Other mother

Squiggles is learning to implement new words and phrases at a very fast rate these days.  She has recently learned, “another one” (but to her, it’s one word: anudderone).  This word is utilized very frequently, particularly in regard to Curious George episodes, sippy cups (she’s partial to purple and blue), pajamas, and socks.

Today she’s home sick, so she’s had to put up with my not-so-exciting company all day.  My sister Cami came by for a few minutes to drop something off, and as soon as she left, Squiggles started crying.  “I want Mama,” she said.

I held her lovingly and reassured her that “Mama’s right here, Love.”  She finally pulled away and said, “No.  I want anudderone mama.” 

I said, “You want another mama?  Aunt Cami?”  She pointed toward the doorway and sobbed, “Uh huh… anudderone mama!”  I said, “Aunt Cami went bye-bye,” so she threw herself on the couch and cried herself to sleep.  Luckily it only took about 4 seconds.

Splash!

I got out of school a bit early one day.  Cami’s kids were out for February vacation, so they let me come to the pool with them.

Squiggles will do just about anything that Cami’s kids do, so even though she won’t go near the bathtub without coercion, she enthusiastically donned this life jacket and led me into the pool.  She was quite proud of her swimming skills (I think Cami has a video).  Basically, she puts her hands in the water and sort of flips them about daintily.  When I told her to kick her legs, she managed a sort of frog-like propulsion.  Summer swimming lessons, here we come!

Mostly she was delighted to “pahsssssss” (splash) about.  Daintily.  This girl is refined – no rowdy play for her (yet).  

After swimming, I wrapped her in a towel.  She was content to sit by Iowa like this for quite a while.  She loves being wrapped in a towel, and often brings me a towel (when she’s fully clothed) so that I can wrap her up and sit her on a couch or chair.  Blankets, on the other hand, are absolutely out of the question.  Silly baby.

And the verdict is in…

And a good-looking one to boot.

41 hours to go...

until we find out if this is a boy parasite or a girl parasite.

But who's counting?

Tim thinks it's a girl. I think it's a boy. Anybody else want to weigh in? Please suggest a name with your guess, since Tim and I are 100% incapable of coming to a consensus on this matter. Squiggles didn't have a name until two weeks after she was born... we're hoping if we start deciding now the child might be named by the time he or she begins joy school.

Say no to the dress.

There is a pink sweater dress that was supposed to go with the outfit below.  But Squiggles wasn’t feeling the dress that day, so she found some accessories instead.

And then completed the look with the perfect pair of boots.

I asked if she’d like to go to school, and she said, “No… jump!”

Something has to be said

Cami made me do it (see the alien sprouting in the flower garden above).

Dimming of the day

This old house is falling down around my ears
I'm drowning in a river of my tears
When all my will is gone you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day
~Richard Thompson, Dimming of the Day

I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day; perhaps partly because I spent so long single, partly because I don’t like holidays that not everybody can celebrate, and partly because I don’t like the way romantic love is portrayed in pop culture.

As a youngster, I didn’t really have any idealistic notions of how my life as a wife and mother would be – if anything, I was a bit jaded and had seen for myself that it wouldn’t be a perpetual cloud of hollyhocks, long-stemmed roses, and candle-lit dinners by the fireplace.

But skeptic that I was, I didn’t know – does anybody? – how difficult family life could be.  Tim and I have had a challenging year – nothing is wrong, not really wrong – but we have struggled considerably with the logistics of reproductive labor.

Tim is doing rotations in medical school.  He leaves at 4:30 in the morning, works his tail end off for (and gets yelled at by) impossible-to-please attending physicians all day, gets home at 8 or 9 pm, and then has to study for the next day’s surgeries and 3rd-year board exams in addition to paying bills and balancing our not-so-substantial finances.

Because Tim’s schedule is inflexible, I (with morning sickness as my unrelenting companion) am responsible  for getting the baby up, fed, changed, and to preschool each morning.  I then rush to my lab, try to fit 12 hours of work into 7 hours,  rush back to pick up the baby, try to get enough laundry done to get us by for a couple days, get dinner on the table (at least for the baby), vacuum the ground-up goldfish crackers out the sofa, format figures for papers, look up RNA sequences of this or that, and … etc.

None of this is groundbreaking – many have done this and much, much more.   We’re not special, we’re just tired.

But… I’m so glad we’re not in this alone.  Just when I think I’m about to implode from pressure after the sun has given up on the day, I hear the blessed sound of keys in the doorknob downstairs.  When Tim gets home and after he gets the baby to bed, we sink into the sofa and hold hands while we talk about our days for a few minutes before we drop to bed exhausted and do the same thing the next day.

I love the days when Tim texts me saying that he has a half-hour break, and I drop everything at the lab to meet him at the hospital (next door) for a quick lunch.  I love the Saturdays we both have off when we go to breakfast and bond over eggs and waffles.  And I love the days he gets off an hour early and comes home to chase the baby around the house, pretending he’s a gorilla.

Even after torturous days, Tim has a way of grounding me, of helping me see the larger picture and making everything seem okay.  He reminds me that things will get better, easier. 

I looked long and hard for him, and I’m aware every day of how lucky I am that we found each other.  Our life is not full of fun and excitement, at least not on a daily basis.  It is not glamorous and there have been no fireplace dinners that I recall, but it is full of meaning, of sacrifice and long-suffering and patience and working together to raise our family, of quiet moments at the dimming of the day.

So… even though our Valentine’s Day will likely be spent eating microwave dinners and scrubbing mini pop tarts out of the carpet, I will be thankful that I have love in my life.  Of the very best sort.

And now the feeling that I'm feeling
Well it's feeling like my life is finally mine
Without you I was broken,
But I’d rather be broke down with you by my side
~Jack Johnson, Broken

Stopping by woods on a snowy morning

We went to Crawford Notch in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a wedding yesterday.  We obviously hiked to Arathusa Falls this morning since it was just down the road from where we stayed.

We brought snowshoes, but they were unnecessary so my husband / sherpa carried them on his back.

It was 4 degrees Fahrenheit at the base, which with New England wind and humidity feels like about –40.  I wore four base layers as well as my windbreaker (which BARELY zipped over my baby belly).  The chill still got in and made it’s way into every fiber of my being, but we warmed up quickly as we hiked.

The hike is delightful – perfect for a morning adventure.

I finally warmed up enough to take off my shell, but that only lasted a couple minutes.  Also, yes I’m wearing maternity pajama bottoms (over several other base layers).  It turns out that I can’t find maternity snowpants, and probably wouldn’t waste the money even if I could.

Arathusa Falls are the tallest in New Hampshire, and a favorite spot for local ice climbers.  My stupid-crazy brother was up here yesterday endangering his life in this manner.  I’m kind of jealous.

‘Twas a lovely outing, and it was so great to get out of the city for a couple days.  Special thanks to Tim’s mom for watching (read: spoiling rotten) our daughter whilst we were away.

I personally am not okay with skipping winter – I love the peace and beauty of a snow-covered forest.