Busy, busy, always busy

First of all, I have a new book release, and it is nothing like my others. Elora Goes to the Moons is a children's book I wrote for my youngest daughter, who loves the Moon. I made a weekend project of flying the cartoon version of her through the Solar System. Several of my friends wanted their own copies of the book after seeing my fragile scrapbook version, so I scanned it, uploaded it to Createspace, received a beautiful-looking proof, and made it available in paperback on Amazon. It's handmade and handwritten, and it has a lot of fun little science facts throughout.

I've hidden my epistolary blog, Cavelost. Why? Because it's finished. I've done a couple of editing rounds on it, and today I uploaded the formatted version so I can get a print copy to do final edits and copyedits on. The characters have decided to expand upon their world and make Cavelost the first of a series called The Bacra Chronicles. I'll be starting the next book, Faelost, during NaNoWriMo. Cavelost is told by a former mercenary named Rin Sylleth, who wakes up trapped in a massive cave system. Faelost will be told by Rin's second son, Tessen.

On a sadder note, I lost my cat muse on Friday. Reno passed away suddenly during the night, and we have no explanation for it. Since he was young, only between 4-6 years old, the vet said it was most likely caused by a heart issue. We adopted Reno on Valentine's Day almost two years ago. He helped me out of the doldrums so I could finish writing Sand into Glass and editing The Crystal Lattice, and he sat with me through nearly every word of the three books I've written since. I'm in shock and I'm going to miss him tremendously. I keep expecting to see him lounging on his favorite chair and when I get up in the middle of the night, I run my hand across the end of the bed, expecting him to be there. It's difficult to write without him by my side.

To My Children

To my charismatic son, who brings a burst of energy with him wherever he goes and who has recently discovered swordfighting...

...and to my inquisitive daughter, who thinks underwear make splendid hats and is madly in love with Dora the Explorer,

You are growing up so quickly in a world struggling through change. There are still people out there who think it is best for other people to lie about who they are, who want those who are different to shut their mouths and hide from public sight. I am not one of those people, so don't be afraid to be yourself around me. I don't care who you love, as long as that person treats you with the respect and kindness everyone deserves.

You are very young and I admit I do not know you yet. I know your baby-selves, your toddler-selves, but I have no idea who you will grow to be. I don't know what your interests will be, how your personalities will grow, or what kind or people you will be attracted to. As long as you're not hurting yourselves or others, you have my support to be who your heart tells you to be.

I don't know where your life will take you. Will you want your hair short or long, wildly colored or natural? Will you set fashion trends or dress for comfort? Will you want to be an astronaut or a dancer, a chef or a doctor, a rock star or an engineer? Will you want to play soccer or chess or violin? I will nurture your interests even when they differ from my own because I want you to find what you are good at and what makes you happy and use that to create your own fulfilling life.

I don't know where your love will take you. Who will you plaster in poster form on your bedroom walls? Who will you scrawl secret love notes to in your diary? Who will you ask to your high school prom, and will you want to wear a skirt or pants? Will you choose to marry, will you have children, will you grow old with the same person you loved when you were young or wait until you are older to settle down? I'll help you tape your posters to the wall, giddily take pictures of you with your prom date, dance with you at your wedding, and will support you in any way you need as you make a life with the person you love more than you ever dreamed possible.

Respect yourself and others. Be fearless. Be bold. Be yourself. Never lie about who you are to appease others. Most importantly, love. Platonic or romantic love, male or female or outside or in-between, surround yourself by the people you love and who love you in return, and never let anyone drag you down. If someone tries to hurt you, that person isn't worth your love so leave him or her behind and find a person who is worthy of you.

I hope by the time you are grown up the world has grown up with you. Your parents and much of their generation are striving to make the world better for you. We've come a long way, but still have a bit farther to go, so I hope you forgive us if progress ends up being slower than we hoped. Minds are slow to change and there are still a lot of people who think it is their right to force their personal biases on the rest of society. It's difficult to change tradition, even if the tradition is unjust and cruel. It's time to create new traditions so our children will never again be tormented or denied rights because of who they love.

For now, I want you to grow, learn, play, dream, and laugh. Become the wonderful person I know you will be. A better world will be waiting for you when you grow up.

I love you always,
Mommy

Toddler Puppet Theater

Sometimes my creativity spins off in odd directions and I feel compelled to jump into the vortex after it. Yesterday, instead of writing, I created a puppet theater for my kids. They "helped" by dumping toys and Duplos/Megablocks all over the floor and pulling the cables for the recording equipment out from under the couch, so the basement is fairly trashed for these pictures.

I started with a large but narrow box, duct tape, and a utility knife. After cutting off the flaps, cutting a window, and taping on triangles cut from the flaps for the roof, and reinforcing the center seam with the section cut from the window, I ended up with this:

The top and bottom were left on for stability.

Top view of the roof supports.

 I wasn't sure at first what to cover the box with, but then I found a roll of wood grain patterned contact paper.

I covered the front and sides with the contact paper. Unfortunately, contact paper doesn't stick well to cardboard, so I ended up taping the edges down with packing tape.

The two long-side flaps were reserved for the roof. I taped them together on both sides since one flap on it's own wasn't quite wide enough. The roof was then taped down to the supports.

Next up was shingling. I first cut 12 pieces of felt into shingle shapes, 4 per felt sheet.

 The shingles were glued down in an overlapping pattern.

Completed shingle layout.

 I contemplated how to decorate the theater and decided to cut shapes out of felt. Turbotot thinks clocks are cool, so instead of a window on the gable, I made a clock. The sides are decorated with a sun and a shooting star, which you'll see later.

The curtains are a cheap satiny pillowcase cut in half along the seams. I stapled and pleated it along the upper edge of the window. It was done upside-down so the edge and staples don't show once it's upright and the curtains are hanging down.

 Flipped upright and with the curtains tucked in the window, it looks like this:

Finally, I was ready to add the last touches. I stapled ribbons to the sides of the windows to tie back the curtains. The felt flowers were stapled on before the yellow center was glued. They look nice and hide the unsightly corners of the curtains.

And there we have it, a toddler-sized puppet theater made from a cardboard box, contact paper, a pillowcase, felt, tape, glue, and staples! I tried to get a picture of Turbotot in it with one of his puppets, but he had more important things to do.

Side detail. It wasn't dry yet when I took this, so there is some glue showing.

Side detail.

Nearly-Taciturn Tuesday

Here are some shirts I made for my daughter today.

I'm trying to regain my momentum after a week-long trip to the north and the illness which chased it. The Goodreads giveaway ended last night, so I just shipped out two paperback copies of Shadows of Absolution to the winners. It has been a rough couple of weeks, so that's all for now.

Walk! The Misadventures of Turbotot, Messy Mouse, and Wounded Knee

We start today with a crash.

Turbotot was sitting on the couch when I went into the kitchen to get him a sippy.  I measured his medicine into the cup, added orange juice and water, and closed the lid.  I turned around to go back into the living room and fell on my face.  Turbotot had crept behind me and gotten underfoot again.  He was completely uninjured, but my knee twisted and screamed at me when I straightened it.  I sat on the couch for a few minutes while Turbotot climbed all over my leg and aggravated the pain.

I suppose I should quickly explain why any knee injury is a bad one for me.  When I was 21, I dislocated my knee and had to have it surgically fixed because the joint locked at a 45 degree angle and wouldn't move.  I ended up having extensive damage to the joint and I'm now missing most of the cartilage, some soft tissue, and a chunk of my femur head.  That effectively ended my running and skating days and I'll likely need a joint replacement down the road.

Back to today's adventure.

I didn't want to let a simple achy knee keep us in the house on a 70 and sunny Monday, so I decided to take the kidlets on a walk.  I put Turbotot in the stroller and Messy Mouse in the wrap and away we went.

At the end of the first block, Messy Mouse spit up on the wrap.  No problem.  She has reflux so spitting up is normal for her.  Turbotot pointed across the street and demanded, "That way!"

At the end of the second block, Messy Mouse spit up again.  I stopped to flip her from forward-facing to facing me.  Turbotot simply cannot tolerate stopping under any circumstances.  He screamed, "No!  Move!  That way, that way!"

Messy Mouse continued to spit up at a rate of one teaspoon per block.  My shirt was a little wet and I contemplated the irony of a "Go Vegan" shirt covered in regurgitated breastmilk.

We reached the halfway point of our route.  The fun accelerated.

My shoe came untied, so I crouched to tie it.  I had to reach around the baby in the wrap without making her head tip back too far.  Meanwhile, Turbotot spotted a group of kids playing basketball in a driveway.  He began to point and scream, "Kids!  Kids!  Play basketball!  I play basketball!"  His "basketball" sounds a lot more like "diaper pail" than anything else.  By the time I stood up, he was tantruming and trying to climb out of his stroller.  I kept limping on my now-painful knee and he kept tantruming.

We barely passed the kids before the next bit of fun occurred.  Messy Mouse gave me a big smile, then simultaneously barfed the remaining contents of her stomach down my shirt and filled her diaper with a grunt and a tremendous squirt.  We still had half a mile to go.

We kept walking, Turbotot kept screaming about "diaper pail", and my shirt was beginning to feel a bit... moist.  And not just from the barf.  I picked up the pace.

Turbotot gave up on "diaper pail" and returned to screaming, "That way!  That way!"  He took off his shoes and threw them into a yard.  Messy Mouse fell asleep in a puddle of her own barf.  I retrieved the errant shoes and slipped them back on Turbotot's feet.  We crossed the street and there were three blocks to go.

Finally, we were on our own block.  Turbotot squirmed in the stroller, whimpering, "Kids.  Kids."  There were no kids outside today on our block.  Spring break whisked them off into the unknown.  We live on the top of a hill and I could barely walk by the time we got to the driveway.  My knee was stiff and swollen in addition to throwing knife-like pain into my femur.

With Turbotot screaming, "Door open!", we went inside.  He laid on the floor in the entry way and cried while I went upstairs with Messy Mouse still in the wrap.  I took her out of the wrap and laid her on the changing table.  I was a victim of the world's grossest wet t-shirt contest.  In addition to barfing all over me, Messy Mouse had experienced an extreme diaper blowout.  Extreme!  I don't know how she does it... Turbotot never had a blowout with cloth, but Messy Mouse does almost every day.  I cleaned her up, managed to get my shirt off without getting anything in my hair, and immediately started a load of laundry.

Now I'm sitting on the couch with ice on my knee, which is starting to bruise.  Turbotot is begging to go back outside.  I don't think so, kidlet.  I don't care if it's only 2:30, Mommy has had enough adventure for today.  We'll do it again tomorrow.  Probably with the same results.  And I'm inexplicably okay with that.  I choose the "Yeah, Whatever" approach, and move on.

This is not my knee.  This is my thigh.  My knee is in another castle.  Someday I will make it through all of the levels of the garage and rescue the pictures of the interior of my trashed knee, because they are pretty cool and worth finding again.

Please Read to the Children

I read the article Reading to Kids in Decline in UK this morning.  It has shocked me in recent years to learn how few people read at all these days.  Many adults have not picked up a book since they were assigned one in school.  I have friends who told me, "Tell me when the movie comes out," when they found out I wrote books.  Way too many friends.  It made it difficult for me to find proofreaders.  Everyone was too busy or claimed they didn't like to read.  I have trouble understanding this point of view because I've always read anything and everything I can get my hands on.

There is a plague of poor grammar and spelling in modern society.  Many native English speakers are not even fluent in their own primary language anymore.  Don't believe me?  Spend some time on Facebook.  You can't comprehend the world around you if you can't interpret the words necessary to describe it.  We need to break out of the trend of willful societal ignorance if humanity is ever going to accomplish anything beyond petty bickering, warfare, and mere survival.  Language and literacy give us tools to not only understand the world, but also to understand each other.  Reading shows us new perspectives, without which we are left unable to empathize with our philosophically diverse neighbors.

We need to make a conscious effort to salvage education and literacy for the next generation.  Read to your children.  It surprises me how many people don't.  I know people who have maybe two or three books for their young children and sometimes even fewer for themselves.  My household has hundreds.  Make a habit of reading to your children right from birth and let them see you reading on your own as well.  Don't think you have time?  Feeding time is and excellent opportunity for reading aloud to babies.  They don't care what you read.  It can be a magazine, a cereal box, a children's book, or whatever you are currently reading.  They need to hear your voice and reading helps them develop their early grammar, vocabulary, and comprehension skills.  It is absolutely necessary to read to children to develop their young minds, and there is no excuse for neglecting that aspect of their cognitive development.  Ebooks can be great compliments to a child's library, but they need physical books as well.  They need to see and touch the pictures and pages to trigger development in different areas of their brains.

My children are being raised on Seuss and Sagan, L'Engle, Pratchett, Gaiman, and the Berenstains.  My toddler has recently started "reading" books back to us, a huge milestone in pre-literacy.  I started reading to him on his first day.  He had four words by nine months old, and at twenty-seven months, he has an extensive vocabulary, speaks in sentences, and has a good sense of plurals and grammar.  Now, some of that may be a result of his innate intelligence and personality, but I also know that nurturing the language centers of his brain from the very beginning contributed to his development.  Children learn by seeing, hearing, and doing.  He sees and hears me read, and now he is gradually working toward doing it on his own.  He loves his books and always sleeps with at least one in his bed at night.  My daughter is being read to as well, and I look forward to seeing how her language skills develop compared to her brother.  That might be my psychology background speaking, but that is okay.  Life is a series of causes and effects, and reading to your children has a life-long effect on them.  They can't change the world for the better without a having foundation on which to construct their structures.

Strawberry Tot

My toddler would eat nothing but strawberries if I allowed it.  Even sick with a double ear infection, he keeps asking for more.  His words have evolved.  He used to call them 'bees', then 'berries', and now at twenty-six  months, he can finally say 'strawberries'.  He will eat an entire pint before I can even eat one.

What I can't get him to swallow tonight is orange juice.  I had the pharmacy flavor his medication orange so I could mix it in with his juice instead of having to pin him down and pinch his nose to force him to swallow.  It has been a fight all week and it's wearing me down.  He is twenty-five pounds of sinewy toddler, and far stronger than he looks.  He thinks he hates me right now, so his daddy is getting plenty of cuddles while home on his own sick day.

My toddler loves mushrooms, edamame, tofu, and snap peas, but his favorite food is rice.  We did baby-led weaning with him, so he was eating apples right off the core at ten months.  He has recently decided that bread crusts are no good for anything other than marking his territory.  My little Hansel has been leaving crusts all over the house so he can find his way out of the enchanted basement when the wicked witch tries to get him to take Tylenol.  He spits out the liquid kind, and screams "No!" when I try the chewables.  They really need to come out with a gummy version, because he takes his gummy vitamins just fine.

We have to be careful with my toddler.  In May, he had an anaphylactic reaction to mango.  He is also lactose intolerant, but that's not much of an issue since our household is vegan.  The mango is the bigger problem because of the current popularity of tropical flavors.  Mango makes an appearance in trail mixes, smoothies, teas, fruit snacks, popsicles, lotions, sunblocks, and Indian food (as amchoor and in chutney).  He can't eat anything tropical with "natural flavors" listed on the ingredients.  We carry an Epi-Pen everywhere he goes and have trained our babysitters how to use it just in case a new allergy pops up.  The mango was sudden onset after a few non-reactive exposures.  I gave him diluted mango-peach-pineapple juice and he blew up into hives and started vomiting.  We don't have anything mango in the house anymore, and the only time I've gotten to eat it was when we went on vacation without him.

I'm afraid of what allergies my children will develop.  My husband and I both have food allergies, so the probability is high for all of our children having food allergies.  I don't want to live in fear over potential reactions, but I still have to be really cautious about what they eat and how new foods are introduced. We take food introductions slowly and deliberately.  It has worked so far and my toddler is not a particularly picky eater.  Strawberries are still a safe food, so my toddler can eat them all he wants.  Maybe someday he'll decide broccoli is his favorite food instead, so I can get more than one strawberry for myself from the containers I buy.

Another Sick Day

My son is curled up on the couch, pretending to nurse his baby doll.  Every once in a while, he strokes her head or kisses her.  He's wearing Cars pajamas and has a purple bow in his hair.  He stole it from the bathroom drawer and asked me to put it in his hair.  He smiles at me, but I can tell he's not feeling well.  His right eye is stained crimson from a ruptured capillary and his temperature occasionally spikes as high as 103.  He's having chills, but he is still cuddling his baby doll.  He won't let me touch him.  I know his skin is hypersensitive because of the fever, so I let him decide when he wants contact.

Meanwhile, my daughter is content in her bouncy seat.  She bats at a dangling toucan and giggles at her reflection in the mirror.  She wears a football-themed sleeper, but her features are undeniably feminine.  I usually dress her in her brother's old clothes and leave her peach fuzz hair unadorned, but no one has ever tried to call her a boy unless her face isn't showing.  Right now, she is happy and healthy and I hope my milk is protecting her from this flu.  I tried to give her brother some in a sippy, but he will only drink it if he is desperately thirsty.  I think it's a little strange considering he only weaned three months ago, at the age of twenty-three months.

I spend today in a state of waiting.  Waiting for my son to start feeling better.  Waiting to call the collision shop so I can get the car repaired (I backed into my neighbor's car in November after she parked it too close to the end of our driveway in a blind spot), waiting for my friend to come over so I can help feed another baby.  I have 257oz of milk in my freezer for her.  My little girl has helped me donate 400oz so far and she's only eleven weeks old.  When I'm feeling down about not being able to fit in my clothes or my itchy stretch marks, I remember that and it makes me feel a bit lighter.  So what if my body isn't perfect when it can do such amazing things?  It can grow, birth, and feed babies.  It can snuggle them when they are sick.  It can chase them when they try to run away at the park.  It can hug them when they need reassurance.

My son's fever has broken again and he's now in the corner playing with his cars.  He is both nurturing and traditionally boyish.  I encourage him to express his interests, just as I will encourage my daughter when she is old enough to be interested in things other than faces.  If they want to dance, they can dance.  If they want be singers, or physicists, or doctors, that is fine.  I don't care if they want to wear pants or dresses, or if the people they love end up being men, women, or somewhere in between.  They never have to hide because they will grow up knowing I'll love them no matter who they are.

Star Baby

Star baby, water baby, who are you, little girl?
You look like me and came from me, but you are not me.
You are a dreamer already, but what are your dreams?
Is there music in your soul, or physics, or poetry?
Do you wish to soar through the universe,
Or would you rather stay closer to home?
I'll help you either way, my star baby, my water baby,
I'll help you find your dreams and make them your reality.
Your future belongs to you and I am just your guide.
Sleep now, sweet baby, and dream your favorite dreams.
Weave your dreams, my baby, let me rock you to sleep.

Someday

Someday, I won't have to wonder if there is vomit in my hair or on my shirt when I go to the grocery store.
Someday, I will take a shower without seeing tiny hands and noses pressed up against the glass.
Someday, I will be able to use the bathroom without hearing, "Mommy!  Look!  Look, Mommy!"
Someday, I will be able to take my family in public without worrying about my son running amok and yelling "Boobs!" as loud as his little lungs will let him.
Someday, my daughter won't cry when she is hungry, but will use words instead.
Someday, I will perform my last diaper change and pack the fluff away in favor of colorful underwear.
Someday, my children will decide they no longer need me to cuddle them to sleep in my bed in order to take a nap.
Someday, it will take less than two hours and three clothing changes to leave the house.
Someday, I won't hear "Watch Elmo?  Watch Elmo?  Mario Cart?" when we go in the basement.
Someday, my underclothes won't need snaps at the shoulders and my freezer will not be in danger of a milk avalanche.
Someday, the dining room floor won't be sticky.
Someday, I will no longer need to step over baby gates to navigate the house.
Someday, little blue eyes will no longer be excited when I raise my shirt.
Someday, I won't be struggling to pull a shirt over anyone's head in the middle of a tantrum.
Someday, I won't be giving anyone else a bath.
Someday, my children will no longer want me to read to them before bed.

And on that day I will miss all of it.
And on that day I'll know it all went by too fast.
It's hard sometimes to remember this when I'm struggling.
I have to take a deep breath, close my eyes, and remember they won't be little for long.
The days are too slow, but the years are too fast.

Time Warp

So... it's been a bit too long.  Mommy brain took over and this blog fell neglected.  It was all worth it, though.  On December 8, I gave birth to an awesome and beautiful little girl named Lyra.  She weighed 6lb 4oz and came flying into the world by way of a water-filled tub in a beautiful new birth center.  She was sunny-side-up, had her hand at her face, and graced me with a mere 6 hours of active labor.  She's already helped me donate a gallon of milk to a needy baby and there will be plenty more to add to that gallon.  In more masculine news, my son has grown into a rambunctious two-year-old and is really putting a new spin on "terrible twos".

I haven't been able to focus enough to get back into writing yet, but I did decide against conventional publishing this morning and I'm now on Amazon.  Everything is going digital these days and I wasn't really up for waiting months or years on rejections from publishers and agents, so I just reformatted them and made them available for Kindle.  And why not?  I didn't write them for money, I wrote them because I was inspired.

My E-Books! (if all four of them aren't up yet, they should be soon.)
So, here I am.  Here are my verbose babies, set loose into a world that probably doesn't care.  But that wasn't the point.  No point letting them hang around on my laptop anymore when there are new ideas echoing around in my head.

I Bought My Son a Baby Doll

My one year old loves babies.  He loves to say "baby", he loves to look at babies, even pictures of babies, and he loves to play with babies.  Lately he has been "borrowing" dolls from a couple of his playmates.  He was playing with one yesterday at a playgroup and was talking as he examined the hands of the doll.  One of the other moms I was with realized what he was saying -- "fingers."  When the doll's owner took it back, my son crawled over to a younger baby, patted him on the head, and said "good baby".

I decided to take him to the toy store after my yoga class this morning.  I have to say it is very difficult to find an appropriate doll for a one year old boy.  I had a whole list of mental criteria -- no small parts like removable shoes, no bottles, soft body, not too feminine, no batteries, identifiable body parts (fingers, toes) for teaching.  I was looking for a boy doll, but the only one they had was way too big for a toddler to carry around.  I wanted to find him something fairly small and cuddly, but it still had to look like a baby.

There were lots of dolls and lots of pink.  Lots of names like "Little Mommy", and every doll was geared exclusively toward little girls.  Boys had action figures, guns.  All hard plastic and nothing soft.  Rowan loves soft stuffed animals, but animals aren't very good for teaching a toddler about human toes and noses and shoulders.  He ended up picking out his own doll, a little baby doll wrapped in a blue blanket.  It has a soft body and molded limbs and head, and Rowan's eyes lit up excitedly when he saw it.  It is a girl baby, and I didn't realize it was dressed mostly in pink until we got home.  That's all right.  He might have a little sister someday anyways.  He is curled up on the floor sleeping with his new friend right now.  A quilt of NFL team fabric is keeping them warm.

It perplexes me that so many parents wouldn't allow their little boys to play with "girl" toys like dolls, kitchens, and crafts.  I want my son to know how to mend torn clothes.  I want him to be able to prepare a tasty meal.  I want him to be nurturing and know how to handle babies.  He'll be a big brother eventually, after all.  He is a very rough and tumble little guy, so learning how to be calm and gentle with a little baby is a necessity.  I'm currently trying to teach him not to hit babies or poke their faces, and since we aren't around babies more than a couple times a week, a doll is becoming the stand-in for a real baby.

I think some of the things "girl" toys can teach are basic life skills -- cooking, mending, household chores, child care.  Why are those things marketed as gender-specific.  If we eventually have a girl, I won't think anything of her wearing her brother's blue hand-me-downs, playing with trucks, and participating in sports.  We draw the line at guns for both genders, since I won't let my children play with inherently violent toys.  I want him to play house because he will eventually be living in a house or apartment of his own.  I want him to play with stuffed animals and dolls because he might decide to have a pet or have children.  I'm going to teach him how to sew and cook because his grandmother never taught her boys such things and so they never learned.  It gets a little frustrating for me that my husband cannot even prepare a simple meal or sew on a button, especially if I am sick in bed and those things need to be done.

Our society is still so hung-up on gender roles that often people can't see the incredible merit of treating all toys as gender-neutral.  I am not turning my little guy into a sissy.  I am giving him another opportunity to learn, an opportunity for imaginative play and mental growth.  He is learning about communication and responsibility.  He is learning not to hit people with plastic bats or drumsticks.  There are appropriate toys to hit with those objects, but a baby doll isn't one of them.  He is learning how to be a big brother before he becomes one, and hopefully that eventually translates into him being a respectful adult, one who doesn't expect his partner to do all the chores, one who cleans up after himself and is gentle with other human beings and animals.

It is a very long process to instill such traits in a child, but children learn best through play.  If they are allowed to play with a variety of toys, it helps prepare them for the rest of their lives while still allowing them to be children.  I don't want my son to act like an adult just because he has a doll, a set of megablocks, and a drum.  I just want him to learn and grow and explore the world so that in seventeen years, he will be slowly transformed into a responsible young adult.  I am letting him grow up to be whatever he wants to be, and I am giving him the tools to do so.  A little guidance, a little luck, some toys and games, a lot of time, and a lot of love.

One Year Ago and Today

One Year Ago -- A birth story
I wasn't expecting to go into labor for at least another two weeks.  I had my routine weekly OB appointment on December 17th and had absolutely no progress. I was horribly uncomfortable and hoped she would tell me something was changing.  The baby was still high up and cozy.  My doctor asked me about induction and I told her I didn't want to be induced without medical reason.  She was fine with it, and told me she'd let me go until 42 weeks, which would have put me around January 12th.  My original due date was December 29th, so I was at 38 weeks.  Despite my discomfort, I was going to let the baby come when he was ready, especially since he was predicted to be quite small.

I got home from the doctor and had a breakdown.  My hormones were going wild.  Every little thing made me cry.  A calender, a baby on a TV show, even my cats.  I went through work on December 18th with tears in my eyes.  My heartburn flared.  I was on an emotional roller coaster, and it was really the only time in my pregnancy that I was in that spot.  I was always so calm and cool, even when I was working 20 hours of overtime a week for months straight.

We made plans for the weekend.  The 20th was my husband's birthday.  We bought movie tickets and set a time to go to the art museum.  We bought groceries.  We sat on the couch and watched a movie and then went to bed.

I had woken up several times each night ever since I was 6 weeks along, so waking up in the middle of the night on the 19th was nothing unusual.  I went to the bathroom, and I wiped away a glob of goo and a little blood, again nothing too unusual, since it happened every time I was checked by the doctor.  I woke up a final time at 6:30am and when I stood up after using the toilet, a large amount of liquid ran down my leg.  I thought I might have urinated on myself, a common pregnancy problem, but when I shifted, it happened again and I noticed that there was a little bit of pink in the liquid.

I woke up my husband and he groggily rolled out of bed after I told him I thought my water had broken.  He has always been a really difficult person to wake up, so I think it took him a good 10 minutes to figure out what I was telling him.  Since we weren't expecting labor for a couple more weeks, we didn't even have our bags packed.  We got our things together and called the doctor.  My doctor wasn't on call on Saturdays, so we ended up talking to another in her practice.

We headed to the hospital at 9:30.  I was still only having light cramping instead of noticeable contractions, but since my water had broken and I had tested positive for Group B Strep, I was told to come in so I could start antibiotics.  The hospital we had chosen was a 20 minute drive and it was snowing lightly.  My husband made me sit on towels over a garbage bag because I was making a mess.

I had pre-registered at the hospital and we had called ahead, so they knew I was coming.  We walked to our L&D room and the nurse tested and confirmed that what I was leaking was amniotic fluid.  It took two nurses and an anesthesiologist to get the hep-lock in my arm.  I have terrible veins for sticking.  They are tough, roll, and have many valves that tend to blow.  It took seven sticks to get the hep-lock in so I could get started on antibiotics.  I ended up getting fluids at some point later because I ended up vomiting throughout my labor and couldn't even keep down ice chips.

I had a check and was only at 2cm and still wasn't having significant contractions.  At around 11am, I had my first real contraction, a ten-minute long tetanic nightmare.  I held onto a steady tone, a D-flat, and breathed through the contraction, but the monitor showed that my baby's heart rate had dropped as a result of the extreme contraction.  It didn't go back up when the contraction ended.  I got onto my hands and knees and the nurse gave me an oxygen mask and the change in position made his heart rate go back up to normal.

The doctor came in and told me that if it happened again and a position change didn't help, they'd be taking me for a Cesarean.  As it was, I wouldn't be able to use the jacuzzi tub because he wanted me hooked up to the external monitor.  I was still only 2cm dilated so the tetanic did nothing for progression.  The doctor wanted to give me pitocin, but I told him no.  I told him I wanted some time to try to progress on my own and only use interventions if absolutely necessary.

I spent the next hour and a half bouncing on a birthing ball while playing Diablo 2 on my laptop and watching Kung Fu Panda.  My method worked and I progressed to 4cm two hours after the pitocin threat.  I didn't get on the bed until transition.  I spent the next 9 hours or so on the ball, standing and leaning over, walking, rocking in a chair, and in the shower when they let me go off the monitor for a while.  My baby's heart rate stayed up.  I rocked through the contractions.  Even when I was just standing, I was dancing, swaying side to side.  We listened to music, played games, and watched movies for distraction.  A friend came by to bring my husband dinner around 5, but other than that, it was just him, me, and the nurses.  The anesthesiologist came by once to tell me that he could give me a high epidural despite my spina bifida, but I basically told him off.  There was no way I was going to let anyone stick anything in my spine.  I was handling the pain really well and I didn't need anyone trying to tell me that I should just take the drugs.

I'm not sure when I hit transition, somewhere around 9 or 9:30pm.  At that point, I couldn't stand up anymore because the pain was constant.  I kept humming my D-flat while lying on my side, rocking front to back.  At 10:20 I was ready to push.  The nurse told us the baby had a lot of dark hair.  I never felt the crowning or the "ring of fire".  I pushed with each contraction, which greatly relieved the pain.

At 10:49pm on December 19, 2009, my son Rowan was born and was placed on my chest while my husband cut the cord and I was stitched up.  He had a full head of black hair and dark blue-indigo eyes.  He was a hairy little guy.  He even had fine, dark hair on his forehead, ears, back, and arms.  His hairline and eyebrows were connected.  He was a tiny guy, weighing in at 6lbs 5oz and was 18.5 inches long.  He had quite a conehead, which resolved over the next 12 hours.  He had an incredible set of lungs, which he still likes to demonstrate.  He was extremely alert, active, and rooting like mad.  We had a little trouble initiating nursing because his mouth was tiny, but he got it after a while.  He kept looking at me with those big bright eyes.  He was absolutely beautiful.

I had such an endorphin rush that I couldn't sleep for 12 hours after birth.  I was out of bed 30 minutes after being stitched up and was able to take a shower an hour later when my husband went with Rowan for his first bath.  I turned the bathroom into a crime scene, but getting on my feet so quickly was definitely a major perk of natural birth.  Rowan was brought back to me in the room we'd be staying in and we snuggled up for some more latching practice while my husband slept.  I think he was far more tired than I was.

My regular doctor came to visit the next morning.  She kept calling me a "rock star" because of the way I handled my labor.  I was always calm and in control.  She was surprised that I was out of bed and moving around when she came in.  I guess they don't get many unmedicated births, even though it was a low-intervention hospital with the lowest Cesarean rate in the area.   He ended up going to the nursery for a couple of hours because he had trouble maintaining his body temperature even with skin-to-skin contact, but he was completely healthy.  He was better able to maintain his body temperature and we were home 36 hours after he was born and on to our great adventure.

Today I am nursing a toddler
The in-between matters, but this isn't about the year, it is about a year ago and today, so that is what I will observe.

My little boy's first birthday is today.  Instead of a helpless itty bitty baby, I now have an independent-minded tiny tot who asks for milk, and eagerly crawls to me to get it.  Our cuddle time is better than ever, since milk time is the only time he wants to sit still.  Rowan is busy exploring the world, but always comes crawling back to me when he needs a little milk.  He isn't walking yet, but he makes up for that by being a very early talker.  He started asking for "nana" at 8 months, and now he asks for "meh".  His first three words were "mama", "dada", and "kitty", and now he has added book baby, yeah, hi, up, crackers, done, more, stinky, poopy, Loki, Rhappy (sometimes called Pawpaw by him... her full name is Rhapsody), play, my, and done.  He is extremely animated and only falls asleep on accident.  He is observant and doesn't want to miss anything.  I get comments from strangers all the time on how smart they think he looks.  There just seems to be some light in those gray-brown eyes (used to be blue, but not anymore).

We're halfway to my vague goal of two years for breastfeeding.  The dynamic of our nursing sessions has changed considerably, even just in the last month.  He's faster now because he wants to get back to playing.  It is a huge change from the 45 minute marathons of even 3 months ago.  Our positioning has become acrobatic as he first learned to hold his head up, then sit, then crawl, and now stand.  The teeth weren't even a challenge after the initial problems I had with severe engorgement that lasted for over two weeks and Reynaud's phenomenon vasospasms.  He's got 8 teeth now and the points of a couple molars are starting to make an appearance.  He only nips when he's falling asleep, and only once did he nip hard enough to draw blood.

We've dealt with RSV/bronchiolitis (and a 4 day hospitalization), coxsackievirus, and gastroenteritis, but Rowan made it through his first year without an ear infection, diaper rash, or food allergy.  The last one was a huge concern for us, since DH and I both have food allergies, mine multiple and severe.  Rowan is vegan and loves to eat beans, tofu, leafy greens, tempeh, and mushrooms.  He chowed down on a pineapple cupcake at his birthday party, and followed it up with a few minutes of mommy milk before he went back to being overwhelmed by wrapping paper, sparkles, bows, and too many toys.

All the nursing pain I went through at the beginning was worth it just for this moment.  Rowan sprawled on my lap, napping off his party, a drop of milk still on his chin.  He is worth the hours and hours I spent pumping at work before I left my job.  He is healthy and intelligent and fantastic.  We are heading into unknown territory with toddler nursing, but I decided a while ago that I absolutely do not care if the ignorant criticize my parenting style.  I look down on my lap and see not an infant, but a little boy who still has a lot of growing to do, a little boy whose future is still forming, and I am only writing the prologue. 

To my little boy, the insomniac

You are sleeping now, finally.  Every nap and every night is a fight, but once you are asleep, you stay asleep.  Still, it is a fortunate day when you nap, and an even more fortunate night when you fall asleep before midnight.  I get you to sleep by cuddling you in a dark room for an hour or more, but I usually end up asleep before you.  All of my waking moments belong to you, and I am afraid to move you when you nap or you won't nap at all.

I know you don't want to miss anything.  I know the world is new and exciting and now that you are mobile, there is so very much to see.  Your personality is starting to settle in, and what I see more than anything is overwhelming curiosity.  You have always been so alert and so aware of your surroundings, even as a newborn you looked into the eyes of others and began to understand.

Thanks to your grandmother, you have more toys than we know what to do with, but you don't care much for them.  You'd rather sit outside under the trees, swing in the park, and steal electronic devices and skeins of yarn off the couch.  The world is your toy.  The world is yours to mold under your creative will.  You are already manipulating your environment through pillow forts, figuring out the mechanics of baby gates, and removal of wall outlet covers.

Little one, it surprised me when you began to speak even though you weren't even nine months old yet.  You still only have a couple of words, but you know how to use them.  Early talker, late mover, and you are just now figuring out how to sit up on your own without being placed.  Maybe you just didn't have anyone to model that after.  After meeting another little boy and watching him cruise on furniture, you had the cruising skill mastered within days.

You are growing up so fast.  Every day is a new skill.  You are 10 months old and perfect.  Soon you won't be a baby anymore and will never be a baby again.  Soon I'll have to set you loose on the world and see where your exuberant personality and obvious intelligence take you.  You'll always be my baby, but I resign myself to knowing that one day you will be a man.

For now I'd rather watch you sleep, innocent one.  You are cuddled up on my lap, snoring softly.  You are beautiful and happy, energetic and inquisitive.  I will hold on to these moments to recall in the future days when you are a sullen teenager and a busy adult.  Silky hair, soft skin, color-changing eyes, a slight smile when you sleep.  I'm saving this moment for later.  I am slowly raising you and teaching you to be a wonderful person, but for now, sleep, dream, play, learn, and live surrounded by love.

Just Play

I am not a grown-up. I am old enough by far to qualify as one, and I am an adult. I feel like the moment I grow up is the moment I forget how to play. I don't want to forget. I don't want to be serious. I show restraint most of the time, but sometimes I just need to let loose and run through the trees, lost in a fantasy. Am I a woodland fairy, a deer, a hawk soaring low on the hunt? I want to keep my vivid imagination intact.  I can't write unless I can put myself in the mind of another, and I need to hold on to the child in me to do that.

I am a responsible adult.  I have an engineering degree, a mortgage, a family.  I had a "real" job until it became evident that I wasn't getting paid enough to make it worth the stress once I subtracted gas and daycare from my wages.  I am responsible for the little man crawling joyfully around my feet right now.  He is looking up at me and smiling and I am playing with him even while writing this.  We are playing "hide the mouse from the baby".  Sometimes that is all it takes to entertain.  I am his mother, his caretaker, his soul provider of nutrition for the first six-and-a-half months of his life, his playmate, his diaper changer.  If I ever forget how to play, how could we relate so flawlessly?  I can make toys from paper and plastic bottles, create soft friendly bears from a ball of yarn and some stuffing.  My imagination frees us from the need for manufactured toys, though we have a houseful thanks to my mother.

There is too much seriousness in the world.  Too much grown-up behavior.  Take a break from it.  Forget about your job and your bills for a few minutes and play with your children.  Pretend.  Be the dragon to their knights and princesses.  Go out side and make up stories about clouds and birds.  Paint a picture together.  If you don't have children, play anyways.  It's refreshing, really, it is.  Sled down a hill, roll in the grass, jump in a pile of leaves, just do something!  Life is so much better when you allow yourself a moment of fun within the otherwise endless doldrums of routine responsibility.