Friday, Saturday, Anyday rituals.

Turns out rituals of any kind are a tough commitment for me...even the weekly variety. This is, of course no surprise to my nearest and dearest. oh, but I keep trying. I offer some extreme cuteness in exchange for my lack of consistency.

this moment.

Twelve Months.

Hey Aves, happy birthday!

You, my dear, are one. year. old. It feels impossible. We celebrated the enormity of this milestone with a little fete with family this weekend, a trip to visit family in Bend last weekend and there are two more parties on the horizon. Hey, you only turn one once, right!?

I've been adrift in sentimentality the last few days. Indulging the memories with eyes closed. Seeing again, a year later, the moments that led up to your arrival.

Those early hints of an early labor. The false alarm that sent Nana scrambling for a last-minute ticket to PDX that soon became a not-so-false alarm. The friends who pinch-hit and packed bags and picked up Daddy from the airport so he wouldn't miss a moment.

I remember the denial. Heading into work (in labor) to tie up loose ends and satisfy a doctor's order for bed-rest. Obsessing, later that night, about preparing for your arrival. Oblivious as to how soon it would actually come.

My body ached. My mind raced. Your Nana and Daddy kept chiding me for hours to lay down. Shaking their heads at my refusals. I finally let myself rest around nine. Fell asleep to the hypnobirthing CD--the one your dad and I had taken up a habit of using to lull us to sleep. It was one of a six-disc set but we had never made it past the first ten minutes. My water broke not five minutes after I had finally drifted off. Instant agony. Contractions racing, raging waves through my trembling body, one after another with not enough seconds in-between. Nana fibbed about their timing so as not to send me into a panic.

Daddy hit the gas. Twelve minutes to the hospital. A lifetime. In transition.

A life in transition.

Daddy stopped at the speed bump and I jumped out. Couldn't bear to sit in the wheelchair that Nana was begging me to wait for and insisted instead on walking to the doors. Tunnel vision. Sights fixed on the purple elevators that would deliver me to the epidural I had planned to refuse and would now walk over hot coals to find.

The volunteer at the check-in desk insisted on my name, social security number and the name of your pediatrician. Couldn't speak. I tried to oblige. Politeness stolen by waves of paralysis that held my breath hostage and forced my head to my knees. Another woman walked in with her husband. Bags packed neatly. I noticed she could talk. Wondered if she was really in labor when my thought process was interrupted by a sudden need to decorate the trash can with my dinner. Not sure I've ever been so embarrassed and unabashed at the same time. Totally uncontrollable. Biology has taken over. 

My antics in the lobby get us a front-line pass to the triage room where a perky new nurse with a blonde bob then took waaaay too long to deduce just how quickly we were progressing. So many questions. So much waiting. So much telling me just what they were doing, measuring, documenting. I couldn't hear.

Couldn't they see I was having a baby!? (Where was that epidural they kept promising!?)

Finally (Nana swears it was just 15 minutes later) we were being wheeled down the longest hallway I've ever seen. Slick floors and white walls seemed dark with my pain-blurred vision but I remember the halo that Helen, our most beloved midwife, wore as she greeted me. "You're about to meet your baby" she said. ("Indeed. Where's the anesthesiologist?" I wondered.)

The birthing suite was huge and looked north into the forested hills. This was the same room we had been in two nights before when we thought you might come even earlier. I noticed that after the drugs kicked in. Finally, a moment of relief. A complete thought. My sight returned.

It was after midnight. Three of the fastest, longest hours of my life behind me and I could actually think about you. You were coming. On your way. Contorting yourself through seven cardinal movements that would send you screaming into this world. I hoped you weren't hurting too, held Daddy's hand and resisted the urge to push. Not yet.

Later, folks will say I'm lucky to have had such a short labor. But a good friend and fellow mama who has logged two births of her own--one long, one very short--says it best. With a long labor, you get to be the frog in the pot while the water is still cold. Then, slowly, the heat brings you to a boil. With precipitous labor, you're just the frog thrown into a bubbling pot. Either way, you're still a frog in too-hot water.

Helen convinced me it was time and that I could do this. I had done the hardest part, unbeknownst to me, in the car ride here. She swore the pushing would be easy. Trust. Focus. Seven minutes and the oxygen mask went on. You were in trouble. I wanted to give you my breath. I've never sucked air so deeply in my asthmatic life. Three more minutes. One last push. You slipped into daddy's hands. A moment suspended.

Not much bigger than both palms cupped behind your tiny body. 5 pounds. 8 ounces. Legs still curled askew, I could see now where your toes had been tickling my ribs while a severely coned, bruised head revealed why it had been so hard to walk for weeks. So much revealed.

Your cord was short. Not alarmingly so, but when Helen lifted your little pink body onto me and you barely cleared my belly button--my own 'mama connection.' We all cried.

When you learn you're pregnant, you spend so many weeks wondering how this moment will come to be. I had expected to feel relieved. To revel in the elation of that singular moment. To glow with pride and awe. And, indeed, I felt, lived, all of these things. But what took me by surprise was how normal it felt too.

Of course you were there. Three and a half weeks early and right on time. Born in the wee hours of a September morning. Our daughter. First born. Avie. Sweet baby with bird legs, who painted wings on our hearts and taught us what it feels like to soar.
 
One year later and the proverbial cord has stretched. You took three solo steps the night before your birthday. You are intrepid, my love. Seeking to climb and lift and push and indulge your curiosity in ways that require me to live always on my toes.

You are a reader. A lover of water. You savor all things silly. Chief of belly-laughs and commander of funny noises. You still fill the hearts of strangers with huge grins with every trip to the grocery store. My little magnanimous beebuh. Cheers to celebrating every moment of 12 months of sweetness. Yep, four parties are definitely necessary.

With more love than can ever be said, spelled or typed.
xo,
Mama

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

Eleven Months.

Oh, beautiful growing-too-fast baby of mine,

You are well into your eleventh month and, as usual, I am well behind in writing to you. In my defense, I have good reason. We've been so busy having fun (and doing dishes, laundry, cooking and prepping for class, ahem) that there's been little time to document the details. Here's this month's highlight reel:

• Mobility is this month's vocabulary word, with a capital "M." You are all over the place. Pulling up on anything that even hints at an ability to hold your weight. Your laundry basket totally pulled the wool over your eyes this morning, collapsing under you as you tumbled into its depths. No babies were harmed, just really disillusioned and stunned at the audacity of such a stable-looking perch turning out to be soft-sided.
• We did a second round of baby-proofing to counter this development. It feels like a game of checkers though and it's again your turn to show us just where you're interested in wreaking havoc so that we can sink more money into baby gates and door latches and tv tethers and...
• Even though you've become quite the independent adventurer, you still prefer your mama's hip most of the day. Which, quite frankly, is killing my back since you're no sack o' sugar anymore. But I'm soaking up ever snugly, slobber-shouldered moment because if I've learned anything in these short months with you it's that these moments may not last.
• Teeth. You have lots of 'em and sometimes use them as weapons. Mostly when I'm swabbing my finger around your mouth trying to liberate whatever non-edible edible you've found on the floor.
• You adore a good dance party. We turn up the tunes and spin around the room and you throw your head back and squeal. Same trick happens to work when you get fussy during shopping trips.
• Climbing the stairs has become an entertaining activity in itself. Though you prefer that I hold your hands so you can 'walk' up, thanks.
• Your hair is getting so long it tickles your eyelashes. I made you a barrette to tie it back. Can't bring myself to trim it yet.
• Favorite games: You stick out your tongue and expect us to do the same. Patty cake. Keep-away (when you've managed to grab something you know is verboten you put your hands behind your back and shake them).
• You are generous with kisses and give me many smooches throughout the day.
• Fave foods: lentil soup, cantaloupe, graham crackers.

A good friend remarked this week that you are a joyful baby. "Yeah, she's pretty happy," I responded. She clarified that indeed, most babies are happy, but you, Miss Aves, are so obviously smitten with life that it's infectious. You wear your joy on every inch of your little body. When you smile, it's so clear that your whole soul is in it. No half-hearted grins for this one. Don't get me wrong, you have your moments of discontent (and boy, are they getting louder), but for the most part her comment was spot-on gospel truth. I love this about you more than anything, Aves. May your joy be forever unflappable and always inspire others to laugh along with you.

Summertime...

...And the (sleep-deprived, overworked) livin' may not always be easy. But man, those good bits in-between are sweet indeed. Farm weekends with friends. Swimming pools on sweltering days. Oregon berries for brunch. Produce swaps. Picnics at parks. Date days and DIY drive-in movies. These are full days. And oh, we are grateful.

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

Ten Months.

Double digits, girl. Do you know what this means!? Two numbered candles on the proverbial cake. It seems like next month we'll be handing you the car keys (ha, in your dreams!).

But seriously, ten. T.E.N. So many memories bundled and tied with a bow into in such a small word.

You are literally growing by leaps and bounds. This month held your first crawl, your first assisted steps and your first attempts at scaling every object in your path (you have a particular fondness for the dishwasher door and the bottom stair).

As I watch, my heart is so entrenched in the symbolic progression of walking. How wonderful that we get to do these first steps together. Your feet matching mine. Our hands entwined. I know soon you'll let go and my heart will at once soar and break. It's already beating its way to the back of my throat where it lies like a lump in preparation for that thrilling, tear-jerking moment. Until then I get to hold on, but I promise, when you're ready, I won't hold you back girl.

A few more thoughts from this magical month with you:

• Teeth! Number four on the bottom popped up just in time to celebrate the Fourth of July. The top two are also making an appearance as twins following much fanfare and fevered chomping on teething rings.
• Favorite toys: cardboard box, wire whisk, beach ball.
• Favorite games: peek-a-boo with the shower curtain, pattycake.
• You continue to be a rockstar traveler. Two plane trips this month and no tears.
• You were lucky to enjoy two different cabin stays in the mountains, including your first trip to Camp with your cousins.
• You are a race car driver in the making. You love standing behind the wheel on daddy's lap while we're waiting for your carseat to cool down.
• The carseat. Ah, sweet carseat. Someday.
• Our little nature walks are even more fun now that you're interested in walking and crawling at dirt level. You loooove watching leaves. The aspens of home were possibly the highlight of our summer trip.

Loveto you, my dear. And cheers to what's next!

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

this moment.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by Amanda Blake Soule (soulemama.com).

Nine Months.

Oh, Aves. Nine months. Each time I write to you I marvel at the passage of time and ask 'How can this be?' It's a trend I expect will continue, as it has for every parent before me, for the duration.

What a joyous month we've shared. You are vibrating with energy--busting out new skills each day. Making us glad and glad again that we get to share this life with you. The highlight reel:

• You are a total ham. Many a fuss session has been diffused simply by pointing the camera your way. 
• You clap, you grin, you babble, you recently learned you can squeal (a skill best practiced in the grocery store, bookstore, or otherwise public place with an echo.)You light up and give the most heart-melting full-body smile. And then you crawl on over to eat the camera.
• Speaking of crawling. Wow, you are fast. You may not be the most motion-motivated of babes, but when you do spy a dustball/cell phone/xbox controller/drawer pull that strikes your fancy, you move it, move it! Just after you were born we watched a fascinating documentary about the first year of human development. The scene that sticks in my mind most is a hilarious montage of wee ones showing off their locomotion style. Some scoot, some bear walk on all fours, others look like whirligig push toys with all limbs flailing as they gain ground. Like these babes, you have a style all your own and seem to swim across the floor. It's less army crawl, more belly-down butterfly and I wonder if you'll even bother to get your knees into the act since it's working so well for you without them. It may be straight to walking for you.
• Walking. I can't believe we're on the cusp. You are taking steps while we hold your hands. Each of us squealing with each shuffle. Chasing daddy seems to be the most exciting game we have going.
• I've reported every month on your hatred of the carseat. I guess it's such a defining characteristic because it contrasts greatly with your otherwise laid-back Rasta-baby vibe. I'm delighted (and a little bit terrified, lest I jinx it) to report that things seem to be looking up. Your ability to entertain yourself is expanding and between squeaking Sophie like your life depended on it and touching the music-playing mirror with your toes, we have expanded our radius to 20 minute cry-free trips. Knock. On. Wood.
• We took you swimming this month. It wasn't your first time--we went once when you were about five months--but this trip was far more enjoyable. All four limbs got into the act at once, you grinned ear-to-ear and laughed from your toes as you splashed. Then you laughed some more as the lap swimmers and kid taking lessons splashed. Who knew what a knee-slapper splashing could be!?
• We've muddled through the continued introduction of solids after afore-mentioned choke/gag got me all filled with fear and crazy. I mention it only because it's been such a defining struggle of this month for me. One I now have enough experience to know will pass. It's my first time feeling that my own fears may be holding you back, though I suspect this may not be the last. Despite the brave soul I aim to be in my mind, I tend toward trepidation at my core. I stick my toes in, then wade to my ankles and stand a good long while before testing whether or not I can swim. In my best moments, I welcome the challenge. In this case, you reward my bravery by proving that you can do it. Look, mom! Hey, I can chew. No big deal. And in those other moments, well, I'm human. 
• Favorite toys include your Peek-a-Who book (there's a mirror on the back page that never fails to elicit a grin), the bird toy with a bell in it, Sophie the giraffe, your music box car mirror and  pretty much any small object you can manage to get into your mouth (oh, the terror.)
• You continue to highlight the hidden joys that our adult-eyes would have otherwise tuned out. The way the leaves outside our kitchen window flutter, the smooth oscillations of the fan, the sound of a wooden spoon on a pan, the delight of warm bath water, the miracle of all the moving parts of our hands coming together to perform 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' yet one more time. It never gets old for you. And we're grateful, as you've made those things, and so much more, new again for us.

Eight Months.

My sweet sparkle,
Eight months (and then some)!? How can this be so!? We've held you in our arms now nearly as long as I held you in my belly. And I'm finally stealing a moment to recap some of our antics this past month. Might be a long one, as we have some makin' up to do. Shall we?

• You've developed the most crowd-pleasing funny face lately. We call it the snort-nose. You wrinkle up your little nose and chortle. We all laugh along with you.
• We might mistake you at times for a baby bear cub...you like to growl. Of course it's adorable.
• Car rides are getting more bearable. Glory be.
• We visited the zoo a couple of times (thanks Nana!) and you seem to be increasingly interested in the animals. The human variety are often the most entertaining.
• We celebrated my first Mother's Day with a trip to our favorite coffee shop and a family afternoon nap. I felt lucky to my toes.
• Mama finished teaching! Wow. We took multitasking to the next level over my first semester as a mama. Thank you for your patience with me, sweet girl. (Soon daddy will finish his course too and you know what that means...summer!)
• You and mama take many an afternoon walk over to the pond by our house. You in the ring sling. Mama in flip flops. Rain and shine. This month we've shared the company of Red-winged Blackbirds, swallows, Canada Geese and two sets of Mallards and mama ducks with babies! "Tweet, tweet. You're so sweet, sweet!" says mama. You grin ear to ear every time.
• We also had the honor of hosting a nest of baby robins. What a bittersweet day when they flew.
• Daddy continues to be your prince charming. You nearly flew out of my arms to him several times this month when we went out to greet him after work. The moment you catch a glimpse through the car window, your eyes light up, giggles commence, feet kick and arms flail.
• New foods you've tried and loved: butternut squash, cheddar cheese, pears, yogurt, sweet potatoes, blueberries and (the clear favorite) cantaloupe. Not ranking high on the list: broccoli, tofu and plums.
• Feeding you yogurt is particularly entertaining. And exercise in dichotomy. Every spoonful warrants a sour face, but soon after you're open-mouthed and begging for more.  Silly goose.
• Working up the courage to give you finger foods again after a scary gagging episode. It happens. I know. But this mama struggles with such things even more than she thought she would. That said, you are pretty good at showing a rice husk who's boss and can take down pieces of banana with style. You're pretty handy with your spoon too. 
• A few days after your 8-month mark you started to scoot. More on that later, as I have some fun pictures to prove it. 
• You like to sleep on your tummy now. I can't blame you. I'm envious.
• The laughs. Oh lovely. You make my soul soar with those laughs. A few things that summon those giggles: tickles (particularly under your arms and above your knees), a few lifts high in the sky, someone else's chuckle...you always join in the fun.
• You have spent some great days with our friends. We are blessed to have a cadre of amazing little buddies (and their awesome parents!) to pal around with. This month held picnics, shopping trips, walks, zoo trips and play dates.
• Some of my favorite moments with you have been the quiet ones. We've spent many moments eye-to-eye after you wake from naps. I tell you stories. You roll over and put your forehead to my cheek. It's sweet and I soak it up. 
• You've also allowed me to rock you back to sleep a few times lately. A fact I savor since I sweated that perfect glider purchase like my life depended on it when I was pregnant (What can I say? I was pregnant...lots of things mattered that didn't really matter.) You've not been the biggest glider fan since your early days, but I think you might be coming around. After you drift off, I make sure to spend some extra time with my nose to the top of your head, just smelling your fresh-out-of-the-bath baby goodness.

You are intoxicating, my love. And just when we think life with you can't get any better. It does. Can't wait to see what the next month brings!

Mom's Day Numero Uno.

Chai + breakfast bagels. Skype with our sweet family. Afternoon naps. Evening at the park. Swings. Flowers. Balloons. Oh yes, and love. Lots of it.

Sunnies.

What a glorious weekend. Encore!

Seven Months.

My sweet, seven-month-old girl. As usual, I'm two weeks late to post, but a few moments to remember from the past month:

• Your first solid foods. Apples. You thought them divine.
• You love to sit in your high-chair and tap your palms on the tray.
• Classical seems to be your preferred tunes. Calms you in the car and we're grateful. 
• Bathtime is still the highlight of your day. We've added toys into the mix and you couldn't be happier. Your swimming turtle that Nana gifted you the Easter you were still in utero is the fave.
• Recent protests of the stroller, coinciding with increased tolerance of the car seat. What gives, girlie!?
• You are so verbal. When you get frustrated you let out a howl that daddy likens to Michael Jackson's "a-hee-hee!" We fully expect your moonwalk to be soon to follow.
• You are now a rolly-polly little monkey. You were a little late to the whole rolling party. Though you did it once or twice, you weren't convinced that there was really any reward for all that hard work until the past couple of weeks. Now, no one can stop you.
• Your smiles continue to melt our hearts. You're very free with them and have used their power to make the days of many a grocery clerk, friendly neighbor, nurse and, well, any other stranger who tells you 'hello.'