Wren's Birth Story

There are really 2 stories here. One is the actual labor and delivery and one is the journey to it. I’ll cover the first here in case it just gets too long to bear…

Disclaimer: This is a very personal story. I wrote it because the details were already getting fuzzy and I wanted to hang onto every morsel. And I wrote it for Wren. I didn't filter, so prepare yourself for the whole truth.

I’d had cramps for 2 nights (Thursday and Friday) and had a feeling things were moving along. Mind you, this was right after my last OB appointment where I was still 1 cm and “no progress”. Saturday night I had contractions all night but nothing terribly painful. Still, they were consistent and kept me up most of the night. I called Mom Sunday morning and asked her to come get Day, that I wasn’t sure if anything would really happen that day, but that Ken and I needed to spend some time together and rest because it was likely things would happen “soon”. I didn’t realize just how “soon”. I got off the phone with her and lost my mucus plug. (side note: mucus plug and bloody show are about the grossest descriptions of anything pregnancy related. I wish there was some other phrase for that.)

I had contractions all day Sunday. They were not painful, just uncomfortable. I called my midwife (second half of the story) and doula to let them know what was going on. Both said to keep them posted on any changes. Ken and I went to breakfast at Tinn Lizzie and I chowed on some greasy truck driver food. We napped, watched TV, took a walk, just had an easy day. All the while, contractions were about every 10-15 minutes. Around 4:30 PM, I needed a change of scenery so we went riding back roads. Although it was so nice to get out and ride in the country, the gravel got to be too much and we came home. And guess what… STALL. Nothing happened. No contractions for an hour, then two, three. I called Norma (midwife) and Toni (doula) to let them know that it looked like Wren had changed her mind.

I decided that if I was not going to have a baby that night, that I at least was going to have a glass of wine. Being Sunday, my only option was to bum some wine off somebody. Luckily I have a large group of wine drinking friends and knew I could score some good red wine… and likely in my neighborhood. So, we went over to the Gavin’s house, me in my ugliest maternity knit pants, feeling a little like I’d just had to drop out of a race that I’d been training for months for. We visited for a while, than came home to go to bed.

I woke up about 10 PM with a contraction that I knew was different. It didn’t necessarily take my breath away, but it certainly got my attention. I had a couple more, woke Ken up, got in the bath, and we talked about what to do. The contractions were requiring a lot more concentration…. I no longer wanted to talk through them. We called Toni and Norma, who both upon hearing of the change, started on their way here.

This is where things get hazy. Sequentially, it’s hard to say how this all happened. I couldn’t concentrate on timing anything or on what time it was. I was just getting through the contractions. Toni arrived about 30 minutes before Norma and was timing the contractions. She updated Norma when she got there. Norma checked on me, then left to go get her husband checked into a hotel who had come with her from Grenada. This was a little confusing to me because I felt like I needed attending. But as the night progressed, I learned to take cues from Norma as to what was happening and at what pace. She has a gift for being able to watch and know how slowly or quickly things are happening without even touching me.

She was back around 1 AM and checked me for dilation at my request. ONE centimeter. This news was tough. To me, it meant all the pain I was feeling was for nothing. This very struggle was one I had with myself the entire labor. It was a mental challenge not to allow myself to get discouraged when things weren’t happening the way I thought they “should” be. Part of my life-issue… needing to control the situation. Well, God certainly used this experience to drive home a point in that area of my life! Norma, Toni, and Ken were all great about keeping me focused and encouraged. Toni kept reminding me that EVERY contraction was bringing me closer to my baby. That EVERY sensation was progress. That labor WAS happening.

Norma said that we needed to all try to get some sleep. Ken and I got in the bed, Toni insisted on sitting on the floor next to me (I promise I offered her a chair.) and Norma went back to the hotel for a couple of hours. I’m pretty sure at this point I was starting to moan through the contractions. I also needed a hand to hold and squeeze, so Toni and Ken woke up with me every 5 minutes or so and let me hold onto them through the contractions. Around 3 AM, I was feeling a LOT of back pain and was having a harder time managing the contractions. I’d been in and out of the bath and few times, tried getting comfortable in the bed, tried walking, but I was just restless and tired at the same time. We called Norma and she came back to stay.

Between 3 AM and daylight, it was just one contraction after another. Sips of water or ginger ale or juice between each one. I’d feel the contraction coming on, grab somebody, Toni would push my back with her magic doula hands, and I would climb to the top of the hill, all the while wondering where the damn top of it was. And eventually, it would crest and I’d feel it recede. I had to really just lock myself into my own head during the contractions because they required so much effort. A few times during the peak of the pain, Ken would let out a big cough and I would startle “awake”, glare at him, lose my focus, and get pissed. He was such a great sport about my complaints. He never stopped trying to help, he never retreated or got his feelings hurt. He stayed with me through every contraction (well, except when he was cooking breakfast or getting a break from time to time.)

Wren had turned into a posterior position at some point. My guess is the week before when I had that horrible stomach bug, because after that I felt her movements in different places than I had been feeling them. Posterior means her back was more to my back than to my front. Bottom line is this is not the ideal way to labor and causes a lot of back pain. Toni The Magic Doula laid her blessed hands on my back for EVERY SINGLE CONTRACTION. This woman has a physically intense job. She never complained, never took any deep exasperated breaths like I’m sure I would have been doing if I was her. She never gave any indication that what she was doing was difficult, or even work. She was simply offering her service with love. Wow… what a lesson. I’m going to be processing on that one for a long time to come. Norma had me working in a few different positions to coax Wren into an anterior position. And they worked but only temporarily. Wren insisted on getting back into a posterior position every time.

At daylight, we all went into the kitchen and had breakfast. But because Ken can’t cook “just” breakfast, we also had baked chicken breasts, rice, and salad to go with our eggs and biscuits. I couldn’t eat much but I knew I needed the energy.

At this point I had no idea how much longer we had. There were a hand full of moments through the process that I really had to just let it out and lose myself. I would cry and plead for somebody to just tell me how much longer, give me an attainable short term goal, give me ANY indication that this was going to happen soon. But in true natural birth fashion, Toni and Norma insisted on letting me work all that out without pacifying me with half lies. They didn’t know how much longer. Only God was in control of that. My only short term goal was to get through the next contraction, and their response to how likely I would be holding my baby soon… likely, but what does soon mean???

I remember asking Toni, how likely is it that this will happen today? Very likely. How likely before noon? Possibly. How likely in the next few hours? Hard to tell. You get my point. They allowed me to work through those frustrations on my own, and they did it with love. I’m so glad they did. It was one of the greatest lessons in all of this. And a repeat of a life lesson that God has been trying to teach me for years… STOP trying to coordinate things and allow them to unfold. It is HIS plan and HIS timing that we ultimately want anyway. Not ours.

Back to the event… I started feeling “funny”. I was shaky and thought maybe this was transition. Looking back, I think it was more that I was losing my energy and had just exhausted myself. I asked Norma to check me and I was 4-6 cm. Norma is a smart lady. I’m sure she could have narrowed it down to a specific number, but she didn’t. She left me the option of freaking out because I was “only” four or rejoicing because I was “already” six. I didn’t do either though. At this point, I was surrendering to the process and just riding it out. I know now that surrendering like that allowed me to progress much quicker for the last part of the labor.

The contractions were intense. I was squatting on Norma, hanging on Ken, clawing on Toni, hands and knees, standing up, lying on my side, just surviving each one as best I could. Moaning through them became crucial. And the tone of the moan made a difference in how I was coping. Norma and Toni helped me keep my tones low. When I would start to feel out of control and the tones would elevate, I could feel the pain worsen and my energy would just pour out without a direction.

My body started pushing before I realized I was even doing it. I had no choice. The moans became grunts and growls. Everything turned primal. Norma told me to wait… that I could damage my cervix if I pushed before I was fully dilated. And remember, she had just checked me at 4-6 cm. But the problem was, I couldn’t NOT push. Even the thought of damaging my cervix was no match for the instinct to push. Norma checked me again and said with a smile, “You’re ready. That was fast.”

I pushed for about 2 hours, but I only remember bits and pieces. I remember biting the headboard (told you it got primal) and I remember Toni and Norma telling me to keep my energy LOW…. to tuck my chin and make a letter C around the baby. I had been pushing on the bed on my hands and knees, sometimes just kneeling, but when it came time to get her out I had to stand up. So there I was, standing at the side of my bed, gripping Toni and Ken, grunting like a wild animal. I was pushing and she was coming down but I remember fighting with myself. In my head I could not imagine how anatomically this was going to work. Even after all the reading, researching, birth stories, videos, etc, I still had a mental block about it actually happening.

Toni and Norma started cheering me on, saying “Come on, Ivey! Push your baby out! Her head is going to crown with this next push!” I wanted to believe them. I really did. But I was still unsure. And then it started hurting so bad I got pissed. I gave it my all. This is where Ken says I yelled out the Indian Squaw scream, “Lililililililli!!!” You’ll have to get him to reenact that one for you. It’s priceless. And at that moment, her head came out. Sweet Jesus! Physical relief and in my head the FIRST physical proof that this shit was actually going down! Norma told Ken to reach down and feel his baby’s head. When he did, Wren did a 180 and flipped anterior. When she did, she pointed her shoulder and just spun herself out. I didn’t have to push again. Ken caught his baby.

And Norma helped him support her, get me turned around, and handed me my Baby Wren. We had done it. She and I together. And she was perfect. And I was so present. And God was there smiling. Telling me “I told you that you could do it.” And I did. I really did. The light was angelic. I rubbed her back and watched her magnificent body oxygenate itself. Her color spread from the touch of my hand to her fingers and toes. She was squawking like a little bird (appropriate). We had the blinds open and I looked outside for the first time. It started raining. And I started nursing. All the build up just slowly faded. Calm and peace set in. Norma was busy tending to me and Wren, Toni was snapping pictures (thank you for remember to do that!), while Ken and I just looked back and forth from each other to our new baby in complete AWE with what we had just witnessed. It was birth as God intended. It was holy. It was sacred. And we had been there. Just overwhelming gratitude.

EPILOGUE:

As things started to return to normal, we ate (damn that baked chicken was good), cleaned up a little, smiled at each other, got settled in to rest a while. Norma kept a check on how I was feeling and I was still floating on adrenaline and all of those heavenly chemicals your body produces in childbirth. I felt like a million bucks. Wren nursed for over 2 hours. She knew immediately what to do.

Around 3 PM, Norma checked me again and said she wanted to look closer at a tear. It turned out that the tear was more than she was comfortable repairing. She suggested we call Magnussen’s office to see if they could stitch me there, but they were in Columbus that afternoon. It started to look like our only option was going to be the ER for stitches. I was SO tired and all I wanted was a bath and a nap, but Norma convinced me they needed to be repaired that day. She was so concerned about me having to go to the hospital after all that we had been able to do at home, but honestly it never took away from anything we had experienced up to that point. I knew it’s what we had to do, and nobody was in real danger.

After we had decided that Ken would take me and Wren to the ER, we started to get ready to go and I started bleeding again. More than Norma was ok with. She told Ken to go ahead and call the ambulance then she quickly took my face in her hands and peered into my eyes and told me not to worry, that I was fine, but she did not want me passing out in the car on the way to the hospital and that it looked like I might. I tried not to get alarmed, but the energy changed. Toni was getting me dressed and packing Wren a bag. Ken was on the phone with the paramedic and shortly after that we heard the sirens. I’ll say this, it is strange to be picked up in an ambulance when you feel like a million bucks. I was still so high from the birth that I was doing the princess wave on the stretcher coming down our front steps for all the neighbors. I regret that my friends and neighbors had to piece together what must have been happening and I hate that they were so alarmed. I would have been, too. But all was well. The hospital staff stitched me up and my bleeding stopped by the time we got there.

Fast forward 4 days later. My biggest physical complaint is the nagging cough Ken gave me (plus stitches, put that together why dontcha). Wren and I have been waited on hand and foot by Ken and my mom. Big sister Day is totally in love (although she’s having a hard time understanding why we can’t take Wren to the playground or push her in the toy grocery cart). Our friends and family have been in and out visiting us in the very room she was born in. All is just as it should be.

The Nest

Baby Wren’s room is ready for her! Although it’s not likely to be used any time soon. I’m sure she’ll be in our room for a long while, just like her big sister was (um, is). But, it’s such a cute room!

Craft #1 was the door panels. Paper and watery glue (can’t think of what that’s called – baby brain). If you have not discovered pinterest.com, go do so now.

Craft #2 was the lamp and shade. My friend Brandi gave me this great lamp and I knew I wanted to use it in here, so I painted it white and recovered the shade. Again, pinterest.

Craft #3 was the mobile. This is not where it will hang permanently, but I’ve been instructed not to climb the ladder. So, just to give you an idea, I hung it from the fan. Thanks, pinterest.

Craft #4 was a gift from my friend, Terri. She painted these panels to match the bedding. Are they perfect or what? All for Baby Wren. Sweetness! And the 2 prints next to the closet door I found on Etsy.com... Another MUST if you want to feel creative.

Now, all nursery projects and tasks are complete. I threw away the list. Let’s do this! 

Baby Wren

There. It’s out there. This has been a stressful process. I started out thinking I’d do it differently this time. Just share whatever names popped into my head for instant and honest feedback from anyone who cared to comment. This time I wouldn’t hold back the REAL considerations. Everything on the table. And just like I remembered from last time, people are quick to spout off their opinions, good or bad. I’m not sure this method was any easier, but I will say that I got a LOT more suggestions this time. (Thank you, Suzanne Bean!) Really, the methods weren’t all that different. The only difference was that I threw Wren into the mix this time for feedback, whereas with Day, nobody heard me utter the name until it was a done deal.

I feel like our names are somehow already given to us. Parents just have to decipher, decode, filter down, until we figure out what it was supposed to be all along. The night Ken and I found out we were going to have another baby, I said, “Let’s name this baby Wren… boy or girl.” He said, “I like that. OK!” Neither one of us can remember if we had ever talked about that name or not before that night. Well, you know my nature is to discard any notion that it really can be that simple. So we set off on the path, treacherous at times, of coming up with THE name.

One thing that was different this time is that not only did we have to decide on one we both liked and felt like was right, we also had to consider it in relation to Day. Would either of them be jealous and like the other’s name better? (Probably, but we think they are equally as awesome.) Would one of them be able to ask, “Why did I get the weird/boring/etc name and SHE got the cool/pretty/etc name?” I guess it will be this way for a lot of other things. Having to consider two possibly very different perspectives, reactions, opinions, values of two probably very different people… and making fair decisions that affect them both.

When we went to find out the sex of this baby, there was a bird’s nest outside the window behind where we were sitting in the waiting room. Yep. It was a wren’s nest. And STILL… I continued to search while her name was being given to me (confused and blind sheep that I am sometimes).

Noelle came to me in a dream. And I take my dreams pretty seriously. Maybe He knew he could get to me more directly that way. I heard it loud and clear. When I woke up a memory flooded me of walking back from daycare one morning around Christmas last year. I was singing “Noel, Noel” and had an overwhelming feeling of… something. It was something significant. I didn’t try very hard to name it. I knew it was good. Turns out it was the name of my 2nd daughter, who at that time only existed in my very distant dreams.

An added bonus to the name Noelle is that Ken’s dad lost a brother named Noel in a car accident one New Year’s Eve. He was married to one of Ken’s mother’s sisters that was pregnant at the time and lost her baby in the wreck. She was the only one not killed out of the 5 (plus baby) people in the car. Ken’s dad actually lost 2 brothers in that accident. (Yes, brothers were married to sisters. It happens. Probably more frequently in the south.) But it seems fitting to honor someone that was well loved in your family.

So, here is how I want you to respond … Say you LOVE it. Say it is the exact name you would have chosen for your own child if we hadn’t thought of it first (not really). Say that it is the perfect fit for our family. Thank you! We agree.

PS - 25 weeks tomorrow!! The size of a rutabaga!

Colossal FAIL

Malco in Columbus has a sweet summer program through the end of July. $2 tickets, kid-friendly movies. And the chance of your experience failing so miserably is pretty slim, so maybe you should check it out. That is, if you choose to spend your money with a business that made a NOT-OK mistake.

I was so excited this morning to have a chance to take Day to her first real movie at the theater. Marmaduke was playing. She loves her dogs, any dogs, so this was sure to be a hit. I talked it up yesterday. Telling her about the BIG TV and the popcorn. She asked if Caston was going. I told her that he wasn’t. That it was just a mommy day. She agreed to go anyway.

This was a big deal. A first. We got there a little early. Time enough to buy popcorn and lemonade. She was pumped. We settled in our seats about 10 minutes to 10:00. We chatted like pals. We said, “Come on Marmaduke!” The previews started about 15 minutes late. Ok, I’m now a little irritated. Ten minutes is one thing to entertain a two year old. 25 minutes, another thing entirely.

But here we go! Cue the sound. Dim the lights. Giggles and excitement…



Then they play the previews for TRUE GRIT. I kid you not. Just so you know what my baby girl’s first experience in a theater was like, view for yourself. Please, listen through the ears of a child leery of the vacuum because it’s too loud. Watch through the eyes of a toddler who does not even have cable. Whose only experience with violence is Tom and Jerry.

I stupidly sat through the whole thing thinking, “maybe they play previews for the parents at kid movies?” I don’t know, but this just doesn’t seem right. She’s entranced. Flinching at the gun shots. Watching men fall of horses dead. She turns and says (whines), “It hurts my ears.” She’s about to cry. I’m starting to freak out. I can feel the pollution seeping into her innocent head and heart. I’m trying to distract her through it by talking about Marmaduke. “He’s coming up! Just another minute.”

Whew, that’s over. “Here he comes! Here comes Marmaduke!”

Then, another preview (I think). I didn’t stay through to find out. The intro was about a new baby coming home, meeting her sister, family cookout, swimming in the backyard pool. I guess the lack of happy background music and the documentary home video effect was what tipped me off. It was about to get scary. Next scene – the same mom is on the phone with the police. FRANTIC and screaming in her trashed kitchen. Their house has been broken into. I don’t know what else has happened because I grab Day and whisk her out the door. I left my purse, phone, popcorn… all of it. All I could think was to protect her brain from this TRASH!

I didn’t even have time to make it to the counter to complain before the swarm of LIVID mothers come rioting out behind me yelling, ”Turn that movie off! They’re saying the F word. It’s awful! You’re playing the wrong movie!” All I could get out was the old teacher word when all else fails, “INNAPROPRIATE!” That hardly describes it, but the parade of pissed mommas was saying it all for me.

My heart was beating so fast. Who knows what else that theater full of young kids got to witness before they stopped the film. Most mommas left, dragging their kids behind them, demanding refunds. I needed to redeem this experience if at all possible. I know my child. Had we left then, she would have NEVER agreed to try the movies again.

So, after another 10 minutes of getting the right movie on, another 10 of previews, we made it through the credits of Marmaduke. I just couldn’t stomach it. Day was fine at that point. Talking to Marmaduke, laughing. But we'd been there close to an hour, so I lied and told her it was over. I got a refund, took her to lunch, and went home.

I never heard an apology from the staff. I didn’t see anyone reacting in any way sympathetic. They were put out that they had to change the film. The 16 year old girls behind the popcorn counter could barely contain their amusement at the angry mob of mommas. It was disastrous. The whole thing.

And, yes, I see the potential of a funny story later on. MUCH later on. After I’ve recovered. And written a Letter to the Editor or something. This morning brought out Momma Bear in me in a BIG way. And I take my job very seriously.

Ignorance - Not Always Bliss

Friday is the day! Well, Saturday. I’ll explain.

Ken and I played around with the idea of not finding out the sex of this baby. Like, at all. Wait till delivery day. It sounds crazy, I know. But we wanted to see what it might feel like. Here were/are my reasons for that. I honest to God do not have a preference. (I said the same thing with Day but I was lying.) And it is already either a boy or a girl. Us knowing will not change that. Plus, I thought it would be an exercise in personal development for me, THE planner, to just not know. To sit with the wondering for 9 months. So, we tried that idea on for several weeks. We told people we were thinking about NOT finding out, and got some strange looks. Mostly got the question, “WHY???” Well, because we think it might be cool to wait. And be REALLY surprised.

Fast forward a couple of months. Plan A has fallen through. Here are my reasons. I want to nest. I NEED to nest. And let me tell you, gender neutral nursery stuff is NOT as cute as straight up boy or girl nursery stuff. It’s just not. My solution before now was that I would wait until after the baby got here and THEN do a nursery. This confused people even more. Create a nursery WHILE taking care of a newborn??  I must say, it was a little ambitious. Plus, at the very thought of not being able “nest” appropriately, I started re-nesting in Day’s room. Then I started adding up the expense of all of the new and great ideas I had there… curtains, bedding, rug… and I decided I had to reign myself in. And if I’m completely honest, the whole exercise in personal development was already pissing me off. You were right, Mom.

So, here is our compromise. Friday when we go for the ultrasound, we’ll have our technician write down on a piece of paper either BOY or GIRL. SHE will seal that sucker up and we will run to Cindy Watson’s house (neighbor and bakery good maker) as quickly as we can so that we’re not tempted to hold it up to the light. Yes, I’ve already considered on what type of paper and how thick the envelope will need to be to keep me from ruining my OWN surprise. Cindy will make cupcakes, and we'll have our moms over the next day. One of the cupcakes will have a clue in it (blue pacifier, pink safety pin) and just like a king cake… SOMEBODY will get the clue! And we’ll all find out together. Sounds awesome, right?

I’m already second guessing this whole event. How will I react? Do I really not have a preference? What if I cry? I know I will cry. What if I act like a freak? I’ll probably act like a freak. Then what if other people react in some weird way… like I want them to be more excited? Will I be able to tell who got their wish and who didn’t? Will I have disappointed anyone?

I know. Nobody asked to get that far into my head. I apologize. It’s not always that cluttered. I’m just so ready to check this box and move on. Start nesting appropriately. Start naming this baby. Start visualizing how it will all be…

And I really, really, don’t have a preference. I win either way.

Growing Again

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what? Day Ivy is going to be a BIG SISTER!

I’m not sure she really understands all that will involve, but for now, she seems pretty fired up about it. Ken and I are, too! Although, mixed with that excitement is this strange feeling of disbelief and confusion. This did not happen the way that I thought it would. Ok, TECHNICALLY it happened just like you would expect… What I mean is that considering all of the LOOONG years waiting to get pregnant with Day, I expected the struggle for baby #2 would be similar. I hoped it wouldn’t be, but I honestly was prepared for a challenge. NOT SO! And so I’m left surprised, shocked, and just overwhelmed that we GET to do this again.

Yesterday was our first doctor’s appointment, and Flippy was an active little fig-sized fetus. It was awesome to see him/her move around, kick and wiggle. Until that moment, I was holding up a little wall of protection around my emotions. Maybe that’s human nature, maybe it’s my personality, but I reserved some excitement until then. And now, the levees have cracked… JOY is spilling out!

We got to SEE our baby!

"Credick"

We like to take “credick” in my family. And we are not ashamed to openly claim it. Some of us ask for it more than others, but it’s generally accepted that no one is responsible for their own successes and/or accomplishments. Somebody else ALWAYS contributed in some way and they MUST be recognized. Not necessarily a bad thing, but believe me when I say it CAN be overdone.

So, to counteract the possible overemphasis on TAKING credit, I’m trying to teach Day how to GIVE credit (before it’s even asked for). She loves to give credit to her “Bebe” for most of the clothes and shoes she has. She routinely asks, “Who gave me this?” And I answer, ____. She’ll correct me (another commonality in my family) and say, “No, Bebe gave me this. THANK you, Bebe.”

The other night we were coming home from my mom’s house. It was getting dark and there was a beautiful sunset and rising moon. We were all looking at it and talking about how pretty is was. Day said, “Who did that?” I said, “God did that.” She said, “THANK you, God.” Melt my heart… just when I think it can’t get better than that she asks, “Who made me?” So, embracing my teachable moment for all it is worth, I told her, “God made you.”  Instead of the “THANK you, God” that I expected there was silence. She was thinking. Then she corrected me. “No, mommy. The doctor made me.” We fell out laughing. And of course, technically, the doctor deserves his share of the credit. THANK you, Doctor!

THIS is happy.

Easy Subject

makes for pretty pictures...

Props...

...to all the mommas out there who manage to make it look easy - even every once and a while. I don't know if it really IS easy for you or if you are a great faker, but either way... proper respect.

There was a time about two years ago when I lived in a bubble: newborn, no sleep, wonder at it all, ineptitude, lots of crying (both Day and me), etc. Survival mode kicked in, and and all else fell to the side while we adjusted to our new life. One of the things that helped get me through that time was knowing that it was not permanent, that I would sleep again, that I would get better at decoding the cries. And it wasn't, and I did.

Fast forward to the Terrible Twos. SLAM. Here I am again in survival mode. All those feelings of inadequacy and sleep deprivation have returned with a vengeance. "You thought you'd seen the last of me!" they snarl. Although I have not fooled myself into thinking it was going to be easy, I am still surprised to find myself here again. I try to keep it real, and I know (and knew before having a child) that parenthood is a constant struggle. But, DAMN. How do you please a frustrated, strong willed, strong lunged, two year old? This is WAY harder than I imagined.

Before I go any further, let me say that before I became a mother I would hear moms complaining about their children. My silent response was always, ("At least you have a child to complain about. Get a grip. Count your blessings.") I guess as with most life changing events, it was really hard for me to put myself in their place before I was there. Well, here I am. And while I'm disclosing some truths here, I also used to think that moms who weren't able to function optimally at their jobs because of their children were somehow less, not strong enough, lazy (gasp). I'm just being honest. I would roll my eyes at their "excuses". Well, GOD LOVE EM. I have seen the light.

Here are my two current battles: (Yes, 2. In honor of the Terribles.) 

1) This one really isn't new. It has just taken a different form. Shape shifted if you will. Striking a balance between letting her work it out and rescuing her. I realize in most cases rescuing her only perpetuates the cycle of her needing me (or manipulating me) and really, most times it just pisses her off when I try to help. But how do I not interfere when she's driving herself crazy to the point of tears/snot/red face? I feel helpless. And momma guilt is a bitch when I try to let her work it out.

2) What in the HELL is wrong with my child? Really. I go back and forth between thinking she must be sick and thinking she has ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). I guess either way, something's wrong. Or is it just typical 2 year old behavior? Although I've been around other kids, somehow I still don't think that gives you the whole picture of what their life is like at home. I say this because there are people reading this now thinking,"Why, I'll be! I've never seen that sweet baby girl act like anything but an angel." To you I say, "Can she come stay with you for a few days?"

This morning I remembered a story my mother finds great amusement in telling. One where I (as a child) used to get sent to my room where I would lay at the threshold of the closed door and cry quite dramatically through the crack under the door. Well, not just cry. Also cough and choke, gag like I'm puking. You get the picture. I remember doing it. My entire mission was to somehow destroy the hearts of my already heartless parents who had exiled me. As my cousin says, "Apple. Tree." I love my parents more and more every day for getting through those years.

And I love my child. She's hilarious, brilliant, gorgeous, creative, thoughtful and strong, sassy, and independent. Everything I want her to be. Everything I had wished for her. I just hope I can navigate this journey with some patience and wisdom so that she knows just how great she is and that her mommy loves her more than life. 

Here's my little angel at her 2nd birthday party:

And if that wasn't enough cuteness for you, this should top you off:

Childspeak

We’re walking in the snow, Day in the wagon, when Daddy catches up to us. Ken says, “Hey, Day!”

She says (just as enthusiastically), “I’m in the wagon!”

And here’s what my friend says:

“Sometimes Day says things that make me wonder, Is she really as clever as she seems? Or are we just so grown up that we don’t speak childspeak anymore?”

And a lot of Day’s responses to the world have me wondering the same thing. Mostly, “Where in the world did that come from?” And really wanting to respond to the world the way she does.

That got me thinking. And took me back to another exchange I had with above mentioned Daddy over 13 years ago. He looked to be busy constructing something. I imagined he had a grand scheme of some sort and I spent several minutes wondering what in the world he was doing. I had multiple theories. Finally, I asked. His response: “Jumpin’ on a bucket.” Like, duh.

So simple.

Yet so present.

My natural response is to look for a hidden meaning, some deeper resonance, a connection or insight that somehow I’m just not getting but not for lack of trying. I assume there must be some shared understanding that I’m not a part of and it fuels more questions, a few worries, and insecurities. And I’m always thinking about “what’s next”, and “why”, and “what if”…

Sometimes, if I’m lucky enough to snap out of it, I can step back, relax and see the beauty in NOT looking for those things. Because honestly, sometimes I feel more peace when I’m not searching. And it’s ok not to know. The less I seek my source for some definitive…

So, my hope for the new year is to be more like my husband and daughter. Clever. Observant. Then on to the next thing. Enjoying life along the way.

They were meant for me.