Dear Annie,
You turned one last Wednesday. Your Dad and I took the day off work and took you breakfast for your first donut (Dunkin Donuts, plain glazed). You were excited to be out at that time of day (it was 6:30 in the morning) but could take or leave the donut. Later in the day we ventured to the zoo and were one step ahead of a huge slow moving crowd the whole day. Though we were a bit rushed, you loved the penguins house and any aquarium-type feature we found. You are truly a water baby. Because we pushed our luck at the zoo a bit, you must have napped for about 5 minutes in the car on the ride home, because you had zero interest in napping for the rest of the afternoon. It's the first time we've ever seen you fussy from being over-tired. I mean really fussy. You didn't even want your bunny, which was a first. I guess making it a year before we saw that is an accomplishment. One I am in no hurry to repeat.
I have been putting off this post a bit and trying to collect my thoughts, to think of exactly what I want to say. But each time I try to think of what to write, I get choked up and end up looking at pictures of the last year. Quite simply, I think it's safe to say it's been the best year of my life. I think your Dad would agree. I have heard it said so many times but I truly can't imagine our life without you. You slid right into a little void in our family that I truly didn't know was there. You make me laugh out loud at least one time a day and make the sweetest faces. I think my personal favorite is when you raise your eyebrows at me, usually in response to something you think is funny or amazing that you have done.
You are now in size 4 diapers and still in the 12-18 month old clothes. You are still not walking, but I blame this on the size of our house. It's so small, and furniture is so close in places, you can "cruise" from one area to another by just grabbing onto things. You will walk using your walker or even with just holding one of our hands with no problems. You just haven't let go yet. I am in no real hurry to let you go.
Your naps are sporadic these days. You will usually take two naps, but they are pretty short and some days (aforementioned birthday) you only take one. Those days are not great because you can't seem to handle it just yet. You still take 3 bottles a day and we haven't switched you over to milk yet because we haven't officially had your 1 year checkup where the doc will give us the green light. You have proven that a person really only needs two teeth to get through 97% of foods on this earth. You will eat just about anything and are recently obsessed with feeding yourself, or at least holding the spoon or fork while shoveling in food with the other hand. You eat grapes and bananas (quartered) as if you have not consumed food for days. You tolerate pasta and love grilled cheese. You weren't as crazy about your birthday cake (pics to come) as I would have thought and I think you just loved having all that attention. You are NOT a fan of having anything "dirty" on your hands, which might have been the problem with the cake. If you are crawling and something gets stuck to your mits, you immediately stop and throw your hands up for my inspection and object removal.
Twenty years from now, I want to remember how much you love your sweet bunny, how fun you think it is to retrieve bunny and binkies from between your crib slats (binkie is loosely forbidden out of the bed), how your first words are officially Dad and Gib (Jen's dog-I know where I stand in the heirarchy of a 1 year old), and how everything else is "dee". I want to remember how it is so easy to tell when you are sleepy now because you will just lay your head down on my shoulder. You absolutely refuse to let me cut your nails, which is becoming less and less cute and more and more of a hazard to yourself and others, but I am optimistic enough that this will be a phase worth documenting here. I want to remember how messed up your semi-curly hair is every morning and the wild squiggly hair in the back that will not be tamed. I want to remember how your sticky little hands feel holding my index fingers as we walk around the house and how we keep going going going, despite your weary wobbles and my aching back. I want to remember how you turn away from strangers and snuggle into my chest when I am holding you, only to offer them bunny as a friendship token moments later (demanding it back 5 seconds after that, of course). I want to remember how you look when I change you in the middle of the night (a possibly misguided notion that having a less full diaper will make you able to sleep past 5:45-yet to be proven 100% accurate) and how you are big enough now to "rescue carry" with your body draped over both my arms. I want to remember how much fun you and your Dad have playing and listening to music and dancing, and how excited you get when he comes in to wake you up every morning, and how you holler for him at the door when he leaves for work.
I want to remember everything. We love you, sweet girl. I hope you had a perfect birthday.
Love,
Mom
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Last Day 0-12
We put Annie down to sleep for her last night in the coveted 0-12 month demographic. Our girl will be one year old tomorrow. It blows my mind. I remember buying the Supergirl t-shirt in Miami the weekend after we found out that we were having a girl. The shirt was for an 18 month old and seemed impossibly big. I couldn't imagine there would be a time that our little peanut would fit into that big girl shirt. I even remember checking the "impossibly big" clothes drawer from time to time and seeing the shirt and knowing there's no way it would fit.
Last week I picked it out of the drawer and held it up and even then it seemed too big. Then we put it on.
Holy crap. It fit. Barely. Had we waited another month it might have been too small.
It's official. Our Super Baby has become a Super Girl.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Nature Hates Me
Some of you OG blog followers will recall that I don't have much of a green thumb and may or may not have hired some questionable talent to do yard work for us back in the day. Well, when Pedro wasn't busy destroying our yard, he was raising his prices, so we had to let him go (only after he continued to show up and mow the lawn, blaming the language barrier for the miscommunication regarding payment, then demanding additional payment for the weed treatment he so generously gave us-I think the non-payment after a few rounds got the message across).
Rick and I (mostly Rick) have been trudging along with the lawn care, just doing enough to keep us from getting a fine for grass length violations. My one responsibility is the hydrangea bush. This thing is hearty and really resists all my apparent efforts to kill it. So hearty that in the last few years, it has even BLOOMED, which is unheard of in my world. The past few years there have been a handfull of beautiful green and pink blooms, so I figured this year I would chop those suckers off and use them to decorate Annie's birthday party. This will allow me to both save money and kill plants, which are two things I excell at.
I have kept an eye on ye ole hydrangea bush and it seemed to be blooming even more than years past, and I was thrilled. The flowers were coming in bright and pink and it was going to match perfectly with my pink and green theme.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Then I checked them again yesterday.
BOOM! In your face! About 95% of them turned BLUE!
Still beautiful, yes. But BLUE. Blue was not in the color scheme. But guess what, it is now! It's going to take a lot more than mother nature to keep me from saving money on floral arrangements.
Fork It!
Now that someone we know is growing precariously close to the 1 year mark, I figured I would take the time on Wednesday to give actual feeding utensils (other than our hands) a go.
Confusion. Maybe even anger, that her beloved banana had been speared by this foreign device.
No matter, I will just remove my banana and do this the old fashioned way.
Who are all these people on this strange thing? I will stare like this for approximately 7 minutes.
And now, when there's nothing on the fork, I will place it gingerly in my mouth.
Though no food was actually self-delivered with the fork, it did end up in her mouth by her own hand. I think I will chalk that up as a win for the first effort.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Screw You, Time Magazine
Warning to my Mom: read this whole thing before you decide to forward.
There is one thing that has disappointed me about being a Mom. One thing. And it came as a surprise.
Other Moms. Not all other moms, mind you, but there are a lot of them out there that are seemingly lovely women, but not my cup of tea when the subject of all things Mommy come up. This primarily stems from the strange competition that seems to be between mothers. Stay at home Moms could never imagine leaving their babies in daycare. Working Moms can't fathom being at home all day long and not financially providing for their family. You will be judged on seemingly straight-forward topics like sleep schedules, vaccines, child care, and development. No one knows what is best for your kid like another Mom. Or will readily tell you that you are doing something completely wrong, even when you don't ask for their opinion. Here I was thinking I had joined this club of women that were bonded together by the love for our children and shared experience, but in reality it's a club that is filled with judgement, comparisons, and back-biting. It can be a real bummer.
I should clarify that I don't think these women are bad Moms or bad people. I don't even know if some of them realize they do it. Hell, I might do it. Or maybe the sharing of your experience with your own child just comes off as a competition if you happen to mention that Hayley was walking and reading by the time she was 7 months old as you eye my Annie gnaw on a book in her mouth as she crawls head-first into the coffee table. I don't know, but it all just really rubs me the wrong way on the regular.
For example, Rick came home and told me how one of his employees was lauding his 6 month old daughter for having sensory skills of an 8 month old. What.The.Funk? And for a brief second, I always fall into the trap...sensory skills? Annie certainly has advanced sensory skills too, right? I mean, I know she has senses, but they don't seem like spidey-sense. Maybe she's not developing properly? Perhaps I should see a specialist? Maybe I will google it? I'll just add it to the list of insane questions for the doctor at our next checkup, where he will most certainly put a note in our file that a close eye should be kept on this particular mother for several types of psychological disorders.
Where was I?
Yes, Mompetition.
It's prevalent and pervasive and it really bums me out. So when I saw the cover of Time Magazine, I would dare say I was enraged. And for a person who usually hovers around a 3-4 on the emotion-meter, this is saying a lot.
Being a parent is really hard. Moms put enough pressure on ourselves, and then we go and put a ton of pressure on each other. The last thing we need is some shizbag magazine fostering this idea that some women aren't "mom enough". Especially when it comes to the breastfeeding topic. I cannot see why a magazine would want to divide women on this issue or why any other Mom cares what another Mom is even doing, for that matter. It seems as if the article addresses the fears and concerns of parents in an age where there is an abundance of information available out there on how to parent, and EVERYONE has a strong opinion. But that's not what I get from the cover. The cover, to me, implies that it's possible to not be "mom enough" if you aren't nursing your child through elementary school.
If you love your child, feed your child, give your child a safe place to sleep at night, provide for your child, protect your child, teach your child what you believe is right and true, it's enough.
And to Time Magazine, shame on you for trying to rouse debate regarding which group (attachment parenting vs parent-directed) is "right". Why don't you be a real news magazine and shine lights on topics that really need to be addressed like childhood hunger or illiteracy instead of making parents doubt if we are doing the right thing? But maybe that cover wouldn't be salacious enough.
There is one thing that has disappointed me about being a Mom. One thing. And it came as a surprise.
Other Moms. Not all other moms, mind you, but there are a lot of them out there that are seemingly lovely women, but not my cup of tea when the subject of all things Mommy come up. This primarily stems from the strange competition that seems to be between mothers. Stay at home Moms could never imagine leaving their babies in daycare. Working Moms can't fathom being at home all day long and not financially providing for their family. You will be judged on seemingly straight-forward topics like sleep schedules, vaccines, child care, and development. No one knows what is best for your kid like another Mom. Or will readily tell you that you are doing something completely wrong, even when you don't ask for their opinion. Here I was thinking I had joined this club of women that were bonded together by the love for our children and shared experience, but in reality it's a club that is filled with judgement, comparisons, and back-biting. It can be a real bummer.
I should clarify that I don't think these women are bad Moms or bad people. I don't even know if some of them realize they do it. Hell, I might do it. Or maybe the sharing of your experience with your own child just comes off as a competition if you happen to mention that Hayley was walking and reading by the time she was 7 months old as you eye my Annie gnaw on a book in her mouth as she crawls head-first into the coffee table. I don't know, but it all just really rubs me the wrong way on the regular.
For example, Rick came home and told me how one of his employees was lauding his 6 month old daughter for having sensory skills of an 8 month old. What.The.Funk? And for a brief second, I always fall into the trap...sensory skills? Annie certainly has advanced sensory skills too, right? I mean, I know she has senses, but they don't seem like spidey-sense. Maybe she's not developing properly? Perhaps I should see a specialist? Maybe I will google it? I'll just add it to the list of insane questions for the doctor at our next checkup, where he will most certainly put a note in our file that a close eye should be kept on this particular mother for several types of psychological disorders.
Where was I?
Yes, Mompetition.
It's prevalent and pervasive and it really bums me out. So when I saw the cover of Time Magazine, I would dare say I was enraged. And for a person who usually hovers around a 3-4 on the emotion-meter, this is saying a lot.
Being a parent is really hard. Moms put enough pressure on ourselves, and then we go and put a ton of pressure on each other. The last thing we need is some shizbag magazine fostering this idea that some women aren't "mom enough". Especially when it comes to the breastfeeding topic. I cannot see why a magazine would want to divide women on this issue or why any other Mom cares what another Mom is even doing, for that matter. It seems as if the article addresses the fears and concerns of parents in an age where there is an abundance of information available out there on how to parent, and EVERYONE has a strong opinion. But that's not what I get from the cover. The cover, to me, implies that it's possible to not be "mom enough" if you aren't nursing your child through elementary school.
If you love your child, feed your child, give your child a safe place to sleep at night, provide for your child, protect your child, teach your child what you believe is right and true, it's enough.
And to Time Magazine, shame on you for trying to rouse debate regarding which group (attachment parenting vs parent-directed) is "right". Why don't you be a real news magazine and shine lights on topics that really need to be addressed like childhood hunger or illiteracy instead of making parents doubt if we are doing the right thing? But maybe that cover wouldn't be salacious enough.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Do you hear the lambs, Clarice?
Holy cow.
Annie has learned to scream.
And it's not a cry-scream from being upset. It's a look-at-me-I-can-scream-at-the-top-of-my-lungs-and-turn-blue-in-the-face-for-no-particular-reason-scream. It's no joke and she will fire without warning or provocation.
She really let it rip at Target the other day and I just paid her no mind, thinking that I have heard zillions of kids screaming in Target (though nothing compared to the tortured children of Wal-Mart) and it's not like I was Saks. Then I realized that if I was in Saks, I wouldn't care because I would be paying those people well to listen to that screaming.
So basically I am officially one of those people that is rolling around with a happy, yet screaming child. Whatever you do, don't try to stop her, because that just invites more screaming, and a little less happy.
I have been advised that this is a phase. Let's hope that's the case, because I don't think her vocal cords or our eardrums could stand prolonged action like this.
Annie has learned to scream.
And it's not a cry-scream from being upset. It's a look-at-me-I-can-scream-at-the-top-of-my-lungs-and-turn-blue-in-the-face-for-no-particular-reason-scream. It's no joke and she will fire without warning or provocation.
She really let it rip at Target the other day and I just paid her no mind, thinking that I have heard zillions of kids screaming in Target (though nothing compared to the tortured children of Wal-Mart) and it's not like I was Saks. Then I realized that if I was in Saks, I wouldn't care because I would be paying those people well to listen to that screaming.
So basically I am officially one of those people that is rolling around with a happy, yet screaming child. Whatever you do, don't try to stop her, because that just invites more screaming, and a little less happy.
I have been advised that this is a phase. Let's hope that's the case, because I don't think her vocal cords or our eardrums could stand prolonged action like this.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Happy birthday and thanks for the butt flu
So things are not great over here. I woke up yesterday, prompted by my loving and well-meaning husband, to go for a run, because I asked him to. I felt a bit stiff but attributed that to it being 5:30 in the morning and that I would just shake it off. About .1 miles into the run, I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss, but running always sucks for me, so I just figured it was more of the same.
Until I realized that I was spending most of my run evaluating bushes and neighborhood fences as potential emergency bathroom rendezvous locations and wishing I had spent longer looking for my black shorts. I was not sure if it was going to come from the north or the south, but I felt sure it was going to come. I took it slower than normal, and I believe Annie could have lapped me at my highest speed. I was walking so slow I was able to text Rick about my misery almost the entire time. I can be really insufferable.
I returned home mad at Rick for "making" me run (or waking me up...whatever) because my pain was now all his fault. And if Rick wasn't to blame, it was surely these rancid new running shoes I purchased that were causing the immobilizing pain in my back. The shoes and Rick had also conspired somehow to give me a horrible case of the trots. Or so I believed at the time. Turns out, I am not the most rational when I am sick (or when I am not sick, or in the middle of the night, or when hung over, or....you get the point, but it's amped up big time when I am in less than ideal conditions).
The situation deteriorated throughout the day yesterday, rising to a climax of a puke fest around 5:30. Thankfully Annie is on the mend so I didn't have to worry much about her, though I did worry about giving this precious little disease back to my darling daughter. I ate nothing yesterday but a banana.
I woke up today feeling better and a bit hungry. Now I have learned a thing or two about this butt flu in my years, and the main thing being that just when you think it's over...it's not over. You inevitably get hungry and because you haven't eaten in days, you gorge yourself on something that makes total sense at the time, like nachos. You don't think about how those hardly chewed chips are going to feel when they show back up in 85 seconds. So I was tempted this morning to have a few of the birthday treats Rick had made for me, but I stood strong. The butt flu was not going to best me this year! I had another banana and some sprite and applauded myself and out-witting the flu of the butt.
But then I got REALLY hungry, and we needed to do some recon for Annie's birthday party so I ate half of a turkey sandwich from a local deli we are considering using to cater the party. Gurp.
Good news is that it actually stayed down! I had to fight it but it remained in situ. So in my delirious from my starvation haze, I calculated that this was/is a green light to consume anything, that I am out of the woods and I can make up for lost time and calories. I even rationalized that the gift certificate I received from Jen's family to Cheesecake Factory was God's way of telling me "Go ahead, have a slice of solid dairy! You deserve it! It's your birthday! It will be fiiiiiiine!" But then I heard Rick wretching upstairs and was brought back to reality that it's not that simple. And I must choose my meals wisely because if I do get sick on something, it will likely be ruined for me forever.
So that's been the big day over here. The butt flu birthday. As a wise woman warned me, it's very contagious. You probably contracted it by just reading this. Stay away from the cheesecake.
Until I realized that I was spending most of my run evaluating bushes and neighborhood fences as potential emergency bathroom rendezvous locations and wishing I had spent longer looking for my black shorts. I was not sure if it was going to come from the north or the south, but I felt sure it was going to come. I took it slower than normal, and I believe Annie could have lapped me at my highest speed. I was walking so slow I was able to text Rick about my misery almost the entire time. I can be really insufferable.
I returned home mad at Rick for "making" me run (or waking me up...whatever) because my pain was now all his fault. And if Rick wasn't to blame, it was surely these rancid new running shoes I purchased that were causing the immobilizing pain in my back. The shoes and Rick had also conspired somehow to give me a horrible case of the trots. Or so I believed at the time. Turns out, I am not the most rational when I am sick (or when I am not sick, or in the middle of the night, or when hung over, or....you get the point, but it's amped up big time when I am in less than ideal conditions).
The situation deteriorated throughout the day yesterday, rising to a climax of a puke fest around 5:30. Thankfully Annie is on the mend so I didn't have to worry much about her, though I did worry about giving this precious little disease back to my darling daughter. I ate nothing yesterday but a banana.
I woke up today feeling better and a bit hungry. Now I have learned a thing or two about this butt flu in my years, and the main thing being that just when you think it's over...it's not over. You inevitably get hungry and because you haven't eaten in days, you gorge yourself on something that makes total sense at the time, like nachos. You don't think about how those hardly chewed chips are going to feel when they show back up in 85 seconds. So I was tempted this morning to have a few of the birthday treats Rick had made for me, but I stood strong. The butt flu was not going to best me this year! I had another banana and some sprite and applauded myself and out-witting the flu of the butt.
But then I got REALLY hungry, and we needed to do some recon for Annie's birthday party so I ate half of a turkey sandwich from a local deli we are considering using to cater the party. Gurp.
Good news is that it actually stayed down! I had to fight it but it remained in situ. So in my delirious from my starvation haze, I calculated that this was/is a green light to consume anything, that I am out of the woods and I can make up for lost time and calories. I even rationalized that the gift certificate I received from Jen's family to Cheesecake Factory was God's way of telling me "Go ahead, have a slice of solid dairy! You deserve it! It's your birthday! It will be fiiiiiiine!" But then I heard Rick wretching upstairs and was brought back to reality that it's not that simple. And I must choose my meals wisely because if I do get sick on something, it will likely be ruined for me forever.
So that's been the big day over here. The butt flu birthday. As a wise woman warned me, it's very contagious. You probably contracted it by just reading this. Stay away from the cheesecake.
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