Happy 7th, Cole!

Seven seems like such a big number. When I used to think of seven year old boys, I have to admit I didn’t like them much. I always thought that kids started getting less cute and more annoying at around this age.

Can you believe I thought that?

Now that you have reached this age, I not only find that you are still cute...you are also hilarious! Although, I will say that you are lucky your mom thinks fart jokes are funny.

You are definitely a boy who wears his feelings on his sleeve. It appears that all of my effort in teaching you words for your emotions has paid off because you are VERY good at telling us how you feel. Maybe too good. I don’t think we would mind if you dialed it back a little.  :)

This past school year, we have watched with pride as you continued to excel in reading. Every spelling test that came home was a perfect score. You find math to be “too hard” and I noticed that you expected more out of your 6-year-old brain than is possible.  I have become a bit concerned about blooming perfectionism. Both your father and I have struggled with perfectionism in our own way and I hate to see that you seem to have inherited the trait. I have watched you give up on something when it’s too much of a challenge and you chastise yourself excessively when you make mistakes. A new (and very disturbing) trend is that you call yourself “a bad person” when we talk to you about a poor choice or a problem behavior. I wish I could literally pluck those thoughts out of your head. They break my heart. I know the price of perfectionism and I don’t wish it on anyone.

There were some milestones that you reached this year. You lost your first tooth in December. I was six when I lost my first tooth, too. Late bloomers, I guess. Here we are on your 7th birthday and you still haven’t lost your two front teeth (only one...very recently).

You also found your first best friend, Levi. You rode the bus to school together and sat together in Mrs. Malenich’s class. You even both went to each other’s summer birthday parties. When I was your age, I was not able to make close friends. I was too shy. For this reason, I deeply value friendships and am delighted that you have a best friend.

You also joined cub scouts very soon after school started. I considered it a trial year because I was unsure of how you would like it. So far, it’s been a lot of fun. We’ve had a chance to go to many day camps where you experienced tons of awesome new things. We have hiked, shot a bow and arrow, went ice fishing, wore snow shoes, and shot candies with a sling shot. You beamed with pride as you built a birdhouse using the screwdriver all by yourself. This weekend, we are going to your first overnight camp together as a family. Looks like you’re in for next year.

Your newest adventure might be trying to make YouTube gaming videos. Your favorite YouTuber is DanTDM. A good portion of your year was spent with blue hair, just like Dan. We even had a chance to go see him do a live show in Detroit earlier this year. That was quite a treat. While we have the equipment to do videos, your momma doesn’t exactly have the time. I wonder how other kids do it because you and I literally spent a whole day trying to make one video.

I hope this next year comes with many more adventures. I love watching you be who you are, so unapologetically Cole. I will always love that about you.

With Love,

Momma

Birthday Message

One more year is gone my dear. I want to tell you how proud I am to be your mother.

This year, you completed kindergarten with flying colors. You’re reading at the 1st grade level and completed all of the math levels available for kindergartners. You made friends and even got your first crush (Emma). Being in school is tough for you but you stick through it like a champ. You really don’t like all the “paperwork” and really, I don’t blame you. Your teacher, Mrs. Baksa had to call home once this year because you were consistently not completing your work. I felt bad for you because concentrating on something so boring is about the hardest thing you have to do. Everything else comes easy. It was simply amazing watching you learn to read. You beamed with pride every time you found a word that you could read and that list grew with lightning speed throughout the year. I’m so glad that reading comes easy for you. It will make the rest of your learning experiences more positive and fulfilling for you.

This year, you also got a couple new baby cousins. Since you’ve been “the baby” for more than five years, we worried how you would respond to a new baby. You made your mommy so proud as you showed love, concern, and genuine care for Miss Ellie Bellie. You love her truly, miss her when she’s gone, and show excitement when she’s coming over. You’re an awesome kid.

As your parents, our main challenge has been your fierce independence and quick temper. We have had to make many changes in our parenting style in order to maintain peace in our household. Your father has made the most changes as he is used to his style working so well with Emily and Dylan. But, boy does it not work with you. You require gentle guidance and suggestions, rather than commands. You respond with fire when you believe someone is “telling you what to do”. You require a full explanation as to why a particular action is necessary and if you accept the explanation, you will happily oblige. If you do not accept it...well...good luck to us.

Being a blended family has begun to settle very unwell with you. You argue vehemently that your brother and sister should always live with us because “that’s the way it’s supposed to be”. You have desperately tried to figure out where to direct your anger about this situation. At first, it was my fault, then your dad, then the kid’s mom. Someone “deserved” your anger and was going to get it. We’ve all tried our best to help you accept the situation as it is even though it sucks. Unfortunately, your brain doesn’t work that way and you continue to argue your point of view. It breaks my heart to see you struggle and know that this is life...there’s nothing I can do.

On a happy note, your 6th year will be starting off with a bang because tomorrow we are officially adopting our new dog, Chewy. He has stayed at our house for the last week and the whole family’s in love. In one short week, I’ve watched as you sacrificed for him and put him first. You have taken your responsibility as “his boy” seriously and I hope he’s everything you need in a friend at home.

Happy 6th Birthday, my super hero

Love, Momma

You're Big 5 Now.

      

As expected, loads of interesting things happened this year. 

You entered pre-school in September and attended 4 days per week until June. You tolerated it well enough, I suppose. I noticed that you didn’t much enjoy that kids don’t always play exactly what you want to play or in the way that you want. You find the large group atmosphere overwhelming and continue to attach yourself to a warm, quiet adult in the room. You don’t care much for constantly being told that it’s time to do something else, despite the fact that you aren’t done with what you are doing. Your teachers expressed some concern that you weren’t listening or paying attention. I know that you were just ignoring them because you didn’t want to hear them telling you what to do. You do it to me and Daddy all the time. I understand. Also, I could tell how much you were listening by how much you were learning. You consistently came home with a new song in your head that I have never heard before. You would teach it to me and then we would sing it together. You began to sound out letters, point out shapes, and counting continues to be one of your favorite things to do. Even though going to school was never your “favorite” and you would have rather been taken almost anywhere else, I really appreciate you being strong and brave, making friends, and doing your best. I can only hope that you find Kindergarten more tolerable.   

Very recently, I think you have begun to realize that 5 years old is a big deal. You have begun to voluntarily dress yourself, put on your shoes, attempt to put on your seat belt, and all sorts of other “by myself” activities. We still struggle a bit with you wanting Mommy to feed you, but there has been notable progress the closer we get to your birthday. You also recently wiped your own butt, despite your insistence throughout the year that you wouldn’t do so until you were 5.  Your favorite activities generally involve the water. You frequently go to the splash pad with Grandma Ruby, the beach, and fishing with Papa Bud. When we are stuck at home for some reason, a water gun fight, the hose, and a sprinkler will generally suffice. Your bike riding skills are becoming quite impressive. Your confidence shot up remarkably when you were given a set of pads and a helmet. I think you will be ready for those training wheels to come off when we get the bike out next spring. 

You are currently only two small inches away from being 4-foot tall and you wonder aloud if one day you will be bigger than Daddy or Dylan. People are still mistaking you for much older than you are. Questions usually involve what “grade” you are in. A nice older man at our garage sale this year asked if you were about seven. My baby boy is certainly gone.  But in his place is an active, boisterous, friendly, talkative, inquisitive, and sensitive boy that is adored my many. 

A wonderful example of how you touch people’s hearts lies in the relationship you formed with the custodian at your pre-school, Miss Connie. You would say goodbye every afternoon as we passed her cleaning cart. You would stop, show her what you had made that day, and tell her to have a good night. She stopped me several times to tell me what a sweet boy you are and how special you were to her. This meant the world to me because I never thought your teachers really saw who you are. They were too wrapped up in measuring what you can do. However, Miss Connie saw you… you are a beautiful little guy with a ton of heart. 

I’m proud of you. I’m proud of who are you becoming and I will forever hope that the world is able to see you as I do.

Happy 5th Birthday, Big Boy.                                                                           Love,  Mommy

    

Birthday Message

Prior to my blogging days, I wrote Cole a letter on his first and second birthday. For his third birthday? Well, let's just say I forgive myself for that. For his fourth birthday, it is just one day late... 

   Whoops, my sweet baby boy. Your third birthday flew by without me being able to stop to write a letter. I’m considering that a testament to how busy being two and three years old has been for us. This time has been marked most saliently by your ever growing size and verbal skills. When you meet new people, you are not shy. You will tell them any story that is on your mind. They marvel at your conversational skills and assume you are at least two years older than you are. Your height confirms that for them and they are simply shocked when they get the answer to their inevitable question, “How old are you?”  You are so social that I struggled with having “the stranger talk” with you. I didn't want to ruin your wonderful innocence as you approach others, but I also have a desperate need to keep you safe. Now, you’ll either ask if people are strangers or you will wait for us to greet them before you happily begin to talk to them. Another impressive skill has been your ability to pick up songs you hear. I have countless videos of you singing. Papa Bud recently commented that he believes you know the words to every song currently on the radio. I believe him. 

Before you turned three, we chose a new daycare for you that is on campus where I work. Despite high hopes, after six weeks, the stomach flu, and two bite injuries, we pulled you out. You've happily stayed home or with your grandparents ever since. Now that you've reached your preschool year, we have you signed up at a school nearby. We are hoping for a much more positive experience. 

I’ll be honest with you; three was a tough year. It was the year you decided that it was unacceptable for us to tell you no. We were either met with tears or anger. At times, throwing yourself dramatically to the floor. It has been difficult for you to get along with your brother because you insist that all toys are yours. On the other hand, I have witnessed you share generously with others so I’m calling this a “brother thing” and hoping you grow out of it. 

After struggling on-and-off with potty-training, Mommy took a stand after you turned three. I bought you underwear and a timer. Every hour you sat on the potty. We had to clean up a few messes but within a month, training was done. You’ve taken to the responsibility very well and now take care of business all by yourself (except for wiping). You’ve even very recently told me that you no longer need your potty seat. While you have taken well to being “a big boy” in the potty department, you have not taken so well to feeding yourself. You suddenly become unable to perform the smallest task when it’s mealtime and tell us adamantly that you are too little to feed yourself.  Mommy took another stand and yesterday, on your 4th birthday, every fork and spoonful came from your own hand. 

I couldn't be prouder of your developing taste buds. You eat raw green beans right out of the garden. Your favorite snacks include fresh mango, fruit and nut trail mix, and almond granola bars. You happily eat broccoli, peas, and sweet peppers, only turning your nose up consistently to tomatoes and potatoes.  Every ounce of these nutritious choices seem to go into making you taller, rather than adding any meat to your thin frame. 

This upcoming year will be our last before you go to school and begin your journey with best friends, teachers, and increasing independence. I have hopes that I will be able to change my work schedule so that I can participate in your experience as much as possible. While I understand and fully accept that you will increasingly need me less, you will also always know that I’m right here.  


Happy 4th Birthday, Sweet Boy.                                                    Love, Momma

P.S. You finally had your Dinosaur Party. Last year, you changed your mind at the last minute to Cars. :) 

Ambivalence

When I used to hear the word ambivalence, I thought it meant that the ambivalent person “didn’t care” one way or another about a particular issue. With experience, education (and of course the internet), I learned that it means you feel uncertain, mixed, or have two contradictory attitudes about the same thing at the same time. I can say that I used to think having two opposite feelings about the same thing at the same time made you a little nutty. Now that I’ve accepted my own mixed feelings about a lot of things, I tend to find it comforting to more fully understand an issue by exploring my own ambivalence.

A recent experience I’ve had, however, has made me feel more nutty than comforted. Let me explain. A few weeks ago, I made the impulsive and incredibly emotional decision to pull my son Cole out of his daycare facility after some repeated bad experiences. I had a “last straw” moment and made the decision before even speaking to my husband about it (Bad wife!). That decision left us with a problem…choosing a new daycare plan. 

Initially, the solution was just “find a new daycare facility”. Then, day-by-day, little comments emerged from both of us indicating that we weren’t quite sure that this was the best plan. Our only other option, since we both work full time right now, is to use the resources of three sets of grandparents. Grandparents that already each take one day a week in childcare for us. The purpose of daycare (in my eyes) was to allow Cole to experience socializing with children his own age and to have an opportunity for more formal educational experiences. However, that wasn’t necessarily working out as I had hoped. His experiences with the other children were neutral at best, harmful at worst; he felt uncomfortable, tended to avoid the other children and either spent time playing alone or clinging to the adults. So, we began to wonder for what purpose we were spending several hundred dollars a month. Was that money worth the educational experiences he was getting at this age? He’s not yet 3 years old. The teachers were covering the sounds letters make, colors, shapes, music/art, play, and exploration of new environments/objects. With a few minor adjustments, we're pretty confident that our family could handle these concepts. 

But could I get over my excessive (at times obsessive) worry about my son being “raised” by his grandparents?! You know, those adorable people who spoil children and laugh to themselves when they send them home hyper and grumpy from too many treats and very little sleep? Let’s just say that I’m working on it. It also helps that Cole's grandparents aren't actually like that...only in my mind...sometimes. 

I've found that my ambivalence here has been a process. Even though we have made a decision, I can’t say that I'm over my ambivalence. I still wonder whether I’m doing the very best thing for my little guy. But I also have to remind myself that the “very best” is not really necessary in order for children to grow healthfully and happily. Many, many versions of childcare are out there. A slightly different one for each family, I suspect. And many, many of them are plenty good enough for the child. Armed with this valuable insight, I will try to remember that at the very least, me and my family qualify for good enough…maybe even better.

But I reserve the right to change my mind.

Santa Who?

I swear to you that I don’t set out to be different. I don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Gee, how can I make myself stand out today. I was hoping people would look at me funny.” Regardless, I have found that this holiday season in particular has made me feel alone in a world I don’t understand. I will try to explain…

            Here are three things about me that you will need to know for this story. First, I am a Christian. Second, I am a private person. Third, I have a 2-year-old son. Your need to know this information will hopefully make sense by the time you’re done reading.

            I am a Christian. This means I believe in the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. I believe he lived on this earth, having been sent by his Father, Our God In Heaven. I believe that he died as an eternal sacrifice for my sins and that I am forgiven because of this sacrifice. This makes me feel pretty strongly about his birthday, which I happen to be celebrating tomorrow. However, I’m not celebrating by telling my son a story about a man that will be coming to our house while we are asleep in order to bring us presents. I’m celebrating how I would celebrate any birthday. Family, food, desserts, and gifts. Except, instead of giving Jesus gifts (he’s impossible to buy for), we give each other gifts to acknowledge our appreciation and love for one another.

            I am a private person. The words I just wrote may surprise some of the people that know me. That would be because I choose not to shout them from the rooftops. But the bottom line is that I’ve always felt this way. Way before I ever had plans to have children, I knew what Christmas was about and how I would choose to celebrate it. However, I never tried to convince anyone that I was somehow right, and they were somehow wrong. I feel strongly against lying to children. I don’t play tricks, I don’t prank, and I don’t lie, even for “jokes”. How then could I look a child in the face and work so hard to convince him something is true, when it’s not? And how could I then expect that child to believe me when I tell him about Jesus and God…other things that he can’t see but is expected to take “on faith”? Given this conundrum, I made a personal decision to just leave Santa out of Christmas. Again, this occurred long ago. It’s only becoming an issue now because of my beautiful son.

          

           I have a 2-year-old. This means that every person that talks to him in the month of December asks him about Santa. And when he doesn’t respond the way he’s expected to, they give me that side glance like, “He doesn't know Santa?” My response? Smile and shrug. However, my inside voice says, “Hey, don't look at me like I'm nuts just because I’ve decided that the Santa hubbub is a distraction from what I actually wish my child to understand about the season.  But that private person prevails and I just breathe…smile…shrug.

            So, here’s my declaration to this cultural phenomenon. I will never tell you how I wish to celebrate Christmas as loudly as you tell me how you think I should celebrate Christmas. However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel strongly about it. And I won’t be swayed. This means everything to me. My Child. My God. My Savior. This is Christmas.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. 

A Mother

It’s easy to recall a time and place when I was not a mother. I spent over 30 years NOT being a mother. My own mom would tell you (if you asked) that she’s frankly surprised I ever got around to wanting children. “Too independent”, she may say. At that, I cannot deny. A mother knows…she saw it my whole life. She saw me turn to rely on myself through the loss of friendships, boyfriends, and even a marriage. She saw me strive to achieve personal goals that were all mine. I remember that young woman who felt a strong pull to be close to others, at the same time fearing that she would ultimately be on her own...so should prepare for it. Where did that come from? I have some notions but that type of disclosure is not for this venue.

Despite the independence, I did open my life to a family who is now mine. Dan, Emily, and Dylan became mine on December 30^th, 2007. My life (and my independence) changed that day. I was incorporated into lives of children that were not part of me by blood…but by love. My world flipped at that point. I was no longer a child. A 31-year-old child. I was a parent. Not yet the mother I am today, but a mother nonetheless. Independence was no longer an option. Adorable, funny, intelligent children depended on me to be someone I had no idea how to be. Sure, I knew what a mother does. But I didn’t know how a mother feels. I didn’t know how to define myself as a mother. Having kids that are kinda yours and totally someone else’s muddles up your feelings quite a bit. Looking back, I struggled with this more than I let on…maybe even more than I realized myself.

While I’m still working on my own identity as mom, I feel I have benefited from those years of being just me. I put time and energy into learning about myself and getting comfortable with me. Happy with me. This gave me the foundation I needed to choose to have a child not to fulfill some selfish need for someone to love and depend on me, but rather to put my life and energy into the fulfillment of someone else. All of a sudden, it made sense. But it wasn’t until I saw who I was to my son that I could truly see who I was to all my children.  It was there before. I just didn’t see it, because I didn’t know. And I didn’t know because I couldn’t know. Something happened to me when I saw my son for the first time that redefined me as a person that I had never been before. I have put a lot of energy into figuring out the “new me” and wonder sometimes if I’m doing a good job. My mother would tell me not to worry about it, I’m doing fine, and that she’s proud of me. Because that’s what I need to hear…so that what she needs to say. Yeah, I get it now. 

Here’s to that redefining moment that happened two years ago tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Cole. 

The Melancholy Dragon

For those of you familiar with Florence Littauer’s personality profiles, I am nearly equal parts Peaceful Phlegmatic and Perfect Melancholy. For the unfamiliar, this simply means that I have tendencies to be introverted, analytical, observant, and pessimistic. The melancholy part of me is detail-oriented, organized, thorough, scheduled, and solution-focused. The phlegmatic part of me is consistent, relaxed, quiet, and agreeable. On most days, my peaceful side trumps my perfectionistic side and I find this has served me well overall. But three weeks ago, my son began spending his weekday time with people other than his parents. Three half days in day care and eager grandparents the rest of the time. This situation had just the right portions of uncertainty, lack of control, and anxiety to wake my sleepy melancholy dragon and call it forth to take over.  As soon as we heard that Dan was going to start daytime work and that we needed to organize daycare for Cole, that dragon reared its head to take control of the situation and make sure everything was absolutely and perfectly organized. I haven’t seen that peaceful phlegmatic since.

The process began with the daycare tours. I scheduled them ahead of time and we took a day or two to walk through classrooms, talk with teachers, read through brochures, ask questions, and process our reactions to each one. We followed up with grandparents (Cole has three full sets of them) to see what type of schedule they could commit to. Once it was settled, I made out a pick-up/drop off schedule for an entire month, a copy going to each grandparent with their specific schedule highlighted for them. Along with this schedule was a daily schedule for Cole, including when he gets up, eats, and sleeps, as well as food choices and diaper changes. “Did I miss anything?” the dragon asks. “I don’t think so. You can go back to sleep” I reply. But now that she’s all roused up, she keeps poking her head up, “How about now? Need anything?” 

“Everything is alright. I assure you”, is my response. Over and over again. Every time that pull of anxiousness tugs at my core, I say it. “Everything is alright. I assure you”.

With each passing day, it gets easier to lay that dragon down. I need her. There’s no doubt about that…but not today. Please let my laid back, easy-going, peaceful self come back and shine on. Quite frankly, she’s more fun to be around. But don’t tell the dragon I said that. J



Here we are on Cole's first day of "school". That bewildered look, which is so unnatural for Cole clearly states, "So, you're leaving me here? With these people?"



As promised

I make a point not to place too many demands on myself as my environment tends to do enough of that for me. But I did have a flexible goal of at least one blog post per month. Well… here's my Halloween post. Better late than never....right?

I simply had no idea that I would react so strongly to seeing my little guy all dressed up and ready to experience his first Halloween. It was a strange fusion between my fond memories as a child and realizing that he was forming his own memories as I watched. From this point forward, we will move through each year, growing our own traditions, looking back at old costume pictures, and laughing over stories of what happened. And it was just us. Dan, me, and Cole. For some reason, that meant more to me than I realized it would.


When I got home Monday night, I really had no idea how special the night would turn out to be. Dan said that he has always wanted to setup his lights, music, and smoke machine but never had before. He wondered what I thought of that. “Sounds like fun”, I said. I put candy in a bowl and counted pieces so we would know how many kids we had (Something I got from my dad). Put Cole in his costume just in time for the early trick-or-treaters to start roaming the streets. It was a nice enough evening that we just opened the living room picture window and “set up shop” to give our candy away. Cole explored the candy bowl and the open window, surely wondering what the heck we were up to. When the first kids came, I put the candy in his hand and helped him give it away. It touched my heart that he was learning how to give (rather than receive) on such a traditionally “gimme, gimme” holiday. This was followed by a burst of laughter as he took a piece of candy and dropped it out the window. He hadn’t yet gotten the idea that he was to wait until a child was there with a bag. Apparently, it was just as fun to him without the kids.

When it was our turn to roam the streets, Dan offered to stay back for the trick-or-treaters. He was having fun with his setup. He had his cordless microphone hooked up so he could surprise kids with scary voices and personalized messages over the loud speaker. “Hey, look everyone! It’s Batman at my house”. He is tickled by the looks on their faces when they realize he is talking about them. So Cole and I set out hand-in-hand for the big event. He received plenty of oohs and aahs from onlookers. “Come look at the baby” was a common reaction from the friendly people giving out candy. Given that Cole has no experience or desire for candy at this point in his life, he was more entertained by the crunchy leaves in the street than by any house visit. All-in-all, it was perfect. We went up one side of the street and down the other to stop at the last house before home; Papa Bud's where him and Nana Karen were ready with a special treat.  

            Did I say it was perfect? It really was.

Lest we forget...

After significant events, we tell the story of what happened many times over, to anyone who will listen. But after a while, we move on and the story can remain untold for some time. Because untold stories tend to change over time and I want to remember this one just the way it happened, here’s what I experienced this time last year. 

It was Monday. I had been off work for 7 days due to back pain. A 3pm massage appointment had me comfortable and relaxed. The therapist had asked if I wanted her to work on pressure points that might induce labor. Given the pain I was in and that I was already full-term, I was ready. So she did. It was only four hours later that a tiny but noticeably different contraction occurred. Followed by another every 25 minutes or so for the rest of the evening. I told my husband, who smiled calmly, “It’s happening soon”, he said. “Not tonight”, I replied. 

It was 2:30am when I woke to go to the bathroom. It was a nightly routine at that point so no need for alarm. A full 15 minutes past as I analyzed, “Was that water?” “What about that?” It was just a trickle. “That couldn’t be it, right”, I thought to myself. 

“Are you alright?” I hear from behind the closed door. After some discussion and a call to the hospital, it was determined that we should go in. A calm was in the house. We both showered, packed, got on comfortable clothes, and prepared for a day of unknown. It was 4am by the time Dan dropped me off at the door to go park the car. “Okay, THAT was water!” I realize as I wait for him at the door VERY wet. There goes wearing my nice comfy pants.

Check in. More water. Walk to the observation room. More water. “Are you kidding me? How much is in there?” Despite the soaked pad on the bed, they still found it necessary to run a test to see if my water broke.  “It’s baby day!” the nurse exclaimed too cheerily for 4am. 

It’s baby day.

I turned in my birth plan and struggled a bit with the nurse about the necessity of an IV. I didn’t want to be tied to the bed so she placed it but didn’t hook me up right away.  My contractions were getting steadier but nothing I couldn’t handle. Dan and I found ourselves making several laps around the ward, which made for nice chats. Around 7am, we decided that calls could be made to family. My mom arrived shortly after, ready to stay for the day.  My stepmom, who works in the hospital, stopped by for a check in. The most recent update was cervix dilated to 3, contractions 1 minute apart. “Dad, will be coming up, soon”, she said and we promised to keep her updated. 

For the next several hours, the doctors and I were embroiled in a battle of wills. Their position: “This is not moving fast enough. You need Pitocin.” My position: “I’m fine. Please let me be.” I was working my plan. No meds. No anesthesia. Do it, old school. At 12:30pm, now 10 hours after my water broke, the doctors begin to express their concern for infection and state that the baby needs to be delivered within 18 hours of the water breaking to prevent complications. But my cervix hadn’t moved a bit. Still 3 centimeters. Since they played the “Your baby could be in danger card”, I caved and took the medicine. 

Shortly thereafter… HELLO, contraction! That’s what those women on TV are screaming about? I get it now. Poor Dad, arrived just before the Pitocin. Not the pretty sight he could’ve witnessed a few hours before when I was bouncing happily on an exercise ball only pausing slightly to breathe through a contraction. 

The next visit from the doctor came with the announcement that I was now at 6 cm. My mixed reaction of “Yay, progress!” and “Seriously, only 6?”rang loud in my head but I just nodded because at this point, talking was out of the question. Suddenly, my back started cramping. I thought it was from strain but the knowing eyes of my mother said “back labor”, which meant I was in for more. I heard whispers between my mom and the nurse that the baby may be face up but honestly there was no room in my mind for worry. I just had to get through the next one. I was compelled to turn over to a “hand and knee” position just to relieve the pressure in my back. It ended up being more like “face in pillow, arms barely holding me up” position but that’s just semantics. 

Time seemed to slow as waves of contractions came right on top of each other. Thoughts of “4 more centimeters of this” were breaking my resolve and the nurse could tell. She leaned in and said to me, “Amanda, listen to me. Once you lose it, it is very difficult to get it back. You are doing great. You have to keep breathing all the way through.” Our eyes met briefly and I asked for help. As a nurse, her instinct was to offer the best help she knew…pain medication. And in that moment, I accepted the help. She instructed that I would have to turn over to my back so that I wouldn’t fall over when the medication took its effect. 

That move served as a catalyst. My very next contraction had me yelling, “I’m pushing!” and the nurse yelling, “Don’t push!” There was frantic movement and I heard her tell my husband, “Don’t let her push”. I met Dan's eyes for the first time in what felt like forever and I saw so much sympathy in them. “Honey, don’t push, just breathe”. With his help, I made it through the next contraction without pushing and the nurse did a quick check.  10 cm. It was 2:30pm. 

I can only tell you what happened next through the stories of my family because my mind was not completely in the room to remember these things. The nurse’s frantic page to the doctor was met with a “We’ll be there soon” kind of attitude. The slow labor had them set for a slow delivery so they did not feel the rush that was in the room. Her pleas got them in the room where a quick check prompted them to get in line with the baby’s schedule and pick up the pace. From that point, it was 6 pushes and 20 minutes. My husband at my right. My mother just behind, supporting my head. Together, we witnessed the birth of our baby boy at 2:49pm, August 10^th, 2010.

And yesterday, we celebrated his first birthday. And at that, I am speechless. 

Reflection

Yesterday, my husband and I completed a three-day celebration of our birth 35 years ago thanks to our parents who sequentially treated us to very nice dinners. At each dinner, sitting between us comfortably placed in his grandmother-made highchair cover sat our dear little son, who is feeding himself and pushing out tooth number two as I write. I witnessed his developing personality as he smiled at waitresses, talked to those who passed by, and waved at friendly people in the parking lot. Thank God he didn’t inherit my tendency to be introverted. It has been a life struggle of mine and I’m happy to see him without it.   

As I begin plans for his first birthday party, which occurs in just over three weeks, I find myself reflective. Of course, as occurs to every mother, this year has gone by with G-force speed. I’ve done my best to document what I could and savor what I feel are the few moments I get with him as a working mother. I compare myself to my own arbitrary standards, hoping in the end that I measure up to the mother I want to be.

At the same time, as my shared birthday with my husband passes (Yep, born on the same day), I also reflect on my time with him. Friends in middle school…high school sweethearts…friends again…time lost…and God-inspired reconnection. We have packed a decade worth of living into the three short years that we’ve been married. We had a lot of catching up to do and sometimes I can forget about the time lost and feel that we’ve never been apart. I can’t imagine living this life without him and his service as a father and mate inspires me.  

I may have started my dream life at 31 years old, but hey…at least I started it.

39 Weeks

It’s official. Cole has been out of my belly for as long as he was in. Motherhood has meant the world to me. I wanted it. I longed for it. I went out and grabbed it. I got it.

Having my first (and only thank you) child  at age 34 has been such a blessing. I was able to get so much of life that this feels like a wondrous continuation of a journey I started long ago. Childhood grew to young adulthood and I was blessed with those experiences. Over the years I have had the chance to try out my skills as a college student, single woman, educated woman, married woman, career woman, and now mother. Each phase of this journey came with it experiences, both painful and joyous, none of which I would take back even for a moment. It has been a natural unfolding of events that led me right to where I was going. I happily leave my “childless” status behind because I ate up that life already. I did what I wanted to do with it and was ready to move on.

Cole is a joy I only read about experiencing. Every cliché phrase that has been said by every mother in existence comes to my mind and rings true in my heart but I won’t bore you with them. If you are a mother, you already know. If you are not, my description will not help. Words just pale in comparison so I’ll leave them unsaid. My journey now turns to focus on someone else’s journey. Someone that I helped create and a journey that I will happily shape until the time comes when his own wisdom will guide him. At that time, I will happily leave this phase having enjoyed everything there was to experience and be ready for what comes next.

Happy 9 months, Cole. I hope you have enjoyed them as much as I.