rice cereal: a progression in photos
Mmmm…I love eating my new bib.
I don’t feel the same about this spoon. I’m lazy like my mom. Bring on the bottle.
The bib was no match for Baby Swiss.
Now I’m getting the hang of this spoon thing.
Do I have food on my face?
Are we done here?
Squeaky clean.
golden girls
In honor of my friend, Rachel’s golden birthday today, I’m going to bring it back to me and tell you about my golden birthday.
It was 2004 and I was turning 24. I had lived in The City Where I Live for about a year and a half and I found myself on the tail-end (although I didn’t know it at the time) of a 3 month stint of unemployment.
My college girlfriends all decided to converge in The City Where I Live for a fun golden birthday weekend celebration. They came, bringing snacks and gifts all gold-themed. I don’t remember much of what we did that weekend, but it was one of the last times where things were like they used to be when we all get together, and it was fun.
We went to church Saturday night and I ran into the dad of one of the high school girls in my small group at the time, who tipped me off to a job opportunity, that ended up leading to my Job-That-Was-My-Career. We had brunch on Sunday and sent the girls all on their way. Sunday night, my new friends came over to watch Sunday night tv like always and brought take-out Chinese and a gift of a DVD/VCR player – my first DVD player!
It wasn’t anything special, but all total was really special.
About a month later, I met Mr. Mouse and my golden year ended up being a great one!
P.S. Go wish Rachel a Happy 30th!
spit-ups and schedules and whines, oh my!
I don’t think very many people would use the words “laid back” to describe me. I’m not uptight, I’m just not one of those people who are great at going with the flow.
That being said, transitioning to motherhood has not been difficult for me. My approach to parenting is a sum of a couple of parts:
- Lazy. Yes, I’ll admit it. I am part lazy. I do all of Baby Swiss’ laundry in one load – no discrimination between colors and whites and sheets and blankets and cute little socks, etc. I let her diaper test it’s capacity in the night. I leave her to nap wherever it is that she falls asleep – which is rarely in her crib. I give her a bath once a week (sometimes this stretches to 10 days-depending on the level of smell of sour formula in her neck folds) because that’s what the doctor said to do despite the fact that the norm seems to be much more often. I don’t read books – I’ve heard of Babywise and I know it’s goal, but I don’t know the methods. Nor do I care. I don’t have Baby Swiss on a super-schedule. It is easier for me if she can roll with the punches, so I’m going to roll with that as long as I can get away with it.
- Thankful. I don’t really know the right word to use, so I’m using thankful. The right word is probably more like: it-took-me-a-long-time-to-get-this-baby-and-I-don’t-really-sweat-the-small-stuff-because-HEY-this-is-the-baby-that-I-waited-a-long-time-for. Yeah, the right word is probably something like that. Baby Swiss started sleeping 6-8 hours at a time at night when she was 6 weeks old and I was sad. Where had that little tiny baby who needed her mama in the night gone? She was showing her first signs of independence and I wasn’t ready! Seriously, I waited years to be up in the night with a baby and how dare she rob me of that so quickly?
So, for better or worse, that’s me as a mother. I don’t think I’ve got mothering down to a science nor do I think my methods are best. That’s just how I roll.
I do think that the way Mr. Mouse and I parent affects the temperament of our child – to a degree. I also think, that she was born with a tendency to be a certain way. I suppose it’s part of the whole nature versus nurture debate. I wish there were some way to pinpoint how much of each plays into each child.
I certainly know some people who fuss and stew over every little detail of their kid’s personality, schedule, squeak and moan and they have kids that require a lot more. Which came first though? Did the persnickety child lead to a persnickety parent, or did the persnickety parent create the persnickety child? And did I just overuse the word persnickety?
Likewise, does the easy child, allow a parent to be laid back, or does the laid back parent create an environment that lends itself toward having a laid back child?
Anyone have the answers? What has been your experience?
Enough from me for now. I have to go make funny faces at my kid.
thinking thin
I may or may not have posted this picture on facebook – not because Baby Swiss looks exceptionally cute or because my face/hair is uncharacteristically breathtaking – simply because I think I look thin.
Okay, get off my case. It’s facebook AND I have a class reunion coming up. Must. Maintain. Perception. Of. Hotness.
So, here’s the skinny on my weight loss plan. I’m using MyFoodDiary.com. Yes, I’m actually paying. I like it. It’s worked for me in the past. And most importantly (for me), it has a mobile version, so I can log all of my eating while I’m out and about. Therefore, I cannot claim ignorance when it comes to eating those delicious ranch packets at Chick-Fil-A that are about 956 calories a pop. Nor do I have to work out until my toenails are sore to make up for eating said ranch packets if I didn’t plan my day accordingly.
Speaking of cheating. Well, I wasn’t speaking of it, but I was thinking of it. I let myself have weekends free. I shoot to eat during the week so as to keep my caloric intake at the “Lose 1 pound per week” level and then on the weekends, I eat what I want. Otherwise, it would be a sad life to think of it with no DQ blizzards in it. (Do you know how many calories are in a DQ blizzard?)
I started 4 weeks ago and have lost 2 pounds, which is a little disappointing, but I’m not ready to give up.
Yet.
fair and balanced
My friend, Rachel has a couple of cute kids. She will also be the first to tell you that she didn’t think they were cute from day 1. Sometime in history, she posted month by month photos of her son and referenced where she thought he started being cute.
Entering motherhood, I was going for an unbiased approach when it came to determining whether or not my kid was cute. I thought I would have an edge on the majority of mothers because my kid didn’t have mine or my husband’s genes, so therefore maybe less biased? I’m not sure.
Anyway, I failed miserably.
Here am I the day Baby Swiss was born. She was minutes old and I was looking at her to try to figure out if I thought she – wrinkly knees and all – was cute or not.
I determined that despite a possible tendency toward a bias, my newborn daughter was worthy of the label. Clearly, as you can see by looking at this picture of an alien my bright and shiny Baby Swiss, you can tell that I was wrong.
So, now when I look at more recent photos, like this one:
I think, “Man, my kid is cute.” Then I look at old photos, like this one:
And I remember that I can’t be trusted when it comes to this subject.
definitions
I feel like I should clarify a little bit of the story behind the first paragraph of yesterday’s post.
In the midst of my infertility (which I never wanted to be defined by), I had a conversation with someone (who was well aware of our infertility) who was telling me about this group of friends that she and her husband had. In this group of friends was a couple who had lost a baby somewhere in the first part of a second trimester and since then had been struggling to get pregnant for over a year.
This person proceeded to tell me how she never had anything to talk about with this friend of hers other than her own kids, because her kids were her life as a stay-at-home mom.
I called “Bull”.
Yes, as a stay-at-home mom (I would argue as a working mom, too); your kids consume a pretty decent portion of your time and your thoughts. However, you are as defined by your role choose to be.
I choose to be defined by lots of things – my role as mom, wife, frequent hair-do obsesser, reality tv junkie, thinker, Jesus follower, shopper, shoe-lover, Scrabble genius, friend, daughter, sister, aunt, booger picker, nursery teacher, rotten housekeeper, rock-star baker, comedian, Moms Group hater, infertile, budget follower, etc.
Ever since my high school days, I’ve hated labels and getting put in a box. We are all so much more than that one label that often gets stamped onto us by our society, peer group, etc. So, why do we choose to brand ourselves with a singular label when we have the freedom to write our own definition?
guess what I have to talk about today?
I never want to be one of those people who becomes a parent and suddenly has nothing to discuss that doesn’t pertain to their child, their child’s poop patterns, their child’s eating habits, or their child.
That being said, you should probably know that I’m still very much obsessing over two of the things that have been fairly consistent topics of obsession here over the past however many months:
- my hair
- my weight
I actually got my hair cut a few weeks ago. The length was the longest it had ever been in my life – a length I like to describe as top-of-the-boob-length. I got about 5-6 inches cut off, which now brings it to approximately shoulder length. (Does that mean I have ridiculously low boobs, or is it all proportional with my overall height? My roommate in college had [huge] low boobs. Not saggy, just low. I think mine are in about the right place, for whatever that’s worth.
I would post before and after pictures, but I am ashamed to admit that my photo taking priorities tend to be more kid-centered than hopefully the rest of my life. Someday, there will be pictures. Maybe.
So, the weight. In November, I dropped about 6 pounds and was pretty happy with how I was looking. Hey, I wore a belt to my baby shower. How many of you can say you did that? Okay, so not necessarily a reliable marker for looking good. Between November and sometime more recently, I gained those 6 pounds back. I also got the official dates for my class reunion.
These two facts combined prompted me to start what I am referring to as “Project High School Reunion”. I’m back on the weight loss wagon with a goal of a measly 3-4 pounds per month. This is the method that works best for me in terms of being able to stick to a plan, keeping the weight off, and gaining it back more slowly (since so far, it has always come back at some point or another). Anyway, 3-4 pounds a month should put me at a point of total hotness by mid-July.
So, don’t worry. I hate my haircut and I’m counting calories, so there will be plenty of super interesting non-baby talk happening here.
Assuming I maintain some sort of a regular blogging habit. And if past performance predicts future success, failure is imminent.
names are changed to protect the innocent and/or guilty
Remember my Mom’s Group that I wasn’t a big fan of? Well, for the next edition of their newsletter, they are highlighting adoption. They asked another member who adopted her daughter from China and me to write out our adoption stories. Here is what I gave them:
I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I thought my life would follow the sing-song plan sung on playgrounds across the country – K-I-S-S-I-N-G, love marriage and then the baby in the baby carriage.
In January 2007, after the K-I-S-S-I-N-G, falling in love and a year of marriage, Mr. Mouse and I felt ready for the baby in the baby carriage. I’d heard enough statistics to know that I shouldn’t expect to get pregnant right away, so I didn’t expect it. But when I did get pregnant right away, we were thrilled. We began dreaming of who our baby would be and what our life would look like as not just a couple, but as a family.
“He gives…”
A few weeks later, we saw our baby’s beating heart – a tiny flicker on a monitor, real and unreal at the same time.
In February we were mourning a lost baby and lost dreams.
“…and takes away.”
In June 2007, we were thrilled to find that I was pregnant again. We had lost our blissful innocence, but were full of hope for the pregnancy and again, dreams for our baby.
“He gives…”
A few weeks later, we saw our baby’s beating heart.
In July we were mourning another lost baby.
“…and takes away.”
At this point, my doctor referred me to fertility specialist. I was poked and prodded, in a preliminary round of tests – all leaving us with no answers and lots of medical bills. We ultimately decided against the next round of testing for a host of reasons and moved forward with a conservative approach to a new pregnancy.
In January 2008, I found myself pregnant for the third time – full of fear and the tiniest glimmer of hope, and still dreaming.
“He gives…”
A few weeks later, we saw our baby’s beating heart. This pregnancy continued past all of the familiar mile markers of the first two. As our tiny baby grew, so did the hope.
Then, in February 2008, one day before the anniversary of the first miscarriage, we were mourning another lost baby and even more lost dreams. The reality of our circumstances was just like those tiny hearts we had seen beating – real and unreal at the same time.
“…and takes away.”
Throughout this whole year, friends were announcing pregnancies and having healthy, babies – sweet, cuddly reminders of what I couldn’t have. I hosted showers, visited babies in the hospital and delivered meals to new moms while experiencing the physical and emotional effects of my miscarriages. I was both full of joy for my friends and blinded by my own grief.
I knew that God had a plan, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t see what it might be.
Ready to move on from the idea of a biological baby, we decided to explore adoption. This was not a plan B for us, rather an attempt to find God’s plan for our family.
“He gives…”
In July 2008, we started our home study for a domestic adoption. Physicals, fingerprints, background checks, applications, autobiographies and home visits later, we were given the green light to do something that most people achieve with less paperwork, no trips to the police station and considerably fewer additional parties – be parents.
A few weeks before this green light came; we were approached by T, a pregnant teenager from our church, who I knew through my involvement with the student ministry. She had heard we were hoping to adopt and wanted to know if we would consider adopting her baby.
This was not a new idea to us. A handful of well-meaning friends had suggested this to us months before and we had seen the idea as an over-simplification of the situation and dismissed it quickly in favor of pursuing an agency adoption.
However, an idea that months ago had seemed ridiculous was one we found ourselves considering. Our prayer was that God would clearly show us that this was either His perfect plan or the craziest idea that was ever cooked up.
He showed us.
Three months, doctor’s appointments, conversations with social workers, meetings with attorneys and many details later, I stood in the delivery room as my daughter was born, red and screaming into this world – real and unreal at the same time.
Baby Swiss was born three days before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving indeed.
Open adoption is a new idea for all of us, and we are still figuring out the details of all of the new relationships and roles we have – birth families, adoptive parents, mama, daddy… But we have in common a little girl, with big brown eyes, fuzzy hair and a smile that brightens anyone’s day – a little girl who we all love.
“My heart will choose to say: ‘Lord blessed be Your Name.’”
