wrapped boxes under the tree and I'm writing this to the sounds of Marian and Nona decorating a gingerbread house. You are being passed from arm to arm, thrilled with the shiny lights, the patterns on pillowcases and fans whirring overhead.

I have been thinking, over the course of the past few weeks, that this would be a good night to write. Technically, you are named after Poppa Joe but I have always been a little partial to your biblical namesake as well. Afterall, some two thousand odd years ago, another Joseph was on quite a journey. The star of the show tonight is, of course, the baby Jesus, with Mary coming in as a strong second. Joseph, we hear, cleared a place in the stable but beyond that, his role is pretty secondary. But I like to imagine him as a man who was so confident in his love for Mary, so sure of his love for this small child, that he could live with the ambiguity and endless questions of the child's birth. Joseph, at least for me, has come to symbolize what it means to be a gentle and loving soul in a world that poses far more questions than it supplies answers.

Joseph, I hope that you will be able to live with ambiguity, that you will find people to love beyond all reason and you will find bringing people out of the cold, making them feel comfortable and safe, is a job worthy of what I am sure will be your immeasurable talents. But on this, your first Christmas Eve, it is your job to be a baby. The rest of us can stare contentedly into your blue eyes and remember the promise represented by the birth of a babe born in a manger. Peace on earth. You make it seem possible.

On Being an Only Child

2009-09-28T22:23:00.003-04:00

Sweetest Marian,

Things are going to change around here and before they do I feel this pressing need to write to you. It has been months, three to be exact, since I've written on your blog at all and not once over the past 9 months have I mentioned that you will be a big sister soon. But it's true, and it's imminent, and I thought it would be good to write one last time before we start sharing this space with another member of the family.

Today we went to the zoo one last time, just the two of us. Mata swears that the zoo is a good way to bring on labor but I'm really in no hurry to get this show on the road (I've got a bad case of allergies and I'm hoping to get that cleared up before embarking on any feat of athleticism i.e. birth). Really, I felt like going to the zoo with you today because it's something we've been doing together since you were itty-bitty and every time we go it's a totally different experience. I love watching you take it in, gauging the way your reactions change from visit to visit and the way your vocabulary has expanded to talk about what you see.

Today, the two of us sat on the benches overlooking the gorilla exhibit and ate apples and studied the movements of our now-familiar friends. I can so clearly remember sitting on that exact bench, breastfeeding you and watching those gorillas (although the baby gorillas were a lot smaller then too) and feeling so at one with the world. Today, I felt that feeling again and yet so much has changed. Instead of being curled at my breast you were sitting up straight by my side chomping on a whole apple and talking me through the movements of the gorillas from point A to point B. It struck me that we will have so many fewer of these moments in the coming years and this made me just a little sad.

For two years and three months you have been my only baby--the total focus of my daily attention and, together with your father, the center of my universe. The universe is expanding to include one more and I can only trust that there is some infinite wisdom that allows our hearts to expand in unison. There are many wise women in my circle that assure me that this happens without effort.

There will undoubtedly be times, especially in these first few months, when you feel that you've been somewhat displaced by this new, needy little being. So before he/she is even on the scene I want you to know how very much at the center you stand. I want you to know that love does not diminish because it is shared and that you will always, always be my sweet baby girl. Of course, I'm saying this because I believe it, and because it's just nice to be reminded that it's true.

Tonight you are an only child. There's no guarantee that will be true tomorrow night but what I do promise is that I will love just as fiercely tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. I love you, Marian.

On the Night You Were Born, Part 2

2009-06-28T21:41:00.002-04:00

This morning you woke early, it was still dark outside, and your Poppa scooped you out of your crib and brought you into bed with us. You fussed for a minute, kicked around the covers and then settled down between the two of us as we all sank into a deep sleep. I awoke, this time with sun streaming in the window, to feel you kissing the back of my shoulder and sweetly inquiring, "Mama 'wake now?" How could I not wake up with a smile on my face? How could this day, two years from the day that we labored together to bring you to this place, be anything but joyful?

It seems impossible that two years ago tonight I was sitting in a bathtub with you inside of me. Tonight you sat all by yourself in a bathtub telling me that you were pouring water on your turtles feet and you needed a washcloth to keep the soap out of your eyes. How did you manage to grow from a seven pound 12 ounce, squirming little newborn to a child who can express empathy, rage (I want snack, RIGHT NOW!), love and tenderness so quickly?

Tomorrow we will celebrate your second birthday with Nona and Grandaddy. But tonight I sit and marvel, in much the same way I did last year, at the passage of time and the beauty of it all. You were meant to be here; I was meant to be your momma and poppa was meant to be your poppa. And every day we learn together how to fill our place in each other's lives. I wake up every morning so thankful that I call you my sweet baby girl and you call me Momma.

The night you were born was the very beginning, a stunningly beautiful beginning, and every day that's passed since has been a journey of discovery. I can't wait to find out where you take me next. Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl. I love you.

All Who Wander Are Not Lost

2009-06-02T10:41:00.003-04:00

It's been a jam packed month and a half and the pace of life isn't slowing down anytime soon. I think you thrive on this.

We've noticed, over the past few months that you have no qualms at all about leaving our side and wandering away. Part of me likes this fierce streak of independence, the other part of me worries about your physical safety. The other night we were strolling the grounds of the Botanical Gardens with some friends and one of them commented on how comfortable you were being far, far away from us. Indeed, you had run down the walkway and behind a grove of trees without a single backwards glance. He made the observation that perhaps this was because we had spent so much time with you as an infant. Now, I don't know how much this guy knows about attachment theory parenting but I admit my heart swelled with pride. The whole idea of attachment parenting is that you spend a lot of time in very close contact (sleep sharing, baby wearing, holding infants constantly) so that they develop a very secure attachment at the base which allows them to explore with confidence later in life. You seem to be comfortable wandering about 16 years too early for my taste.

For the majority of the time I was writing this blog post you were sitting by my side working hard on getting the camera back in the camera case. A few seconds ago, you reached over and gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "bye, bye, see you later." You hopped off the couch with the camera case hung over your shoulder and turned around to say, "dinner." Which I assumes means we should expect to see you back for dinner. I wonder where your little wandering heart will take you today?

The pictures are from a recent trip to Alabama to visit Dot and Charles (Poppa's first cousin once-removed but we prefer to just call them kinfolk). They are pretty special folks to us and we had a good night and morning visiting at their house and wandering their property. You are amazed that Charles never wears shoes. The will be more blog posts in the next day or two detailing our recent trip to New England. Right now, we have some exploring to do. Perhaps at the new Piedmont Park swimming pool?

The Second Easter Miracle

2009-04-12T15:50:00.005-04:00

As far as I'm concerned, we can celebrate two miracles today. One, the victory of life over death. The second, you sat through one and a half hours of a high-church Episcopal service without so much as one outburst (except the charming kind--you yelled out "AMEN" just a few second after the rest of the congregation) or a kicking fit. There was one tense moment when it appeared that your stash of stickers had literally ascended into the heavens. We could not find them anywhere but the mystery was solved when the lady next to us stood up to sing the next hymn. They had been stuck under behind but I managed to gingerly slide them down the pew and into your waiting hands.

I don't know how or why church went so well for us today but maybe you, like your father, appreciate the smells and bells of the Episcopalian tradition. I kind of missed the off-key piano and the run-on sermon we've come to expect from Corntassle Presbyterian where our family usually doubles the size the congregation. Perhaps next year you'll have a chance to dazzle that gathering with your good manners and charming Easter dress.

And it appears you have the Easter egg thing figured out. Yesterday you went to your first hunt and your father reported back that while you were confused for the first minute or so, you soon caught the "fever" and were scooping up eggs as fast as you could put them in your basket. This morning you donned your egg-hunting tennis skirt and hit the backyard in search of our naturally-dyed free range eggs. It turn out natural dyes come out mostly in shades of brown. The camouflage did not deter you and you found all three eggs in under two minutes. The fact that there were not stickers hidden inside didn't disappoint you once you found they were perfectly edible.

It is a beautiful day. The sun is shining bright, the azaleas are gorgeous and you have made the day a true celebration of the infinite yes. Amen.

If we hadn't made it to church this morning, perhaps this is what we would have read in the backyard, surrounded by clucking chickens, barking dogs, pink azaleas and the little trillium your Poppa planted last weekend.

for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~ e.e. cummings

What's Wrong With Arranged Marriages?

2009-04-01T15:16:00.004-04:00

Nothing, that's what I say. Here are two great options: both come from good, solid stock and you would never have to worry about the families getting along during holiday dinners.

And you know, even if the whole forever-and-ever thing doesn't work out, you've made two very good friends. Here are some recent photos of play dates with both Gabriel and James.

I love the hand-holding here. Such sweetness.

Daddy's Baby

2009-03-17T15:07:00.003-04:00

It's nearly unanimous, everyone thinks you look like your Poppa. Sure, every once in a while someone tries really hard to come up with a similarity between you and me; the comparison usually seems strained. It's odd, people seem to think that it bothers me that you look totally and completely like your Poppa; it really doesn't. He's got great dimples, beautiful blue eyes, a perfect nose and a light-up-the-room smile. You'd do great to look like him (it turns out, there is already a female version of your Poppa--Aunt Christa-- and she's quite a looker).

What's been even more fun, these last few months, is watching the less physical similarities between you and your Poppa emerge. The other day we went to the nature preserve with Peanut to throw rocks in the stream (SPLASH!) one of your favorite pastimes. The nature preserve has wide, well maintained trails that I love walking along. You seemed to like the trails too, stopping every once in a while to pick up rocks and inspect them for their potential to make big splashes. At one point, however, I looked behind me just in time to watch you depart the trail and head straight up a steep bank into thick azalea bushes. You were not daunted by the grade or the hundreds of azalea branch tentacles determined to ensnare my intrepid little explorer. I asked several times whether you were stuck or needed help and each time I heard a defiant little "NO" from somewhere inside the thick brush. Finally, when I'd completely lost sight of you I headed up the hill and lured you out with a promise of a snack.

For as long as I've known your Poppa we've had this issue about "staying on the trail." He seems physically incapable of staying on a trail--no matter how I try to reason with him regarding erosion or safety. As often as not I watch him disappear into the trees as I plod along on the path most-traveled. When he reappears with a plant specimen to identify or some story of exotic wilderness glimpsed I'm always just a little sorry I didn't follow behind. It looks like he'll have an eager companion and I'll follow you anywhere. So here's to getting off the beaten path...I'm glad you're like your Poppa.

La-La, Haurpeur and Char-Char

2009-03-01T14:25:00.006-05:00

It's a real winter wonderland outside today and your reaction was mixed; from a distance the snow was just magical, when the wet snowy glops hit your face and hands, the magic faded. But given a few minutes, you acclimated well and thought snow balls were just hilarious. Since you were wearing your fantastic rain boots we headed to Boyd's yard (he's got the best puddles on the street). You were wading in a river and loving every minute of it until you went SPLAT. I heard you before I saw you and my first vision was you laying spread eagle, spitting muddy water out of your mouth. We beat a quick retreat inside where a warm towel and a few hugs seemed to set the world right again.

Since I've been so derelict about writing in the past few months I've decided to work on a few themes to bring you up to speed. Today's theme: friendship. Perhaps one of the most intriguing developments in the past six months is your growing attachments to several kids in your own age group. London is a little boy who you see about twice a week as his mom and I have worked out an arrangement to baby swap so we each get three free hours a week. He's a sweet guy who loves to clean but is a very picky eater. And he's exceptionally patient with your need to mother him; you love to kiss and hug him and wipe his face with a wet wipe. And distance only makes your heart grow fonder. When he's gone you constantly inquire about his whereabouts and offer several suggestions about what "La-La" might be doing at any point in time.

Sarah Harper, or "Haurpeur," lives at the top of the street next to ours. Anytime we go on a walk in that direction you wonder whether we're visiting her. We have one of her Tupperware containers and whenever you see it in the cabinet, you remind me that we should be getting it back to her.

The friend-of-the-month, however, is your beloved Char-Char. Charlie is your older second cousin and you were thrilled to see him this past weekend in Mississippi for Mardi Gras. The minute we got in the car, headed toward Nona and Grandaddy's house you started talking about Char-Char. You're lucky that he is so very patient with you and willing to bend to the whims of a 20 month old. One afternoon during our visit I went down for a nap (bliss!) and when I woke up I found my jeans and t-shirt girl dressed to the nines. Aunt Christa staged a photo shoot with you and Char-Char. The love is evident. I'm a little worried that these pictures don't bode well for junior high...

I love that you have such deep affection for your friends and that you continue to wonder about them and what they're doing when you can't physically see them. I also find your sweet names for them amusing. I know we will get into turf battles and sharing may become more difficult down the road, but right now watching you interact and connect is such a pleasure.

Okay, Okay This is Ridiculous

2009-02-28T23:56:00.003-05:00

Marian:
It should be clear to you by now why your mother never made it as a freelance writer. If cannot find the time to sit down and write about my most favorite subject (that would be you) I'm never going to find the inspiration to sit down and write a best-selling book. I'll offer no excuses, it just turns out that the longer you don't write, the harder it is to convince yourself to sit down and do it. Even if it's just a few lines. So it's just after midnight and I've gotten disgusted with myself enough to open the computer and type. I'll put down more tomorrow (I promise).

First, I'm sorry to report that you've turned a little bad. At around 18 months your strong opinions about things grew even stronger. About two weeks ago, you started biting again. This was a habit I thought we'd managed to break you of when those teeth finally came in. You get a terrible gleam in your eye as you head for the stairs and look back over your shoulder to watch me scrambling after you. A few weeks ago you daintily dangled your foot over the curb (when I had repeatedly told you that you could NOT go in the street) so that just your big toe was scraping the asphalt. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And yet, you are the cutest, sweetest, funniest little girl. You love to say thank you. You give kisses and backrubs and think it's hilarious to tickle us in the morning when we're all cuddling in bed together. The words are literally tumbling out of your mouth these days and you understand EVERYTHING. When I was driving too close to the curb the other day and one wheel hit, I heard you say, "oh shoot" from the backseat. There are worse things you could have said...

Last week we went to Mississippi to celebrate Mardi Gras. Your aunt took a ton of photographs and Poppa just told me that I could lift them off of Facebook and add them to my blog. That was my inspiration for writing tonight. I'll put a few on and add others later.

I love you. Even if you are a little rotten sometimes.

Anything is Possible.

2009-01-20T10:36:00.002-05:00

It's 10:30am and in one hour and 30 minutes Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. I'm sitting at home right now, glued to CNN and wiping tears off my cheeks every few minutes. You are at London's house playing with trains.

It's not too much of an overstatement to say that today I place much of your future in this man's trust. And at this moment, I can't help but believe we're all going to be okay. He isn't a savior, or a magician but I believe in him. And, after watching this country elect him and then rally around him, I believe in us.

Today, anything is possible. The world is wide open to you my sweet girl.

Whirling Dervish

2008-12-09T13:20:00.003-05:00

Last year you were the baby Buddha for Halloween and it was my intention that you would be a whirling dervish for Halloween this year (I am concerned that we stay with the world religions theme we started last year). We actually did teach you to spin around a few weeks before Halloween but I couldn't get my act together on an outfit in time. And honestly, if people thought you were Ms. Muffet last year was there any hope they would get a whirling dervish this year? I think not.

In the month since Halloween, however, you have perfected the skill of whirling to the point it seems a shame that Halloween doesn't fall in December. I think we could win an award for best costume. Some nights you just twirl and twirl for twirl until the spinning in your head gets the best of you and your crumple to the floor laughing so hard you get the hiccups.

You have become a force--a whirling, tornado like force that keeps us all on our toes. As I sit in the living room this afternoon I am completely surrounded by bits of your creative storm. Paper and pens, books, empty boxes, clothes we had set aside to give to Goodwill, cords and other unsafe object are scattered across the floor. In the bathroom there are bits of toilet paper you dipped in Peanut's water hardening on the floor and your wet washcloth drips on the floor mat. Downstairs numerous Christmas tree ornaments have found their way to the trashcan and Momma G's room. Your oatmeal is under the chair in the breakfast room and a wasabi pea--inexplicably one of your favorite snack foods -- just fell out of my shirt. I have put you down for an early nap today in the hopes that I might get some of this put away before anyone comes home.

It seems silly that I haven't written more about all your new tricks but honestly, they are coming almost too fast to document. Language is such fun for you right now and you try to repeat anything we say. Finally, it seems like you know who Momma and Poppa are (of course I don't get tired of hearing you say these words) and sometimes I turn on the monitor and listen to your private conversations just before you go down for a nap because the sound of your voice almost bring me to tears.

Of course, the thought of scraping hardened toilet paper and oatmeal off the floor also makes me want to cry. So while you sleep, my little tornado force toddler, I'll try to get the world set back on it's end again. Then, when you wake up, we can have fun knocking off together.

Another Saturday Night and I Aint Got Nobody

2008-11-15T21:38:00.003-05:00

For the first time since you were born we will not wake up together. Today you, Poppa and Peanut drove to the lake house and I stayed home because I'm waiting for a baby to be born. It occurred to me when I decided to go through doula training that there would probably be a few scheduling conflicts. Sure enough, first birth, first conflict. The entire Ramke clan (minus Antenna) has gathered to celebrate Grandmother's 90th birthday and I'm feeling awfully left out.

I miss you sweet girl. I miss giving you post-nap hugs and checking on the chickens. I miss watching you crawl up into Momma G's lap for dinner treats (although she tells me you scored some filet mignon tonight...lucky). I miss bath time and goodnight kisses. And tomorrow morning, when the chickens start to cluck at sunrise I'll to miss the feeling of you curled neatly in the curve of my chest and stomach.

Sweet dreams Marian.

Pumpkin Picker

2008-10-30T15:56:00.002-04:00

It seems impossible that we would have a picture of you from Halloween last year. I mean, didn't you just get here? But the proof is in the picture--there you are laying fast asleep in the pumpkin patch at Glenn Memorial. I used to work that pumpkin patch when I was in youth group, basically I volunteered with the hope that some cute guys from Druid Hills would have the same shift and we could flirt. That never happened.

We went yesterday, just two days before the big event, so the pickins were a little slim but you still had a ball. You found the perfect pumpkin, I found a warty one I'm sure will make a good witch and we brought them home. Hopefully Nona and Grandaddy who are visiting right now will help us carve later this afternoon.

And even though a lot has changed in a year (i.e. you can run around from pumpkin to pumpkin vs. sleeping through the whole experience) some things remain the same. One, you look good in orange. Two, Halloween once again seems to have brought on a stuffy nose. You don't need the manufactured "green slime" you've got it for real! Three, I still think you're all treat and no trick.

Mugshot

2008-10-30T10:20:00.003-04:00

I knew we shouldn't have let you on that reality TV show. Another child star gone bad.

Moonlit Reflection

2008-10-14T14:59:00.005-04:00

Marian, it's been a long time since I've written about just how deeply crazy I am about you. I've covered some of the milestones, the miles traveled and some of your funny quirks of personality. Somehow, I've forgotten to slow down and just write about the wonder of belonging to you.

Last night I leaned over your crib (yep, that's right, you sleep in one of those now) and put my hand on your back and my head on the side of the bed and just fell into the rhythm of your breathing. The moon was full outside and it lit up the room enough for me to see you clearly as you twitched just a little bit under the lightness of my hand. I was overwhelmed by my love for you, my little baby, sleeping with one hand curled around Douglas the Dog and your legs all tucked underneath you.

It seems impossible that just over a year ago you were tiny enough for me to lift with one hand, that you couldn't talk or walk or bite. All this seems to be moving so fast and I'm well aware that in what will seem like a few months you'll be graduating from high school. That's why I'm definitely holding you back in kindergarten for three or four years.

If I could suspend time, I think I would be tempted to freeze it right now. I know I said similar things when you were four months, at six months, etc. I remember thinking that it just couldn't get any better than this--and then it did. You wake up every day and do something new, funny, smart (and often frustrating, like when you meticulously filled my tennis shoe to the brim with water from Peanut's bowl). Watching you grow is the most interesting thing I've ever witnessed and I anticipate the ways we'll both be challenged as you continue to question and learn. I love you in your active moments and I love you in the stillness of the night when the sound of your breathing and occasionally a little sleep talking sounds like a symphony. Being your mom is the sweetest job in the world.

San Francisco Images

2008-10-07T14:13:00.002-04:00

Here you are clearly channeling Poppa Joe's tourist aesthetic

You're on a cliff and while it looks like the water is close enough to touch it's actually way, way, way down there.

At the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park

This is your windblown look

With Antenna and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

The Double Crown: Sign of a Traveler

2008-10-06T12:21:00.003-04:00

I think I've mentioned before that you have a double crown; instead of just one swirl of hair on the back of your scalp you have two. Someone told me many months ago this is the mark of a traveler. The thought of you leaving me one day to traipse across the globe (no doubt to dangerous places where there are lots of insect borne diseases) sends shivers down my spine. However, after your first plane ride (cross country), a week spent traveling by subway, boat, car and foot and rarely sleeping in the same room more than two nights in a row, I'm ready to admit there's something to that superstition.

We returned last night from 10 days in San Francisco, Marin, Napa and Sonoma. Your dad and I agree that this is perhaps the nicest vacation we've ever had, thanks in large part to the hospitality of your Aunt Anna (heretofore known as Antenna) and Parker (Mr. Austin). With the help of their car we were untethered and free to roam on our own schedule. We spent time lounging at Golden Gate park, sampled the delights at Marin County Farmers' Market, lived the life of the rich and famous in Napa pretending we were wine snobs, stood in awe at the height of the Redwoods in Muir Woods and celebrated Tatyana's wedding at Fort Mason this past Friday followed by an excursion to Angel Island. The weather was absurdly perfect, even when they said it would surely rain, it didn't.

You made friends at every turn and seemed to trust that every time we put you in the car seat you would end up in some magical and fun place. You loved hiking, you tolerated the winery stops and you nearly exploded every time your Poppa asked if you wanted to go swimming. You ate your first sushi and loved it and didn't protest a dinner of two cereal bars and oatmeal on the plane ride home yesterday. You spontaneously started clapping after the pilot put the plane down on the runway and you greeted Peanut with squealing and (mostly) gentle pats on the face when we returned home. Momma G got lots of kisses too.

There are lots of pictures to post and more stories to tell. I just wanted to get something up before too much time passed by. You've certainly lived up to the expectations of a double crown.

A Rolling Stone

2008-09-22T12:45:00.005-04:00

It's Monday morning after a weekend trip to Alabama and you are sleeping soundly. For the past few days you played your heart out while Poppa and I cut trees, hauled brush and pulled fallen trees out of a fish pond that may not have a lot of fish but sprouts algae like you wouldn't believe. It was stinky business but good, honest work and I'm feeling a little sore all over today. You are just worn out from playing with a host of indefatigable playmates (Mur, Nona, Grandaddy, Charles, Alyssa, Grandmomma, Jane, Lyn, Trent and Owen).

The pictures above are a smattering of the activities you enjoyed while at Mur's Resort and Fun House. There is some evidence that you pitched in to help rake some leaves but for the most part you colored, practiced walking up steps, and played gorilla. You were also not the least bit interested in watching your television debut Saturday night on HGTV; you went to the back bedroom and watched the fish screen-saver on the computer monitor. It's nice to see that fame has not gone to your head.

This month is one marked by travel every weekend. Last weekend (photo-less, how did that happen?!) we were in Nashville visiting a whole host of friends and watching Poppa play a game of Aussie Rules Football. We didn't make any trips to the ER so by all accounts the weekend was a raging success. You got to visit with your buddies Kate and Amanda and took up a new obsession with pushing a stroller everywhere you go.

In just five days you board your first aircraft for a trip across the country to San Francisco. Your Poppa and I are so, so looking forward to this long vacation and traveling with you. Again, you'll have plenty of entertainment--Aunt Anna is so excited to play with you -- and you'll attend your second wedding. We're hoping the time change doesn't totally wreck your sleep schedule and we apologize to anyone who may lose five or six hours of sleep each night (that would be you Anna and Parker...rest up now!).

In all, you're still the great little traveler that you've been since you were born. I am amazed at the ways you'll entertain yourself on the highway. You talk constantly (I am sure this will be annoying in a few years but now I just love it) read books, eat Clementines (a new favorite, even when I judge that they are completely dry and tasteless), loop Mardi Gras beads around your toes and sing songs with us. I'm not sure how many states you've visited (I think it's about 10 or 11) but you've seen quite a bit of this country in less than a year and a half with no sign of slowing down. Next stop, Hartsfield Jackson Airport!

Dinner

2008-09-17T10:59:00.002-04:00

This may be the shortest blog entry yet.
Last night for dinner you ate smoked herring and pickled okra. Wow.

DIY

2008-09-09T14:33:00.003-04:00

There are TV channels and websites devoted entirely to the DIY (do it yourself) lifestyle. In a few minutes you can learn how to make a fabulous holiday centerpiece or refinish old cabinets. There is DIY backyard chicken coop building (something we're getting ready to learn a thing or two about...shhh...don't tell Momma G) and DIY plumbing.

You are a huge devotee of DIY feeding and, increasingly, DIY dressing. The dressing bit has me tickled, the feeding less so. Somedays you feel like wearing panties, a bikini top and a fly pair of new shoes. Somedays you don't. That's fine with me.

I've learned never to dress you before the first bowl of oatmeal. Unless it's one of those days that bikini top and diapers is all you want to wear.

Into the Great Wide Open

2008-08-21T11:00:00.004-04:00

One of the highlights of our trip to Ocean Springs was the trip we took to Folsom, LA and the Global Wildlife Center. Here are a few photos from the visit:

When heading on safari, one must dress for the part. Thanks to Sugar Bo (that's Aunt Rachael to me) for the elephant dress.

You've got your grandparents all in a row and pretty securely wrapped around your finger. That's your friend Jaqueline making sure you're well hydrated.

Feeding a giraffe out of my hand was pretty cool--you were only slightly concerned.

Watusi cattle can do cool tricks with their tongues.

You make sure we don't miss a thing. I have a death grip on your thigh.

I think I know the feeling my friend...

Hong Kong Delivers! We've got photos.

2008-08-21T10:07:00.006-04:00

A leftover birthday picture..this was your third cake for the celebration over the fourth of July at the lakehouse. You're making your now famous surprised face.

Nothing's more surprising than another road trip!

You've become quite a happy traveler.

Jackson, your friend from Silver Spring, was just a few days old when you last saw him and it turns out he's a lot of fun--and very mobile! We enjoyed his visit, although very brief, this week and wish we lived a little closer.

You're a really great helper. Especially on plumbing projects.

Things were okay until we hit the interstate...
To avoid calls to DFACS please note that the car was stationary and Poppa's hands were on you at all times.

Another beloved hat!

I Feel Your Pain

2008-08-20T10:20:00.003-04:00

Last night, in a fit of domesticity, I was zooming around the house trying to get the garbage and recycling to the curb before you opened the drawer with the vitamins in it again or managed to crack another bottle in the pantry. As I lifted the recycling bin a large cement block fell and cracked me on the shin, taking a nice chunk of my skin off as it slid down and eventually hit the deck.

I walked into the kitchen where you were "helping" with dinner and got your Poppa's attention by saying "that's really gonna hurt." You took one look at my leg and burst into tears. I was not writhing in pain, I was not screaming I was simply standing there waiting for the medics to arrive with an amazing degree of self-restraint (I thought).

The minute you started to cry I forgot all about the leg. You knew something was wrong with your Momma and it upset you and all I wanted to do was assure you that everything was okay. I swooped you up, hobbled to the closest chair and just repeated over and over again that "Momma was okay." We also talked about bumps, something you know a thing or two about and you quickly picked up a new sign: bumping your palm against your forehead while saying "bum...bum" which is, of course, totally adorable. Things calmed down and you eagerly supervised the wound clean-up, watching as your Poppa poured peroxide and tea tree oil over the gashes. Convinced that the leg would heal just fine, you turned your attention to your dinner of peas and mango.

To feel the pain of others seems like such a grown up thing. While I'm sorry the sight of my bloodied leg upset you, it melts my heart that you were worried enough to be upset by the vision. In a strange way, it also makes it a little easier to mother you, a child who seems bent on keeping a permanent black and blue spot on her forehead. I feel your pain at least five or six times a day as you plop down too hard, get your head stuck under the table or fall off your little truck. I think my stomach might be permanently lodged in my throat; it's odd to think that you might know that feeling.

And empathy is perhaps one of the character traits I would most like to instill in you. Of course I don't want you to harbor the pain of others as your own, but recognizing and attempting to respond to the pain of others makes you fully, wholly human in the best way. And there's no better way to instill that value in you than to see it reflected in the lives of those you spend the most time around. Thanks for the reminder.

Did I mention that the power cord I bought for my computer was being shipped from Hong Kong? There are now an overwhelming number of pictures on my camera and stories to tell about visits with relatives and friends. We'll just have to spend an afternoon loading them once that trans-oceanic power cord arrives. You are now playing with my lipstick and making long distance phone calls (trans-oceanic, perhaps?) on my cell phone. I love you.

Unplugged

2008-08-10T13:56:00.002-04:00

For the past few weeks we've been living in technology limbo-land. The plug to the computer broke and because we've committed to another year of buy-nothing-new I couldn't walk into the Apple Store and pick up a new one off the shelf. I also couldn't walk in and buy a new iPhone although roughly 60 percent of Atlantans were doing just that the day we went in to have the problem diagnosed. Sadly, you weren't impressed with the ultra-cool atmosphere, started screaming and got us "thrown out" of the store. The hipster Apple employee suggested politely that we move because he was trying to teach a group of nouveau Apple lovers how to use their spanking new phones. Baby, PCs are not an option for us, please lay off the yelling at the Apple store.

So, here we are on the back porch on Mama G's computer without access to the trillions of amazingly cute pictures I took of you when we went to the wildlife conservation center in Louisiana last week. Giraffes and camels and Watusi cattle...oh my! I also cannot upload video from our first trip to the aquarium; you would have thought it was Halloween with all the "BOO! BOO!" exclamations. Your father, who taught you that fish say "boo", is exceedingly proud.

Here are few updates, without any visual aids which I will add as soon as the ebay purchased power cord arrives:
1) You are officially a walker. You now prefer this method of transportation to crawling. This development has only increased the number of bumps and bruises on your forehead but you seem to think it's worth it.
2) You pick up new signs at an alarmingly fast rate. Our favorites are gorilla (beating your chest and saying ahhhh) cat (whiskers on the face) and night-night (blowing a kiss). I'd say you have a signing of vocabulary of over 30 words, it's amazingly cool to watch you talk.
3) You have six teeth and you know how to use them. Nona is concerned that we will have problems getting into preschool if you're still biting by then. We must work on this.
4) You had baby herpes and you handled it like a champ. I got such a kick walking around telling people you had "the herpes." The YMCA didn't think it was so funny. Honestly, it's a very common, temporary and relatively minor sickness, also known as Roseola, and now a distant memory.

The learning curve is still steep and everyday I'm amazed watching you soak in the world. I love your determination, your explosive joy and your willingness to entertain yourself and the grown-ups. For the past hour or so you've been hanging out on the porch with me toddling around (with no head-bangers) and slowly pouring water out of your sippy cup. If that's all you need to be happy, we're in good shape.

Vroom Vroom

2008-07-31T22:55:00.003-04:00

I had not quite finished uploading the picture for the blog post last night when I heard you fussing in the bedroom. This was about 11:00pm. I picked you up, nursed, rocked and sang "Bye Bye My Baby." You didn't go back to sleep. Nona came down when she couldn't stand the sound of your crying anymore and took you out to the porch swing. You went to sleep out there but woke up the minute you hit the sheets in the bedroom. For the next hour and a half you tossed and turned and tried to go back to sleep. Finally, you decided you might as well get up and read for a while. Book after book after book and you still didn't get sleepy enough to lay down and close your eyes. I, however, got plenty tired but decided it was a bad idea to fall asleep while a 13 month old crawled around on top of the bed. Finally, I asked you what you needed and you said very clearly, "vroom, vroom." So at 1:30 am we hopped in Nona and Granddaddy's mini van and hit the street. You were asleep three or four miles later and I got you back inside and into bed without a peep.
Sometimes, it pays to ask what you want.

What Do You Dream About?

2008-07-30T22:19:00.004-04:00

We're in Ocean Springs--a magic place, really. In Ocean Springs you have french fries and chicken strips, Ritz crackers with peanut butter, the Wiggles and Sesame Street. We do not have these things in Atlanta. You are never alone, the living room is covered in toys and there is always someone available to read a book over and over and over again.

The real miracle, however, is what Ocean Springs does to your sleep habits. You've gone to bed each night around 8:30 and slept peacefully for the most part. I've slept pretty well too, if lightly, and I've got a couple of theories about why you might be sleeping so well:
A) you're exhausted from the constant playing
B) you're in a food coma; stuffed to the gills with roast beef, potatoes and cornbread
C) you're a bed-hog who is finally able to stake your claim on a queen sized bed

Personally, I think it's option "C." You've flipped and spun, twisted in the sheets and gone from lying horizontally to vertically three of four times during the night and amazingly, stayed asleep during these acrobatics. These level of activity begs the question: just what are you dreaming about? Last night you sat straight up, exclaimed "HAT!" and then fell back down to sleep. I love the idea that you might be doing hat inventory at night--there are so many hats you've known and loved (as long as they're not on your head) and I'd like to think you spent time exploring them all last night as we snoozed away. I hope all your dreams are so sweet, so innocent and simple as exploring a make believe world of hats. I would ask that you find a way to explore that world without doing gymnastics.

And on a side note: It's been a full month since I've written. Bad Momma. Bad Momma.

SHE'S ONE!!!

2008-06-29T13:59:00.004-04:00

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

We've been celebrating since yesterday when we had your friends Molly, Lisa, Robert, and Sarah Harper (almost 10mos) and the twins Clare and Erin (11 mos) and Uncle John and Kristen over for a birthday breakfast. You loved the coffee cake and laughed your way through your inaugural outside ride on your new tricycle (we've been riding inside for days...it's hard to keep something that fun a secret).

Last night you were awake with me at 12:41 (not necessarily my choice but it was sweet all the same). We slept on the couch (again, not necessarily my choice) and I woke up this morning to you clapping your hands together and asking to read a book. Since it was your birthday we read it over and over and over again, as you requested.

Birthday breakfast consisted of your dad's biscuits from yesterday which were just as good the second time around and the opening of presents. Momma G bought you a cow (farmers in Africa will take care of it for you) and a small wooden cow to commemorate the purchase. We love the Heifer Project and think that was a great gift. Nona and Grandaddy pitched in for the tricycle and we all feel better now that you have a seat belt and you love the loud bell. Books, new outfits and sweet cards from far and wide were the icing on top of the cake.

Now, we're off to the lakehouse for the week. Poppa will catch up with us on Thursday but GUT and GUB (two of your biggest fans from Silver Spring) are going to spend a night with us at the cabin before heading back to Maryland. Three and a half hours in the car might be a perfect place to take a long birthday nap, don't you agree?

What a great, great day. We love you.

On The Night You Were Born

2008-06-28T22:28:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow is officially your big day. Your birth certificate clearly states that June 29th, 2007 is the day of your birth. But the date only tells a small portion of the story and the 28th will always be a very, very special day for me. The 29th may be your day but I think I'll claim the 28th as mine.

At 4:15 in the morning on the 28th I woke up and knew I was going to have you. I tried to go back to sleep like they tell you to in the birthing classes but I was too excited. Instead, I folded three loads of laundry (the full extent of my nesting instinct) and waited. Your Poppa and I went to a dentist appointment, we stopped by our doula Stephanie's house and she confirmed your impending arrival. We then went downtown to the law office, had lunch at the fair trade store and went back home to wait for 3:00 o'clock when the midwives were expecting me for my usual Thursday appointment. It was a long drive to the birth center with the contractions coming every four to five minutes on the pothole checkered streets of DC.

The midwives took one look at me (I was already five centimeters dilated) and told me to go ahead and choose my birthing room, I was going to have a baby. That's all I needed to hear; I shed my clothes, drew the tub and slipped under the warm water to wait and labor. For the next eight hours I joined you in the process of being born. The sun went down, a thunderstorm rolled through, Mama G arrived from Atlanta and the contractions came with increasing intensity and speed as we moved to our shared rhythm.

Then, at 12:41 am, with one final push and surrounded by Poppa, Mama G, Stephanie and four midwives, you moved from the inside to the outside. And there we were, the whole universe, in one room. You seemed to fly through the air (your Poppa swears that they literally threw you on top of me) and everything just fell into place. There you were naked and slippery and breathing (because of course, that's what every parent wants to know) and rooting around looking for something to drink. It was a perfect birth.

Thank you, Marian, for finding your way here to us. You may have been born at 12:41am on June 29th but yours wasn't the only "birth" that night. At that very moment, I became Momma, Poppa became Poppa and the world will never, ever be the same.

A Little Freedom Goes a Long Way

2008-06-17T14:09:00.005-04:00

We returned to Atlanta this past Saturday from your first beach vacation and I've just unpacked my suitcase and started the first load of post-trip laundry. You are taking a hard earned nap and I fought the urge to pick up a trashy detective novel and whip up some frosty libation. But we're not on vacation anymore and I've reluctantly turned my attention to more domestic tasks like cleaning and blogging (you'll notice which of the two I started first).

I've heard folks complain about never managing to truly relax on vacation once you have kids; these people clearly don't have relatives like yours. Your Nona, Grandaddy, Aunt Katie, Aunt Christa and Uncle Kurt logged some serious hours with you and for one week I had chunks of time (hour after hour after hour) of free time. I didn't realize how much I yearned for some time alone until the morning I took off on a slow jog down the beach and realized that there wasn't another soul around. I talked aloud to myself, I stopped and watched the surf roll in and didn't once look around to see if you were sucking on something dangerous, opening a drawer with chemicals in it or headed towards the stairs.

And about the time I was sure I would die of heat stroke I realized I was anxious to see you. How sweet to walk into the beach house, feel the blast of cold air and see you sitting in your high chair eating your Nona's banana-in-an-ice-cream-cone invention. Being apart, even for just an hour or so, made seeing you that much sweeter.

Your dad and I are fairly devoted to the idea and practices associated with attachment parenting. I'm still breastfeeding, you sleep with us, you spent very little time in strollers and car seats when you were tiny, etc. We like to think that our choices will encourage you to explore the world as one who knows she is always securely attached at the base, the root, the beginning. Attachment theory, however, does not mean that the parents must be glued to the child, anticipating and meeting every whim and need. Perhaps what will encourage you to be brave and independent (and always safe) is watching your parents model that behavior.

One day last week your Poppa and I left you with Nona and hopped in our kayaks for a little paddle around the ocean and lagoon. I had not been in my kayak since before I was pregnant and--logically or no--I was really nervous. Paddling into the itty bitty waves I noticed the death grip on my paddle and the air in my lungs that I'd neglected to let out for too long. It only took a few minutes, however, for me to find the rhythm and sway of the ocean and I looked back to see you and Nona waving us goodbye. Is there any chance that the image of your parents out to sea will stick around in your memory somewhere? I'd like to think that the sight of kayaks on a wide ocean will remind you of me one day. I hope that the feeling of freedom I experienced that afternoon is one you experience throughout your life. Incidentally, on that trip your Poppa and I kayaked with two dolphins for over an hour in water that was so shallow they couldn't fully submerge. Again, I found myself unable to breathe quite right.

I think I've returned from vacation able to mother you better for the stretches of time I got to spend apart. By the look of things, you were having so much fun I doubt you even registered my absence. But like the tide, I may go out but I'll always come back in.

Hotter than the Tennessee Asphalt

2008-06-06T14:30:00.003-04:00

It's a rare thing to find yourself at the lake house alone. Usually when the entire family descends on Lake Tellico there are no less than nine or ten people and often quite a few more, sharing space in the one bedroom/one bathroom cabin that grandaddy built.

Last Monday Momma G, Grandmother (that's great-grandmother to you) and you and I went to the lake for a few days and did a whole lot of nothing productive. It was great. You entertained us day and night (a little too much during the night) and even managed to sit still long enough for grandmother to read you a book or two.

On Wednesday, Momma G drove Grandmother back to Knoxville and I found myself alone with you at the cabin. It was a little surreal to have the place to ourselves and so very quiet! Also it was one hundred and fifty two degrees. Because I can't touch the bottom of the lake from where we jump in I decided it was no place to take a baby who can't swim. So, we brought the lake to us and the cool water was so refreshing and delightful; your face says it all.

Today we're packing our bags and getting ready for your first ever beach trip! So many bathing suits, so little time!

Baby Fat: A Photo Essay

2008-05-21T12:39:00.002-04:00

Baby Fat: A Photo Essay

2008-05-21T12:36:00.003-04:00

Baby Fat: A Photo Essay

2008-05-21T12:32:00.002-04:00

She Has Mad Skills

2008-05-21T10:45:00.003-04:00

The danger of giving these blog posts titles with timely cultural catch-phrases (see, "mad skills") is that they won't make any sense further on down the road (now there's an idiom that has been around long enough to be used with a degree of confidence). I'm going to stick with this title because if I've picked up on one thing in the past few weeks it's that learning so much so quickly can often be a process fraught with frustration which manifests itself in fits of fury (that's what your teachers will call alliteration). This isn't to say you've been a constant curmudgeon, but I have suffered a few blows to the head and can enter into evidence some bite marks to prove you've been busy learning.

A sampling of the new skills:
You know what sound a cow makes
You can cluck like a chicken
You have three signs you can use pretty routinely: more, all done and water (water and all done look very similar at this stage)
You can climb ALL the way up the stairs by yourself (the two room condo with no stairs is sounding really good again)
You can stack blocks
You can drink from a real glass cup without spilling too much
You can crawl really fast when being chased
You can pull up on anything (doors, tables, moving objects, Peanut)
You can, and do, eat everything from broccoli spears to plum-cots
You seem to know how to "put it back" but choose not to do it very often
You'll spit something out of your mouth when I ask you to (dogfood, paper towels, stale pretzels you find on the floor). Usually.

The look on your face when you climbed the stairs the first time was enough to quash the rising tide of fear in my heart. You worked hard, you tried several methods and you finally found one that worked. Previous attempts had ended in screaming fits, arched backs and wild lashing to and fro of the arms and head.

As I struggle with maintaining my sanity and sense of decorum as you hurdle through these learning phases I'm reminded of the time I procrastinated in grad school and found myself with 192 pages of papers to write in 8 days. On the morning before the last 30 pager was due I threw myself across my futon, screamed, cried and called your papa on the phone to tell him I just wasn't going to do it. He calmly told me to get up and write. If he had been there to hit, I probably would have smacked him. Instead, I got up and went to the computer and wrote a paper that received a better grade than it was worth. It has occurred to me that you come by your screaming fits rightly.

Last night, at the end of another busy day and up later than you should have been due to a tornado warning that kept us at the YMCA longer than usual, you had a complete meltdown. You threw yourself across the bed, arched you back and screamed loud enough to make the neighbors hair stand on end. Your papa told me to leave the room and he sang lullabies while you laid across his chest and wailed. I went to the other room and ordered a used copy of "The No Cry Sleep Solution." Eventually the crying subsided and I crawled into bed with you and papa.

This morning you woke up refreshed and ready to learn again. When you climbed into your house (by yourself) and found a stack of clothes you started trying to figure out how to dress yourself. It was so much fun to watch and while you never figured it out, you didn't loose your cool. Instead you've opted for a good long nap on my lap but in a few minutes, it will be time to go again. Get ready, get set.

MAYbe too busy

2008-05-12T10:50:00.004-04:00

This month has been crazy crazy busy. Some of it was planned (like Auntie Dana's wedding from which we just returned). Some of it was not.

For instance, we did not plan on our friend Ashton going into labor the minute she put her husband on a plane to Australia. We did not anticipate picking up her first set of twins from the concierge desk at her condominium building where she had to leave them while she drove herself to the hospital to deliver her SECOND set of twins. We did not anticipate that we would get a weekend playdate with sweet 9 month old girls while we feverishly tracked down the daddy of now (take a deep breath and try to imagine this...) FOUR babies under the age of 10 months.
All of this happened the week before your poppa went to Callaway Gardens for a work trip and your Mama G went to the beach. Luckily, your grandmother Nona and aunt Jane came for a visit and bailed us out.

Because I find the task of reporting on the first half of May too overwhelming, I've decided just to post some pictures. The first one, I think, is an apt representation of how we've all felt.

Poppa Says it Better

2008-05-01T09:58:00.001-04:00

Your poppa wrote this two days ago. I think it sums you up.

My daughter is a meditation.
She is a part of the world; she is in it, of it, she is it.
Every moment is a vocal ooohhh! And she reaches and grabs, grasps, pulls.
She pushes and throws.
My daughter will howl for fun. Gargle and tickle at the newest sound she's ever heard, her own. With a wave, she will ignore it all and is lost in a thicket of tiny grass leaves and an acorn.

And then it is the sky, its unending blueness, no detail. That is all. Until there's something stuck to her shirt, breakfast? A dog over there, individual hair, soft, so much everywhere, each so many colors. And now another child on a bike, fast. Where am I?

Mom, milk, warm. Now! Gone! Oooohhh! Something hard, uniform, concrete. Ughh, flip! up? Papa, laugh, warm enough, time to move. "Beibeee," point. Wave. Wait, something on his shirt. So many threads, tiny stitches, millions. The breeze, a sound, wind-voice. Oooohhh! Music. Up and down, I go.

Now, again my turn to talk. AAAaaahhkkPaa! And a commanding flourish, open hand salute to Discovery! Smile.

Okay, This is What They Were Talking About

2008-04-30T11:01:00.010-04:00

Many of my friends have babies (now kids) and I read a blog or two about perfect strangers and their parenting adventures. I've been perplexed over the last ten months when I've read about how hard they find parenting. I've certainly had moments when I've thought to myself, "I could use another hour or ten of sleep" but overall, it's not been terribly hard work.

As your gross motor skills have improved (crawling, pulling up) I now read and process those conversations with a new understanding. Crimeny, this is hard! I've glimpsed the future and the future is...exhausting. But also stunningly interesting and fun and quirky and delightful.

Learning to see the world through your eyes requires shedding the veil of old and boring. Nothing is old or boring. Not the potpourri that has been in a bowl by the fireplace since the 1980s or the dust pan with who-knows-what stuck to it or the anti-skid mats that seem to be under every rug you peer under! There are treasures untold in the pantry and STAIRS, STAIRS, STAIRS. What happens when you stick you finger here?

For parents who have grown accustomed to the world, entering your universe is exhausting. Learning (anew) to comprehend the joy in finding crumbs on the floor and swinging doors that open and close is taxing work. We've grown accustomed to thinking of these little miracles as details to be glossed over on our way to the main event. We usually don't know what the main event is; but we actively seek it just the same. The main event, you seem to believe, is the sound of the paper tearing, the speed at which you can dart out of the room and the texture of Peanut's fur. My work, it appears, is to make sure you can explore safely in a world where these miracles are omnipresent. That means I have to find those little miracles too, to anticipate where you might be headed next on your grand adventure (NOT down the stairs head first). If I can find the joy in this, and I'm thinking that it won't always be easy, then your gift to me will be remarkable. The world will be a more wonder-ful place.

To be fair to Daniel -- who I may have maligned in a previous post -- you now find the dog food miraculous too.Mail is very interesting

Marian battles the stairsStairs -1 Marian-0. Red spot on the forehead is the only battle wound.

Hello Kiefer-Pop, I Think I Love You

2008-04-21T12:19:00.005-04:00

In our recent kitchen purge we came across the popsicle sticks that MamaG used to make frozen yogurt treats for me when I was a little girl. After a few wash and rinse cycles they were ready for the new generation of frozen goodness. Nothing beats a kiefer treat on a hot day. Okay, lots of things beat kiefer but you don't know anything about ice cream, mojitos or fudgesicles yet...

Houston, we have liftoff!

2008-04-17T11:59:00.005-04:00

You are mobile. In a remarkable feat of endurance, determination and sheer core strength you've managed to lift your 24 pound caboose off the ground and get your legs underneath you. It hasn't been easy, and it still isn't graceful, but there's nothing else to call it but crawling. I was happy with the sitting thing, I'm learning to live with the crawling.

Our next door neighbor, Daniel, is one month older than you and has been crawling since he was about five months old, even before he was able to sit. He has a four year old brother who is light-of-foot so keeping up with him was prime motivation. I've watched his mother chase two kids across the front lawn for months now and smirked as we sat motionless on the dog's blanket, taking in a little vitamin D and discussing pretty flowers, kitty cats and the construction trucks that go by in and endless procession.

For the past two mornings we've kept Daniel for an hour or two while his mom and dad pack up their house (alas, they are moving). I've declared I will never open a daycare center. I also think he is a bad influence. Keeping up with Daniel while trying to keep an eye on you is nearly impossible. Mobility speeds are not the only difference. Your table manners, it turns out, are quite refined. Daniel takes a handful of cereal and shoves it in the general direction of his mouth. Whatever makes it in is swallowed without chewing. You, my little lady, pick up one "o" at a time with your thumb and forefinger and delicately place it in the front of your mouth where your teeth ( have I mentioned emerging dos chiclet?) slowly grind the cereal to a mushy pulp. Then you clap your hands together to sign that you would like more, please. Peanut, smart pup that she is, set up camp underneath Daniel. The bounty distracted Peanut from the fact that Daniel was raiding her dog bowl. I had to extract two pieces of kibble from his mouth (which I might add was hard a steel trap to open and full of razor sharp teeth) while he screamed in bloody protest. You have never attempted to eat dog food.

This morning when Daniel's mom came to pick him up you crawled from the living room to the front door. See what I mean? That Daniel's a bad influence. Then you were so worn out by your active morning that you had a complete melt-down, followed by a nap. All that's to say that crawling around may have caused us to miss swimming. I'm sure you agree, it may not be worth it.

A Word to the Wise

2008-04-15T11:41:00.003-04:00

If you can't fit your taxes on a 1040-EZ form please don't follow in your parents footsteps. Find a competent, knowledgeable person (i.e. a tax professional) to help.

There is much to report (pictures of our new rooms to post, updates on your mobility to write about) but due to the fact that it is April 15th I cannot go into it at the moment. We're getting ready to deliver W-2s to your poppa at work. No swimming for us today...bummer.

The Kitchen You'll Never Know

2008-03-31T11:58:00.002-04:00

Have I failed to mention you're a reality TV star? Oh my.

This morning, at 8:15 we moved out of our house and the film and design crew for HGTV's Deserving Design moved in. In four days we will be summoned back home for the television-worthy (let's hope) reveal of our brand-new kitchen. It's totally surreal.

A few months ago I nominated your grandmother for a room makeover. Miraculously, the perfect show for our story just happens to be based in Atlanta, where the designer Vern Yip lives. I sent off an email describing the reasons we all live together: your father took a job helping people who could not afford a lawyer, your grandfather died a little over a year ago, your grandmother was alone in a big house and wanted to be closer to family, and I thought raising you in the very same house where I grew up would be tremendously meaningful. Apparently, the folks at Deserving Design thought our story was pretty compelling. Now, nearly five months after I sent that email, we're getting a new kitchen.

The kitchen we left behind this morning belonged in a museum. What kind of museum, I'm not quite sure. The museum of extinct appliances? The museum of home repair projects gone bad? The museum of funky wallpaper and decorative doorknobs? As we spent the last week packing it away I relived a good bit of my childhood as we sorted ET cups, Tupperware lids and flower vases that haven't held water or flowers since the early 70s. It was a real trip down memory lane. This morning, walking out the door sure that I would never see the kitchen again, I experienced just the slightest twinge of loss. It passed quickly.

We have four days to get our TV faces on. We're staying in the lap of luxury at Jenny's parents house in Decatur. There are woods and a creek right out our back door and we have our own private little apartment. Your father may decide to stay permanently, there seem to be precious few home improvement projects needed around here.

It's just unbelievable that in four days, without lifting a single power tool ourselves, we'll have a brand new kitchen! You will never remember the chartreuse, aqua, green daisy wallpaper, or the JC Penney Stove so I've added a few pictures for the record. Now, let's practice our amazed faces and memorize what we'll say on camera so we don't embarrass anyone.

A Room with a View (and a front porch)

2008-03-26T10:19:00.006-04:00

What a difference a week makes! It was a monumental task: take a room that hadn't seen a change of wallpaper and carpet in over three decades and turn it, once again, into a charming nursery. There are few people in the world up to the task but a handful of them just happen to be your closest relatives and founding members of your fan club. We spent the week with your grandparents, Aunts Christa and Katie and your Uncle Kurt laying bamboo floors, painting molding, cutting (and cutting again) plywood and wallpapering. Your grandmother awoke one night with the brilliant idea to turn one wall of the room into your very own house and hand painted the edifice and built-in your room-within-a-room. It's a magical little place; we spend every morning in your little room playing with toys and exploring. It seems to suit you perfectly. Every time I walk in I'm a little astounded.

It's nice to have brilliant relatives who love you so immensely. It's an added bonus that they know how to use every tool at Home Depot.

Weird Science

2008-03-21T11:02:00.002-04:00

Today, we donated you to science and it was fun! You and I spent an hour today at the Bauer Memory Lab at Emory (aka Memory at Emory) and walked out perfectly contented lab-rats.

First, they strapped a contraption to your head that emitted gentle puffs of air around the area of your eye. For about ten minutes you watched one of the researchers play with puppets and every so often a little chime would ring and a puff of air would cause you to blink. There were supposed to be three electrodes strapped to your head to measure the blink reflex but you pulled two of the three electrodes off within the first ten seconds. Sometimes, the chime would ring and no puff of air followed, the researchers filmed you to see if you still blinked. I have no idea how you performed because I was too busy watching the puppets and trying to keep you from eating the electrodes.

The second test was a lot more fun and didn't involved puffs of air, electrodes or chimes. The researcher brought out two groups of toys. The first was a piece of wood and a plastic turtle. You were allowed to play with the toys however you wanted to for two minutes and then the researcher showed you that the piece of wood actually bent in half to make a ramp and the turtle could slide down the ramp. She showed you this trick twice and didn't let you touch it again. Then she brought out the second set of toys which looked like a minature gymnastics bar, a wooden hammer and a small curved piece of plastic. You were free to play with them for them for two minutes and then the researcher showed you how to "bang the gong" by hanging the plastic piece over the gym bar and then banging it with the hammer. Then we went to the floor and played with a basket full of toys for ten minutes.

When we returned to the test site you got a chance to show those folks what you'd learned. Out came the turtle and the wood. You went right to work making the slide and then took the turtle and moved it up and down the slide. Then you chewed on the turtle for what was left of your two minutes. The gong was a lot harder; you took the hammer and banged on everything, even the place where the gong should have been hanging but you never even glanced at the piece of wood that needed to hang on the bar. Then you chewed the hammer for what was left of your two minutes.

Just think, thanks to you, the world will better understand infant memory. Or at the very least we'll better understand that turtles belong on slides.

Feeling Lucky?

2008-03-17T10:32:00.001-04:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Chiclet

2008-03-17T10:29:00.004-04:00

With one tooth in your head, we've taken to calling you chiclet. If the name fits...
And it turns out one tooth is all you need to eat lentil soup.

Sleep Like a Baby

2008-03-12T09:18:00.004-04:00

It's interesting that one of the first questions people ask new parents is, "so how's she sleeping?" Generally speaking, if the questioners have had children or know anybody who has, they already have a knowing smirk on their face. They expect the weary, red-rimmed eyed parents to respond meekly "ah, you know, not so well...can you direct me to the nearest coffee pot?" This is always followed by a hopeful bit of folklore from the earnest questioners, "don't worry, after the first six weeks it will get better!"

All new parents should learn to answer this question with the simple truth, "She/he is sleeping like a baby." Obviously, whoever came up with this aphorism never spent a lick of time around a baby. The fact of it is, babies don't sleep so well for good biological, evolutionary reasons. Your REM cycles are more frequent which means you spend less time in deep sleep than your adult bedmates.

Of course you weren't quite the norm. Your sleeping patterns those first six weeks fit a different description: you slept like a rock. In our first week home I would wake you up in the middle of the night to feed and was astonished that five hours would go by before we would hear from you again.

Fast forward eight months.

We've had some rough nights these past few weeks. Between my inability to get to sleep early and your inability to stay asleep, no one's been getting a ton of zzzz's. I don't know whether it's teeth, approaching milestones (nope, still not crawling but getting closer the day) or the change of seasons, but something's got ahold of our sleep cycle. I have developed an eye twitch in my right eye which, after doing some research on the internet, seems directly related to:

Fatigue or lack of sleep
Over consumption of caffeine
Associated with temper tantrums (especially in children)

They didn't make a point of saying that it's the parents of children who throw those temper tantrums who get the twitch, but I'm here to tell you, it's true...

This time next week, after your grandmother and grandfather's work-camp visit (your aunts and uncle too! What fun we're getting ready to have!) you'll have a nursery and your crib will be set up for the first time. The temptation to lay you down in the crib at night and stretch out in my own bed with your dad, who would no doubt enjoy the extra three feet of space, could be enticing. I just don't see it happening.

From the morning we brought you home and took our first nap together you've slept between me and you dad on our queen sized bed. While our commitment to co-sleeping was originally quite practical, we've learned more in the past few months and have come to believe it's just the right thing to do--for us, for you, for this situation. When the midwife asked me, at her first homevisit, where you were sleeping, I rather sheepishly answered, "uh, with us." She smiled, a cherry Blowpop in her mouth (I love midwives!), and said, "Good. I think kids should get their own bed when they can get up and walk there."

It all comes back to sleeping like a baby. Babies wake up, sometimes pretty frequently, during the night. Babies don't understand that when something is not in front of them, it still exists. That's why playing peek-a-boo is so funny at this age: it's gone and then, voila, it appears again! Magic! When you wake up at night I want you to know where I am, that I exist, that I am right there. And honestly, I feel better knowing the same is true of you. Research shows that children's nightmares are most frequently about separation from parents. But if you've never been alone during the night at an age when you can't understand that being in another room does not mean you're all alone, then maybe you won't have those scary dreams. Will sleeping together make you more secure in your attachments, less clingy, more confident and independent? Who knows, some literature seems to suggest it will. Will you have friends who slept in cribs from day one and turn out to be perfectly happy, normally functioning adults who love their parents? Yes, of course (I'd like to think I turned out okay and I slept in a crib). What I know is that it feels right for us right now.

I have the great luxury, and I truly believe that it is, not to have to get up and be at work in the morning. With that luxury comes the responsibility to parent you at night the same way that I parent you during the day. When you are sad, scared or mad during the day, I pick you up and hold you. I feel lucky to be able to do the same at night and especially happy not to have to get out of a warm bed to do so. I'll probably have to remind myself of that "lucky feeling" some night this week.

I've had this blog post on my mind for some time now, I've never really explained to you why we sleep the way we do. I don't believe for one minute that you will be in our bed until you're five or six years old. We'll work on taking naps in your new crib and when the time is right, when you are ready (which may well be before I am) we'll send you off to sleep the night away in your own room. Perhaps I'm writing today to strengthen our convictions after a particularly long week. Perhaps I'm writing because last night you went to bed at 10pm and didn't make a sound until 5:30, ate once and then woke up with your dad at 7:30.

You slept like a baby.

Impossible

2008-02-29T10:50:00.006-05:00

You are eight months old today (purely by the grace of leap year) and that seems practically impossible.

This is you then. You were tiny--seven pounds and twelve ounces-- with a perfectly shaped head and the most perfect little lips. You were curious and alert and quick to pick up new skills, like eating.
And here you are a few days ago. You've tripled your birth weight (and then some) maintained about the same volume of hair and developed legs that are powerful and, well, ample. You are determined, curious and vocal. You still pick up new skills easily, especially when related to eating or drinking.It seems impossible that eight months ago you were incapable of holding up your head on your own or seeing the world in clear focus. You ate just a squirt of colostrum each day and seemed satisfied by the bounty. Today, you've nursed three times, lustily downed cheerios and will no doubt scream for yogurt and applesauce when you get up. You love peas, have taken a shining to broccoli spears, and no doubt dream about lakes of sweet potato and squash at night. You love to dance, laugh at so many small little surprises and delight in exploring the noises you make (louder ones are more fun).

Not a day goes by that I don't shake my head in wonder. We were chosen for one another; there is no other way to explain how perfectly we fit together. From seven pounds to twenty three, you still fit perfectly in the crook of my arm. You sleep soundly in space that is carved out for you in the curve of my belly and chest each night. You let me read the paper every morning for at least fifteen minutes. You are not allergic to Peanut, seem to tolerate the coffee I love to drink and neither of us ever gets tired of reading Moo, Baa, La La La! You even charmed the wait staff at a fancy restaurant the other night by being perfectly pleasant and (quietly) entertaining yourself by launching cheerios across the table.

From the day you were born I have delighted in taking you out and claiming you as my child. Day One we walked to the ice cream shop and shocked/thrilled people when they asked how old you were ("she was born this morning!"). These days, you get a lot of compliments on your cheeks and eyes and thighs. People will work hard to get one of your smiles and when you bestow one, the skies open up and the rays of light start beaming down. Never mind that even if you're dressed in pink folks think you're a boy. No big deal.

It seems impossible that in just another four months you'll be one year old. Inconceivable. How is it that I'm already looking at pictures and saying, "I remember when you were just a tiny little baby..." You ARE a tiny little baby. Except that you scream when I take away my cell phone and you seem to have opinions on any number of things things: like which of Peanut's tricks is funniest, how loud the music can be played before it's scary and that it's fun to imitate coughing noises.

I was brought to tears this week by Anna Quindlen's article in Newsweek. I found her description of watching her grown son set up house post-college gut wrenching. I am not naive, I know that the time will come and if time continues to pass as quickly as the last eight months, it will be upon me in the flash of an eye. Impossible.

Down on the Farm

2008-02-23T11:44:00.000-05:00

If you were a boy your name would probably be Richard Jamison Ard Waller -- Jamison for everyday. Your dad and I have a good friend from our days in Nashville who is notoriously bad at keeping in touch with us named Jamison. While you wouldn't have been his namesake exactly we both agreed that the name itself was beautiful and we could forgive Jamison for being one of the worst correspondents on the face of the earth.

On our recent whirlwind tour through Nashville (what a fabulous trip!) we decided to give Jamison a call to alert him to the fact that we were going to be in the area. I told your dad that if he answered the phone, I would eat my hat. A few minutes later, I was gnawing on the bill of my cap. Jamison answered and told us that he was home, with his wife (a wonderful surprise for us) on a small little farm about 45 minutes east of Nashville. Never ones to pass up time with chickens, mules and pigs, we stopped and then decided to swing back on our way out of town for an evening on the farm.

We woke up late (you sleep well on farms) and then took a stroll around the property, greeting the livestock and soaking in the remarkable beauty of the place. Your dad and I are constantly dreaming of setting up shop on a piece of land and running a small farm; we have a hunch that farm life agrees with you too.

Teeth. What are they Good For?

2008-02-13T21:30:00.001-05:00

We've been peering in your mouth anticipating the arrival of teeth for about two months now. I was pretty convinced you didn't have any and we'd have to get you fitted for little baby dentures. Yesterday we found what we've been waiting for; just below the surface of your lower gums are signs of impending teeth. All of a sudden, I'm wanting them to beat a quick retreat.

Your gummy smile is one we've all gotten used to and LOVE LOVE LOVE. You seem to do just fine chewing without teeth, so I don't know what the big hurry is. Teeth seem like such a big person thing: you have to brush them all the time, get them scraped clean at the dentist and worry about them getting knocked out during sports games. Babies don't need teeth and you're a baby.

But today the teeth were closer to the surface than they were yesterday and I imagine tomorrow they'll be closer still. That's just the way it goes. If I'm this woozy over teeth, imagine what I'll be like when you hit puberty.

Save the Pools!

2008-02-06T19:18:00.000-05:00

You were born in a summer that is now recorded as one of the driest since the Dust Bowl. Or, at least that's what London's Independent newspaper had to say about it last June. While we were in DC I was certainly aware that summer thunderstorms weren't ruining many of my evening walks, but the drought wasn't a featured topic of conversation with friends. But boy did we move from the frying pan into the fire. Atlanta needs a drink in the worst kind of way.

We're still months away from summertime temperatures and the real water hysteria but there's an article about the water levels at Lake Lanier, the tri-state family feud over water rights and the ways each county is cutting water consumption in every issue of the AJC. And the worst is not yet upon us...they are considering closing swimming pools.

This is a problem for us because just yesterday you showed a real proclivity for splashing around in highly chlorinated bodies of water. Parent/Tot Swim at the YMCA now ranks as one of your favorite things to do; relaxing in a warm bath at home now ranks a distant second. For a child who loves water so much, you had pretty bad timing. A water baby born in a drought year. It figures.

So we'll keep our fingers crossed about swimming in pools this summer and continue to be very thankful that the YMCA is an indoor pool with a very good heating system.

PS. A word about the pictures: you are undeniably a large baby and swimsuit season has come a bit early this year. On top of that, we've signed up for another year of the buy-nothing-new experiment so I had to buy the first suit I cam across at the consignment shop. It's not my favorite and I don't think it does your figure any favors. Please don't hold this against me in your pre-teen years.

Super Fat Tuesday

2008-02-05T20:35:00.000-05:00

It only happens once in a blue moon; Mardi Gras and Super Tuesday fall on the same day. Here are two photos to celebrate the auspicious occasion!

I'll never tell anyone what you had to do to get all those beads...

General Observations

2008-01-17T10:04:00.000-05:00

I have a small plastic bag of collected items that I thought I would go nicely in your baby album.
1) your umbilical cord stump (or what I could find of it)
2) your little homemade birth announcement from the Birth Center with your name spelled wrong
3) weight/height for the first few weeks and months

To date, there is no baby album. I've made only one trip to the bookstore to peruse the selection and walked away completely dissatisfied by the choices. Also, I can't figure out how a baby album fits into our buy-nothing-new year. It's not exactly the kind of thing that one buys used. I guess someday I'll hand you a ziplock back with the little tokens of your infancy and tell you to read the blog for more info.

Without the direction of a baby book and the fill-in-the-blank pages I'm afraid I've failed to record the "developmental milestones" that one usually preserves therein. I'm not exactly sure when you sat up by yourself for the first time, although I know that by 5 months I felt confident that you could sit for your fancy photo shoot (you did tumble once, and if you look closely you can see a little red mark on your forehead in some of the photos). You were rolling over from front to back by the end of three months but then completely went off it--been there, done that. Now you refuse to roll and just scream until someone picks you up. Yesterday, we worked on rolling from back to front and once the novelty wore off, after precisely two rolls, you resorted to the tried and true method of yelling. You can generally find something to occupy your mind and hands no matter where you find yourself so moving doesn't seem to be high on your list of priorities. I think fat babies fight an uphill battle to mobility, there's just so much more to lug around, who wants to bother?

I love that you can find things of interest wherever you land. For instance, I started writing this blog while you were taking your Fred Nap. You woke up before the page loaded but you've been lying beside me, investigating your hands and fingers and blabbing on about the artwork on the walls, Peanut's breath and wondering about that white stuff on the ground. I understand you perfectly well. Even with a stuffy nose (again) you're a perfectly pleasant person.

See, I've done it again. I haven't filled-in-the-blanks. We'll never be able to remember your favorite toy or what you thought of your first snowfall (it was yesterday and it was captivating for about 2 minutes). But right now you're just making the cutest noises and I want to stop and listen.

The picture above is posted as proof that every once in a while I go wild and dress you like a girl.

Please Sir, May I Have Some MORE!

2008-01-11T11:00:00.000-05:00

We haven't found a found a food you won't consume with considerable enthusiasm but avocado is currently the favorite. I was only a little jealous as you spooned mouth after mouth of that green goodness down the hatch. We've been working on sign language for "more" and it may very well be your first word. Perhaps we should work on "share."

Be Not Afraid

2008-01-09T11:01:00.001-05:00

For the past few days I have been meditating (perhaps too sedate a word) on the subject of fear. On January 1st a 24 year-old hiker, Meredith Emerson, went missing on the very mountain we hiked two months ago in North Georgia. Within days her case was in the news across the country with up-to-the-minute updates on CNN, headlines at the top of our paper every morning and live broadcasts from multiple search parties in the mountains. The news gets more disturbing daily; although her body was found on Sunday night the papers reported this morning that she may have been held three days before she was killed.

For the past few nights I have crawled alongside you in bed, held your tiny hand in mine and let the tears roll down my cheeks. The story has hit close to home for reasons I can only partially describe. Two months ago when we hiked Blood Mountain (I've noticed that reporters have not chosen not to use the name in their reports) we carried Poppa Joe's ashes with us and sprinkled them from one of the most beautiful overlooks in the North Georgia mountains. Blood Mountain is sacred space and knowing that something so horrible and terrifying happened will now always be sewn into my memory of the mountain.

More gripping, however, has been the realization that one act of violence can cause such an avalanche of fear. I see in Meredith Emerson a woman who on the first day of a new year took her beloved dog out for a walk in one of the most beautiful places on earth. It sounds like a perfect way to kick off a new year, an idea that certainly would have appealed to me. The joy of walking with your dog in the woods is spiritual, meditative and pure. I'd like to think that one day you might head off for a walk in the woods with your dog. I'd like to believe that that idea didn't scare me.

One night recently I stretched out beside you while your nursed yourself to sleep and whispered admonitions into your ear: "Don't ever hike alone" and "Don't you ever talk to crazy old men" and simply "don't trust everyone you meet." I gathered your body close to mine and felt the fear move inside me as my imagination took leaps from one horrifying scenario to the next. And then, as you often do as you are drifting off to sleep, you stuck one little hand up in the air with your palm out and your little fingers slightly curved in an arc.

Fear Not.

The hand gesture, or mudra, is a familiar one. When I went to Thailand in 1999 I brought back several small metal statues of the Buddha bought from a street vendor for less than ten cents each. My favorite has always been the Buddha with his hand in the Abhaya Mudra, the sign of fearlessness In doing a little research on the mudra I found this link on Wikipedia: "The mudrā was probably used before the onset of Buddhism as a symbol of good intentions proposing friendship when approaching strangers."

We find ourselves living in a world where not every stranger who crosses your path has good intentions. So how does a girl with a sense of adventure, an inborn desire to be friendly and compassionate coexist with people who aren't? The answer is unclear but I will resist all temptation to scare you into staying home instead of hiking and averting your eyes whenever a stranger crosses your path. Afterall, you are far more likely to find joy in those encounters than sorrow. The world is more good than bad, people are more deserving of trust than not and while fear certainly has it's place (always, always trust your gut when you feel uncertain about a situation) it should never be a guiding ethic.

Thanks for reminding me.

2008 in Review

2008-01-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

You woke up at 11:40 on the last day of 2007 and resisted all attempts to be lulled back to sleep. Perhaps it was the firecrackers the kids down the street were setting off or just the electric vibe in the air but the first minute of 2008 was something you wanted to witness. We joined Mama Gerri downstairs, called up to your dad that he had 20 seconds to get downstairs in time to see the ball drop and waited to ring in the new year. You watched Dick Clark (who must be taking the best vitamins ever made) and millions in Time Square dance around and celebrate. You did seem captivated.

So in review--2008 has been pretty great. You slept well, although since you've been eating some solids it seems you're even hungrier at night. 2008 seems to be a good year to sleep in as you didn't wake us up with your usual nose grabbing and cooing until 9:45. In 2008 you have not had any table food breakfast, as the pediatrician informed us that bananas can be constipating and so far you have not moved your bowels in 2008 (or for a good chunk of the last week of 2007).

You've watched the wind blow the trees out the window (2008 has been very breezy) and laughed at Peanut playing tug-of-war with her new toy. You've danced to a great bluesy version of Old McDonald had a Farm and seemed to think Mama Gerri flapping her arms like a duck was hilarious. You kept the beat on your new drum set. You chewed on Eeyore and a wooden spoon. Now you're taking your "Fred nap" (named after my great uncle Fred who always took a good nap after breakfast). In review, 2008 has been peaceful, fun and entertaining. Only 364 more days to go.

P.S. On the last day of 2007 we went in for your 6 month check-up and can report a weight of 20.2 pounds and 28 inches in length. You're still my A+ baby!

P.P.S. Until further notice, all photo credits go to your aunt Christa who is your personal photo chronicler.

A Little Christmas Cheer

2007-12-28T15:21:00.000-05:00

I'm listening to you ring bells and sing on the front porch in Ocean Springs. The Christmas tree here has already been undecorated but there's still lots of family around to make the house festive and busy (sometimes very busy!). While our original plan was to head back to Atlanta today our car is currently busted up at the shop (this makes it's third trip to the shop in two months) and your dad and I are planning how to spend our extra day . I'm thinking we'll head out in a few minutes to take you to the seashore or some other exotic locale (like Hudsons...very exotic).

Your first Christmas was really wonderful and as predicted, the best presents were the bows, paper and Lemur's wooden spoons. You've knocked around at your drum set and bounced in the Exersaucer but nothing beats those wooden spoons. I won't get into all the details but it appears that Santa did track your movements carefully and was able to deliver the goods in time for Christmas morning.

It's time to move on right now, I'll follow up with a fuller Christmas report soon.

Santa's Lap

2007-12-19T11:33:00.001-05:00

A few have asked if we're going to see Santa in the mall this year. Because of our buy-nothing-new-year commitments, I'm able to spend this holiday season mall-free. So, we arranged to have Santa sit on your lap (kind of). You seem alternately over and underwhelmed by all the glitz of the holiday season.

Something to Chew On

2007-12-17T12:03:00.000-05:00

It's almost Christmas and you couldn't care less. You do love the sparkling trees that have, inexplicably, popped up in every house you visit and sometimes appear smack dab in the middle of the street. A well decorated tree (read: lots of hand-blown glass ornaments and those expensive Radko glitter encrusted ones) will keep you occupied for a good twenty to thirty minutes. Next year, we'll have to erect a security fence around the tree but this year your immobile and I'm really thankful.

The big news this Christmas will not be the gifts (although your dad and I are making you one pretty awesome set of drums out of thrift store pots and pans which we may regret when the decibel level starts to rise) or the big guy in the red suit. This year it's all about Christmas dinner; finally you'll get to join in the feast! Christmas falls just four days shy of your 6 month birthday and by all accounts you're ready for some culinary exploration. And of course, as I've quickly learned in this journey of parenting, every milestone reached wrenches the heart just a little.

For the past five months and few odd weeks you've foraged for food in just one place. Sometimes you've stopped by Ma's House of Delectable Dishes for a quick snack, sometimes for a prolonged linen-napkin and candle-lit affair. Basically, it's been a table for two for as long as you've been alive and I'm a little jealous of our time together. Obviously, the tap will remain open for as long as we both find it convenient but the table settings are about to change.

I love food so much that sharing this experience with you is also a little exciting. We're planning to skip the jars of mish-mashed stuff and move straight to the real stuff--sweet potatoes, carrots, avocado (if you can beat me to it), squash (no worries there, it's all yours), pears, bananas, apples. The idea behind this baby-led-weaning, is that you experience food in it's original form and start to make decisions about how much you eat and how you eat it. You get to mix the flavors together (there's no pureed "mixed vegetable" involved) and I won't have to make the sound of a choo-choo train to get you to open up. Less stress for me and more fun for you--what's not to love?

As your dad and I were eating at the Dekalb Farmers' Market last night I watched kids at a table next to us lap up a plate full of Indian spiced vegetables, leafy spinach and fried okra. I hope you learn to love that kind of variety of texture and taste. Then I bit into a heart of palm and was briefly reminded of the way your breath smells--a smell I would love to make a scratch 'n sniff sticker of if I could figure out how to capture it. There's something so unbelievably pure about that smell and I'll sure miss it when it's replaced by carrots and pears. I guess I'll be buying lots of hearts of palm. But for now, I've got a table for two reserved in about thirty minutes at your favorite little diner and I hear the dishes are always served up with a smile.

Stimulating the Brain

2007-12-13T13:44:00.001-05:00

The other night I made the comment to a friend that I was finding the stay-at-home gig intellectually stimulating. It hasn't been something I've thought about a lot and I haven't had any deep conversations about it with your dad or anyone else. But somehow, suprising even myself, I'm finding that your brain is challenging mine.

It's a beautiful thing to track the developments of a five month old. Sometimes it's hard to keep up; you're consistently going to sleep doing things you weren't doing when you woke up that same morning. For intsance, we went to the zoo a few days ago and it was a whole new experience. The first time we went, with Chad and Molly, you slept through 99% of it, waking for a quick peek at the pandas. This last time you saw everything. When the zebras moved across the yard, you followed them and you were delighted by the Meerkats tumbling over one another. I swear, you even chuckled watching the baby gorilla play in the leaves. Wherever I pointed, your gaze followed.

I don't think you're brain will ever be quite as active as it is in this first year or two and watching it whirr is quite an experience. Granted, we're not solving global warming or discussing the pitfalls of the protestant work ethic, but we've got plenty of time for that. You've mastered connecting the word "Peanut" with the furry thing that loves to lick your face. That's a good place to start.

Fancified for Five

2007-11-30T15:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was your five month birthday and we marked the occasion by getting all dressed up in your new, hand smocked dress and heading to the mall for a photo shoot. This dress was commissioned by Lemur (your grandmother) and designed by your Pa and me. There are thirteen primroses on the dress --a very auspicious number promising good luck -- and beautiful details all over. The hem lets down which means you'll be wearing this dress for a good number of years.

You were stingy with the smiles yesterday which was okay with me even though I did bark like a dog and shake my hips like Elvis to prompt you to give us one of your gummy ones. You weren't buying.

So here are some of the highlights. You'll notice we don't own these. They're officially copyrighted by the Portrait People so we're just borrowing a few...

This Time of the Year

2007-11-28T16:43:00.000-05:00

Fall is my favorite season. I love the bursts of color where there was only green before and the reds and yellows against a bright blue fall sky can bring tears to my eyes. It's nice to bring those light sweaters and zip-up fleeces from the back of the closet and the jeans I've been wearing all summer suddenly seem seasonably appropriate. When you throw in the high-holidays like Thanksgiving and my birthday (you wore your cupcake outfit for me this year, which I considered very thoughtful), pecan pie, apple cider and butternut squash the season is just bursting forth with goodness.

There's simply no better way to celebrate the season than a walk in the woods. On November 10th you logged your first hike on the Appalachian Trail. As a way of marking one year of missing Poppa Joe the family decided to hike up to one of his favorite overlooks on Blood Mountain and sprinkle some of his ashes. Fall was Poppa Joe's favorite time of the year too and he usually marked the season with a week long hike the third week of October somewhere in the Smoky Mountains or the A.T. It was fitting to spend the one year anniversary of his death in the mountains. You absolutely loved the hike, I know Poppa Joe was smiling to see your engaged, giggling, curious face watching every tree and rock go by.

Nothing says fall like Thanksgiving at the cabin. You spent your first Thanksgiving charming the Ramke clan with your gummy smile, solid sitting skills and your obsession with drinking water from a glass. When your dad opted for tent sleeping, you and I curled up on the fold-out bed and cuddled ourselves to sleep by a dying fire. You slept like a log and woke with a big smile on your face every day. Perhaps next time we'll join your Pa in the tent.

On Saturday the three of us went on another extended hike through the Cherohala Forrest. Typically, we had a hard time finding the trail head and then started out walking exactly the wrong direction but our mistake paid off. We saw three wild turkeys take flight. You seemed unmoved by the turkeys but registered your displeasure at the sound of your mom and dad gobbling at the birds as they flew away. It was the first time we'd really heard you cry in fear; granted, we were making an unholy racket. But the rest of the hike you spent in a state of pure delight. You gabbed almost the whole three hours and did a little grass pruning in one of the two balds we came across (pictured above).

I love this season and I love sharing it with you. I love the sound of the leaves underfoot when we take our daily walk. I love bundling you up against the cold and finding (at least most of the time) that your fingers and toes are still toasty warm when we get home. I love the red in your nose and the smell of chimney smoke in the air. And to think, next Thanksgiving, you'll actually get to try some of that turkey feast you were so intent on banging your fist into this year.

What's in a Name

2007-11-08T16:04:00.000-05:00

Marian--
It's a gorgeous fall afternoon and we're sitting on the sidewalk at the top of the street stealing wireless internet from a manicure/pedicure shop. You've been a tad fussier than usual after your four month check-up yesterday (two shots that you handled like a pro) and the only thing that seems to make you feel better is being naked or going outside for a walk. Imagine the joys of walking naked...

At any rate, I had some business to attend to and since we don't have a wireless connection at home I had to go hunting for one. Thank goodness for unsecured networks. Of course, the whole world will be wired by the time you're ready to get online and this hunting for wireless will be as passe as gathering nuts and berries for supper. Of course, if it was up to your dad, we would be out gathering nuts and berries for supper.

I haven't picked up on your birth story again; I read what I have written the other day and it already seemed like something that happened years ago. I was relieved that I could mentally pick up where I left off with the story. There are no major chunks of memory missing so I'll get around to it again soon. But while I was doing that I realized that we'd never explained the etymology of your name.

You are Marian Katherine Ard Waller

Your birth certificate is currently sporting a hyphen between Ard and Waller. We are getting that fixed as Ard-Waller sounds a bit like HogWallow and we are not mean enough to wish that on you.

Marian was the name of my great, grand aunt, Marian Hine (that's your great-grandmother's aunt) that lived in Atlanta until I went to college and she went to live with relatives in Alabama. Almost every week of my growing-up years she took our family out to eat on Friday night, and then when Friday started to interfere with my evolving social life, we switched to post-church brunch on Sundays. I can still remember the smell of her--a combination of hair spray and Listerene. Aunt Manie, that was our name for her, had a spirit of generosity that I've never found matched in another person. After living through the death of her daughter (also Marian) and her husband and a terrible accident that left her son who was in medical school with the cognitive abilities of a young child, she found her way to joy and peace. Instead of harboring animosity at a world that had most certainly dealt her a raw hand, she only seemed to grow in her capacity to love.

You and I share her name, my parents named me Amy Marian, probably with the hope that I would resemble her in some way. In naming you Marian I hope to honor her and to challenge myself to raise you well. Calling you Marian is a reminder that living at peace in this world, with grace and hope and abundant love, is a choice we make daily. Aunt Manie made the choice to live with a joyful spirit when it would have been easy to go the other way. I hope we can both take a page from her book.

You are ready to walk now. We'll continue the story of your name another day.

Booooo! Da Baby

2007-10-31T21:53:00.000-04:00

Buddhalicious Baby...

When I lived on Zimmer Drive as a child we didn't have the rituals of Halloween they have these days. First there's Zimmerween, a party that falls on the weekend before Halloween, packed with fun for kids (costumes) and adults (wine and beer). We attended this year with our friends Chad and Molly in tow sans costume and sans a dish for the potluck or a bottle of wine. On the Zimmer Drive of yesteryear, this would have been just fine.

A lot has changed about Zimmer Drive in the fifteen years I've been gone. For starters, the house that hosted Zimmerween is a complete remodel of the duplex that used to be across the street. It's now one house (5,400 square feet, I believe) and boasts a pot-filler (a kitchen tool I'd never even heard of before last Saturday), a secret room for their young boy accessible by a swinging bookshelf in the closet, and a morning kitchen in the main bedroom. It's odd to come back to the same old house I grew up in and find I've "moved on up" by virtue of sharing a zipcode with the onslaught of wealthy folks who have moved on in.

But back to Halloween.

In addition to Zimmerween there is a street wide parade at 5:30 that officially kicks off the trick-or-treat hours. At 5:00 I was changing your diaper and commenting on your belly when the idea struck--you were the perfect size and shape to pull of Baby Buddha. So in thirty minutes we whipped together what I think is an absolutely stunning little number complete with real Sandalwood beads and a silk meditation cushion made in Cambodia. I couldn't find a Bodhi tree, so we just had rays of light emanating from your head.

Unfortunately, the costume required some explanation for the Zimmer crowd; you even got called Ms. Muffett sitting on your tuffett.

Alas, the mosquitoes are still biting and the temperature dropped so we didn't make it to the top of the street; even Buddha is susceptible to the elements. So we went back home where you changed into your pumpkin outfit and stood guard over the candy bowl. None of those pirates, ninjas or princesses got more than two pieces of candy on your watch.

Kinfolk

2007-10-23T22:42:00.000-04:00

We can report that you've met just about all the relatives (minus some cousins that you'll see at Thanksgivings and other holidays just around the corner). The pictures above are from your initial visits with two of your three great-grandmothers. I think they are sufficiently charmed.

The Sound of Jello Thru a Straw

2007-10-23T22:21:00.000-04:00

We woke up at 3am last night to the disturbing racket that was you struggling to breathe through your nose. Little bug, you have come down with your first cold. I can't say it comes a total surprise, you were already getting a little stuffed up before we hit the sheets last night but I was hoping it would be in and out with just a sneeze or two.

To your credit, you've been in a pretty good mood all day, even if you are feeling a little under the weather. To my credit, I've been training you since the day you were born not to fear the nasal aspirator. You've been very patient as your dad and I have stuck the plastic bulb up your nose and extracted stretchy, yellow strings of snot. I've been reciting the punchline to a card I gave your grandfather one year. I have no idea what the outside of the card said, but the inside said, "You may think it's funny, but it's snot." To be sure, no one on this end thinks your snot is funny.

Bruised

2007-10-18T13:12:00.000-04:00

I took a good long look at my legs today I was getting ready for yoga--what a horror show.

For the 25th time this week, I ran into the sofa as I was walking out of the living room this morning on my way to get a cup of coffee. Never in my life have I walked into so many standing-still objects. The most offensive bruise, high on my left thigh, is a result of walking into the dresser right after I put you down for a nap.

I never look where I'm going anymore; I'm always looking at you. When I ran into the sofa I was moving forward but smiling at you squirming on the floor. When I nailed the dresser I was watching the soft rise and fall of your chest as you drifted into sleep. I've got my eyes on you, girl. I have the bruises to prove it.

Finding Your Voice

2007-10-15T13:12:00.000-04:00

I think I was fully prepared for a loud baby. When we were still living in the condo I was worried that we would drive the nice man that lived downstairs to distraction with all the noise I was sure you would make at all hours of the night and day.

But the last three months have been pretty quiet (with the exception of that last road trip and a few episodes on the changing table). You coo quietly, your fussing is understated and it's only when you're really unhappy that the decibel levels rise.

But over the last three days you've turned into quite the conversationalist. Last Friday your grandmother's friend Barby was finding it hard to get a word in edgewise. We were all a little shocked that you had so much to say. Yesterday, as we toured potential wedding sites for Dana and Eric (my heavens, what fun you had staring at the lights at the Fox Theater) you really seemed to find your voice. The empty ballrooms resonated with your sweet, high, delighted little squeals, gurgles and blasts of vowels. You liked hearing it bounce back at you and the monologue kept me entertained all day long. This morning, pretty early, you picked up where you left off last night.

I love that the world is something you find worthy of exclamation. And as your cries of protest grow louder (they certainly were this morning) I hope your coos of wonder and shouts of joy will also multiply. Your voice is one I will always love hearing, even in the ungodly hours of the morning.

It's Fun to Play at the YMCA

2007-10-08T10:52:00.001-04:00

Today, I took my first step toward triathlon training. We marched into the YMCA, the very one where I learned to swim 33 years ago, and started our trial period. To my great delight, your dad's job pays poorly enough that we qualify for membership assistance!

There I was, in my running pants and tank top staring at a weight room for the first time in way, way too long feeling just a little winded by the thought of a structured exercise routine. But what really had me breathing heavy was walking up to the "play room" and dropping you off. For the first time ever I handed you to complete strangers and walked away...for exactly 48 minutes.

You were screaming when I left and I half expected a page to ring out begging me to come retrieve you just about the time I figured out how to work the fancified stair-master. But no, when it was time to come pick you up, you were rocking peacefully in the arms of the very nice play room supervisor. I couldn't believe how good it felt to hold you again, and you didn't seem to mind the sweat and stink.

The brilliant thing about a YMCA membership, even on income assistance, is that they provide 8 hours of free daycare a week. I'm glad you seemed to settle in pretty easily, if I'm going to get ready for a triathlon, we're going to need every minute of that play room time.

PS: The picture on this post is unrelated to your day at the "Y" but it is evidence that you're getting ready for yoga.

New Doctor, New Weight Class

2007-10-05T12:50:00.000-04:00

This morning we visited your new Atlanta doctor and we think we'll keep her. We'd been told by the DC doctor to go visit an Atlanta pediatrician at the three month mark to get your head circumference checked since your head grew so fast between your first and second month. We walked in the door this morning and the first thing the doctor said, looking up from her stack of files behind the front desk was, "that baby's head looks just fine to me." That's exactly what we thought.

We spent an hour or so getting to know the new pediatrician and talking about vitamin D supplements. I think if we went to 100 doctors we'd walk away with 100 different things we just "had to do" do prepare you for life. While the DC doc didn't think vitamin D is a big deal, this one is just sure it will keep you from getting cancer one day. So, we'll try the vitamin D drops.

I do have a bit of bad news. You no longer have an A+ in weight...you've slipped into the C+ to B- range. You're now merely in the 75% for weight. But the good news, you've moved up in height!

We've nearly worn out the playback button on the laughing video we posted but we've now discovered a way to get you to laugh almost on-demand. You love the sound of Peanut barking and could watch Bailey dance around your feet all day. As long as the dogs are animated (which usually involves feeding them copious amounts of treats while they spin and dance and bark and roll over) you are giggling. Before long we'll have two morbidly obese dogs but one very happy baby. So your two real loves right now seem to be dogs and baths.

You're in the other room right now jabbering away and making loud sucky noises. We're off on yet another road trip today to the lakehouse where you'll meet your great grandmother Ramke and some assorted aunts, uncles and cousins once-removed. I can't wait to dip your toes in the murky waters of East Tennessee.

SAHM

2007-10-02T09:34:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was your first day with a stay-at-home-mom. I'm not sure you noticed the difference. For the first three months of your life I've been pulling in a paycheck, toting you along to the office when I needed to be there for a meeting and getting ready for the big move. You have been with me constantly, albeit sometimes staring at a computer screen for too long or being passed from hand to hand at Sojourners. But today I found myself employed only by you; the pay isn't great but the fringe benefits are pretty good.

We dropped your dad off at work for his first day as a staff attorney at Atlanta Legal Aid, he beat the other attorneys in (a good sign I think) and the three of us walked across the courtyard for coffee while we waited for the office to fill. Then we kissed him goodbye and drove back home to begin our adventure. You slept, read, took a bath (you kicked like an Olympic swimmer), walked around the neighborhood, ate a lot and were carted up and down the stairs in the laundry basket which you seemed to think was fun. Then we picked your dad up from MARTA and came home to celebrate his first day with champagne and a nice dinner at Food 101.

During the day I discussed with you the mixed feelings I have about being a stay-at-home-mom. I can think of no other place I'd rather be than laying with you on the living room floor doing push ups and reading the Squishy Turtle book that you love so much. But it's strange to have gone to work everyday for the past several years imagining that I was preparing for a career and just when it was beginning to fall into place, I left. I was raised to believe that as a girl/woman I could do any job I wanted to do if I worked hard enough. I will raise you to believe the same thing. Does this mean that you should work your way through school, find a job you love and then leave it to raise your daughter to believe she can do anything she wants? I don't know...

What I do know is that to be with you everyday, watching you smile and grunt and learn new things (sometimes it seems by the minute) feels like a tremendous gift. Can I change the world by loving you, teaching you and keeping your bum dry and free from rashes? Who knows? Maybe so.

PACHOW!

2007-09-30T13:20:00.000-04:00

On your three month birthday you gave us all a great gift--your first belly laugh! I admit to being thrilled that it happened while splashing bare bellied in the bathtub. I love that you seem to love the water as much as I do. I'm not sure the video quality is fantastic but it's the audio that's really important.

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind. You've been on three major roadtrips and have a new address. We're still unpacking on Zimmer Drive but the process is made so much easier with three sets of hands. You love to sit on the back porch in the Guatemalan swing (you come by this rightly, Poppa Joe spent most of his time at home swinging there) or walk around the neighborhood staring up at the tree canopy. The fact that Mr. Reindeer, your favorite mobile character, made the trip too seems to please you greatly.

This past weekend you saw your Mississippi grandparents and met your first great-grandparent. You were quite a hit in the nursing home and had plenty of smiles to pass around. You cheered at your first high school football game and Ocean Springs beat the competition into the ground. Watch out, you could become a team mascot.

The weather has turned cool, my favorite season is settling in. We all slept under the covers together last night and I dreamt of babies giggling. It was the sweetest dream.

The Spaceship has Landed

2007-09-18T16:42:00.000-04:00

Marian, you've made it home. We left Silver Spring, Maryland about two days later than expected, spent one night on the road and pulled into 1224 yesterday at about 7pm. The Penske truck was packed so tight that when your grandfather pulled out of the driveway and started down the interstate with the back door open, nothing fell out! Our station wagon looked like a lunar lander with your enormous stroller strapped to the roof rack and Mrs. Canela (one of our favorite plants that we really didn't think would make the cut) sandwiched between your car seat and the bellycast. Peanut spent the entire trip with her nose up the air conditioning vent and your pa's knees were up in his chin but you rode in the lap of luxury with your crinkly bee and your mirror (whose beautiful face did you look at for 16 hours?) for company. And here we are on the other end with boxes absolutely everywhere. But you're home. So am I. Weird.

Things You Should Not Agree to Do Before Moving

2007-09-10T17:07:00.000-04:00

1. Continue to work for an organization that no longer pays you
2. Agree to pull together a curriculum for a weekend retreat for aforementioned organization.
3. Tell the organization you can deliver this curriculum at a meeting 4 days before moving.
4. Joyfully assent to preaching and planning a church service 6 days before moving
5. Write a magazine article with a deadline 3 days before moving

Marian, we have a lot of ground to cover. When I last wrote you were sore and sad, today you're just restless and tired of sitting inside looking at the computer screen. We haven't even reviewed you baptism weekend (which was a big deal, folks came from near and far to see you!).

But writing a blog is also something you should probably not do the week before moving.

Worst Day of Your Whole Life

2007-09-05T11:47:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me yesterday, as you were screaming the kind of screams that we've so rarely heard, that this was the one day in your life that you could say "worst day ever" and it would most certainly be true. With just two months under your belt, you haven't had any day that hurt so bad. I'm glad you can't talk, because if I'd heard you say "worst day ever" (on top of the wounded screams) I would have just rolled over and died.

You had three shots yesterday and if the brief prick of the needles weren't bad enough you were sore and feverish most of the day and into the night. You displayed amazing stoicism about the shots, the nurses were still commenting about that when we left the office, but once you were safely out of the crowds and in the comfort of your own home, you let me know just how bad it felt. You cried, I cried and then we cuddled up for a long nap on the couch hoping to sleep off the pain and bad memories. When you woke up, feeling slightly better I think, we went for a long walk with Peanut and you enjoyed staring up at the leafy trees and drifted off into another nap. For the final feel-good treat of the evening, I filled up the bathtub and you and I splashed around for about 30 minutes. You decided to call it a night, all wrapped up in blankets, and you slept straight through to 5am. Your dad and I thought you were a little too warm and your temperature (taken the pansy way, under your armpit) was a little over 100. So we broke open the safety seal on the cherry flavored Infant Tylenol and you had your first non-breast milk "food" ever. We prefer to think your had cherry pie instead of medicine. A few more hours of sleep and you woke up ready to smile at Mr. Reindeer on your mobile. Much better day today, maybe not "best day ever" but moving in that direction.

PS. You made an "A" weight! You bent the scales at 13 pounds 1 ounce and that puts you in the 97 percentile. In my book, that's an A+! Good work my little chunker.

Marian, LIVE!

2007-08-29T15:31:00.001-04:00

It's a brave new world. I just figured out how to download video. Watching instructions: tilt head to the left and smile.

Honk If You Love Roadtrips

2007-08-28T21:11:00.000-04:00

There are some people who can't resist the lure of the open road. It struck me as we enjoyed our fourteenth hour on the highway between DC and Chicago this past weekend that we might have given birth to one such free spirit. You slept and you cooed and smiled at all your adoring fans in the truck stops. You only really fussed when we got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic just outside of Chicago, and really, who could blame you?

Before your 2nd month of life you have already visited six states and the District of Columbia. In just three more weeks we will get to add 3 more states. I'm betting that before you are four months old you will have seen a full 12 states by car, roughly 25 percent of all the states there are to see; not bad my little wanderlust.

Cheeky Little Miss

2007-08-22T15:23:00.000-04:00

Here you are on July 29th, one month old and starting to fill out.Same outfit, three weeks later. I don't think your dad needs to worry about your "brain circumfrence" any longer. And what are you storing in those cheeks?

Packing Up

2007-08-22T12:06:00.002-04:00

When I was born my mom and dad brought me home to a house that I lived in until the day I left for college. A house that I came back to after I graduated from college (for just a short one year visit, mind you) the very same house that Momma Gerri lives in today. We never moved, not across town, much less across the country. I always felt more than a little sorry for the kids who showed up on the first day of school fresh off a moving truck from some distant place where I'm sure they'd left best friends, winning soccer teams and a house they really loved. I was also a little jealous, however, of the adventures these kids must have had and the opportunity they had to reinvent themselves when they landed in a new place. There's a lot of social baggage that comes with growing up with the same set of kids since kindergarten.

So maybe it's the lure of a new adventure that's kept me moving every couple of years since I left college. In the seven years that your dad and I have been together I have moved four times and if my last count is correct, he's moved eight (sometimes just to a new house in the same city). And now, we're introducing you to our semi-nomadic lifestyle. At the age of two an a half months, all your stuff will be packed up in cardboard boxes and U-Hauled to your next home. Strangely enough, back to the house that I grew up in.

It's odd to think that you'll have no memories of your first home, or even the city that's listed on your birth certificate; I so closely identify with my first home and city. When we come back to Washington DC, it will probably always be as tourists. We'll drive through Silver Spring and point out the condo building that housed you for your first two and a half months life life and we'll drive by the DC Birth Center to see the place you took your first breath (let's hope real hard that it will always be there). When you fill out your passport application you will write Washington, DC as your city of birth, but it may not mean much to you at all. Or perhaps, you will be proud to have been born in ournationscapital.

But you'll probably do lots of things I've never done or didn't do quite so young. I hope that moving far away from home isn't one of those things you do for a very, very long time. And when you do, I'd advise you to use professional movers. I swore I would never pack myself again and here I sit in one of our two rooms completely surrounded by boxes on one side. After calling ten different moving companies and exploring every option from a full-service move to a packing pod, we've decided to go-it-alone once again.

A few months ago I was driving out of the condo and down by the trash bins there were a ton of moving boxes. The one furthest to the outside was a large wardrobe box. On the outside of the box, scrawled in black marker, were two words: Chandelier & Cat. I'm afraid that person should have paid the extra money for a professional mover. I can't promise that our move will be fun but I can promise that you and Peanut will not be packed away with the chandeliers.

Waltzing with Marian

2007-08-16T13:40:00.000-04:00

After almost seven weeks of not taking long naps during the day, you've switched things up on us. Perhaps it's a growth spurt (lord, help us if it is) but yesterday you snoozed through most of the morning and afternoon. Waking just in time for a romp in the park with Peanut and our neighbors.

I'll admit, it was nice to get a few things done around the house yesterday. I could do laundry without trying to balance you on one hip, I sat down and ate a real lunch and spent most of the day working on your birth story. I've decided that no one, not even me, will be interested in reading this birth story at the current level of detail I've provided. It's almost five single spaced pages and I haven't even gotten to the action yet!

I've also decided it's fruitless to try and bring this blog up to speed before I start writing in the present. I'll post a shortened version of your birth story when it's ready; but for now I need to talk about this morning.

You are a morning person, you clearly get that from your dad. Your morning smiles can bring us to our knees--they are big and gummy, spreading across your whole face and it's impossible to see them and not fall head over heels in love. And while a smile will stop me dead in my tracks, I usually feel a lot of pressure to get things done in the morning. There's the pumping, the laundry, the dishes from yesterday and the coffee (very, very important to me these days). So sometimes I put you in your little rainforest bouncing chair while I rush around the place. You played nicely for a while this morning but were soon put-out by the fake jungle noises and the water-feature with no water.

The Birthing 101 soundtrack I'd put together for labor was playing on the ipod (jockeying for auditory prominence with the forest noises). I plucked you from your jungle prison and we started waltzing. The song changed and "Ashokan Farewell" started wafting out. This is the song that your dad and and I waltzed to at our wedding and the song that led me down the aisle. You and I waltzed around the condo, out onto the balcony where a soft rain was falling, and you were happy. I love dancing with you little girl.

And now you're snoozing and I'm sipping coffee. Sometimes the dishes can wait while we waltz.

Pregnancy Condensed IV, Belly Shots

2007-08-08T18:25:00.000-04:00

You grew here.

Pregnancy Condensed III, My Little Activist

2007-08-08T17:43:00.000-04:00

I had the kind of pregnancy that makes a lot of women jealous. No morning sickness--I threw up just twice--no weird food aversions, no scares, normal weight gain and plenty of energy throughout. There were just a few things I found to complain about, and these didn't turn up until pretty close to the end. First, my ankles and feet were swollen beyond all recognition and the only shoes I could wear were those big fat Crocs. Second, I developed pregnancy carpal tunnel which meant that for the last two months of pregnancy, and well into a month after you were born, I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers on my right hand. Lastly, I had a tremendous amount of pelvic floor pressure. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you were early, you'd been moving in that general direction for quite a while.

In March, just about three months before you arrived, I helped organize a massive demonstration against the war in Iraq. The day before the event it was 70 degrees and beautiful in DC; the day of the event it was sleeting and below freezing. Still, we managed to fill the National Cathedral with almost 4,000 people and then marched to the White House where over 200 people participated in acts of civil disobedience. Your dad and I decided it was enough for you to participate in your first march on Washington in the womb but going to jail in utero was not the best idea. I loved the idea that you were making the journey down the frozen streets of DC with me.

Your political activism didn't stop there. You turned up in a God's Politics blog post for Sojourners and it turned out to be one of the most commented-on blogs on the whole site. Some folks asked me if I felt bad about "using" you for political purposes. I did not.

And just three weeks before you were born you were on national (maybe international) television at a candidates forum on CNN focused on religion and poverty. Sojourners and CNN hosted the event and when 7 minutes before show time our VIP guests in the second row, aisle seats had not shown up I sat down. John Edwards, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton were about three feet away from us during the evening. Apparently the cameras liked focusing on the pregnant woman on the second row.

I think it is fitting that on the morning I found out you were coming I was heading to an advocacy meeting on the Hill. On the day you arrived I was supposed to be attending a meeting about mobilizing religious voters to prioritize poverty. You've got politics in your blood girl.

Pregnancy Condensed II, Missing Poppa Joe

2007-08-08T17:19:00.000-04:00

Not every day was a happy one. Four days after I found out I was pregnant, I went home to Atlanta to visit your grandparents--Momma Gerri and Poppa Joe. It was supposed to be just a weekend visit but it turned into a much longer, much sadder stay. On the morning I was supposed to fly back to DC, Poppa Joe got really sick and I took him to the hospital. He never came back home again and died ten days later of a blood infection.

He knew about you. I told him you were on the way the morning that he died and I know that he heard me. Sweet girl, he loved you as much as he loved me (which is a considerable amount, trust me). And I am so very, very sad that you never got a chance to have him tickle you or call Dr. Finklestein for a consultation about what happens to little girls that don't eat all their spinach (not that this will be a problem, of course). Oh, the stories you will hear about Poppa Joe. I can't wait to start telling them.

I've added a picture of your grandfather holding one of my favorite babies (pre-you, of course). If he were here , he'd be spending a lot of time holding you just like this.

Pregnancy Condensed I, That Says "Pregnant"

2007-08-08T16:49:00.000-04:00

You weren't the easiest baby to have. We had been actively thinking about having you for about a year and a half before you decided to come together. There was just something about a soft Mexican breeze across the balcony of a six story marble mansion overlooking a cliff into the ocean, cold margaritas and fresh guacamole every day that spelled "the-time-is-right."

So about two weeks after coming back to the US, when I was already late for a meeting on Capitol Hill concerning the right of all children to affordable health care, I decided to take a pregnancy test. There were a few hopeful signs: dark blue veins across my chest and a bit of spotting at a weird time that convinced me that testing five days early wasn't crazy.

And there it was...two lines. Peanut was the only one home to celebrate the moment with me. I cried, just a little, and called your dad but was glad when he didn't answer.

I sat through the long meeting, an extra pregnancy test burning a hole in my bag, and was thrilled to leave as soon as it was over. The gum I was chewing made me feel a little sick; gum would do that through the remainder of my pregnancy.

Your dad called just in time for me to get off the Metro downtown and I suggested we meet for lunch. We went to Pangaea Market and Cafe, a fair trade craft store down the street from his office. As soon as we got there I went into the bathroom and did another test. I hadn't had much to drink that morning and the results were less than stunning. I was pretty sure there was another line but it wasn't clear enough to go waving around the restaurant. I put it in the zipper pocket of my bag and walked back out.

Michael knew something was distracting me and asked what was going on. I told him I thought
I might be pregnant and explained the tests. I pulled the one out of my bag and he could definitely see the second line. He got a little teary eyed, I tried to urge caution, and we both sat there with little grins on our faces imagining the life that stretched out before us.

I walked around all day thinking--"if this pregnancy doesn't stick, at least I've had this one day. I've seen the double lines."

I spent $35 more dollars on pregnancy tests that day and they were glaringly positive. We were having you.

Making Marian

2007-08-08T13:05:00.000-04:00

If I were the kind of mother I always imagined I would be, I'd have started this blog about 10 months ago, sometimes after this picture was taken of me and your dad in Mexico. Instead, here you sit on my lap squirming wildly (your feet keep hitting the space bar) smelling ever so faintly of spoiled milk. The dog is not walked, the car is not picked up from the shop, the heat index is rising, and it's a code orange air quality day. In a few minutes I will change you, strap you close to my chest (where I'm sure the heat index is even more unfavorable) and walk you and Peanut to the auto repair shop to pick up our newly aligned car.

See, love, I always imagined that I would write your birth story while I was sipping coffee on a porch somewhere, you sleeping calmly by my side. I would spend most of the day remembering every detail so that one day you could read the play-by-play of how you entered this place. Instead, it looks like it's going to happen after I walk to G&S Automotive and before I rush off to work for a meeting on how we might "Vote out Poverty."

Welcome to the world Marian Katherine Ard Waller. My first words of wisdom-- things don't always play out quite the way you imagined they would. And usually, that's okay.