A Letter to My Daughter: Nine Months Old

Your 9-month picture with Giraffe

Dear daughter,

Today you are nine months old. You are bright-eyed and love to watch the world around you, although I'm continually amused at how you'll suddenly duck your head down and grin bashfully when you're showered with compliments by others. You'll flirt and laugh, and then duck down like you're so coy. Very adorable, but I'm not sure I'm buying your shyness!

Whenever we're around the high-school students, I rarely get to hold you anymore unless it's time to eat or sleep (and even then, it might be a fight to regain possession of you!). This past weekend you and I attended an open house, and you were whisked from my car before I could even finish parking. In the span of an hour, every time I turned around you were with someone else. The hostess had you when she left the backyard, and when she came out of the house five minutes later, it was with another child. I was constantly chasing people around to find out where you were next and who had laid claim to you. Fortunately for them, you aren't yet showing signs of stranger anxiety, so you took it all in stride.

Previously, you only rolled over from tummy to back, but you regularly roll over from back to tummy as well. This was initially accomplished in the crib at naptime if you were fighting sleep. You'd get yourself in the most interesting arrangements as you staved off sleep - diagonally, sideways, against one side. You love to sleep on your stomach or side now, even if we put you on your back to start with.

You now have a regular babysitter. One day a week, while I am at work, one of my high-school girls comes and watches you for a few hours so Daddy can get in some extra writing time on campus. She's someone you've seen regularly from birth, and other than fighting naptime your first day with her, you seem to enjoy this change of pace. Of course, this is only a temporary arrangement, since she goes to college in early August, but we'll enjoy it while it lasts.

This summer has brought about new opportunities for our daily routines. We've hung up the tree swing your paternal grandparents gave you, and we purchased a small pool for you to splash around in. Add in walks in the stroller and sitting on a blanket in the grass, and there's a slew of new activities to engage in when the weather cooperates.

You love both the swing and its straps

You enjoy the baby pool much more than your introduction to a hotel pool. Admittedly, it was a little past your bedtime and the water was a little cooler than you're used to, so we shouldn't have been surprised when you were uncertain and then broke into tears until we removed you.

A little worried about this swimming thing, while showing off your strong legs

There's still no crawling yet (although there was a little "reverse army-crawling" action that took place on our wood floors this morning), but you can migrate around the floor to some degree of success from your seated position. You lunge for things out of reach and thus get closer and can easily turn around. You particularly love the challenge of reaching the diaper bag or your baby shoes (the latter to chew on - eww).

Favorite toys run the gamut. You still love Sophie, but then there are strange attachments you have to other objects that we don't completely understand. There are three "envelopes" - thin, hard plastic pieces from your mailbox toy - that you are enamored with. They don't make noise, they don't bend, but they do boast texture and apparently happen to be the perfect size to grip. Your grandparents also gave you a spoon, plate, and bowl. While trying to distract you from playing with your clean clothes while I was trying to put them away, I gave you those objects, and you still adore playing with them (especially the spoon). They make this delightful banging sound when you slam them against each other, so there's no question as to why you're drawn to them.

"I can sing while drumming!"

The jury is still out on food. You have made no attempts to feed yourself, but we're having more predictable success with spoon-feeding you. You are ambivalent on just about everything, although I'm not sure you really enjoyed the baked potato. But sweet potatoes, apples, bananas, blueberries, asparagus, and a few more I may be forgetting - all have been found acceptable.

Asparagus was pretty popular

You continue to grow. We don't have another appointment for a few more weeks, but you were over 20 pounds and nearly 29 inches at your last checkup. You're solidly in 12-month clothes, but even some of those are getting snug (this is true primarily of pants, due to the extra padding lent to you by your cloth diapers). In fact, your hand-me-down 12-month swimsuit was pretty snug, so we bought a 24-month size for you. I'm shocked to admit that it's not as roomy as I was expecting.

Why settle for one duck when you can hold two? Indeed.

There's a saying that resonates with me: The days are long but the years are short. Along with reminding myself that someday I will miss this, I try to keep this thought in mind. Here we are, already having enjoyed nine months of life with you, and I don't know where the time has gone. Typically, it's been a blessed time filled with new discoveries, cuddles, and kisses. But then there are moments when there are more tears than smiles. Or I really wanted to vacuum during your nap but you needed to be rocked and held. Maybe I had a to-do list that I wanted to accomplish but it was 11 PM before I realized I forgot to empty the litterbox and never got to clean the kitchen or run that errand. When my expectations aren't met, when my house isn't as tidy as I'd hoped or wanted, I just have to remind myself that when you're older I will not regret the sticky countertops or the unmade bed, but I will wish I could take back the time I could have savored the opportunity to snuggle with you when you were feeling clingy but instead grew internally frustrated when I couldn't transition you to the crib although I was hungry for lunch.  When you're running off with friends and enjoying moments with them more than time with your parents, I will wish I hadn't wasted time surreptitiously checking my email or Facebook during a free moment while you played nearby. When you're older, I will have ample opportunity to read, craft, even clean, but these moments with you are all too precious. So I am continually trying to invest in you, read with you, sing with you. It's a continual challenge, but writing this here reminds me of where my priorities should be.

Playing train mechanic with her trusty spoon (and knit chicken)

Darling, thank you for all you have taught me already, and all you will continue to do so. May your dad and I be worthy of you.

Love,
Mommy

Dante v. The World

Dante and Augustine in happier times

Judge: Court is now resumed. Dante, do you mind continuing your account of what transpired the morning of Friday, May 27th?

Dante: Yeah. So, you know I love to go outside on the back porch in the mornings, but normally I have to beg and whine a little. However, yesterday when the male slave opened the door without any prompting, I didn't think anything of it, I was just celebrating my good fortune! Augustine trailed out behind me, because I never give her opportunity to go first, instead seeing everything in life as a competition and shoving her aside or jumping over her, whatever is necessarity to win as befits her station, and after just a second or two, she started whining at the door. The male slave opened the door for her after a brief moment, and she scampered inside.

Judge: And what were you doing in this time?

Dante: Doing my part of the backyard watch, making sure the squirrels and birds knew their place. There may have been some tail twitching, some guttural noises, some frantic pacing. You know, the usual.

Judge: Continue.

Dante: So, I noticed after a few minutes the male slave opened the door again to see if I wanted to come in, but seriously, who would protect our backyard if I wasn't there?! My shift wasn't over, and I refused to slack off, like one other cat I know (*cough* Augustine! *cough*). And it's not like the male slave tried very hard. Now that I think about it, I think he only opened the door a sliver, and even had I wanted to end my shift early, I'm not convinced I had any chance to actually cross the porch and get through the opening before he shut it again without some crazy awesome ninja skills. Yeah, he's definitely in on this.

Judge: Let's avoid empty speculations.

Dante: So, finally, I figured it was probably time to chase Augustine for me to make my rounds of the house, and I ambled inside the next time the door was opened. And this is when it got ugly.  Immediately I knew something was wrong.

Judge: Proceed.

Dante: So I entered the kitchen, and there was a smell of tuna in the air. TUNA! I love that stuff! I'm not even sure I heard a can opener, so nefarious forces must have been at work to keep me in the dark. Fat chance of that! I sniffed and scoured the floor, but I couldn't find anything. So, anyway, it was clear there had been a dish...or two...on the floor with the beloved tuna water quite recently.  But not anymore.

Judge: Tuna water? Can you elaborate on that?

Dante: Sure. Well, the female slave sometimes gets out a tuna can. She hasn't realized it's only for feline consumption (as if!), but as she drains the water into two little cat dishes, even sometimes letting actual tuna chunks in the mixture, I usually let that slide. So, when all is right with the world, she sets those two dishes down. Now, I admit that usually Augustine is the first to spot this bounty, but through no fault of my own. She's just not keeping up with her kitty guard duties, so she's more likely to react in her lazy state.

Anyway, usually her speed alerts me that something's going down, and I join her. She tries to pick a bowl of her own, but it's up to me to see that she's chosen wisely. Usually she hasn't, so I shoo her away from the first bowl. And then I realize she might have tried to pull the wool over my eyes I forgot to do quality control on the second bowl, so I have to shoo her away from that one as well. Once I've established that both bowls are safe -- and it usually takes a couple passes back and forth, because safety is job one and I take it quite seriously -- I let Augustine know which one is hers based on whichever bowl has the least remaining is the least likely to be contaminated, and then we settle in with our lapping race. I usually finish first, and then it's my duty to help Augustine finish. You know, so she doesn't get a tummy ache. She's advanced enough in age that...

Judge: Hold on a moment. [Papers ruffle] My records show she's only about a year or so older than you. Is this correct?

Dante: Exactly. As I was saying, in her infirmity, she should watch what she eats -- and how quickly -- and that's where I step in and help her finish. 

Judge: So, yesterday you thought you smelled tuna in the air. What happened then?

Dante: Well, I didn't see any bowls with the evidence, but I bet if my slaves would have let me jump on the counter, I would have found them in the sink. But they looked as if nothing was out of sorts, although they were quite attentive to my actions, more so than usual, which should have tipped me off that they didn't have my best interests at heart. In fact, I've lost track of how many times the male slave has catered to Augustine, telling her how sweet she is, how pretty, how "good," and then he has the nerve to hold her up as an example to me, telling me I should be more like her. I'm so misunderstood in my own house!

Judge: You're off track, again. Please stick to the account of yesterday's events with minimal tangents.

Dante: So I went to Augustine.

Judge: Describe her, please.

Dante: Well, that good-for-nothing cat, she thinks she's all that, was sitting primly in the living room on the rug. She tried to look all innocent as I approached, like I'm dumb or something. And just because I'm polydactyl and there happens to be some anecdotal evidence -- planted, I'm confident of that, because anyone can edit Wikipedia, you know, and there are wrong things on the internet--

Judge: What did I saw about indulging in these unnecessary tangents?

Dante: Fine. Some individuals claim that cats with such traits happen to be a little slow on the uptake -- liars! -- they all think I won't notice. But my olfactory senses are beyond belief, I tell you!

Judge: Let's rein it in. Return to the point of the story where you approached Augustine yesterday.

Dante: [Grumbling and muttering under his breath about well-planted hairballs for a moment before composing himself] Seriously, this is an outrage; don't you want to know all the facts?! Whatever. So I approach her, and you know what happens? I sniff her breath, and anyone want to hazard a guess of what I smelled?! TUNA! On her breath! There are only a few ways that could happen. First, she could have a tuna fish that she's slowly licking to death. But I ruled that out. Because, seriously, where would she hide it? I know everything about our dwellings and all her hiding spots. So unless she found the elusive "second basement" I've heard in legend, there's no tuna fish she's keeping to herself. So I moved onto my second guess: that she hadn't cleaned since the last time we had glorious tuna water. But as I thought about that, I smelled my breath, and there was no tuna. Let me tell you, Augustine has this weird thing about being cleanly. After all, when I was brought into this abode, she had the nerve to imply that I was a mangy, ugly feline and needed a little help in the hygiene department. So if anyone was going to have residual tuna water breath, it was going to be me. And I didn't. My third guess was that my pending patent for a tuna-flavored breath spray had made it to market. But last I'd heard, it was held up in development as they tried to figure out how we could operate it without opposable thumbs (and, um, there's also some difficulty creating a container safe for consumption, since the test subjects keep trying to eat the cat spray once they catch a whiff). So I moved onto another thought, the most evil, darkest, and convicting of all. There had been tuna water set out for us, and she had drank not just one bowl, but BOTH bowls.

Judge: Did you confront her?

Dante: Why, yes, I did. I got up in her face, asking whether she had just had a treat in the form of tuna water goodness. And you know what she had the nerve to do?!

Judge: We're all waiting on pins and needles for your account, I assure you.

Dante: She LICKED her face! In front of me! She was taunting me, right there, her tongue licking her non-existent lips. It makes me crazy! Like I had this coming to me or something! Oh, boy, she better watch her back! Why, the next time we...

Judge: I think I've heard enough. We'll take a ten-minute recess, and I will relay my decision when we reconvene. And before then, I suggest you think long and hard about what has been shared here and conduct yourselves in a manner befitting these solemn proceedings, or I won't hesitate to throw this case out. We're adjourned.

A Letter to My Daughter: Eight Months Old

Dear B,

Your 8-month picture with the Giraffe

Yesterday you reached 8 months (I seriously have every intention of penning these on the actual date, but sometimes life has other plans). Anyway, there have been some big developments in the last month.

Physically, your eyes, which started out blue, now resemble more of a gray color, and when I look closely, I see flecks of gold, so I think they will end up being brown before long.

Your second tooth has popped out, and the merest point of it can be seen next to your first bottom tooth. You're still pretty ambivalent about food, but you have become quite the kisser. This consists of you pressing your opened mouth against our faces - quite messy, yet worth every slobbery streak.

Slobbery kisses in action

We're constantly entertained by what you do with your hands. Sometimes you fold them primly in your lap, and other times, they're outstretched and doing a series of interesting movements, starting with the palms up, then being turned around gracefully. The best thing I can liken it to is a Hawaiian hula dance. I'm sure you're just fascinated by what you can make your arms do, but it's quite amusing to watch them rotate.

Enjoying the warmer weather outside

You're still not mobile in the strictest definition of crawling/scooting/walking, but you can rotate yourself around from your seated position, and when you're on your back (but not so much your stomach), if we apply resistance for your feet to push against, you will impress us by mimicking a worm's movements.

Opening your Easter basket

We often fall into the habit of rocking you to sleep when you're teething and need some extra comforting, and then we forget we don't need to keep doing it once you're past the painful bout. This month found us trying to break ourselves of that habit. It's funny - I think you actually prefer to put yourself down sometimes. We might be trying to rock you and it appears you're fighting it as you squirm and kick, but if we then set you in your crib, you happily settle. There's a special little stuffed kitty (a gift from Grandpa Claire) we often give you, and you will hold it and coo to it until you drop off. Once in a while you fight putting yourself down so we rock you to sleep, but that's the exception rather than the norm now. This makes me feel like there's more time to the day; you might spend 5-10 minutes playing with your kitty in bed, and then you take your nap, which tends to be at least 30 minutes. And an added bonus - now that you're putting yourself to sleep, it appears you take better (and longer) naps. Lately, your first nap of the day is around 75 - 90 minutes, which was unheard of before. And now you are starting to take a slightly longer afternoon nap, too, perhaps another 75-90 minutes, which has been a welcome treat. Instead of four naps a day, we appear to have reached a point where you average about 3 naps. These longer naps give your daddy time to catch up on work or mommy a chance to sew, clean the litter boxes, etc.  We do adore time spent snuggling with you, but I can't complain about the opportunity to get a bite to eat or use the restroom instead of wondering when you might wake up so we can tend to those needs (during some naps you insisted on being held or else you'd wake up when we tried to transition you). It's good for your introverted parents to have brief solo times in between tending to you. It makes us better parents and more ready to introduce the world to you through play or walks.

Some of your wonder captured

You go back and forth with sleeping through the night. Sometimes you'll sleep through until 6:30, and other times you're up at 4 (or last night, it was 1 AM - ouch!). Actually, this is another change we've experienced in the last month. We used to wake you before we went to bed to feed you one last time, and this sometimes helped you sleep straight through. However, in another example of your parents being slow to pick up on your cues, we finally acknowledged that you were big enough to sleep through and had stopped appreciating being disturbed for one more meal; additionally, you seemed to wake at the same times, whether or not we'd fed you around 11 PM. So we phased those out, choosing only to feed you if you woke on your own. The first couple days you were conditioned to waking up then to be fed, so you'd sometimes get up as you heard us preparing for bed, but now, you fall asleep somewhere between 7:45 and 9 PM (depending on when your last nap was, how well you've slept that day, or whether we had evening commitments that you tagged along to) and wake up for the day around 7 AM, give or take. Again, there's sometimes a brief wake-up that occurs around 4 AM, but we all seem to be happy with this arrangement. Now if only Mommy and Daddy would go to bed earlier, we'd feel well rested. Unfortunately, we night owls are slow learners.

This past month also held Mother's Day. I have to admit that it was nice to have you around for that day. The past few Mother's Days have been bittersweet. Some people told me I was still a mother even though my arms were empty, but it was a hard day all the same, symbolizing what was all too short for us. I remember the first Mother's Day after we lost Katherine; our high school group decided to give flowers to all the moms, and I was touched that they remembered me (apparently in the planning session, one girl specifically said, "What about Faith? We're including her, right?"). It was emotional, but I appreciated that our daughter was still remembered by these students. This year, while I wished I could have celebrated with both my daughters at my side, I was reminded of how blessed I am to get to be a mother to you every day.

Our church holds a child dedication every year on Mother's Day, and we chose to have you dedicated publicly. It was a simple ceremony, but it was meaningful to be a part of. You'll have to pardon the picture, as the sanctuary was dimly lit. In actuality, such a ceremony won't change how we raise you, but it's a recognition of how we want to raise you, and it's an opportunity to acknowledge this in front of others. It also allowed us to admit that we want our lives to be centered around pursuing God and loving others in all we do and we aim to raise you in kind, however imperfectly. We trust our lives and actions will be a testimony for you to witness and hopefully embrace and we acknowledge that you are a gift and we are entrusted with your life.

Listening to the pastor

One of my favorite memories of this last month took place when you and I went to Panera to meet for coffee with one of my high school girls. The weather was so beautiful so we sat outside, you in a high chair. For starters, your heart sunglasses, a gift from your paternal grandparents, were quite the hit. Honestly, I think everyone (male, female, young, old) fawned over you as they came and went. But that wasn't the memorable part.

"These glasses get me so much attention!"

What brought me joy was when you felt the breeze on your face - you doubled over in laughter, and it was so contagious and just wouldn't end. It was the most sustained laughing I'd heard from you yet, and it was so absolutely precious. I wished several times I had my camera on me so I could have taken a video. You're now starting to laugh on your own with little prompting. Just tonight, you were giggling (kind of in a fake, forced way, though) as you buried your face into a pillow and smiled coyly at me; I think it's a sign of you developing the ability to laugh socially.

No matter where we go, people are constantly telling us how beautiful you are, and we can't help but agree. We are so struck with your perfect features, although I joke that we'll have to ban such talk around you in a year or two so you don't become vain.

But let's ignore the superficial characteristics. I just want you to know what a joy it it to be a mother to you. You are such a darling and I can't imagine how things could be improved any more - we have such an easy time being parents to you. You are mellow and entertain yourself with solo play. You are curious about the world around you. You don't fuss; other parents are surprised after observing you, and they insist that you certainly can't be like this all the time, but you really are. Sure, a teething bout here or there, or some passing annoyance if we take away something prematurely. In every area, though, you are so perfect. Your personality is a welcome complement to ours and your presence in our lives adds so much.

The biggest adjustment has been figuring out how we retain ourselves while caring for you. We weren't under any pretense when you were born; we knew it was a big transition to parenthood, and it does take much of our attention. But we still strive to hold onto our original activities when possible (volunteering with the high school group, my knitting night, even our hobbies to some extent), and while it's an evolving experiment, I think we've settled into something comfortable.

Love,
Mommy

A Letter to My Daughter: Seven Months Old

Dear daughter,

Today you are seven months old. It’s mind-boggling to me that you are now closer to your first birthday than to the day you were born; I know time keeps marching on, but I’m constantly struck with how quickly you’re growing, especially as I see close friends welcome babies. I see their newborn pictures and know you were at that stage not too long ago, but I see you now and you are so vibrant and interactive.

You rarely spit up now, which is a welcome change from the days of constantly carrying a burp cloth around; I feared you were getting attached to those things, and while they’d be easy to have duplicates of, they sure aren’t as pretty as other blankets you’ve been given!

We introduced you to rice cereal a month ago. The first week was interesting – you didn’t know why we were trying to put something in your mouth, so it was amusing to witness us try to get you to sample it. Dad would try to get you to smile, and I’d slip the spoon in. You’d get this confused look on your face as you sampled food. Now you know how to open your mouth and slurp off the spoon, but your tongue pushes just as much food back out as down your throat. I know this reflex decreases with age, so we’ll just keep at it. Your indifference to food now will change before long. However, I’m not surprised at your apathy, as you are not orally fixated; unless you’re teething, nothing goes in your mouth.

You are so attentive to the world around you, watching everything and everyone raptly. I think you’re starting to wave – we’ve noticed you lifting an arm up around new people and flexing your fingers. You're now in your convertible carseat, and you will keep a keen eye out the windows, taking in the world. When we're in public, you might grip a toy, but it has none of your interest; instead, you watch the waitress and patrons at the restaurant, or the shoppers and merchandise in the stores.

You love to grip things, and you're adept at passing them from one hand to another, picking them up from the ground, and not letting go for anything! Your paternal grandparents came out for a visit, and Grandma was quite impressed at how well you held things. You're starting to show interest in my water bottles and Daddy's glasses of tea, which makes me think we should introduce you to a sippy cup soon.

Daddy loves to read the paper in the morning, and anymore he's taken to "sharing" a section of it with you; you're a fan of grabbing paper and we're amused at how it looks like you're reading. We ordered some takeout Chinese, and you got ahold of the menu as if you were trying to make your selections known.

This past month also marked your first plane trip. Your daddy had a conference in the Twin Cities, and since we used to live there, I tagged along to introduce you to old friends. We couldn't have asked for a better companion. I felt like Super Mom after the first flight! We woke you up just before 6 AM to transfer you to the car. You were interested in everything around you and tried to flirt with anyone who made eye contact. Once we boarded, we fed you during takeoff, you played a little, and then you fell asleep in the Snugli with no trouble and no noise. Teething hit you full force while we were away, though, making for some early mornings, and you weren't as happy during the days as we're used to (still few to no tears, but you made this angsty noise as a soundtrack to your playing). However, you fared well on our return flights - we were supposed to have a direct flight, but that one was diverted into Detroit after our airport shut down to attend to a small plane crash (the pilot of the small plane was extracted and hospitalized after a strong crosswind blew the airplane off the runway upon landing). You were pretty talkative on this one - your mouth was hurting - but I think Daddy and I were the only ones who noticed, as everyone else was grinning at you throughout and commenting afterwards on how great a traveler you were. And once we were able to finally get back home on that final flight, you fell asleep during the taxi and didn't wake up until we landed.

Another big milestone: your first tooth is here! It's above your gums, although it has a bit more popping out to do before it's done. This has meant your sleeping has been interrupted again, but you seem to be over the pain of this tooth and in a reprieve until the next one comes, meaning you've been sleeping in until 6 AM.

You are so great at entertaining yourself. As long as you can see us, you don't care what we're doing or if you're being held. You happily grab at toys, look closely at them, manipulate them, then trade them for something else nearby. I'm surprised you're already so contented at solitary play, but it reminded me - after the nursery ladies at church commented on it as well - that I was once told by a friend of my parents that she used to work in the nursery when I was pretty young, maybe 3 years old or so. She once set me up in front of an easel with some paints, and all the other children tired of the same activity quickly, but that was all I did the whole time, happily lost in my paints until my parents collected me. This stood out to her enough that she still remembered this about me many years later when I encountered her. I hope we share the trait of being easily amused so I can spend hours staring at anthills with you, tracing the paths of the scurrying ants. Or tracking the moon's rise through the sky as twilight transitions to night. There's a lot of beauty that can be missed when we rush, and I'd like to experience these wonders again with you. Already I'm caught up in seeing things again through your eyes. I think that's one of the chief joys of parenthood - recapturing little bits of our childhood as we witness our child encounter so many things for the first time.

I love your spontaneous laughs. I admit that when you laugh suddenly in response to something that amuses you, I feel as if I could cry. And I don't just mean a solitary tear leaking out of my eye; I mean a good, hearty sob. If I had to explain it, I think it's because it shows how alive you are, how joyful, and it's captured and shared in that moment. Not only that, but that as your mother, I get to play some role in this (and that, at least in that little moment, we haven't completely messed up in raising you). There are so many things that you're going to face down the road, and I know my heart will break as you encounter sadness and hurt and betrayal. But for now, those things aren't even in your memory, so as the wind whipped through your hair one gorgeous afternoon, as it tickled your face and tossed the dead leaves in the driveway into an impromptu dance, you couldn't help but laugh outright. It erupted from you, and I got to witness it. Each time a huge gust came, so did your hearty enjoyment. Yes, darling, keep that joy. Don't forget there are marvelous things all around, just waiting to be noticed. Winter is long, but there is a spring that comes and makes all things new again.

Much love,
Mommy

A Letter to My Daughter: Six Months Old

Dear Brennan,

I can hardly believe that today marks six months of life for you - where has the time gone?!

You have changed a lot in the last month.

For starters, on the day I wrote your last letter (February 18th), you started sitting up. You were a little uncertain initially, but now you're a champ. You love to spend a lot of time just watching and playing. I love how your dad, though, still surrounds you with pillows. Admittedly, I sometimes do the same, but it's extra endearing to see him so attentive.

Your favorite toys tend to be ones that make noise: rattles, songs, and crinkly pages rank high in your book.


You also evicted yourself from our bedroom at night. We realized you'd outgrown the weight limit of the bassinet level, and you absolutely refused to sleep in the bottom of the pack and play, which led to some long, exhausting nights in the recliner until we decided we'd transition you to the crib. Since you nap there during the day, it was not hard for you to sleep soundly at night.

We have a video monitor, and it's amusing to see you as you stir. You're aware that, if we're not in the nursery's recliner when you awake, we will walk through the door located near your head. You will crane your neck and start staring that direction, just waiting for us to enter. I love that we wake to your chatter - it's precious to see you happy to welcome the day.

Another cute development has taken place when we're changing you. Dad still loves to keep you in sleepers during the day when you stay around the house because of their convenience, but on days you're wearing an outfit, you giggle hysterically when we pull something off over your head. It's far better than the alternative of screaming or being upset, and it makes us dissolve in giggles as well.

You have been a champ at sleeping again, for almost the last month. I think it was a combination of migrating to your crib and just outgrowing that sleep regression. I fear, though, that the six-month sleep regression is upon us. You've been waking an hour or more earlier than your norm (a blessed 8 AM occurrence, right on the dot), culminating in a 5:30 wake-up call today. The comfort, if this continues, is that it's temporary. It may last 4-6 weeks, like last time, but it will come to an end. Daddy's hoping today was a fluke, as you did fall asleep last night at 7 PM. We woke you a couple times to feed you before we went to bed, but you were pretty wiped.

Teething is still strong. You've started bringing toys to your mouth, a nice change from your fingers or fist. No teeth have popped through yet, but it probably isn't too far off.


You've also taken to helping Daddy when he gives you a bottle; just about every time he feeds you he says you will take over holding the bottle for an ounce or more.


Your daytime naps are still only 30 minutes a pop at four different times, which makes it seem like you're never down for long. When you change the routine and surprise us with a 2-hour nap, we're beside ourselves as we hardly know what to do in your absence and have no warning when these stretches will occur. One day last week I was reading my Kindle in the other room, thinking I'd only have about 20 minutes to relax until it was time to play again, and as the minutes kept marching by, I just kept reading, sure any second you'd stir. I think I read about 90 minutes that stretch - quite a treat!


Your hair is slowly thickening; no longer is it likened to peach fuzz. You are solidly in 6-9 month clothes, and have been for at least the last month. When placed in your walker, inherited from your cousins, you will make your way across the floor. I took a video of the first time you were in it on a tile floor. You made halting motions until Dante ran past you, and then you took off after him.



I'm still so enamored with you. You're the model of a perfect baby. You are just fussy enough to remind us you're human, but you beam that grin at everyone and babble to yourself or anyone who will listen, stare excitedly at the cats, and just in general add much joy to our days.

Love,
Mommy

A Letter to My Daughter: Five Months Old

Dear Brennan,

This past week you turned five months old.

I know last month I waxed rhapsodic about your awesome nighttime sleeping. And then we hit a sleep regression, which is apparently somewhat common in the fourth month, perhaps due to some neurological developments taking place. So while I mentioned how we almost missed those recliner nights, we've certainly had our fill this past month. No longer do you sleep through the night; instead, you wake up anywhere from one to three times between the hours of 1 AM and 8 AM. While nowhere near as taxing as your first month when we never seemed to sleep more than two hours in a stretch, it's still been somewhat draining since we've been so spoiled with sleeping through the night again. I'm hoping we only have another week or so of this. These last few nights, especially, have seen us acting as zombies throughout the day, which is the primary reason I am writing this letter a few days late.

It didn't help that I put in a lot of extra hours of work from home last week, often choosing to do so in the evening hours while you slept. On at least two occasions, I was up until midnight (or a little later...) working away to help with final preparations for the annual recruitment weekend. The additional pay was nice, but it made for short nights when you'd want to eat at 3 or 4 AM.

I guess I haven't shared about my work arrangements. I work 12 hours a week (over three days), and when I'm gone, your daddy watches you. In the beginning it was a struggle to get you on a normal feeding schedule - you were pretty strong-willed and didn't want to take a full bottle feeding, instead just taking in the bare minimum required to sate the worst of your hunger. This meant that Dad needed to feed you a couple ounces about every hour, and I never knew when I'd be feeding you when I took over again. But you've happily settled into a routine, content to eat every three hours during the day, no matter the method. We're also starting to see patterns in your naps as well. You only do bouts of 30 minutes on average, and you're only awake about 90 minutes at a time; if it nears the 2 1/2 hour mark (or longer), you're pretty miserable.

In other news, you continue to grow like a weed, staying near the top of the percentile charts for both height and weight. At your last appointment, you were 16 pounds and 12 ounces, 26.5 inches long and sporting a cranium with a circumference of 17 inches. In your rear-facing carseat, your feet can touch the back seat, so while you could remain in the carseat until 22 pounds, your dad is wondering if we should transition you to the convertible carseat sooner rather than later.


It can be harder to get you to take naps while running errands or at our small group if you're not asleep when we arrive. Before you were blissfully unaware of people, but now you want to take in all the sights. If you are fighting naps with Mommy or Daddy at home or in Daddy's office, complete with screaming and pummeling, we just need to take you someplace where people are located, and you will happily cease your tears and smile at anyone who will make eye contact with you to the point that no one would believe you were utterly exhausted. This makes us fear that two introverts have somehow made an extrovert!

You reach out for toys now and will play with your fabric books, even picking them up again after they've been dropped within reach. Your favorite toys seem to be the sets of plastic keys. You grip them and shake them with all your might. The crinkly elephant teether and the small pooh blanket also hold a special place with you, though.


You love to have a good vantage point from which to take in everything around you. While you still spend some time laying on your tummy or back (and have the corresponding bald spot to prove it), you love more and more being upright in your exersaucer or being supported in a sitting position. In fact, your legs are pretty strong as well, and you will happily balance on them and gaze all around for longer and longer stretches of time.

To aid in your desire to sit up and participate, we bought a booster seat. At this size you would barely get opportunity to use a Bumbo (one of those foam seats for babies) since you'd outgrow it in a few pounds, but this booster seat will grow with you through your toddler years, and it's portable so it will allow us to take it along if we'll be out in a friend's home at mealtimes. We have a swing that converts to a highchair, but as we still use the swing feature, this gives us a little more time before we need to switch it. Now you sit in the seat at the kitchen table while I make dinner or while daddy is on his computer and you gladly play with your toys or watch the cats. We're holding off on food until you're six months, but this booster seat has two separate trays; one that you currently use to hold your toys and books, and another one with divisions for food that will snap on to the existing tray at snack and meal times.


While you did some rolling over in late December and early January, we haven't seen anymore on that front for a while; I suspect this next month might have it making a reappearance.

You still get attention everywhere we go; we've always been biased as to your cuteness, but it seems the general population agrees that you're quite adorable. You ham it up and beam your huge smile at them, further perpetuating their belief that you are just beautiful. Those instances where we see a pout, though, still make me smile - it's so pathetically adorable I can't help myself!

Your eyes are still blue, but the jury is out as to whether or not they will remain that way. I'm hoping you'll keep your daddy's eye color, but I know my brown eyes are dominant. In other physical attributes, most people see more of me in you than your father, but you certainly have his ears (notable because I have an earlobe and neither you or your daddy do).

You get really excited when we change your diaper; raspberries on your tummy will make you laugh and you love to kick wildly as you smile. In another development, instead of simply raising your legs, you use your hands to help hold them up during a diaper change. I'm always amused when you want to continue holding them aloft when we're trying to affix the new diaper - you haven't quite figured out when to lower them.

The last couple weeks have seen a marked difference in your chatting - you love to hold "conversations" with us, and now you've added squealing to your repertoire.

I have to be careful around your hands now. You will clasp a necklace, my hair, or my glasses if they come into contact with your fingers, and if my face is near, I might find your fingers inside my mouth or gripping forcefully at the skin under my chin. It can be a battle to free anything from your fierce grip, so I'm having to be a little more mindful with what crosses your path.

I'm still waiting for your first genuine contact with one of our cats, particularly if you get a good fistful of their hair or tail. They still both seem to give you due deference, although they're not frightened. Sometimes, though, Augustine has forgotten that you're still small. During some recliner sleeping sessions she has happened along and wanted to join in...by trying to get onto your back. I keep pushing her off as she sets one paw tentatively down, but then she returns again and again. I only hope this means she and you will be good friends when you're a little older (she won't snuggle with just anyone). While she used to sleep alongside you on our chests when you were smaller, you take up too much space now for that to happen. Even Dante, who likes to be petted but rarely will crawl up on a lap, spent some time with us in the recliner last week. These are good signs.

Last weekend we traveled to Illinois to spend some time with Eric's family; they needed their baby fix (quite understandable). You wouldn't cooperate with any laughs for them, but you were in good spirits and traveled well. In honor of Valentine's Day, your paternal grandparents gave you an outdoor baby swing for our front tree, and while it's hard to believe you'll be old enough to use it this summer, June will be here before we know it, and I can't wait to see your excitement as we push you in it.

I suppose this is plenty of information on your last month. We're still tickled to be your parents, albeit a little more tired. It's okay if you decide to sleep through the night again - we'll still be there when you wake up, and we'll be even more ready to play!

Love,
Mommy

A Letter to My Daughter: Four Months Old

Dear Brennan,

Today you are four months old. So much has already changed since we brought you home.

We've had some amazing laughs out of you. Initially it was in response to tickling, but last Saturday, while Eric was outside snowblowing, I put you in the exersaucer for the first time. Trying to interest you in the toys, I slid one mouse over the clock (it's Mother Goose themed). As it made a clicking sound, you laughed a great big belly laugh. I froze, shocked, and then did it again. You didn't disappoint, so I grabbed the camera, not wanting to miss this moment. You couldn't get enough. I would push the toy, you would laugh suddenly, then go immediately quiet as you looked at me. It was a perfect moment, one that nearly brought me to tears. I am still so honored to get to see you grow every day.



You had your first Christmas, yet you didn't show much interest in events around you - lots of staring, but little interaction. I know next year you will be quite the opposite, although if rumors hold true, you'll be more fascinated by the boxes, bows, and wrapping paper than the objects they hide.

You're more easily distracted. I noticed you were riveted by the large TVs our families had - it didn't matter what was on (news, football, or the like), you had to watch the moving shapes and colors. Even at home with our modest TV, I notice you turning to the sound and staring at it. This might limit when we have the TV on since it's starting to distract you from eating and I'd rather you not show an interest in it just yet.

You smile all the time. I have so many photos of you with your huge grin, and I love that you're a happy baby.


You grab toys now, not just ones that we place in your hands. In your bouncy seat, you grip the parrot especially hard, and on your play mat your fingers find the spinning toy. You love to kick objects, and it seems like when we change your diaper you are starting to learn to lift your legs out of the way.


You love bath time, and while we still have the baby tub in the kitchen sink, you're starting to get a lot of height with your splashing, so it's probably time to transition you to the bathroom tub in the near future unless I relish trying to clean off water from the ceiling.

You used to sleep until 7:30 or 8:30 AM, but you've now regressed to waking up around 6:30. This is especially hard on your parents after having been spoiled by several weeks of a good night's sleep, especially those nights when we're putting you down around midnight after your last feeding (you've usually been sleeping a couple hours by this point). I'm learning my night-owl tendency has been replaced by a desire to be well rested whenever you choose to rise, so I'm quick to jump into bed after putting you down for the night.

You are teething and have been showing signs for several weeks now. Yesterday we finally caved and gave you a half dose of Children's Tylenol, and today we graduated you to a full dose. I sometimes wonder if teething is to explain for your earlier mornings. You drool a lot now and you try to stick your fist in your mouth. You hate pacifiers - when we tried on multiple occasions to give you one, you act as if we're trying to choke you, so we remove it since your gagging shows us you're not a fan. In lieu of a pacifier, you suck on the side of your left hand. The reddened, dry skin along your thumb and forefinger show evidence of this. You haven't found your thumb, and I admit I'm not in any hurry to introduce you to it, since the side of your fist seems to placate you just fine. You also show signs of enjoying a teething ring, Sophie the Giraffe, and Ivy, a soft doll with knotted limbs you received at Christmas.


On a regular basis, especially when you're growing tired or fussy, I will catch that left hand in a fist against the back of your head. You've got a lot of peach fuzz now, but I can imagine you tugging on your hair or twirling it for comfort as more grows in.

You seem to enjoy books now, two of your favorites being Hippos Go Berserk! and Barnyard Dance. I think you are drawn to the sing-songy nature of the rhymes, and I still like reading them to you.

You sleep for about 13 hours a day, which leaves a lot of time to interact (your daytime naps seem to last 30 minutes most times, and periodically you indulge in 45 minutes to two hours, but it's hard to predict when those will happen). We read, play on your back and tummy, sit in mommy's lap facing outward so you can see what's going on all around, and even make use of the bouncy seat and exersaucer or a baby carrier.

I used to be somewhat nervous in the beginning - I think it's understandable given our experience with Katherine. It was hard to leave the room for long when you slept, even when I had the baby monitor on me. And when you'd suddenly sleep for much longer than normal, I'd have to check in on you to make sure everything was fine. A little congestion on your part had me looking up symptoms for RSV multiple times in the span of a week or two (sleepless mothers with newborns don't retain new information very well). And when someone at church commented on your complexion after seeing you for the first time, she said, "She almost looks a little jaundiced...but that might just be the lighting," I spent the rest of the day googling images of jaundiced babies and worrying there was a yellow tint to your skin when compared against mine. When I finally broached the subject with Eric that evening, he laid his hand next to your skin, and you were both the same shade. I'd been worrying for no reason. I tell myself that even though there has been plenty of grieving in my life with losing my brother and Katherine, that doesn't mean I'll only know sadness. You're doing much to bring joy into each moment.

Gradually as we're starting to see more of a routine emerge, and as my fear that something will happen starts to subside, I'm better able to balance my day. Your nap times turn into marathon cleaning sessions for me as I see how many baby clothes I can get folded and put away or how quickly I can clean the microwave, make lunch, vacuum, and the like. Sometimes I'll do a little work from home and I try to be pretty efficient in what I can accomplish in short order.

It's true babies change and grow so quickly. This week I put you in a purple vest I had knitted, and as I propped you in the corner of the recliner to take pictures, I marveled at how much older you seemed - sporting khaki pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, and this vest all while you sat propped up made me marvel at how quickly you're growing. Our joint naps in the recliner late at night or early in the morning are few and far between now, so even though it was a sign we were both tired, there's something sad about those days being mostly behind us.


It's fascinating to see how your sleep has evolved. In the early weeks, you seemed to sleep all the time, although you woke frequently to eat and seemed to sleep only while being held, so Eric and I were like two ships passing in the night, to and from the recliner with you. I remember being amazed at the night Eric and I were finally both in bed at the same time (although I usually ended up in the recliner with you around 4:30 or 5 AM until Eric relieved me when he woke up so I could stretch out in bed for some real sleep). In the midst of sleepless nights, we coped - the sun coming up in the morning did wonders to rejuvenate us - and while I wasn't sure how long before those days would end, on this side of things I see how quickly it evolved to you being able to sleep longer stretches in your bassinet or crib instead of jolting wide awake the moment we ever-so-gently laid you down.

You're starting to stir from your afternoon nap, so it's time I wrap this up. But know how much we love you. I can't wait to experience more new milestones in the coming days and weeks.

Love,
Mommy

A Letter to My Daughter: Three Months Old

[This was written last month but I've only now gotten around to publishing it, so I'm back-dating it to reflect the proper date.]

Dear Brennan,

You are now three months old.

I find that I repeat myself endlessly with you, in a sing-songy voice. Something along the lines of: "Oh my goodness, your diaper is SO wet! SO wet! How did it get so wet?! What are you doing with such a wet diaper?!" This isn't something I did before, so I'm telling myself it's something innate in mothers that probably aids in language comprehension. Sounds plausible, right?

You are a happy baby. I love that when you wake up, you entertain yourself by looking around and wiggling your legs instead of crying. You brighten up and grin when we pick you up, and the couple times I've caught you giggling in your sleep, my heart just melts.

People have commented that you have long fingers, so there is talk whether you will embrace the creative or the physical activities where this comes in as an advantage (for the record, we'd be happy whether you follow the route of pianist or basketball player). Apparently you have quite the complexion; I've also heard numerous mention of how good your skin looked, and I think the c-section is to credit as I see other photos of newborns with blotchier skin and the temporarily misshapen head.


You seem to know kicking your feet activates lights and sounds on your bouncy seat and activity pad, although the playtime quickly escalates into sleepy time, and if we're not quick to notice, you are not afraid to let us know - in very loud terms - how upset you are that you are now struggling to fall asleep. Those times of fighting sleep aren't the most fun for you.

I remember reading someone say they got through the hectic and crazy days of five children very close in age by reminding herself that she will one day miss it. Admittedly, you are pretty easy to take care of, but already I notice I am a little sentimental that you can now sleep through the night. I don't yet tire of reading simple storybooks or singing silly songs or dangling toys for you. And the moment these activities grow tiresome - if they ever do - I trust this adage will come to mind: "One day, I will miss this."

You never knew Katherine, but that was one gift she left us with. Every moment is precious. Sometimes I grow quiet thinking of all the things we've already learned about you and how that time with your older sister was cut too short. So I even treasure those moments you kick against me and scream because you can't fall asleep, or the times I have to rush out of the store suddenly before you wail, or lugging the much heavier carseat around along with a diaper bag and everything else. It is a gift to be a mother to you, and in parenthood, the hard days and the easy days all work together to form a lifetime.

Love,
Mommy

Welcome to the World, Little One

Eight weeks ago, on September 15, Eric and I arrived at the hospital at 7 AM to check in for my c-section.

Quick side story: Eric dropped me off at the door and proceeded to park the car while I began the check-in procedure, and more than one nurse asked me if I was there with anyone, worried I'd driven myself to the hospital and was going this alone. It was a little amusing until I realized they were asking because they must see some moms coming in without anyone to support them. They were visibly relieved when Eric materialized.

It's a strange feeling to know the exact date, and basically the time, that you will have a baby. I'd had a bag mostly packed for a couple weeks, but we finished our packing the night before and did our best to get some sleep. We took our last pregnancy photo before walking out the door; after all, it was 39 weeks to the day, and I'm all about the documentation! I'd had Eric take a photo the night before in case we forgot or were in a hurry in the morning, but there was a part of me that knew it wasn't the 39-week photo, it was instead the 38-weeks-and-6-days photo, and we couldn't leave it at that!

We spent the next three hours doing a lot of sitting around. I spent a few minutes doing some of the last knitting I was likely to do for the foreseeable future, although the IV made this a little awkward.


As the time neared, I found my pulse racing, some due to general nerves, some due to memories of my first c-section. As my daughter's heartrate would also increase at those times, I tried to keep calm. No need for her to feed off my anxiety.

I was wheeled into surgery and given the spinal. My blood pressure was low during the entire pregnancy, and the spinal caused it to decrease even more to the point that I was nauseous and worried about fainting; they gave me something to bring it back up.

And then it began. Eric was brought to my side and we waited some more. And then we heard it: a robust, even angry, cry materializing from our newly born daughter.

We'd been told throughout my pregnancy that she wasn't going to be any little thing, so as the doctor commented again on her size, we waited for the nurses to announce her weight. Next thing we heard was someone saying, "Ten oh three," and both of us were aghast. She hadn't seemed that large when she was shown to us in passing! We said as much, and the nurses laughed at our confusion. They had announced the time of birth, not her weight. She was all of seven pounds, 14 ounces.


Eric was able to hold her soon after, and I craned my neck to examine her. She was precious. She wasn't at all happy to be in a bright, cold room, and she let this be known. I watched her lower lip tremble as she geared up for each new wail, and as I relished her arrival, her life, I broke down in tears. This amazing day had arrived, and we were being entrusted with her life. I had carried her for 39 weeks, but now I finally got to meet this little being, our daughter Brennan.


Surgery was completed and we were whisked to the recovery room. I struggled with nausea for the first couple of hours after surgery; when the first medication had no effect, they gave me a dose of something that would certainly work, but would make me pretty drowsy as well. This meant I came in and out of consciousness frequently for her first day of life as visitors rotated through to meet her, but that and a good night's sleep resulted in a well rested mommy by day two.


For those of you who want more stats: she passed the APGAR with flying colors, first scoring a nine and then a ten (the one point she lost was due to color). She was 20.5 inches long.

I'll try to post again soon with details of her first two months of life. I return to work on Monday (!), but as she is starting to have a schedule emerge, I have some semi-predictable free time in the afternoons during her long nap.

A Letter to my Daughter: 9 Days

Dear Baby Daughter,

I am filled to overflowing with thankfulness lately. When I became pregnant with you, I didn't know what the future would hold. I started hoping we would make it out of the first trimester, and we did so without incident. Then I hoped we would make it past 24 weeks, and we managed that with flying colors. Each day has come and gone, adding up into weeks, and I've remained pregnant.

I was considered high risk because of my past complications, but this uneventful pregnancy has done much to help heal our emotions and allowed us the chance to hope again. You can't replace your sister, but we're so grateful to be able to welcome you into our family. I've had frequent doctor visits and ultrasounds, but everything continued normally. Weight gain was gradual, blood pressure and blood sugars remain low, and even with all the heat this summer, there hasn't been even a hint of swelling.

Here we are, me about to reach 38 weeks, and we're only nine days away from meeting you face to face. I can hardly believe the time has nearly come. Last week, my doctor said they wouldn't stop anything if I went into labor on my own - they would just move up my surgery date - but I've instructed you to wait until the 15th - after all, I'd like to experience a normal, scheduled c-section instead of having to be rushed into an emergency one again. There are bound to be flashbacks as we recall what we experienced with Katherine, but we're trying to trust. Circumstances are vastly different this time around.

You're a decent size at this point - the doctors think you won't be any small thing, but you appear to be perfect. I've loved watching you transform in the ultrasounds; in the last one, you rubbed your hands in front of your eyes as if we were disturbing your sleep, and such typical baby movements made this all the more real to me. You are a miracle inside of me, constantly growing.

I am beyond fascinated with your movements inside me. As you've grown, your kicks have transformed into squirming, so I feel you throughout much of the day as you are ever shifting. I love watching my belly as you distort it with all your movements. And I cannot believe that in a little over a week, I'll get to put names to all these movements. Right now, I can't distinguish between what's an elbow or a knee, but starting next Wednesday, as I see you move outside of me, I'm pretty sure I will lose track of my days. If I'm this transfixed with unidentified movements inside me, I can only imagine how much more emotional it's going to be to see you.

I admit I know there might be some long days and sleepless nights ahead as we figure out this whole parenting thing, but I feel so blessed with the support and prayers of friends and family and know we will approach one day at a time. I'm honored I've been able to carry you these many months, and I can't wait for the continued joy of getting to be your mother.

Love,
Mommy