You will find a pair of jeans that you can squeeze into despite the extra 5lbs that you still need to lose.
You will bundle yourself up, and your infant, only to realize that he needs a diaper change and you haven't brushed your teeth yet.
You will change his diaper and brush your teeth...and re-bundle both bodies up.
You will fight the December wind getting to the car with said infant.
You will start the car and said infant will start screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason.
You will drive to the store hoping the car ride lulls him peacefully to sleep. You will hit every red light.
You will park, and attempt to exit the vehicle with said infant still screaming.
You will decide to give in, and return home.
You will park at home, open the door to retrieve the stroller, and nearly get your head taken off by your vehicle's rear door (due to above said wind).
You will open the side door to retrieve said infant only to realize he has finally closed his eyes and is sleeping peacefully.
06 December 2010
04 December 2010
Dear Teddy,
Happy 2 month birthday little man! This picture-letter will update you on the highlights of what has been your second month as an outside-baby.
Life has been busy with you, and you seem to be taking in more and more everyday. Sometimes it's enough to make you just pass out with exhaustion.
You've officially discovered your hands and have started to deliberately bring them to your mouth. You are getting more accurate by the day.
Although this picture may suggest otherwise, you are still not a huge fan of "tummy time."
You would much prefer sitting on our laps and staring at our handsome mugs.
People keep commenting on how small you are, but to me you've gotten so big! Check out this awesome double chin you sport from time to time:
This month also included your first big adventure. We took you on the road to visit your Grandma Jan and Papa Bob for Thanksgiving. You were a great little traveler!

While there, you met your cousin Emily for the first time. She liked your chiny-chin-chin too.

The trip also included a visit to your Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa's farm in Portland, NY for the wedding of Daddy's cousin Janine. I dare say you stole the show with your handsomeness. (Check out those awesome dragon booties you got as a present from Daddy's cousins Nick and Audrey!)

However, without a doubt the best part of this whole month, little goober? The smiles!!!
The genuine, I'm-feeling-happy-because-you-did-something-funny, smiles. The smiles are what makes me not get mad when I discover poop on my jeans after changing you. The smiles are what erase the frustration when it's 3am and you are awake in your crib wanting to play (and then just glance up at me with one of those handsome little smiles as if you're thinking "oh hey Mom! Let's play with Mrs. Cow again!"). Your smile melts my heart every single time, as if I've never seen you smile before that instant. I hope you never go a day without smiling.I haven't gone a day without smiling for exactly 2 months now.
Love,
Mom
20 November 2010
Things I've learned from my infant (so far)
1. Milk is so delicious you can live off of it.
2. You sleep much more soundly next to someone who loves you.
3. Sometimes you just need your mom.
4. The back of our couch is beyond interesting.
5. My hair can entertain for hours (ok, minutes).
6. Talking to yourself can be insanely (pun intended) cute.
7. One little smile really can change someone's day.
8. Sometimes crying is the only way to communicate.
9. If you're feeling overwhelmed, just close your eyes and go to sleep.
10. Sometimes you just need your dad.
And finally, one thing I already knew but has been confirmed:
Naps are the best thing since sliced bread.
2. You sleep much more soundly next to someone who loves you.
3. Sometimes you just need your mom.
4. The back of our couch is beyond interesting.
5. My hair can entertain for hours (ok, minutes).
6. Talking to yourself can be insanely (pun intended) cute.
7. One little smile really can change someone's day.
8. Sometimes crying is the only way to communicate.
9. If you're feeling overwhelmed, just close your eyes and go to sleep.
10. Sometimes you just need your dad.
And finally, one thing I already knew but has been confirmed:
Naps are the best thing since sliced bread.
13 November 2010
On letting go
11 November 2010
On adjusting
Teddy is now 5.5weeks old and I'm finally having flashes of feeling like his mom. This is something that is so hard to describe - both the not feeling like his mom and the blossoming motherhood feeling. Can I blame the former on sleep deprivation? (I think that I can still get away with that excuse for a few more weeks, so I'll milk it for all it's worth.)
The truth is what everyone says about becoming a parent is true: it is the hardest thing, the most rewarding thing, and something that can sometimes take time to develop. I never had moments of not loving Teddy or looking at him and not feeling connected. But I think my rational mind is still finding it hard to believe that he's mine. That B and I created this tiny little human. That he is not on loan to us from some relative or friend for a few weeks. These realizations are both exhilarating and terrifying.
But today? Today I've been having moments of feeling like Teddy's mom. It's in the way I can now maneuver the car seat and stroller in and out of my car in less than 5 minutes; it's in the way Teddy glances at me and there is a spark of recognition or (if I'm really lucky) a smile; it's in the pride I feel every time someone new tells me how stinkin' cute my kid is (because, really, have you seen him lately?? C.U.T.E.).
Today I feel like Teddy's mom. Tomorrow I may go back to feeling like a babysitter or a giant boob. But today I am mom.
The truth is what everyone says about becoming a parent is true: it is the hardest thing, the most rewarding thing, and something that can sometimes take time to develop. I never had moments of not loving Teddy or looking at him and not feeling connected. But I think my rational mind is still finding it hard to believe that he's mine. That B and I created this tiny little human. That he is not on loan to us from some relative or friend for a few weeks. These realizations are both exhilarating and terrifying.
But today? Today I've been having moments of feeling like Teddy's mom. It's in the way I can now maneuver the car seat and stroller in and out of my car in less than 5 minutes; it's in the way Teddy glances at me and there is a spark of recognition or (if I'm really lucky) a smile; it's in the pride I feel every time someone new tells me how stinkin' cute my kid is (because, really, have you seen him lately?? C.U.T.E.).
Today I feel like Teddy's mom. Tomorrow I may go back to feeling like a babysitter or a giant boob. But today I am mom.
05 November 2010
Dear Teddy,
I'm a day late (and more than a dollar short), but I'm hear to tell you all about your first full month of life! The highlights: you were born, you ate some (and gained some weight - 7lbs 6oz as of this week), you slept alot, and you still amaze me with your cuteness. Seriously, little one, I wonder if I'll ever look at you and not marvel!
In other news, you got your first toys - a play mat on which you've spent lots of time. Mainly you just stare at the bunny rattle and cow mirror. I keep telling you to talk to the baby in the mirror and sometimes you oblige. Mostly you just make silly faces, which is just as good in this house.
You've gotten lots of presents from lots of kind people. One of those gifts included this adorable onesie from Mommy's undergraduate college. (Thanks Kati! Go Norse!)
This month you've joined us on quite a ride. Life is definitely forever changed now that you are here. It hasn't always been easy or pretty. But, Teddy, you are so, so loved.
Love,
Mom
02 November 2010
Teddy's heart = 2; Doctors' predictions = 0
You're lying there, stripped down to your diaper, content. The pediatrician places the stethoscope on your chest and the room is still. You admire the contrast of a black cord on a pale wall. Then she tells us, "I hear a murmur in his heart and I think you should have a cardiologist check it out."
And it takes a few hours for that news to sink in. The irony hits right away, of course. From my doctor telling me you didn't have a heartbeat to your pediatrician telling me there was something wrong with that heartbeat, I realize that it's no small coincidence that I'm a bit heart-obsessed.
So your dad and I venture to the cardiologist one drizzling weekday morning. We wander through a maze of doctor's offices until we finally locate a bustling practice with children everywhere. I briefly think about all those little hearts that have just begun loving, and all those parent-hearts that are so close to breaking.
I quiet you during the sonogram with slow strokes to your cheek, and you look around the dark room. Every once in a while you gaze at the black and white image on the screen. And again the irony hits me - my little baby, with whose heart I was so obsessed with seeing during the 9 months of my pregnancy, is looking now at an image not much different than I saw of his own heart. We look at your heart together.
We dress you in the cardiologist's office while we wait for her to deliver the results. Before she even sits down she proclaims, "well, he's totally normal." We nod our heads because of course our baby is normal; of course his heart is in fine working condition.
It's not until later that I think to myself, "no, Mrs. Cardiologist, you have no idea how extraordinary this little heart is to me."
And it takes a few hours for that news to sink in. The irony hits right away, of course. From my doctor telling me you didn't have a heartbeat to your pediatrician telling me there was something wrong with that heartbeat, I realize that it's no small coincidence that I'm a bit heart-obsessed.
So your dad and I venture to the cardiologist one drizzling weekday morning. We wander through a maze of doctor's offices until we finally locate a bustling practice with children everywhere. I briefly think about all those little hearts that have just begun loving, and all those parent-hearts that are so close to breaking.
I quiet you during the sonogram with slow strokes to your cheek, and you look around the dark room. Every once in a while you gaze at the black and white image on the screen. And again the irony hits me - my little baby, with whose heart I was so obsessed with seeing during the 9 months of my pregnancy, is looking now at an image not much different than I saw of his own heart. We look at your heart together.
We dress you in the cardiologist's office while we wait for her to deliver the results. Before she even sits down she proclaims, "well, he's totally normal." We nod our heads because of course our baby is normal; of course his heart is in fine working condition.
It's not until later that I think to myself, "no, Mrs. Cardiologist, you have no idea how extraordinary this little heart is to me."
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