Today You Are One

Beautiful baby girl,

If I close my eyes, I can recall almost every moment.  I hear the sounds and voices in the operating room...the clanging of metal instruments...the doctor giving orders to the nurses.  I see the bright lights blinding me from above.  I smell the cup from the oxygen mask that covered my face through the surgery.  I was terrified.  I was exhausted.  I was drugged.  I was fighting to hold on and stay awake for the birth of my precious girl.

Suddenly I heard someone say, "She'll be born any minute..." and tears poured from my eyes.  The sweet sound of your cry filled the room.  You were here.  You were safe.  You were healthy.  I passed out...

I opened my eyes and you were in Daddy's arms.  Your face was red and swollen, your eyes were full of goop, your body was wrapped up in a tight little coccoon...you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  He gave me a nod to tell me everything was fine, and he brought you close so I could say hello, kiss your forehead, and finally meet the incredible little person that shared my body for nine months.

My tears of joy quickly turned to sadness when you had to leave the room.  The doctors still needed to finish the surgery and close the incisions.  You and Daddy had to leave.  I didn't even have the opportunity to hold you since I was still flat on the operating table.

Once I was finally in recovery, the nurses brought you to me.  It seemed like an eternity till I got to hold you for the first time.  And once I did, I knew I'd never want to let go...

Today you are one.  

You walk.  You talk.  You laugh.  You sing.  You dance.  You play.  You smile.  You hug.  You kiss.  You understand.  You have two teeth.  You eat real food.  

You are curious.  You are smart.  You are loving.  You are funny.  You are cuddly.  You are independent.  You are strong.  You are happy.  You are beautiful.

You love music.  You love people.  You love to help.  You love to play rough.  You love your blankie and your nite-nite frog.  You love books.  You love balls.  You love learning.  You love snacks.  You love bath time.

I love how happy you are to see me in the morning.  I love the way you smile and laugh at the littlest things.  I love the way you smell after bath time.  I love the way you cuddle up and fall asleep in my arms.  I love the games we play.  I love our special book time every night.  I love the way you help get the clothes into and out of the dryer.  I love how you show me you are so big.  I love how you can make me smile and forget the rest of the world even exists.

I love your little giggle.  I love the way your eyes light up when you get excited at seeing something new.  I love the way you come over and hug me when I haven't even asked.  I love being your mama.  One year under my belt, a lifetime to go...

Of all the things I've been in life, being your mama is the most amazing, rewarding, incredible, absolute best thing I could ever be.  I can't imagine my life without you.  You complete me.  You filled my heart with love and joy I never knew existed.  You changed my life.  You changed my whole world.  You made me a better person.  

Today you are one.  Soon you will be two, then three, then ten, then sixteen...  Time will go on and I will continue to enjoy every moment, every smile, every giggle, every cuddle...

I will always be your mama.  I will always be here for you.  I will always listen.  I will always lend a helping hand.  I will always give you guidance and encouragement.  I will always be your friend.

You will always be my baby.

Happy birthday to my precious little girl...

I love you, Julia Allyn.

 

The Start of Christmas

I don't think I could possibly be more excited for the next few days.  I haven't felt this way since I was a kid.  I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight.

Christmas began tonight for us.  His oldest son has to work tomorrow and we'll be on the road headed down state by the time he's done so we exchanged gifts tonight.  That also means that Santa will be visiting us one night early here at home so tonight's the night.  

It's already almost eleven and I still have tons to do before I attempt to get any sleep.  I know Punky will have no recollection at all of her first Christmas, but I will always remember it, and I want it to be just perfect.

I remember my childhood Christmases; they are some of my favorite memories.  My parents struggled financially but somehow always managed to give us the most wonderful Christmas mornings.  I don't know how they pulled it off, but we always had plenty of gifts and got the things we really wanted most.  If there ever was something I wanted and didn't get, I have no memory of it now.  

I remember the Christmas Eve suppers at my grandmother's house, Santa coming to my great grandmother's house, midnight mass at church, and laying in bed wide awake, bursting with excitement and trying desperately to convince myself to close my eyes. 

I knew if I fell asleep, Christmas morning would come faster.  As kids though, my sister and I chose to stay awake and giggle for hours waiting for the magic to happen.  We would always wake on our own well before dawn and race downstairs to the tree.  Presents had to wait until mom and dad got their morning coffee made, but the stockings were free game to amuse us until they were ready.

As we got older things changed a bit.  Families grew and loved ones passed on, but I carried the same excitement into adulthood...or so I thought.

Now that I have Punky, I realize how much those feelings truly dulled over the years.  The surge of energy I have right now made it all clear.  I feel like I'm eight all over again, only now I get to experience it all through the eyes of my beautiful baby girl.

She doesn't understand presents and, judging from tonight, she will have no interest in ripping the paper in the morning.  But she surely understands "new toy" and sat right by my side anxiously as I pulled the one her brother got her out of the box and put it together.  She even had to hug her new clothes once she saw them.

I can't wait for morning...I have tears in my eyes now.

We are going to visit his family tomorrow afternoon and then Punky and I are headed home for the holidays.  He will follow Christmas day.  We'll have Christmas Eve supper at my mom's tomorrow night, and then another round of presents Christmas morning when we exchange as a family.  My four year old nephew is so excited this year.  He finally really "gets it" and he will be so much fun.  

We will have Punky's first birthday party on Sunday, where she'll get even more gifts I'm sure.  She'll be one spoiled child before the weekend is over and we return home on Monday.   Given that she's had to wait 362 days to have her first Christmas it's worthy of some spoiling.  And having a birthday immediately after deserves it's own recognition as well.  It's certainly not the most ideal time of the year to have a birthday, but it is what it is and we need to make the best of it.

Time to play Santa and head to bed.  I'm sad that he had to work third shift tonight so we can't play Santa together, but being alone may bring the boredom I need to actually fall asleep tonight.

On a side note, Mama called it just in time.  The proverbial switch flipped in Punky, the green light came on, and all systems are go:  she's walking.  She spent a few days with a couple shaky steps here and there; today she's been walking...across entire rooms...choosing to walk instead of crawling...walking to get from here to there instead of just trying for amusement.  Something clicked and just like that we have a walker.  I am so proud of her.  More tears...

I'd Say That's Walking

We've been trying to encourage Punky to walk for about two months.  If I sat on the floor and stood her at arms length in front of me and let go, she would take the necessary two or three steps needed to get back to me.  Every now and then she would let go of the furniture on her own and take a step or two, but it was rare and she always had something close to grab.  

There was a sudden change this past week.  The occasional, unprovoked step or two has turned into five or six at a time, into the center of the room away from all furniture, and usually with a toy in both hands.  Yeah, I'm calling it: she's walking.  

So, she made it under the one year mark by about ten days.  We expected earlier since she rolled, crawled, an pulled herself to standing so early.  She was only fifteen weeks old the first time she pulled herself up to stand by holding my hands and bracing her feet against me.  This walking thing has been a long time coming...

Even though she's discovered she can do it on her own, she still opts for crawling most of the time.  Getting from point A to point B when she's on a mission is much faster on all fours.  I know it will change in time.  

Walking brings some more worries as far as potential falls and head bangs.  But let's face it, with as many times she's whacked that little noggin already I doubt walking will bring anything worse.  

It seems Punky sensed I wasn't worried enough with her new walking trick so she decided to show me another new trick to push me over the edge: she managed to get on the bed in her room, all by herself, no help from mama...

Damn.  Now things get complicated.  Obviously getting on the bed isn't the big issue; falling off is the problem.  Taking the bed out of her room isn't an option.  Normally I can trust her to play alone in her room for a few minutes if I need to do something.  I guess I can cross that off the list.

While we were playing there a few weeks ago, I was trying to show her the way to get down from the bed...on her tummy, legs first, slowly until the feet reach the floor.  Of course all she wanted to do was roll around the bed.  My mom thinks Punky will need to climb up and fall off a few times before she figures it out and learns the way to do it.  Geez.  There has to be a better option than that.  Makes me wonder how I learned... 

Punky is changing so much every day.  It still blows my mind what she is able to comprehend and do.  And once she does something, she doesn't forget it.  I often say things without thinking about it until she responds correctly to what I said. 

"Daddy's in the bathroom.  Go knock on the door."  Whoa...who the hell taught her how to knock?

"We will read one more book and then go brush your teeth."  A few minutes later I close the book and without having to say a word, she takes off for the bathroom.  She needed to understand and maintain that understanding all the way through two readings of Goodnight Moon.  One normal speed, and one slowly to point out all the stuff in the pictures.  She didn't grab another book, she didn't go find a toy, she went right to the bathroom and waited in the dark for me come in and turn on the light.  Baby Einstein for sure.

"Santa's coming in a few days."  She quickly turns to look at the tree.  I don't even have a clue as to how she put two and two together on this one...

I'm sure none of this is truly spectacular.  I know that most babies her age have developed these incredible talents.  It is utterly fascinating to see first hand though.  The way she learns so much, so quickly, with little effort on anyone's part is amazing.  She's like a little sponge soaking up all the world has to offer...every little drop she sees, hears, smells, tastes, and touches...

Shower Number One and Tooth Number Two

Let me start by saying this post will have no puke stories...I promise...

With the holidays literally around the corner, writing has been pushed aside like most other aspects of my life.  I'm looking forward to January's utter dullness to get back into a normal daily routine.  I have so much to do this weekend; my head spins just thinking about it.

Tuesday evening was a bit exciting for Punky and I.  While feeding her dinner, she was attempting to grab the spoon and do it herself.  She has tried grabbing the spoon before, but I usually dodge her attempts because I don't think she's capable of being successful at it yet.  Okay...okay...yeah, it was mainly because I had a vision of how messy it would be and didn't want to even go there...

For whatever reason, I threw in the towel and let her have the spoon.  She's almost a year old now.  Maybe she can actually do it...

The first two spoonfuls went well.  She let me help her get the food on the spoon, and she managed to hold it relatively level while bringing it to her mouth.  It went all downhill from scoop number three, and by the time we were done Punky had sauce from her left cheek down the side of her neck and into her shirt.  The right side of her hair was clumped with it.  She even had some on her eyelashes and up her nose. I'm not exactly sure if another spoonful even made it into her mouth from that point on...

I suppose there is no need to mention I actually let this happen on a day when dinner was lasagna with meat sauce...  I have no clue what the hell I was thinking.  As they say, hindsight is 20/20. 

It wasn't bath night, but I quickly realized that baby wipes just weren't going to do the trick.  Suddenly I had a brilliant idea: why not take her in the shower with me?  It would be easier on my aching lower back, plus then I would be set for the morning.  I could kill two birds with one stone, as they say.

I started second guessing myself right before we stepped into the shower.  I mean, looking at her stained orange face it was clear that maybe I wasn't using my best judgment that day.  She's not even a year old and she looked a little scared.  She's too little for a shower.  We stepped in...but I was prepared to regret that decision.

As soon as the water touched her, she was so excited.  She loved it.  She was laughing, and clapping, and babbling.  She loves playing in the running water in the sinks, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.

The whole shower worked out wonderfully.  I held her while I washed her up and rinsed her off, and then I sat her down on the floor of the shower while I got myself washed.  She played with her bath frogs and didn't seem to mind the little splashes of water that would hit her randomly as I moved around in the stream.  At the end, I picked her up and let her play in the water some more.  When I turned off the water, she started to cry...which sort of sounded like, "Mama just created a monster and she will never get to shower alone again."

She only cried a few seconds, but it was long enough for me to notice another surprise: tooth number two has finally broken through...right next to tooth number one.  It was roughly five weeks in between the two.  I expected the second much sooner. 

Punky is still on the small side, still fairly bald although her hair is definitely growing finally, and now has just one and a quarter visible teeth when she smiles.  People still think she is much younger than she really is, and they are surprised at how advanced she seems for her age.  Then, when they find out her true age, they are equally surprised by her size.

I experienced many of those moments last weekend when we attended Punky's first xmas party, provided for the children where I work.  It was a nice party, and I'm sure she'll enjoy it more in future years.  She was a bit too little to follow a puppet show and stuff this year, and her attention span wasn't long.  Co-workers were glad to step in and walk around in circles with her to give my back a break.  She got her first gift from Santa, and it was a good one, too.  A busy ball popper, just like she has at her uncle's house down state, so she knew exactly what it was from the picture on the box.  She loves it and has been playing with it all week. 

The Meaning of Projectile

I’m detecting a theme to these recent posts…

Last night, Punky had a delicious dinner of sweet potatoes and rice, with some apple-cinnamon puffs for dessert. After a few swigs of her bottle of water, she decided to intentionally throw it on the floor.

We’ve played the “If I throw this on the floor, Mama will pick it up so I can throw it on the floor again” game before. Sometimes she’s amused and it goes on for a bit, sometimes she loses interest quickly, and sometimes Mama’s just not in the mood and she gets booted from the highchair to the floor where she can throw it all she wants and get it herself. Grouchy mama days…it happens to the best of us…

Anyway, last night I had my back to the highchair when I heard the bottle hit the floor. I turned around and acted surprised to see it under the highchair…and of course Punky found it simply hysterical. Thus the game began. She’d wait until my back was turned to toss it, I’d turn around in shock to see it on the floor, she’d roar with laughter while I bent down to pick it up…

We must’ve done it eight times, and she was laughing so uncontrollably. On the last go ‘round, when I bent over for the bottle she suddenly got quiet. The laughing stopped. I stood up and caught a glimpse of her face just before the eruption. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks puffed out, you could see a hint of fear and panic in her expression.

Half a second later the trap opened and her dinner spewed forth with the force of a volcano and the speed of a bullet. It completely cleared the highchair tray and landed dead center on my chest. I had to be at least two feet or more from her at the time. As disgusting as it was, I stood there for a few seconds stunned and amazed.

I suppose I thought the term "projectile vomiting" was merely an expression, only brought to life in horror movies when demonic goop flies out a girl’s mouth just after her head spins 360 degrees. In real life I never saw anyone, myself included, vomit across a room. I didn’t think it was physically possible. This wasn’t quite across the room, but who knows how far it would’ve gone if I wasn’t standing in its path. It qualifies.

Poor Punky sat there confused; she didn’t know what the hell happened. But after one hard swallow, a big smile appeared on her face. There was not one drop of anything on her lips, face, bib, or anywhere on the highchair. None even hit the floor…just me. The only consolation I have is that I had time to stand up all the way after retrieving her bottle…otherwise it may have been my hair or face taking the blow instead of my nightshirt. As gross as it was, that would’ve been much worse.

Of course I feel like it’s all my fault and I feel so bad for making her vomit like that, but I’d say she definitely paid me back… I suppose we ought to save that game for light snacks only. Or maybe for next time Daddy feeds her dinner… She still owes him one from the frozen pizza incident.

The Drawer, the Tree, and the Box

Saturday afternoon, after consuming some fruit and cheerios along with five ounces of a juice and water blend, Punky decided it was time to rough house on the floor with the couch pillows. Needless to say a half hour later, I had a fruit/cheerio/juice/water mixture in a puddle on the kitchen floor. No big deal, it happens sometimes. I cleaned it up, I cleaned her up, and we continued the day.

About an hour later, we sat down for an early dinner of stew that had been cooking all day in the crock pot. The smell filled the entire house, and it was too tempting to wait any longer to eat. Given Punky’s episode and that fact that it was still over two hours away from her usual supper time, I didn’t think she’d be interested in what we were eating but I was wrong. She seemed to really like it, and wanted more and more.

She had some of everything: carrots, potatoes, celery, venison, and some broth. She ate a fair amount, but then I cut her off because I was worried about her stomach being upset from before and I didn’t want a repeat. As the hours passed, she seemed fine.

Her usual dinner time finally arrived and I figured I would just give her more stew since she seemed to love it. It was taking her forever to chew and swallow every single bite. Suddenly she was acting like she hated it, and it almost seemed like she was having trouble swallowing it. Thinking she was maybe just sick of it since she had some only a few hours earlier, I got some jarred squash to give her instead.

She didn’t want that either. Three spoonfuls into it, she stopped opening her mouth for more. I was stumped. She never refuses food. No matter what it is, when it is, or how gross it looks, she eats it all with minimal effort on my part.

As she sat in the highchair fussing a bit, her dad discovered the root of the problem. He opened a kitchen drawer, the one that Punky opens a thousand times a day, and there it was: all the stew she ate the first time around. Gross.

Somehow she managed to spit it up and into her favorite drawer without any of us noticing. Then it seems she politely closed the drawer. Maybe on purpose to hide it, but I doubt it at this age. I’m just glad he discovered it before days went by…

I guess she just had a sour stomach that day. Poor baby. No wonder she refused that second round of stew…given what happened the first time she probably thought I was trying to poison her. I still have no idea how she managed that stunt without anyone noticing… little sneak…

On another note, the xmas tree is up and decorated. What a long project for a tiny little four foot tree. It’s cute and will definitely serve the purpose again this year. Punky seems to care less.

We have it up on a table in the corner of the living room in an attempt to keep it out of arm’s reach. Once, before it was even decorated, she crawled over and stood up at the table. She stretched all she could and managed to grab the tip of the lowest hanging branch. She quickly let go, made a terrible face, and crawled away from it on the double.

It must have had the same sensation on her hands that grass had on her feet this past summer. She doesn’t like it and that’s that. We may as well have set it up on the floor and said the hell with finding a table. She wants no part of it. I thought the twinkling lights would fascinate her, but she doesn’t seem to be amused. I guess in reality she has toys that light up and twinkle those very same colors…and play music at the same time…so what’s the point in staring at a dumb tree that feels yucky?

Yesterday, enjoying my sudden burst of holiday spirit, I decided to start wrapping presents. When I began, Punky was napping and I proceeded to toss stuff all over my bedroom…including her unwrapped gifts. When she woke up a while later, I didn’t give a thought to the contents of my bedroom or the wide open door.

While I was distracted in the kitchen for a minute, she made her way in there. As soon as I noticed the silence, I went running. Sadly, she saw everything.

When I reached the doorway, she was standing up against a huge box full of unwrapped toys. The Wonder Pets flyboat caught her eye and she was leaning over the edge of the box trying to reach it. Another toy caught her attention and she walked along the side of the box to see if she would have greater success grabbing that one instead. She couldn’t lift it with one hand to pull it up and out of the box, but she did manage to hit a button and see some flashing lights.

She had that excited look that all kids get when they see something they really want. Even though she had no clue what it really was, in that moment she wanted that toy. She wanted to touch it, explore it, taste it… I picked her up and whisked her out of the room, handing her a boring old toy as I sat her down on the floor. She looked at me like I was the meanest mama in the whole world. Sigh.

I closed the bedroom door and Punky quickly forgot about the treasures lurking behind it, yet I couldn’t help feeling sad. I know she’s not even a year old and she won’t remember, but I still feel like I ruined her first xmas in a way. She saw the goods… She found Santa’s stash… And she has one hell of a memory.

When we open her presents xmas morning, I really hope to see that excitement in her eyes. With any luck, she’ll have forgotten her accidental preview. She’ll never get another one…if I can help it.

Playin' in the Shadows

As I rushed around Monday morning getting ready for work, my little tail disappeared and got quiet. Silence is usually the best indicator that she is into something she shouldn’t be. I peeked out the bathroom door, and there she sat on the floor in the kitchen. She discovered her shadow.

I stood quietly and watched her for a few minutes. She kept moving her little hands back and forth across the floor, trying desperately to catch the dark spots that were following her relentlessly. Then she moved a foot, and again a dark line seemed to follow so she grabbed her toes…only to discover that made the dark spot sticking out from the side of her foot even larger.

She turned her body around to face the opposite direction and looked down at her feet and hands. No dark spots anywhere to be found. She slowly turned back and watched the shadows gradually appear again. After a few more failed attempts at catching them, she got a look on her face that seemed to say, “Screw it. I’ll figure it out another day.” And back to the bathroom she came.

Moments like this are absolutely priceless. Her dad left so early that morning, and getting ready for work while taking care of Punky on my own can be very challenging…more and more as she gets older and into everything. It was absolutely wonderful to have an interruption in the chaos and take a few moments to just enjoy her and smile ear to ear at her latest discovery. No matter how simple, my mind translates it into “my baby is the smartest baby that ever lived.”

I’m sure I’m no different than every other proud mama out there. Before having one of my own, I wondered if parents were really as blindly in love with their children as they appeared to be. All parents seemed to think their children were the smartest, funniest, most beautiful children to ever walk the earth.

Back then it was so clear to me that some of them were wrong. I wondered how some could marvel at their kids’ accomplishments when in truth they were barely “C” students. I didn’t understand how no parent would ever admit that their child was not the most attractive apple in the bushel. I mean, come on now, admit it…some babies just aren’t that attractive. Stories of how little Joey cracked everyone up at dinner last night, or learned to tie his shoes, or even discovered his shadow, were not funny or entertaining to me. They were irritating. I always bit my lip when I wanted to say, “Please stop consuming our entire lunch hour with all this dribble about your snotty, little kid. No one cares.” How could they not see that no one wanted to hear their boring baby stories? Geez.

Yeah, I get it now. It took having one to fully comprehend. And no matter how cute the little girl is down the street, Punky will always be cuter. No matter what kind of grades she gets in school, she will always be a rocket scientist in my eyes. No matter how old she gets, the things she says and does will always be the funniest, most entertaining stories to me. And I proudly bore many people every day with the mundane details of Punky’s amazing life. This blog is exhibit A.

I thought some of those parents were wrong; now I know that all of them were wrong. Punky is the best baby that ever lived. She just discovered her shadow.

And she’s mine.