Letter

Dear Elijah,

Wow! Things sure do change, don't they? I was thinking about that recently as several of Mommy's friends are becoming mommies for the first time themselves. Way back a long time ago (a little over 17 months ago, to be exact) when you were first born, Mommy didn't know what to think! I was so excited that you were finally here!

You were so little and perfect and had the cutest little nose I'd ever seen....

But you know... you also cried. Like, nonstop. Nothing I did made you happy. I felt like an idiot, wondered why in the world I thought having a baby was a good idea. I thought I was a horrible mother and that you hated me. When I think back on our days in the hospital after you were born, this picture perfectly sums it up: Blurry, exhausted. (However, it was one of the few times Mommy actually slept!)

I remember thinking I had no idea what to do with a baby and that the doctors and nurses were crazy to let me take you home. I mean, you hated me! Why would you want to come home with me anyway?! Daddy was the only one who could calm you down, so I thought, well, okay. At least he likes his daddy. 

Who would have known then how much we would click now? We have so much fun together! (At least, I have fun with you, and it seems like you have fun with Mommy, too!) You hardly ever cry any more and when you do, a hug from Mommy is usually all you need to feel alllllll better. I love you so much and am so happy that we made it through those first few rough days. :) 

Always

Several hundred times a day (at least), I ask Elijah, "How much does Mommy love you?" He answers, "Always." Sometimes he stretches it out - "aaaaaaaaaaaaaalwwwwaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyssss!" - and screws up his little face while saying it, as if trying to convey through his facial expression as well as his tone how big "always" is. 

Recently, at night, while we are rocking and singing and saying prayers, Elijah has started asking questions of his own after I tell him that I love him. "Mommy loves you always and forever, baby." He looks at me, often nods, considering, and then says, "Daddy?" "Yes, baby, daddy loves you always, too." A pause. "Papa?" "Yes, Papa loves you, too." Nod, pause. "Mom-mom?" And on and on it goes, until he completes the whole list of people he knows and often repeating back on itself. 

So it was a little ironic today that I stumbled upon this post, from one of my favorite blogs: http://www.parents.com/blogs/dadabase/2013/09/23/deep-thoughts/what-it-means-when-somebody-loves-you/  Apparently my kiddo isn't the only one who wants to know that people he loves, love him also. 

I'm sure all parents have this little question-and-answer game, a catechism of sorts, to explain to their children how much they love them. And I'm sure, like with most catechisms, children learn the correct answers to say before they really understand what the answers mean. I was thinking about that recently, that my son doesn't *really* understand what it means that I love him always, or that I even love him at all. Sometimes it makes me a little sad that he doesn't really grasp the concept of love, but then when I realize that he doesn't understand because he's never been UNloved, it makes me feel much better, and if it takes being mistreated or neglected - the opposite of being loved - for him to know or appreciate what being loved means, then I'm happy for him to remain in the dark. We know that he is loved, always and forever, bigger than the moon, and longer than eternity, and right now that's all that matters. 

Morning

This is my son in the morning:

5:54 Eyes closed
5:55 Eyes open. "MOMMY!" (hug) "DADDY!" (hug) Sits up. Grabs toe. "Toe! TOOOOOOEEEEE! TOETOETOE. TOE. Toe? Mommy? TOE?" Pokes me in my eye. "EYE!" Laughs as I flinch. Crawls over me and slides off the bed. Grabs dog harness off the floor where I took it off the dog the night before. "Dog. Dog. Dog. DOGGY. DOG." Runs into the adjoining room where said dog has disappeared in an attempt to get away from a hyperactive toddler. Pets dog. "Dog. Buck." (The dog's name is Starbuck.) Runs back into the bedroom and tries to get back on the bed. "Mommy. Eat. Eat?" Makes monkey noises (meaning he wants a banana) and makes the sign for "please". Runs to the door and looks back. "Go?" Signs please.
5:58 Runs back to our bed.

This is me in the morning:

5:54 Eyes closed.
5:55 Eyes closed. Hear son. Get hugged. Get poked in the eye. Flinch. Blink. Blink. Get crawled over. Blink.
5:58 Blink. Groan. Lift son into bed and try to get him to go back to sleep. No luck.
6:00 Breathe a sigh of relief as my absolutely wonderful husband gets up with our son and says, "Let Mommy go back to sleep." Eyes closed. Snore.

A Toddler's Thoughts

Toddler's Log, Play Date Almost Fifteen Months:

I'm beginning to think Mommy sometimes doesn't know what words mean. She says this word "gross" a lot, but I think she means something to do with the dogs, because she usually says it when I'm playing with them. Today, I was trying to share my Goldfish with my buddy Starbuck, and Mommy saw me let him lick it and then I tried to put it in my mouth and Mommy said, "Oh, no, don't do that! That's gross!" I think she meant to say, "No, that's Starbuck's!"

Later, I figured out I could take my snacks out of my snack cup and put them on the floor. Mommy saw me pick one up off the floor and bring it to my mouth, but before I could eat it (and I really wanted it!) she took it away and said, "No, we don't eat off the floor; that's gross!" The dogs weren't even anywhere around! And even though I cried and threw a fit, she still wouldn't let me finish my snack. Silly mommy.

She also says it's gross when I play in the bowl of water that the dogs drink out of. It's gross when I try to touch the garbage can. It's gross when I put my shoes in my mouth. So, what is it, Mommy? Is "gross" another word for "dog"? Or is "gross" another word for "floor"? Another word for "garbage can"? I'm so confused! I think I will need to do an experiment to figure it out. Tomorrow, I'm going to do a bunch of stuff and see what she says is gross, and whether it has anything to do with the dogs or not. Until then, here's to being gross!

Toddlers and Dogs

Before my husband and I had a child together, we had dogs. Three of them, to be exact, and they were my babies until our son came along. My son is now 14 months old, and it struck me recently that toddlers are an awful lot like dogs. Here are the reasons I think so:

10. They understand basic commands just fine, but sometimes pretend they don't.

DOG: "Oh, you want me to come here? I don't think so. I think I'll continue to lay in my comfy dog bed."

KID: "Don't eat the crayons? But I want to! The dogs told me it'll make my poop change colors." 

9. Your food always tastes better than their food. My dogs beg at the table and steadfastly ignore their full bowls. (Sorry, future dinner guests. I'll put them up before you come over.) My son insists that he's done eating and politely requests to be let out of his high chair (pointing to the ground, saying "OUT" and signing "please") and when I ask if he's really done he nods and goes, "Uh huh, uh huh". As soon as I put him down, he stands beside my chair with his mouth open, happily accepts a forkful of whatever I'm eating, then walks in a big circle so that he winds up back at my chair with his mouth open. 

8. They make inexplicable messes and look decidedly nonchalant about it. "Oh, I thought you WANTED the dog food / blocks / toilet paper all over the house. My bad."

7. Your own are absolutely adorable, but other people's are kind of funny looking and sometimes annoying. Come on, admit it. 

6. Their attention spans are approximately the same length. This means that games never, ever get old, and, paradoxically, that they're also easily distracted. "AHHHH YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA PEEKABOOOOOOOO! hahahahahaha Peek-a----- oh, look a BALLLLL!" This makes it nice in some ways, though, because kids and dogs both like balls and kids think it's hilarious to throw the ball to the dog over and over and over. Ahhhh, coffee break for mommy!

5. They get into mischief often, but they're so stinking cute you can't really stay mad.

 

4. They enjoy the small things in life. Like sticks. And walks. And snuggling up to your butt.

3. They live in the moment. One minute they can be really annoyed with you and the next they're happy and carefree.

2. Your bed is always more comfortable than theirs, and they somehow manage to take up room that is bigger than they even are. True story. My husband and I are sometimes allowed to sleep in the queen sized bed that our son and one of our dogs each thinks is his own.

And the number one reason toddlers are like dogs: you are always, always, always the most amazing person ever to them. Be worthy of it.

Pause

Each month brings so many changes with you, my kiddo. You're learning new words literally every day, you're figuring out how things work. A few months ago, I wouldn't have believed that you would soon not need me beside you, patting your back and singing, in order for you to fall asleep. A few months ago, I wouldn't have believed that you would start waving "bye bye" to things that we clean up or put away, that you would understand that you would be able to see them or play with them again later. As much as you used to fight sleep, I wouldn't have believed that you would ever think of a way to communicate to me that you're tired.

Nonetheless, those things have come to pass. My presence beside your crib actually keeps you from falling asleep. Bittersweet. You sleepily wave "bye bye" to me when I lay you down. So today, when you pointed at your pacifier (which I tell you is only for sleeping), I asked if you were tired. You said "yes" and pointed at your crib. We turned out the lights, closed your blinds, and we rocked for a bit, as we always do. But this morning, you snuggled against my chest, hugging me, as we rocked. You patted my arm as I rubbed your head and before I knew it, you were asleep.

Instead of panicking that your nap would be ruined because you hadn't fallen asleep on your own in your crib, I snuggled you closer and treasured a now too-rare moment that you weren't fighting to get down to go figure out how to stack your mega blocks together or to go look at your pop-up books or to go play with the radio. I felt my heart beating against your cheek and I wondered... Is its rhythm still familiar to you from your months growing beneath it? I was humbled as I realized how secure you feel with me, how much you trust me. I'm so blessed to be your mommy, you crazy kid. I love that you blessed me with that moment. I love that I took it, instead of rushing to lay you down, rushing to take a shower, rushing to make my shopping list, rushing to sweep the floor. For what? So that I could rush through everything else in my day and not take the time to see the small miracles that God places in our paths every day? The shopping will get done, the floors will get swept, and now I have a precious memory in my heart as well, of a sweet, too-smart-for-his-Mommy's-own-good, sleepy-eyed toddler falling asleep while hugging his most favorite lady.

Birth day

In honor of Elijah's first birthday tomorrow, here's the story of his entrance into the world...

At my first OB appointment when I was around 10 weeks pregnant with Elijah, I told my doctor that I didn't want to go much past 41 weeks because I knew that there were complications that could come from babies being too far overdue that could sometimes be worse than complications from babies coming a little early. 

I had a very easy pregnancy - no morning sickness, no blood clots despite a genetic predisposition to them, no major complications. I had the usual sciatica and massive heartburn but not really much to complain about. Toward the end of February 2012, I went into preterm labor at 34 weeks. Fortunately labor stopped on its own and my little man stayed put to bake a little longer. Like an idiot, I of course felt positive that I would be one of the lucky women who delivered before 40 weeks, since he'd already made it known that he wanted out. 

I was relieved to make it to 37 weeks, as he would have been considered full term at that point, and I encouraged Elijah to come out whenever he was ready. I bounced on an exercise ball, ate pineapple, walked every day on my lunch breaks, ate spicy food out the wazoo (heartburn be damned) all to no avail. I began my maternity leave at 39 weeks, at the beginning of April, with no contractions or anything else to give me hope that my cozy kid was going to enter the world. Easter Sunday, my due date, came and went and I became very, very cranky. Not only was I unable to sleep, breathe, or go longer than 30 minutes without waddling as quickly as possible to the bathroom, but I was becoming increasingly worried that something horrible would happen to my son if he didn't come out SOON. 

I had an OB appointment on Friday, April 13, at 40 weeks, 5 days. I was dilated to about 3 cm and was 90% effaced but hadn't had any regular contractions. My doctor told me that she could schedule an induction for the following Sunday, when I would be 41 weeks, and I told her that being induced that same day (Friday) would be even better and I reiterated to her what my fears were. She said that since I was already dilated and effaced so far she could send me over to the hospital as an add-on induction. She stripped my membranes and called the hospital to let them know I'd be over for an induction and she sent me on my way. 

I was ecstatic! I called my parents, who live about 2.5 hours away, to let them know so that they could head up. Jack and I went home first, because my stepdaughter was with us - she was pregnant also and she had her OB appointment the same day I did so we all went together. We packed up the car with my bags and I ate some soup, took the dogs out and put them back up, hugged my stepdaughter and got in the car. I drove, which I suppose isn't very normal since most people are already in labor when they head to the hospital. I was so excited because I knew that, one way or another, we would be meeting our son by the next day at the latest. I was also thrilled to discover that I was FINALLY having regular contractions. Jack and I chatted happily all the way to the hospital. 

I got checked in and settled into my room around 3 or 4pm and then began a long and fairly boring wait. I hadn't slept much if at all the night before, and not much if at all the night before that, so I was pretty exhausted by that point. My contractions picked up in intensity and were very regular - in fact, one of the nurses commented that my labor pattern was the best one on the maternity ward that night. I was started on Pitocin, but at only half of the regular starting dose since I was contracting on my own. I had to have IV antibiotics, which burned like CRAZY every time the bolus was sent up my arm. For the first several hours, I was pretty happy and chatty, although I could definitely feel the contractions. I didn't have a grand vision of how I wanted my labor and delivery to go; I just wanted Elijah to be safe the whole time. Every time I had a contraction, I looked at the monitor to see what numeric value was assigned to it the contraction especially when they were strong contractions, but I also looked at the printout for the fetal heart monitor and that helped me focus on my breathing so that I could give him enough oxygen to keep him safe. I always felt better when the contraction had passed and his heartrate had stayed in the normal range. I was progressing fairly nicely and I think I was around 4 or 5cm when they broke my water. My friend Vera had warned me that after your water breaks, contractions hurt a LOT more because there's nothing cushioning your pelvic bone from the baby's head pushing down. She was right. Post-water breaking contractions hurt a whole lot more than the ones I'd had prior to that. After about an hour of that, I decided I didn't want to know what contractions would feel like when I hit transition, because although the pain was manageable, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle anything more intense. I asked for an epidural, which I think I got around 8 or 9 pm. It definitely helped, although I hated that I couldn't feel my legs and that my butt was numb. Also, the epidural did absolutely nothing for my back labor. The nurses kept telling me to push the button to deliver more drugs via the epi, but all that accomplished was to ensure that my butt was incredibly numb and that my legs felt like dead tree stumps attached to me. I asked Jack to massage my legs, which helped sometimes but other times just made my legs feel worse. 

My friend Vera left shortly after I got my epidural, and my parents went to their hotel room around midnight so that they could get some sleep and so that Jack and I could try to get some sleep. They told me to call them when I reached 8 cm, which happened around 5 am on April 14. I think I waited until closer to 6 to call them since they'd driven up the day before and stayed for so long. After I hit transition, I felt really nauseated and vomited three or four times, at which point I was happy that the nurses hadn't let me eat or drink anything except water, Sprite, and Jello. At 11:30 am, I was 9.5 cm and still 90% effaced. Despite the nausea, I was happy because I knew I'd see my baby soon.  I never felt the urge to push and was just waiting until the doctors told me it was time. 

However, time passed and I kept feeling really strong, really long contractions and I became more and more exhausted. My back labor was very intense at that point and I had a hard time focusing on my breathing. Every time I closed my eyes, I would immediately enter into a waking dream state. I would talk, but it would be based on the waking dreams I had. I was aware I was doing it but I was so out of it that I couldn't stop. Vera, who is a doctor, told me that these were called "hypnogogic hallucinations" and can happen when people are extremely exhausted. More time passed and I told Jack that I was so exhausted that I didn't know how I was going to push. Originally I was hoping not to have a c-section but I started feeling like maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing. The doctor, who'd been called away for an emergency c-section, came back in to check me and I was still at 9.5 cm at 3:00 pm. They told me that Elijah wasn't turned right and hadn't shifted in the 4 hrs since the doctor had checked me previously, and that he was presenting brow-first instead of having his chin tucked to have the top of his head presenting. Because labor had stalled and because of his position, the doctors told me I'd need a c-section. Since I'd previously been so adamant about not wanting one, both Jack and my mom looked concerned that I would be upset. I told them both that it was actually relief, because I had no strength left. 

After that, things moved fairly quickly. The anesthesiologist came in and adjusted my epidural so that I was numb from the chest down. I was prepped for surgery and rolled down to the surgery suite. I was so exhausted that I felt like I was watching a movie. I commented to the person pushing my bed that now I knew that movies were pretty accurate when they show people being rushed to surgery from the point of view of the person - it's true that all you see is the ceiling tiles and lights going by. In the surgery room, I hated lying so completely flat and not being able to move. Although the actual surgery didn't take very long, being stitched back up took FOREVER. Elijah was born at 3:58 pm, weighing 7 lb 12 oz and having a length of 21.5". He was then taken over to be cleaned up. I could see him but he was across the room so I couldn't touch him and I couldn't go over to him, which went against every instinct I had - that was definitely the worst part of having a c-section. The surgeon left Elijah's umbilical cord long so that Jack could clip it, which he did, and did quite well. It was nice that he did it where I could watch. Jack stayed beside me during the surgery and as they were sewing me up, although he did get to stand up and look over the curtain as they were pulling Elijah out, so he got to see Elijah first. He said Elijah made the biggest grimace when they did and then let out a big yell. After that, he was pretty quiet - in fact, so quiet that Jack asked the doctor if everything was okay with him. They assured him that Elijah was fine. Finally, after he was cleaned up and wrapped, Jack was allowed to hold him. Jack gave him his first hug, and then he brought Elijah over to me so I could see him and give him his first kiss. He looked so tiny and I couldn't believe he was mine. He looked just like he'd looked in the 3D ultrasounds I'd had. I wanted to hold him so badly but couldn't yet. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, and stroked whatever parts of him I could reach. Finally the surgeon was done stitching me back up and they placed Elijah on my chest, and they wheeled me out of the surgery suite and into the hallway, where my family was waiting. Everyone was overjoyed to see Elijah, and the anesthesiologist took a picture of my mom with Elijah and me. After visiting my family for a little bit, Elijah and I were taken to the post-anesthesia recovery unit, where he and I had skin to skin contact and he nursed right away, which was a really weird experience for me. Once I was able to sit up and move my legs I was taken to my new room, where I would stay for 3 nights, trying and usually failing to get some sleep - the first of many sleepless nights to come. I loved holding my son and watching him make faces in his sleep, shocked over his dark brown hair and in love with his gray-blue eyes and perfect nose. I was so in love with him and so in awe of how perfect he was, and I loved seeing Jack as a daddy to a newborn. 

Now a year has passed and our lives have definitely changed and definitely for the better. We are so blessed by our sweet boy. 

Happy

Before I became a parent, it never occurred to me how much joy it brings when you see that your child makes other people happy. Of course I knew that babies make parents happy (usually. Or at least, overall. Maybe not every single waking moment). And grandparents are a given as well.

But I have to say that it truly warms my heart when I see my sisters interact with my son. My oldest sister has two children, the oldest of whom is 14, and my son is her first nephew (and if he'd been a girl, he would have been her first niece). She lights up when he crawls over to her and holds his arms out to be picked out. When she happily picks him up, he points and says, "Go." She patiently takes him to wherever he wants to go and describes to him all the things he's looking at. (Meanwhile I'm grateful for the chance just to sit down.) My next older sister, the one who claims she doesn't like babies, has been known to sit with him on my parents' couch and look out the picture window with him, pointing out the trees and the birds and the clouds. She's even offered to hold him so I could eat, and admitted that he's "kind of cute". My youngest sister plays with him and laughs with him, and all of it makes me so happy to know that so many people, outside of my husband and myself, love him and dote on him.

Even complete strangers can't help but to smile when they see him while we're out and about, grocery shopping or eating at a restaurant. My child is such a shameless flirt and loves people so much that he just grins and plays games with anyone he sees. I smile when I see little old men grin at him, and little old ladies make silly faces at him. Once, at the store, there was a somewhat intimidating-looking younger man whose face just softened when we walked by him and he smiled and said, "That's a good-looking kid you got there."

Who knew that I would feel such delight in seeing that my child, without even trying, brings such happiness to other people? It's not even so much of a prideful, "Yep, that's MY kid" kind of a feeling as it is a feeling of, "Wow, babies truly are a blessing - and not just to their parents." I hope that we never become too busy to stop and notice the small things - all of them, not just the small people - that bring a bit of light to an often all too dark world.

To My Fellow Mommies

Dear Fellow Mommy (Especially if you're a new one, too),

I've only been a mom for just about a year, and one thing I've learned so far is that everyone has an opinion of the "right" way to parent. And, unfortunately, a lot of people can be quite rude in making it obvious when they don't think you are doing things the "right" way (i.e., their way). It's hard enough  being a new parent without other people critiquing your parenting skills. So, fellow newbie, here is my promise to you.

Whether you breastfeed or formula feed, I will not judge you. I won't judge you if you never even wanted to breastfeed, and I also won't judge you if you plan to breastfeed past one year.

If you have a son, I won't judge you if you had him circumcised or if you didn't.

I won't judge you if you push your kid in a stroller or wear him/her in a wrap/sling/mei tei/insert favorite babywearing object here.

I won't judge you if you use cloth diapers or disposables.

I won't judge you if you co-sleep or if your child has slept every night and every nap in his/her crib.

I won't judge you if you started solids right at 6 months, or at 4 months, or waited until 9 months. I won't judge you if used Gerber or stewed apples yourself.

I won't judge you if you transition your child to cow's milk, coconut milk, rice milk, soy milk, almond milk, organic or non-organic. No judging.

I won't judge you if you don't "treasure every single moment because time goes by so fast." We know time flies. That doesn't mean we treasure every diaper change or every temper tantrum.

However, I will judge you if you don't feed your child at all, or barely feed your child. I will judge you if you never spend time with your child. I will judge you if you don't ever change your child's diaper. I will judge you if you don't provide a safe place for your child to sleep. I will judge you if you abuse your child or allow others to do so. I will judge you if make parenting decisions based on what is convenient for you instead of what is in the best interest of your child.

To me, the only "wrong" way to parent is not to love your child. If your parenting decisions are based out of love for your child, then you're not doing it wrong. I may not always agree with what you decide, and we may ultimately decide to do different things, but as long as you are parenting out of love and not out of convenience, I won't judge you and I won't think you're doing it wrong.

So. Keep calm and carry on. You're not a bad mother.

Noise with Dirt

When I was pregnant with my son, someone sent me a picture on Facebook that was captioned, "Boy: noise with dirt on it." Ohhhhh how true it is!

My son is just shy of 11 months old and doesn't walk unassisted yet, although he crawls at about 100 mph. He doesn't play outside much yet, and he has a bath every night after dinner. You wouldn't think he'd have many opportunities to get dirty, but somehow he winds up with dirt under his nails and sometimes he looks like Leonardo diCaprio's character from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? As we were snuggling for his morning nap today, I noticed he had blueberries in his ear. How did he manage that? So many times a random piece of cheese or a raisin has fallen out of his clothes.

And noise? He says several words already and picks one or two that he repeats for a few weeks. Right now he asks, "Dat?" and says, "good" several million times a day. He babbles to himself constantly. He squeals and shrieks and giggles and claps his hands and bangs his blocks together and then turns on all of his toys at the same time, for good measure.

And I, of course, love every minute of my dirty noise. 

The "Mom Diet"

Several years ago, my mom and I were talking, joking around, and she said that when she was going through her divorce from her first husband, her "divorce diet" was white zinfandel and Marlboro lights. 

Well, my smoking days were when I was in college and grad school, and fortunately I haven't smoked in over 6 years, but I realized tonight that I have a "mom diet" - coffee, wine, and animal crackers. 

Oh, and lots and lots of grilled cheese sandwiches. 

That, and the daily frappuccinos from Starbucks, might explain the weight gain, huh?

Warmth

You have changed me in so many ways, my son. Made me softer, less rigid, more willing to trust my feelings. I never planned to bed share. But we all need human touch sometimes, don't we, love? When you wake at night in your crib, uncomfortable in a way that ibuprofen can't fix, and you reach for me, unable to say in any other way that you need me, then yes, son, you may find comfort in snuggling down between the two people who love you most. When the world seems scary because your awareness of it is changing, then yes, my child, you may sleep in our bed, and reach out to feel the rise and fall of daddy's chest instead of the cold slats of your crib or even the soft warmth of your blanket. When you need to know that you are safe and secure and loved, then yes, I will wrap you in my arms and hold you tight. All too soon you will be too big to hold, you will want your independence, and daddy and I will have the bed to ourselves again. Until then, when you need us, we are here.

Beauty

Well, it has happened yet again. My heart has grown. You'd think I'd be used to that breath-catching twinge in my chest by now, but it never fails to catch me off guard. It never fails to bring a prayer to my lips - "Thank you, God, for my precious boy." I would admit that it also never fails to bring a tear to my eye, but that would just make me sound like way too much of a sap.

Elijah has been fighting sleep lately, both at night and for his naps. (Eight month sleep regression?) At night we start him out in his crib, but inevitably he will wake up and won't go back to sleep unless we bring him into bed with us. I know, you're either thinking I'm awful for cosleeping, or else that I'm awful for not cosleeping at the beginning of the night. Either way, this is what we've decided to do, and we're all happy with it. Anyway, for naps, most days he won't nap at all unless it's with me. So, as I'm typing this, I am in my bed with a happily snoozing 9-month-old.

This morning, he was curled in my arms, then shifted onto his back, his arm stretched out with his hand resting in my outstretched hand. Then, he whimpered in his sleep and instinctively turned toward me, his legs curled up against my belly and his arm against my chest. As I wrapped my arms back around him and he relaxed, my breath caught, my chest tightened, and I marveled, "who knew how much joy there is in comforting your child? How much beauty there is being the one your child seeks, even in sleep, to receive that comfort?"

I hope that I will be able to teach my son as much as he has already taught me. I hope that he will always know what a blessing he is.

32

Today is my birthday - my first one as a mom. And, for the first time, I completely understand what it means to say, "There's nothing I want for my birthday." It's true. I have absolutely everything I want. I really didn't even think much about my birthday this year. In the past, I've done that when I didn't want to acknowledge that I was getting older - usually because I didn't like where I was in life. But this year, it's because I am so content with my life that I'm not holding onto hope that this year "will be even better".

I am happy! I have a husband who loves me more than I probably even realize. My stepchildren love me and respect me. I have a beautiful, perfect little boy who makes my entire world light up. What more could a woman want? I honestly wouldn't have been disappointed if I'd received no phone calls, no cards, no gifts this year. The fact that I have received a lot of cards, birthday wishes, a sweet gift from my stepdaughter and an absolutely gorgeous necklace from my husband is just so much icing on already fabulous (birthday?) cake.

That doesn't mean, of course, that would I turn down Starbucks gift cards. ;-) I have been blessed with lots of those this year, too! Life is truly good.