Now what was it you did?

Every time I turned around this past week, I thought, "I need to write this down!" But then, there are so many things -- and the next event rushes in --

This week (and part of last) has been "Lucy becomes social" week. It's truly amazing to watch this -- you are a new toddler. It's not that you were inverted before, but it took you a lot longer to warm up. Now, you are running around stores and asking to hug and kiss other kids (and touch their hair). In the past week, we've had get-togethers with a few friends, and you've been really comfortable. It's great to see you initial conversations, laugh & smile. It melts my heart to hear you talk about our friends later, carefully pronouncing each name.

You have a thing with textures, especially cotton shirts and hair. It's a way of calming yourself and relating to others. You like to sit behind me and play with my 'do and then run around front to check your work. This is a wonderful, hilarious game we play; we both laugh and laugh! You like to "touch, shirt" and I've noticed you do this (sometimes) when you are nervous. Nana says her grandmother did this, and I remember doing the same thing with a blanket I carried around for years. And we are working on your 'thing' with grass. I think the pokey grass bothers you because it's...pokey...but you are trying to like it. Heck, you went down the big kid slide today, unafraid of the speed and the bark dust at the bottom, so you are making huge leaps!

Your language is blooming and your sentences become clearer by the hour. It's great that we can understand each other more. You've started adding the "guh" sound to "goodnight" too.
You are also really enjoying sleeping and napping. Sometimes you don't want to nap, but most of the time you tell us, "sleep, bed" or "nice nap." Tonight when I put you down, you smiled at me and talked about your dolls. Back when you were a wee babe and I'd wonder if you would cry as I left the room, this moment seemed so far away. Even though you still like some mom time before bed, I know you are a healthy sleeper. I know that, unless you have a bad dream or your teeth hurt (your last molar is coming in!), you will sleep until the morning.

So I guess I was able to remember a few things to say, right? Oh! One totally charming thing you do (that's also helpful!) -- you like to make sure drawers and doors are closed, especially in the kitchen. You also put some things, like toys and dishes, away; so wonderful.
I think we are doing okay here (deep breath). I can't wait to see you smiling tomorrow -- can we have another tea party?

Summer vacation

Today was the first, official day of summer for our little family. Dad is on summer break for the next two months! I am so excited, and I know you are just beginning to figure out that we are on a new schedule. This is the first summer break I have spent with dad and I know it's going to great! We have a lot planned for the next two months: trips to the the zoo and OMSI, rides on public transportation (including the trolley!), many walks to the park with swings and slides. As I told dad this afternoon, this time together is better than any vacation we could take.

This morning we visited the Montessori center where you will go to school next Fall. I can't believe you are already old enough for this step. It won't really be preschool until you are three years old, but I know you will love it there. At first, you were a little nervous when we went into the toddler room. But then you saw the bookshelves and the big pillows. You made yourself at home with "Kitten's First Full Moon." It is such a lovely place -- so peaceful and kind. More than we ever hoped for. You went on the slide over and over, gaining confidence with each trip. You met new "friends" today; each child is referred to as a friend. Later in the day, at another playground, you said to some other kids, "bye, friends!" This is a shift -- you've been saying, "bye, kids!" when you leave. You also seemed more confident around other people after our little trip this morning; I don't think it is a coincidence.

You are blossoming before our eyes. Each day brings new words and new expressions. You mimic sounds of animals and trucks. You've even started imitating the voices of different singers. The other day, when Miles Davis was playing, you said, "Be Bop!" You "change" your doll's diaper and cradle your baby Calin in the football hold, saying "shhh, shhh" while bouncing. There are times when I wonder if I can possibly appreciate you enough. Sometimes I am impatient with your whining or repeated, unwanted actions. I think my frustration is normal, but I worry that I will behave in a way you will carry as a burden, or as a fault of your own. My sweet girl, may you continue to grow and develop healthily despite my errors on this path.

xoxo

Pictures

I was sorting through your pictures today because I had to order some prints. Sometimes, hanging out with you all day, I forget how many good times we have; when you are screaming at the cat and throwing food, it's easy to put aside how compatible we are. You have such a great sense of humor and I feel lucky that you'll sit and color, read and play with blocks. Our days are mostly mellow. Sometimes I wish you'd never heard of Raffi, but I suppose it could be worse. Until Raffi, I never knew that Old MacDonald had a freaking band! Dude, I was missing out thinking he only had a farm.
Dad is almost finished with school and soon we'll be home together. I know you'll be excited to wake up every morning and have him here. As it is now, you run to the door every night and say, with glee, "oh boy!" when you see the car pull up. "Open door!" you often demand.
I could write reams and reams, but for now I am so tired from our weekend. I know you will be up early tomorrow morning, but I had to document a few of my favorite moments here.
xoxo

An Ode to Two

Oh, Lucy. Here is what brings me to my knees: at bedtime, as I'm tucking you in, you roll over and say, "I love you much." Then, you roll onto your side and say, "night, night." My sweet, sweet girl.

Your party was great! There weren't too many people (but almost!) and you were happy for almost the duration. Your best friends were there and now you are happy looking at pictures of them, especially S. At one point, you walked up to D. and said, "pink dress." You were so excited about your dress! This weekend, you've decided that you should wear a dress every day, even if it needs to go on over shirts and pants. How did you get so girly, so suddenly? You also ask to wear my lip balm, saying, "try it" and then after it's on, "like it" with a big smile on your face.

Your favorite toy right now is the baby stroller. You love to wheel it around our little house. Sometimes there are so many animals and babies piled in, you have to stop periodically and stuff them back down. I love to watch you nurture your little family.

You are really getting a personality as far as what you will and won't do; what you do and don't like. Usually you are polite about it, but it's funny to watch you with your "okay" and "no" answers -- complete with little body movements! Just this weekend you have expanded to "I don't want to read it" and "Lucy do it/eat it/wear it/try it." Watching your language develop is so cool! Of course, there are times when you don't have words and so you scream or cry. I really try hard to figure out what you need, but at the same time I feel it's important for you to understand what is necessary for our daily lives. I am definitely the one who "lays down the line" when it comes to your stalling techniques and refusal to do something, like eat. At some point I have learned that I can't just ask you if you are ready for lunch/diaper change/a new song on the stereo.

So dad and I have decided that the first poem you write will be an ode. You can already distinguish between books of poems, books of essays and novels. You are the daughter of readers, that's for sure! You also love to "write poems" with dad. You get to use a real pen and write in a little journal and you love it. So, when you talk about the people you love, you say, "Oh, Megan" and "Oh, Nana" and "Oh, Dr. Roberts." These words are usually followed by a loving look directed toward the person, whether they are standing in front of your or reside in your imagination. You certainly enjoy "your people" and as you develop, and watch your language flourish, the conversations about life are more and more developed and emotional.

I feel as if I'm always missing something when I write to you. I have mini-essays written to you in my school notebooks and pictures on the camera. I know there is more; there are so many moments in the day when I think, "I should write that down!" Dad and I are going to get a voice recorder so we can get your words on (digital) tape. We are so excited about spending the summer with you and know the two months we'll have together will go so fast. Let's try to slow it down, just a little, and write lots of poems together.

2 Years Old: Birth Story - May 15th, 2004

Today you are two. I've been telling myself that I would finally, officially, document your birth story. Later on, I'll add some pictures, but words will do for now.

The day before I went into labor was very busy. I took the day (Friday, May 14th 2004) off of work because I was heading to a baby shower at dad's school. It was a great day, although I was very tired. It was about two weeks before your due date and we'd had an ultrasound the week before. The technician said that I wasn't close to labor; there hadn't been any changes in my cervix. We still didn't want to know if you were a boy or a girl, but after that appointment your dad and I both felt strong girl vibes.

But back to that day. The shower was to be after school, so I spent the day with dad's students. I helped with reading and math. I fell asleep reading at his computer and tried to drink as much water as possible. Finally, the end of the day came and it was time for the shower! I remember that I was wearing a maternity skirt that I'd only had a couple of weeks; like this year, the weather had just started to turn nice. But my feet were swollen in my burgendy clogs and that was kind of uncomfortable. I was also wearing a white t-shirt with small stains on the belly. There were many gifts and wonderful cake. I have this memory -- clear as day -- of packing cake up in a basket and hauling it home on my lap. I even remember part of our conversation with the janitor.

People kept saying I looked like I was "ready" and that I had "dropped." I didn't agree, but I smiled and took their good wishes to heart. On the way home, we stopped at The Delta and picked up fried chicken, greens, macaroni and cheese and biscuits. It was so good! Dad and I were exhausted from the day. I remember I had on a blank tank top as we cuddled on the couch for awhile. We decided to turn in early, around 9:30 or so. All of the gifts remained piled by the front door: a bathtub, boxes of clothes, and bags overflowing with toys and books.

We got into bed and fell asleep immediately (well, not until I had piled up my 5 pillows around me). At about 1:00 a.m. I woke up with a start. It was not unusual to wake up in the middle of the night, but I was so awake. Did I feel a cramp? I got up and went to the bathroom. I think I was coming back to the bed (only a few steps away) when I felt sensation for sure. Dad rolled over and said "are you in labor?" like he had been every night for almost two months. I remember saying something like, "I'm not sure." I got back into bed thinking, "well, if I am, it will be at least another 15 minutes before I feel anything." But I was wrong; only a few minutes later, I felt another cramp. I wasn't sleeping, but I remained on my side, facing the wall. I told dad every time I felt something and, after a few contractions, I sat up.

It gets kind of blurry now, this next hour. Background is necessary. We had been planning to deliver you at home. We had a birth kit, towels and sheets at the ready. Your room was still the office. Your doctor was going to be out of town this weekend and said, before she left, "just don't go into labor this weekend!" But we had backups: two other naturopaths as well as a naturopathic student who would have come to the labor with whoever ended up delivering our baby.

So, back to that hour. Dad kept counting the contractions and soon they were 5 minutes apart. I didn't want him to call anyone because I was convinced it hadn't been long enough. I mean, it was only 2:30, how could I be that far along? At some point I was finally fully off of the bed. I remember dad washing dishes. Myra the cat was on the bed, concerned about the noises I was making. Dad convinced me (actually, he was calling the shots now) that he should call the backup doctor. The doctor was surprised to hear from us and wasn't really prepared -- he said he'd have to go to the clinic to get his emergency supplies first and to call the second backup. While all of these phone calls are going back and forth, labor is becoming more intense. I'm beginning to wonder how the hell I thought I'd do this without help of some kind. I could only breathe and moan, "okay, okay" over and over again. The 2nd backup doctor was not available; she was at an emergency c-section. The student could not be reached. The first backup was still hemming and hawing.

At some point, I went into the bathroom and threw up, probably around 3 a.m. Hindsight reminds me that this is a sign of transition, but I was out of my body completely, not thinking about where I was in labor. I was laboring alone, in our bedroom. My chest was lying across the bed, my belly hanging off of the edge. I think I was pressing myself against the wall, to create a counter pressure. It was amazing and surreal to be that out of control and totally in control simultaneously. I guess dad was there, trying to make contact. He was cleaning up my mess, too, and checking to see if I wanted physical attention from him.

Okay, so now it's just before 4 a.m. I'd gone into the bathroom to pee a few times, but I felt like I needed to do more. I was sitting on the toilet and I thought, "wow, this feels difficult." All of the sudden it dawned on me that I should feel myself. I reached down and felt the top of your head! Hair! I yelled to dad, "I feel the head, call 911!" And he did. I stood up from the toilet and waddled past our bed and toward your room (our office). I knew there would need to be more space to lay down. At the instruction of the 911 operator, he put down some clean towels and I somehow lower myself onto the floor. I was on my back, propped up on my arms because I wanted to slow things down a little. I was screaming and trying not to push when the ambulance arrived only minutes later. (One of the benefits of living in a questionable neighborhood is the fact that ambulances are always close by!)

Here I thought I was going to have a nice, quiet birth surrounded by women and soft lighting. But instead, I was in our office surrounded by our books, desk and computer. All of the lights were on. I was donning only a tank top and I couldn't see very well because my glasses seemed unnecessary. In the bedroom/office attended to me were 2 or 3 firemen and 3 paramedics. At least they were cute! One of the firemen (I remember because he had on his yellow pants) let me hold onto his arm and squeeze the bejeezus out of his hand while I pushed and screamed. I was so happy they were there, but it was just so strange. I remember clearly that I found the situation to be quite funny and I think I made a joke. Each time I'd push, they get really quiet and watch me. There was one paramedic waiting to catch the baby and the firemen holding my hand. I remember realizing, after the first "real" push that the baby wasn't just going to slide out. If I had been crouching, it may have been different, but when the pushing started, I was surprised and amazed by the power of the process. In between contractions, I really didn't feel much pain. When I pushed, though, I was on fire.

Eventually, we determined that we'd go to the hospital, as the backup was not going to make it to our house for any part of our adventure. In between contractions, they lifted me onto the gurney. Remember that pile of baby paraphernalia by the front door? It was kind of in the way and had to be pushed to the side for us to make it through. I remember laying on top of the gurney, wearing only my tank top, wondering if they were going to cover me with a sheet or something before they wheeled me out onto the street. They did, but just barely. It felt so strange to have the night air on my mostly-naked body. I think I managed to not have a contraction until we were all inside the ambulance.

We only live 3 miles from the hospital (and I'm sure of this because the bill indicates the mileage) so we set off. Having contractions while lying prone in a moving vehicle was very odd, to say the least. Dad tried to say something soothing to me while stroking my hair and I told him I was calm enough. Everyone laughed. I had a few more contractions and then, as we were almost to the hospital, I knew I was having my last push. At 4:33 a.m., 3 1/2 hours after labor began, you came out in one big push -- the sensation was so strange -- the round head, the feeling of bones, the sudden emptiness. The other EMT said, "It's a girl!" with tears in his voice and I was shocked. I really thought you were going to be a "Henry" but there you were, our Lucy. The EMT put you right up to me, to see if you would nurse, but we were all in shock. Somehow we were all rolled into the ER. I couldn't see anything clearly because I still didn't have my glasses on. The ER doctor poked at me and told me I'd torn, but it didn't matter. We were all healthy and I had my natural birth!

Our short stay in the hospital is another story and, although it wasn't what we planned, I was happy to have such an "easy" labor. We did not know it at the time, but your entrance into the world was an indication of how you have met milestones so far: you do it your own way and have been amazingly easy. Of course I could tell stories of the mistakes I've made, or fits you've thrown, but right now I'm simply remembering the miracle of your arrival.

I love you very much.

P.S. I know you will hear this story over and over, but I want to note here that the date of your arrival was auspicious. You were born on my grandmother's birthday. She was my dear friend and, although she passed away in 1998, I've felt her close to me. Before we knew you were a girl, we decided you should have her middle name. And then here you came, early, and on her birthday. I believe she may have been there, helping us along.

Vignettes

Yesterday you woke up and said, "birthday?" and we smiled together. "Yeah!" you say, when we talk about your birthday. I'm not sure you know what it means, but you are excited.
.....
You love the swing at the park. 30 minutes of repeating "whee!" & you refuse to use the other equipment. You often call the bark dust "yucky" & would rather sit in the shade eating Trader Joe's Os.
.....
In the house, you run away from us, into another room and yell, "Lucy! Hmmm." This hmmm is what you say when anything is hiding, or you are looking for something. In your book about the barnyard animals, the reader spends the book asking "...but where's goose?" and you always add the thoughtfully placed "hmmm" at the end.
.....
You love to listen to the same songs over and over and over. You especially love "Old Mac Donald." Luckily, we have a few versions of this song...but I'm still going crazy. I found myself singing Raffi when I was alone in the car. This can't be good...
.....
I can't believe you will be two in four days. You were standing at the door yelling "I love you!" at dad this morning and I realized how tall you are. Your hair may still smell baby sweet, but what's inside that head of yours is expanding and expanding. I know you will excel in whatever you choose. This seems like such a common thing to feel about one's child, but I just can't help it.
.....
I love you! Please stop coloring on the hardwood floor. I promise to get you the requested coloring book for your big day...

Almost Two

Yesterday we set out to buy you new shoes. For days you had been pointing to your boots and saying "tight boots" so we knew it was time. When we went to the kid's shoe store, you were shy at first. And then you discovered the little clogs that matched your dress. You really loved those clogs, but they didn't have your size. Instead, you have one pair of pink Teva sandals and one pair of hot pink shoes and you are fully girly with them. Today you insisted that I take them off and on until I finally hid one pair in our bedroom so you could forget about them for awhile.
Your speech has really taken off in the last few weeks. You are putting 3 words together sometimes and I love having our little conversations. Last night we left you with the babysitter and as we were getting ready and you two were settling in you said, "bye-bye, kiss, back." It's great that you understand that we are coming back. There is no anxiety when we leave you with the trusted few who watch you.
You've also started saying colors, counting and you even identified a letter or two. You study your little books and can name more items each day. Sometimes I'm surprised and wonder, "when did she learn that word?" I love it, even though it is bittersweet.
As the weeks pass and you become more independent, your will grows stronger. You insist on being changed on the floor now, which is fine and it really wasn't an option. You cry for animal cookies and snacks and really demand things Right Now. We listen to the same music over and over (and over...) because it makes you so happy. Today you were listening to this Raffi tape (How did that happen? Raffi?) that we found at nana's house and you said, "Oh Raffi. Gentle." My heart melted even though, sometimes, I just really want to listen to Led Zepplin. You like them too, just not as much. You've started asking us to rub your back too, for comfort. Sometimes you get a little pushy, but when you cuddle, I can remember back to when you were a newborn and close to me every minute, so I take what I can.
In the fall you will hopefully start Montessori "school". It will be a big change, but I know you will thrive there. Julie will see you when she's feel well enough; neither one of you would have it another way. We are still not sure how your nana N. will do. We hope she will be around to see you grow another year older, but we may only have 6 months. Your grandpa R. was in town a few weeks ago and you effectively wooed him. I love the way you love, Lucy. As always, watching you grow is challenging and beautiful.
Thanks for chillin' with us. xoxoxo

22 & 3/4 months: Roller Coaster

"Are you noting all of the cute things Lucy says?" Nana asked. And I had to admit that it's been awhile since I've written down a list of your words or noted the cute things you do.
The last few weeks have been up and down. Julie received better news about her cancer, and so we are more hopeful about her future. Because of treatments, she will not be able to take care of you next school year. This is sad, of course, but we are all happy for the more positive prognosis.

About three weeks ago, we found out that your other grandma has breast cancer throughout her body. At first, the news was very bad, but now it seems there's hope for a longer life. It has truly been a roller coaster.

You move around so much faster now, and it's hard to keep up with your curiosities sometimes. As you reach your hands into dangerous areas, I find myself frowning and No!-ing and wondering if I'm teaching you "right". If I say no loudly, you get this worried look on your face. I don't want to be angry, but sometimes I'm so on edge, I can't find a more skillful way of dealing with a situation.

One thing that's happened, for sure, is that I'm much more careful about leaving possible hazards out in the open. And I'm neater overall. But then I wonder if this Anxiety I feel about What Could Happen?! is healthy. Tonight, for instance, I placed a small pair of scissors on our nightstand. Even though you were already in bed, I couldn't be sure that I would remember to put them away which led to a mini-drama unfolding in my mind which ended with the aforementioned scissor poking your eye (or ear, or leg, or...or....).

But I wanted to write about what you've been "doing".
You love to play hide and seek now, although you don't totally get the waiting part. It's so sweet.
Yesterday, when you were leaving with dad, you told me you loved me. It took my breath away, truly.
You've been putting two words together into coherent sentences, and you ramble on and on about other things. You love to read and ask to hear poems.
You love your baby dolls and now insist on sleeping with them. They must go with you, along with your books, in your orange Hello Kitty backpack.
When we were visiting your grandma Nancy in the hospital, you loved to walk in the halls. You would stop at each green square and do a little hop/squat dance.
You are so much more emotional and sure about what you want. You understand so much!
When you found your broken crayons or a hangnail, you started saying (very seriously) "oh shit". Umm, well, we are working on that one; now you are leaning toward "oh dear!" instead. It's very difficult not to laugh, but we're working on that too.

I've been worried about how to wean you in general, but specifically from your periodic middle of the night nurse time. It's purely for comfort (yours, not mine). Over the last few weeks, you just seem less interested in general. You're too busy! There are other, more interesting things to look at and that's fine with me. And then I started taking this cough medicine at night that has unknown effects, so I had to put my foot down on your nighttime allotment. And it's been surprisingly easy. You want me to hold you, swaying, for about one minute. Then you ask to go back into your crib with your baby and blanket. Amazing. There are easy things about you that make me hold my breath and wonder, "when will this end? I know it will end!" At dinner, you ask to take your vitamins and then clap your hands when you are finished. Dude. I know we are lucky.

Well, party on, my sweet! Grandpa Roy comes tomorrow and we can't wait. Until tomorrow....

Hiding

This week you've really started loving to "hide". It's so wonderful to watch you discovering this idea. We borrowed a tube/tunnel toy and you love to crawl in and ask us to hide with you.

Papa and Nana bought you a Curious George monkey and now you like to hide the monkey too. You implore us to hide the monkey in your room (and then back in the living room) so you can find it over and over and over again. "Again, boomkies!" you yell. I love the way you giggle when you discover where we have hidden him. My favorite part of this game is when you walk into the room, looking; you say "hmmm, hmmm" with a serious look on your face, a finger tapping your lips. I know you are copying the way we look for our keys or phone.

You are such a good walker. After all of those months wondering if there was something "wrong", I realize that you were just waiting until you could do it right, with confidence. You rarely fall, and are getting more agile in your other movements. Now you ask to go on walks outside. I love your sentences: Boots. Hat. Coat. Walk? Papa. Nana. Truck. Bye-bye!

You ask us to read certain books and have even asked to hear poems. I can't begin to explain how proud we are of your interest in the reading arts. You are drawing with your crayons more and more -- soon, I will have to hang up your masterpieces. Hopefully you continue to understand that the place to draw is on the sketch pad.

We spent a night and day without you. While the sleep was amazingly wonderful and it was nice to have a break, I missed you so much. I know you had a fine time without us, but I was so happy to have you back in my arms. You seemed to grow while we were gone. Even though it was only 24 hours, your hand felt lighter in mine -- more independent -- and I realized how quickly time is passing.

Every moment, I love you.

Crust First

Dear Lucy,

I had some other words written for you, but I have to skip those for now. They are in a safe place; the place where I keep words/smiles/movements/general loveliness.
Right now, you are sitting in your rocking chair and eating your favorite snack: spelt toast. I've noticed that you eat the crust first, turning it round and round until it is all gone. I think you save the best part, the middle for last. You are saying "hi, hi!" and laughing as I type and drink my coffee. I hope you always like to eat the crust first, whether real or metaphorical. I know this is kind of cheesy, but that seems to be my theme this month.

Now here I am, avoiding the bad news I need to tell you. It may not be as bad as we think; if that is the case...I will have worried for naught, but my heart tells me otherwise. Julie, your beloved nanny, is sick. She has a disease called cancer. About a month ago, she told me she was having lumps removed from her neck and that the doctor didn't think it was cancer. She did not feel ill and so there was no reason to believe otherwise. The toxology reports came back with the bad news that it is, indeed cancer, and that it is melanoma. The frightening part is that they aren't sure exactly where it came from, since the melanoma was never visible on the outside skin. She will wait for other specialists and doctors to look at her case and, hopefully, there will be good news. In my own research (and from knowing others with cancer), I found that melanoma in lymph glands is not good and when cancer presents itself in this way, the chance of survival is very low.

We are trying to hope for the best -- to picture our lives with her -- but it is very difficult. She loves you so much and has become a part of our family. We were so lucky to find a person so talented and willing to take care of you. I honestly don't know what we would do without her. I feel selfish for worrying about our needs. I feel confused about why I can't just think positively. Julie needs us to approach her illness with hope. I guess I just can't help but think of what I'll need to tell you. Even if she can beat the cancer, she will need treatment. How do I explain illness when you aren't even two years old? You already ask about her. When she was recovering from surgery, you would say her name with a question in your voice.

There is no ending to this entry, there are only questions. Whatever happens, I know that we will get through it, together. If not for you, Lucy, we would not have met Julie -- this must have some cosmic significance.

I love you,
Mom

Birdie Update

Lucy,
What's really great about this week is that fact that you started asking to go for walks. The sun is finally out, and I think this has helped. What's not so cool is when you cry because we don't go down to "Z-z's" house. You really want to see her, but also, you are into her cat, Elbow. As I am unofficially trying to wean you from your daytime feedings, you scream when I don't nurse you for comfort. You'll get the hang of it.
Another cool thing is that I can talk to you and you understand. Aaaand, when you don't like what I'm saying, you say "nooo!". This is funny, but only the first 20 times. But you are still cute and your dimples rock.
You are trying out walking more and more. Today you walked to Z-z's dad and gave him a kiss. . And you say "kiss" too, so sweet.
Finally, last night at bedtime, you said "potty" as we were going into the bathroom for your steam breathing. We sat you down on your Swedish potty chair and you went pee! It was awesome and if the rest of potty training is this easy...then you can have all the (wheat/dairy free) cookies you want! (Wait, is that a good idea?)
Thanks for such a lovely Friday --
Love,
Mom

Big Weekend

Dear Lucy,

Hey! It's been a big weekend for you. There have now been real, taken-on-your-own steps taken (more on that below). There was a trip to the emergency room for an asthma attack too, whoopie!

Verbally, you've just...taken off! You've grown, verbally, miles just this weekend. You repeat Everything we say, and seem to understand the context. For instance: no. Wow. It actually sounds like "no" now. And cookie sounds like cookie. This afternoon, while we were eating brunch out, you dropped your spoon. I said, "shoot!" and you repeated me, and proceeded to practice the word all day long. I thought maybe I was saying it a lot, but I wasn't; you kept trying it out without my prompting. Tonight after the bath, you insisted on holding onto your stacking cups. As I was folding the towel around you, you lost your grip on them and they slipped to the floor. As they fell, you said, sobbing "oh, shoot!" and dad and I had to laugh. At least you used it in the correct context.

Then there are the colors. You love to name colors. And talk to BoohBah. And repeat what your electronic chair says: "Hi there!". (I could really do without the chair, but you like it and it was a gift from Nana.) Before the bath, you were hugging yourself, something I've seen you do in the past week. I couldn't figure it out until we said, "Lucy, what does that mean?" and you answered "baby". You were pretending to rock a baby, just like the girl in your baby sign language book. It's not only that you say words and we understand them, but that you understand the questions we ask and then answer. This is wonderful.
You've also started throwing real tantrums. This is cool, right? Okay, not really. But it's kind of nice to know that there's nothing I can do except watch you flail on the carpet and whip yourself into a real fit. I especially like it when you throw your cookie on the floor first and then roll around in it. That's pretty. But I like the feeling of relief in those moments; the feeling of recognizing the "Lucy that's separate from me". Nothing I offer will truly ease your suffering, and the moment will pass.
When we were in a couple of stores today and, unlike last week, we only had to bribe you with one cookie. This week, you were happy to sit in the cart and talk with us. Of course it helped that we got you some "bottles" for your doll, but I'm going to give your burgeoning maturity the credit for now.
And finally, my heart skipped a beat when you walked to me into my arms! We were in your bedroom and you were having a fit and standing in front of dad. You really wanted to be in my arms and I was sitting in front of you. And you just did it! I think, for a moment, you forgot your trepidation and took those first, three, unassisted steps. Then later, you walked from the orange chair in the living room to dad by yourself! Of course, after that we spent 20 minutes trying to get you to do it on tape, but to no avail. But we know and you know that you did it. And you'll do it again (tomorrow?).

I'm so proud of you, Lucy. You are so wonderful and smart. I know you will find wonderful things in this life. I promise to help you figure out this asthma problem you've got going so we can avoid the Kaiser emergency room for breathing treatments. You are such a trooper. As always, your humor grows. We love to watch you laugh at silly things and read your books, quietly, in your rocking chair.

I can't wait to see where your next steps take you.

Rock on,
Mom

Yeah.

Lucy,
There's this really funny thing you do as I'm putting you to bed that I need to document. (I fear I'll forget it by February if I don't!)
As the weeks go by, you are more and more verbal. It amazes us; you now sit in your little chair, "reading" the "Baby Signs" book out loud. I love to watch you, because you do the signs along with the pictures. (Note to self: take a picture of this. Actually, just take more pictures in general.) A few weeks ago, whenever I would ask you if you are okay, you started saying "yeah". Sometimes, it sounds like you are saying "da", but I've always understood what you mean. I think I noticed it when you were eating and would begin to cough. I'd say, "Lu, are you okay? Do you need water?" Or something like that. When you mean "no", you've started shaking your head and will make some kind of "pushing away" sign with your hand. And besides, it's pretty clear when you mean NO, right? Ha, ha! Mama's funny!
Where was I? Oh yes. So now, when I tuck you into your crib, after I place the two blankets over you and you are hugging gorilla tight, I stroke your head a few seconds and say, "are you good?" and you say -- "yeah". I love this and even though I know you are okay, I live for that "yeah". You are growing up so quickly and I know you won't always tell me you are okay. Or you won't be able to, anyway. So, just humor me a little longer. Put your head on my shoulder and pat me on the back when we are both awake in the middle of the night.
I love you, my sweet 20-month-old Lucy.
Mama

19 & 3/4

Lucy,
What a holiday! Today, when you left with dad to go to Julie's, you were like a new baby. And I fear I can't call you a baby for long. You were standing at the door, laughing and ready to go.

In the last few weeks, you've really learning to communicate what you need. Over break, your dad taught you the sign for "pain" and now you say "oww" and put your little fingers together. Yesterday you received three vaccinations and this morning reminded us that it hurt. You also have molars coming in, but you are so tolerant of them, most of the time. My other favorite thing with your language development is that you'll say "da" and "yeah" for "no" and "yes". Actually, sometimes "da" means yes, but we usually figure it out. You'll sit in your high chair, or on the floor, and talk up a storm. And you'll get pissed if you need something we don't understand. If you want more cookies, we stand away.

Your personality shines through when learning new tasks. "Shines" is a nice way to say that if you don't get how something works, you'll shriek and throw the toy, sometimes throwing yourself to the ground in the process. Usually, this means you are ready for a nap of some kind, but sometimes we just have to laugh (over the screaming) and redirect your efforts. But it's so cool, really, to see you figuring out the world. Each day you ask us what things are called -- yesterday, you were intent on learning the difference between finger and thumb. Unfortunately, when you say "truck" or "sock", it sounds an awful lot like "cock" ... and I'm not ready for you to say that word. And let's me honest, will I ever be ready?

This holiday season, just in time to ring in the new year, we had our first real medical scare. We took you to the doctor because you were having trouble breathing. We had a well-baby visit set up, but you were not well at all. Although dad and I thought we didn't need to go to the hospital in the night, it turns out we should have just gone. I felt so bad. When we got to Kaiser, you were so lethargic from lack of sleep and liquids (you couldn't nurse or drink water). We now know you have asthma, so it'll be a life-long watch over your lungs. They did breathing treatments and oxygen. And chest x-rays. And an i-v drip to restore your fluids. And finally, you were yourself again. We'll finish up your medicine for the beginning of pneumonia and keep your liquid steroids around. You also have an inhaler and let me tell you, you LOVE that thing. (Note to manufacturers of the tube/mask contraption: do you really think the little bear on the side is going to make kids feel better about using it? It doesn't seem to matter to our Lucy and in fact, talking about said bear makes her chuck the entire piece of plastic across the room.)

All in all, you are growing fast and loving the world more each day. You are becoming more of a toddler in voice and action, and even after the 89th round of "Baa, Baa Black Sheep", I'm happy to sing it again. But don't push it. Ha!

All the love in the world to you --
Mama

P.S. Next time, remind me to write about your fixation with pictures of: The Buddha, The Dalai Lama and Dr. Andrew Weil.

Woah.

Dear L.,

Chicky, you are amazing -- every moment a new word. Tonight, you understood our conversation about your dinner. "Noodlenoodlenoodle!" You love the rice noodles we cook for you.

Last night I was out, studying and drinking too much coffee on 82nd Ave. You were home, playing hide-and-seek with dad. Over and over and over you moved from room to room, until you were wheezy. (We hope you don't have asthma.) But you were delighted.

You walked, with dad's hands, naked and skinny to where I'm sitting with my computer. You were grinning and I wondered if we should feed you more -- but you eat (and eat and eat) so I won't fret for now. In your life, how much will I worry or try not to worry about you? I received a blessing in my first trimester from a wonderful Buddhist teacher-author. She took my hands and told me that I was free of worry, I could land indeed you came into our life so easily. But now I wonder what edges of worry I will skate along with you?

This week, you will be 19 months old. And maybe, just maybe, I will finally write the story of your entry into the world. I've decided that these letters to you, they're just as much to me, so we'll see where this takes us.

Thanks you for all of your kisses.

I love you dearly and truly,
Mama

Kisses

My sweet girl,

This week you are full of new words. It seems like, every minute or so, a new one pops out. Of course...I don't think every person would understand, but we do. Just tonight, at dinner, you said "applesauce". This morning, you said "sock". You've finally started saying "dog" too.
My two new & favorite words are "bapa" and "Dalai Lama" (which comes out like "dalalala"). Bapa is the word for grandpa and you are so enamored with him! It makes me melt when I hear you say it because I love him so and had a close relationship with my grandfather, whom I called Papa. You have your own word for him -- out of the blue, it just appeared. He is fun when he's here most every week: there's singing, and playing with zippers and folding laundry. You like to watch him do chores around our house (I know you will grow up to be as helpful!) and you have that look in your eye, that sparkle, that he has. Pure love.
"Dalalala" all started when Dad checked out a Dalai Lama book-on-tape out from the library. You like to hold the case when we are driving and every time you looked at it, we would say the name. Soon, you started saying Dalalala and we realized you really were saying the name. Now we've printed up a picture from the internet and purchased a little Dalai Lama book from Powell's. Holding it makes you happy and you always smile when you see the picture. This is so magical; that you could somehow see the peace and love this man represents -- it is amazing! You also like to ring the meditation bell we have, the sound ringing through our little house as the cat runs to the basement.
And you have started kissing. You make the cutest kissing sound, too. You kiss my shoulder when I'm holding you, and my cheek too. Sometimes they are a little wet, but you've got the pucker and smack down perfectly. Sometimes, if you are in the right moment and I say, "Can I have a kiss?" you'll lean right in, kiss me and smile. After dad and I were gone for a Holiday Party, the next morning you gave me many kisses and laid your sleepy head on my shoulder.
Your personality also grows by the day and we can tell you are trying, in earnest, to communicate with us. There are words you string together like sentences and I can't wait to fully understand your conversations. I hope we will always share many things.
When I am out without you, I sometimes wish I could wear a picture of you like a badge, to show -- on the outside -- that you are always with me. I'm not sure this makes sense, truly, but it is how I feel. If there was a little window in my head, you would see a little picture of Lucy playing and smiling and talking. Or maybe I could wear a big sign that says "I'm a Mother" just so people understood why I smile on the bus or even when the cold wind is blowing through my wool cap. Of course, not everyone knows you, Lucy, and so would not understand how you bring me so much joy.

Love,
Mama

18 months: Words

Dear Lu,
I feel like I start so many entries this way: I can't believe how much you change each week!

Your new words in the past couple of weeks--
Car
Carl (This word means "dog". "Carl" is from the book "Good Dog Carl".)
Our cat and Our cat Myra
Pear
...And you understand so much more!

You also distinguish between "All gone" and "All done" which is very helpful at meal time. You are wonderful at asking for "more", whether it's more nourishment or more play.

This week, you've really started asking for me, talking about me in a plaintive "Mama". You've said the word before, many times, but it sounds more honest -- more true -- now. I don't know how to explain it, but each time I hear you say it I feel myself expand with love.
"This is It," I think to myself.

Tonight at bedtime, you made your dad do "this little piggy" 8 times. You said, pointing to your toes, "dad, that!". Wonderful -- you'd giggle and double over as he got to the last toe. At the end of the 8th run-through you said "night" indicating your readiness for bed.

You are really gearing up to walk now. We are not nervous about your hesitancy because it's obvious you want to. And you will. I think you are waiting until you Know How. You are avoiding accidents. It was the same way with other developments. Your cautiousness is appreciated, actually.

We are trying to figure out your food sensitivities; you develop a mysterious ecema. Soy? Corn? Bananas? We know you are allergic to dairy and eggs. But what else?

You played the piano at grandma and grandpa's for the first time, this weekend. You sat on my lap and would not let me play along. It was your musical concoction of black notes. You didn't prefer to pound the keys and mostly used a firm, but gentle, touch.

I love the way you kiss things -- your bath toys, the table, your stuffed animals. So sweet! You were banging on the table with a block and we said "gentle, please". And you leaned in to kiss it. I hope you are always this aware of feelings. I think you will carry this conscientiousness with you.

Lastly, I want to say -- you are our outside girl. You love to go for rides in the car and walks in the stroller. As it is getting colder, I bundle you up and you happily point to all of the new things you see. I even taught you how to put your hands in your pockets. When you are able to walk, we expect many adventures! I know you will enjoy hiking in the spring, summer and fall to come.

---------------------------
Physically...
You are tall and thin, and your hair grows more blonde (and longer) by the week. I think you are 32 inches tall and about 22 lbs. We love everything about our "Lucy package". Whenever people ask us if we'll have more children, we say, "why gamble? We have such a great girl already!" And it's true, but we'll see...

For now, it's all about you.

Love,
Mama

In sickness and in health

Dear Lucy,
Next week you will be 18 months old.
You are already experimenting with imaginary play; this is something many children discover at 2 years of age, so we are excited about this development.
For the past couple of weeks, you have been sick with bronchitis (luckily, the scaring shortness of breath phase passed quickly) and a cold. Your nose is still runny, but you are much better. When you are sick, especially the first couple of nights, I sleep with the monitor on and wake with each raspy cough. We are so lucky to have a great N.D. who is always available.
In the last week or so, it seems you have become so nurturing. You are hugging everything, even your plastic toy phone receiver. Last week I heard you press play on your cd player. Your bedtime lullaby cd began playing and you hugged your bunny close, rocking it and saying "awww, awww". My heart melts.
You also hug your friend Hazel. You love to hang out together (even though a lot of the play is still parallel), sharing toys and smiling at each other. The other day, though, you crawled over to her and put your head on her shoulder. Again, melting.
Hazel's mom Rachel, and my friend, said that "it's like opening a present every day" and I agree. You are a great gift -- you show me new words, new "developmental tasks" each day. Your daddy and I often look at each other and say "it's so amazing, Lucy is so smart" and it is -- you are.
Well, you are handing me a book -- asking me to read it... again. There are dark clouds outside and I think it will rain soon. Sometimes I wonder what you need me to do, and then you show me. It's so simple, most of the time, and I love you.
Mama

Puffins

Lu,
You love to eat Puffins. Puffins for breakfast and snack. Luckily, they are wheat free. With all of the corn you ingest, though, I fear you'll develop a new allergy.
Two days ago I asked your dad if we were lazy chefs. I mean, you eat the same thing almost every day. Tofu pups, polenta, beans, assorted fruits and vegetables and Puffins. But you don't mind, so we just keep slicing it up. I guess I won't feel guilty about this just yet and I'll keep adding new stuff in. You are also fond of chicken and rice and, if you weren't allergic to them, you would eat bananas all day long.
We both have colds today. I really wish you knew how to blow your nose. You are not so fond of me wiping off your face and you rub your snot all over my shirt. It's all part of what I signed up for, I suppose.
You really laughed when I tried on different "funny teeth", you know, those play "dentures" that make you look like you have crooked, missing or vampire teeth. You thought it was especially hilarious when I tried to kiss you.
As I type this, you are crawling under the table where I sit, dragging your snack cup along; laughing as the tablecloth brushes your head. You hold up a clean washcloth and have a dialog: dabadigga? agagaa! guh, guh...kewew, huh? ha, ha! I love to listen to you babble -- sometimes I even understand the intention in your conversation and I feel a small success in parenting. Now you are whispering to your cloth and we are listening to NPR. The sun is shining through the blinds and we are happy here together.
I hope we both feel better soon...
Love,
Mama

At least you've got a good arm.

Lucy,
You are 17 months old now. Sometimes I look at you...and I wonder where these months have gone. It's sounds like such a trite thing to say, and I say it So Often, but really --
I was spinning you around tonight, looking at all of your teeth as you threw your head back &
Laughing with you at dinner; you understand subtle looks and find them hilarious &
Feeling the spot on my lip, now healing, but which you made bloody when you chucked a board book at my face while I was doing yoga &
Asking you, "Are you ready for bed?" and watching you crawl to the bathroom door, stand up and say "uh, huh!" &
Listening to you talk on your phone, asking for more pinto beans, pointing out the banana in your big book of words &
Did you say 'book' tonight?! &
Realizing that you are 31.5 inches tall and in the 60th percentile &
Feeling a lump in my throat and hearing my own head "I am so lucky".
There are only a few moments I have felt are so perfect, except with you, the "Lucy moment" just keeps stretching on. I mean it's not like I'm never upset, tired of singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb all the damn time, bored or anxious that I'm doing everything right, but, for the most part I just can't believe how great you are, how incredibly fortunate we are.
Grandma and grandpa called tonight to see are you are doing, even though they just saw you yesterday. In the call, they told me that the 18 year old son of family friends (and my high school teachers) has Hodgekins disease. It is a form of cancer. He is in his first year of college (Lewis and Clark) and on a basketball scholarship. Hopefully he will be okay, hopefully they can "get rid" of the disease.
So it makes me think -- when I'm listening to you breathe over the monitor, when I'm worried that you are stuffing too many Puffins in your mouth and may choke, when I imagine about you walking, alone, to a friends house someday and all of these things make me edgy -- now I'm realizing it could be years of worrying. I could think we are in the clear. "Phew," I'll think. "She made it through high school" and then...a disease that could take you away from me, from us.
I'm trying, in general, not to worry so much. I know it will make me a better mother (person) not to delve too far into the dark scenarios that run through my head. Someday (maybe) you'll read this (does it really exist?). And what will you think? What will I?
What I want you to know is -- even if you make me bleed, I will read you stories and take you to the park and laugh at your jokes. You are one amazing baby, and I know you'll grow into an awesome chick.
Love, Mom