Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Four
Dear Sophie,
Right now you are in your bed with only ONE TOY. I'm a monster, I know. You're used to sleeping with about 4 but, since you keep pelting your brother with them, I now limit you to one. You've been potty training all day. Since 10:00 this morning you have been totally bare bottomed and have not gone in the potty at all. No accidents, no potty. Just pure stubborn I-refuse-to-do-this-on-your-terms. You went to bed early tonight because you didn't nap and were manic with trying to do the Potty Dance all over the house.
Honestly, you annoyed the crap out of me today.
Four years ago you were lying in the Baylor NICU with a feeding tube in your nose, 3 monitors on your body and an IV in your scalp. You weighed 5 pounds and 2 ounces. You were the smallest baby I had ever seen up close. I remember standing by your bassinet with your Daddy as the nurses told us about your feeding tube and what to expect over the next few days.
God, I was scared.
You were my first. My first baby. I thought I had done everything right until my water broke at midnight on the 16th. You were only 34 weeks along. After laboring with you for over a day, you entered the world at 6:48 AM on the 17th of January. Your little head was cone-shaped because you took your sweet time. You didn't cry. You were very alert. The doctor put you on my stomach and all I could see was your tiny right hand waving around as they dried you off. I was scared and asking why you weren't crying. As they tried to convince me that some babies just don't cry, I tried to convince myself that you were real by taking that little hand.
You held my finger and my heart shattered.
I was a Mama. I had always wanted to be a Mama and here you were. My baby girl. My Sophia Sakura. I held you for an hour that seemed like 3 seconds. Then they took you to the NICU and I didn't see you again for another 7 hours. It was a tiny taste of the most perfect feeling in the world and then it was snatched away from me.
That first night, I couldn't sleep. I crept out of my room at 3 in the morning and slowly made my way to the NICU. They were just about to feed you and offered to try breastfeeding. We couldn't make it work so they suggested Kangaroo Care instead. I sat in a comfortable glider with my feet up. You laid your tiny head on my left breast and tucked your feet under my right breast. The nurses put warm blankets over both of us and then put a screen around us.
Every muscle in your tiny body relaxed and you fell asleep over my heart.
I sat for hours just marveling at the wonder that is You. I sang lullabies. I told you about your cat. I examined your face to see what family members you resembled. I will remember those hours for the rest of my life.
Happy birthday, my Sophie-chan. Please go to the bathroom.
Right now you are in your bed with only ONE TOY. I'm a monster, I know. You're used to sleeping with about 4 but, since you keep pelting your brother with them, I now limit you to one. You've been potty training all day. Since 10:00 this morning you have been totally bare bottomed and have not gone in the potty at all. No accidents, no potty. Just pure stubborn I-refuse-to-do-this-on-your-terms. You went to bed early tonight because you didn't nap and were manic with trying to do the Potty Dance all over the house.
Honestly, you annoyed the crap out of me today.
Four years ago you were lying in the Baylor NICU with a feeding tube in your nose, 3 monitors on your body and an IV in your scalp. You weighed 5 pounds and 2 ounces. You were the smallest baby I had ever seen up close. I remember standing by your bassinet with your Daddy as the nurses told us about your feeding tube and what to expect over the next few days.
God, I was scared.
You were my first. My first baby. I thought I had done everything right until my water broke at midnight on the 16th. You were only 34 weeks along. After laboring with you for over a day, you entered the world at 6:48 AM on the 17th of January. Your little head was cone-shaped because you took your sweet time. You didn't cry. You were very alert. The doctor put you on my stomach and all I could see was your tiny right hand waving around as they dried you off. I was scared and asking why you weren't crying. As they tried to convince me that some babies just don't cry, I tried to convince myself that you were real by taking that little hand.
You held my finger and my heart shattered.
I was a Mama. I had always wanted to be a Mama and here you were. My baby girl. My Sophia Sakura. I held you for an hour that seemed like 3 seconds. Then they took you to the NICU and I didn't see you again for another 7 hours. It was a tiny taste of the most perfect feeling in the world and then it was snatched away from me.
That first night, I couldn't sleep. I crept out of my room at 3 in the morning and slowly made my way to the NICU. They were just about to feed you and offered to try breastfeeding. We couldn't make it work so they suggested Kangaroo Care instead. I sat in a comfortable glider with my feet up. You laid your tiny head on my left breast and tucked your feet under my right breast. The nurses put warm blankets over both of us and then put a screen around us.
Every muscle in your tiny body relaxed and you fell asleep over my heart.
I sat for hours just marveling at the wonder that is You. I sang lullabies. I told you about your cat. I examined your face to see what family members you resembled. I will remember those hours for the rest of my life.
Happy birthday, my Sophie-chan. Please go to the bathroom.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Not Giving Up
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:38-39
Do you hear that?!?
It doesn't matter that Sophie still couldn't understand my instructions about potty training and had a massive meltdown.
It doesn't matter that Gideon tried to destroy everything whenever I went into the bathroom with Sophie because he was jealous of all of the attention his sister was getting.
It doesn't matter that Milly freaked out whenever I not only left her sight but went out of her reach making nap time a really difficult thing.
God was still with me all day. He still loves me. He still believes in my ability to mother these children. He's going to be there as I cry tonight.
I'm still OK.
Romans 8:38-39
Do you hear that?!?
It doesn't matter that Sophie still couldn't understand my instructions about potty training and had a massive meltdown.
It doesn't matter that Gideon tried to destroy everything whenever I went into the bathroom with Sophie because he was jealous of all of the attention his sister was getting.
It doesn't matter that Milly freaked out whenever I not only left her sight but went out of her reach making nap time a really difficult thing.
God was still with me all day. He still loves me. He still believes in my ability to mother these children. He's going to be there as I cry tonight.
I'm still OK.
Potty Training is a Go
The bright pink potty chart has been decorated with pictures of Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck. The sticker bribes are ready. When 10 stickers are stuck, a prize is won.
The waterproof panties are ready. We go barebottom the first day, waterproof the next few days and then the Minnie Mouse panties from Grandma are coming out.
The Special Bubbles are next to the potty. The Special Bubbles can only be used when cheeks are on the seat.
All systems are go. Operation Potty Train Sophie is ready.
Let's do this thing.
The waterproof panties are ready. We go barebottom the first day, waterproof the next few days and then the Minnie Mouse panties from Grandma are coming out.
The Special Bubbles are next to the potty. The Special Bubbles can only be used when cheeks are on the seat.
All systems are go. Operation Potty Train Sophie is ready.
Let's do this thing.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Tracts of Land
WARNING: THIS POST IS ABOUT GIRLY PARTS. SPECIFICALLY THE ONES ON TOP.
MOM AND KATHY, PLEASE GO LOOK AT QUILTS. GRANDMA, JUST SHUT THE COMPUTER DOWN.
So.
Did you know that about 80% of brassiere wearing women are wearing the wrong size? Are you in the 20%? A well-fitted bra can completely change the way your clothes look and how your back feels.
But you didn't come here to listen to me talk about sensible things. You want to hear about the tiny menopausal Latina woman who unabashedly wrestles with my Mommies every time I go to the lingerie shop.
There is a wonderful intimate apparel shop in Dallas that has been here since 1934. They sell robes, pajamas and swimwear but mainly deal in custom fitted over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. My mother brought me here a few years ago after I had Sophie and everything shifted. She recognized that I needed something a little more supportive and that I needed some expert opinions.
Now I've always been a big girl. I don't think I ever wore a training bra. I've always sighed wistfully at strapless dresses and matching bra and panty sets. I once tried on a Wonderbra and nearly collapsed when all of the oxygen was cut off from my brain because my nostrils and mouth were completely covered.
I left my mother on the couch in the waiting area and went into the dressing room. I expected the tiny woman to measure over my existing bra and then pass in some options that I would then try on and say Yea or Nay.
What happened was that tiny little woman marched over to me as I removed my shirt and just flat out grabbed me. She began lifting and searching and pushing and squooshing and holy monkeys I really want my Mama.
"SO YOU JUS' HAD A BABY? WHADDA WE LOOKIN' AT HERE?"
Lady, I will tell you anything you want if you will just let go of my chachies and for the love of GOD close the door to the dressing room.
That woman measured me and ran off LEAVING THE DOOR WIDE OPEN STILL and I called my mommy back into the dressing room because now I was terrified. The lady came back with a few options. She showed me how I had been putting bras on wrong for my entire life while my mother smothered a smile and quietly closed the door. I think she got a kick out of my dinner-plate sized eyes and how her most talkative child was finally rendered speechless. Once she helped me into the first one ("MAKE SURE ALL OF THE GIRLS ARE IN THE CUPS!") I stood up and felt...relief.
You mean bras are supposed to be comfortable?! What witchcraft is this?!?!
They tweaked a few more places and I left with a bag full of the first proper fitting undergarments that I have ever worn. Granted, they cost a little more but that's because I wear sizes normally reserved for Viking women. I go back and get wrestled and prodded but now I do it knowing I'm coming out of there more comfortable than when I went in. It doesn't bother me as much as the first time.
I also remember to close the door.
Now will someone please go pick my mother up off of the floor so she can answer the phone when my grandmother calls and asks her why I'm talking about this on my blog?
MOM AND KATHY, PLEASE GO LOOK AT QUILTS. GRANDMA, JUST SHUT THE COMPUTER DOWN.
So.
Did you know that about 80% of brassiere wearing women are wearing the wrong size? Are you in the 20%? A well-fitted bra can completely change the way your clothes look and how your back feels.
But you didn't come here to listen to me talk about sensible things. You want to hear about the tiny menopausal Latina woman who unabashedly wrestles with my Mommies every time I go to the lingerie shop.
There is a wonderful intimate apparel shop in Dallas that has been here since 1934. They sell robes, pajamas and swimwear but mainly deal in custom fitted over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. My mother brought me here a few years ago after I had Sophie and everything shifted. She recognized that I needed something a little more supportive and that I needed some expert opinions.
Now I've always been a big girl. I don't think I ever wore a training bra. I've always sighed wistfully at strapless dresses and matching bra and panty sets. I once tried on a Wonderbra and nearly collapsed when all of the oxygen was cut off from my brain because my nostrils and mouth were completely covered.
I left my mother on the couch in the waiting area and went into the dressing room. I expected the tiny woman to measure over my existing bra and then pass in some options that I would then try on and say Yea or Nay.
What happened was that tiny little woman marched over to me as I removed my shirt and just flat out grabbed me. She began lifting and searching and pushing and squooshing and holy monkeys I really want my Mama.
"SO YOU JUS' HAD A BABY? WHADDA WE LOOKIN' AT HERE?"
Lady, I will tell you anything you want if you will just let go of my chachies and for the love of GOD close the door to the dressing room.
That woman measured me and ran off LEAVING THE DOOR WIDE OPEN STILL and I called my mommy back into the dressing room because now I was terrified. The lady came back with a few options. She showed me how I had been putting bras on wrong for my entire life while my mother smothered a smile and quietly closed the door. I think she got a kick out of my dinner-plate sized eyes and how her most talkative child was finally rendered speechless. Once she helped me into the first one ("MAKE SURE ALL OF THE GIRLS ARE IN THE CUPS!") I stood up and felt...relief.
You mean bras are supposed to be comfortable?! What witchcraft is this?!?!
They tweaked a few more places and I left with a bag full of the first proper fitting undergarments that I have ever worn. Granted, they cost a little more but that's because I wear sizes normally reserved for Viking women. I go back and get wrestled and prodded but now I do it knowing I'm coming out of there more comfortable than when I went in. It doesn't bother me as much as the first time.
I also remember to close the door.
Now will someone please go pick my mother up off of the floor so she can answer the phone when my grandmother calls and asks her why I'm talking about this on my blog?
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