A New Day

Sometimes things look better in the morning.  Nothing has resolved, all the problems are still there, but I have something better. 

We had our Dia de Los Reyes celebration, and celebrate we did.  We had pan de jamon, key lime pie, and lots of laughs.  Sofia helped take down the tree, and carefully placed each ornament back in the boxes, and we talked about the story each one holds.  The Kings brought her a tricycle, which she pushes around, climbing into the seat, saying "Peeeeeeese".  We drive around the livingroom, laughing and zooming.   Sofia's baby gets a turn.

Julio and I sat on the couch, watching Sofia play.  She played with her farm, dancing the the tractor's song (don't ask).  She carefully holds her baby, rocking her and kissing her, then placing her in the cradle, covering her up, rocking her, saying "Nigh Night".  

This girl, this family.  

It's better than I could ever have imagined.  Her kisses and smiles, her laughs and giggles, each new word, each new discovery, each moment is perfect.  

We're still moving in with my parents.  Our house is still in danger of foreclosure (keep hoping for that short sale), we are still unemployed.  We're formulating a plan, that I'm hoping with all my might comes to fruition and makes us  better off in the long run.  

No matter what happens, though, as long as we have each other, we'll be okay.  

A Dichotomy

It feels cruel.  To finally have the job I've always wanted, constantly yearned for, yet be searching determinedly for something else.  

I'm a parent.  From now until forever I'll be a full-time mom.  No matter where I am or how far apart we are, SHE will be in my heart, my thoughts, my every cell.  My daughter.  It is no secret that I'm job-searching.  Grasping at straws in this cut-and-downsize economy begging someone, anyone, to pay me.  Perhaps offer me benefits.  Direct deposit.  That sort of thing.  

The part that is hard, though, is that I already have the job that I've dreamt of for so long.  I know I'll be a full-time mom always, no matter what, no matter if I'm being paid by another job.  But actually being a full-time at home stay-at-home mom suits me just fine.  If I could lose the worry and fear and dread somewhere along the way, this would be exactly how I choose to live my life.  

Only I don't get to choose.  I have to get up every morning and search like hell for the opportunity that will take me away from this heaven.  I hope and pray and cry for the chance to have my heart break in a million little pieces every day, to pay someone else to be there for my daughter's moments, to wipe her tears, to feed her lunch.

I've got to put these thoughts out.  I've got to make me peace with working full-time AND mothering full-time.  Happiness will be there in that balance, if I can find it.  

In Need of Sleep

Isn't is amazing how not sleeping very well throws everything into the realm of DOOM! HELP! SUCKS! the sun will never shine again!

Sofia has a cold. Not a cold that affects her during the day, save for some sniffles and a mama that is constantly running after her with a tissue, but a cold that disrupts her sleep and makes her feel crummy. Know what a baby does when she feels crummy and doesn't know why and can't sleep? She makes sure the whole house knows it.
We heard her begin to whimper last night (mind you, this is the fourth or fifth night of this) and laid in bed still, our ears piqued hoping that the cries wouldn't escalate and the little angel would put herself back to sleep. Cries continue, paper/rock/scissors to determine who has to actually GET UP to fetch her. Of course, she wants to nurse. She always wants to nurse. Forever. Listening to a stuffy kid nurse is not very calming and now I have booger on my boob. Sweet.
So, we used to co-sleep. I liked it. Until Sofia didn't. Now she kicks, moves, wiggles, farts, nurses, bites, talks, and all other sorts of non-approved-nighttime activities when in bed with us. None of us sleep. But the energy required to put her back in her bed and deal with the inevitable aforementioned crying of the feeling-crummy-toddler equals more than the lazy solution of just dealing with her where she is.
So, all this = very little sleep.
Fast forward to this afternoon. I imagine we are not the only family with financial stresses, nor are we the only family dealing with difficult things. I swear, though, one little straw fell, and I hit the floor. Doom! Drama! Poor me! Break out that violin, folks, for I have the worst sob story.
After a few minutes of literally forced, relaxed breathing, a latte and some reality, I have officially calmed down.
And planned some sleepy time for me this weekend. Because you simply can't hold your family together when you are falling apart.

Perhaps Progress?

I'm knocking on wood and keeping my lips sealed, but perhaps there is progresss in the you-know-what?



Remember being about 5 years old and thinking the the days couldn't go any slower, that your birthday would never get here, that Christmas was years away, and you totally didn't believe your mom when she told you that someday, life would go by much faster?

Yeah, well, I believe my mom now.
How in the hell is it Friday already? I haven't done even the bare minimum on my to-do list this week, and it is already time to start it again. We have company coming tonight (who might beat me home) and the sheets on the guest bed need changing, the floors need vacuuming, there is a laundry back-up, and both bathrooms need cleaning. Boo. Can't time just slow down a little bit? I mean, not so I get to enjoy the infancy of my daughter or spend hours laughing with my spouse, or to use time to figure out how to fix health care or world peace or something. No, just so I can get housework done. Priorities, people.

I have been taking time for me, or at least attempting. This is hard in a world where Monday seems to come right after Wednesday, when July feels like Christmas is just around the corner (and seriously, it is! and there is so much to do!) I have successfully managed to take at least half an hour a day for myself, to work out for myself 6 days this week. That is a milestone. It is liberating to be able to walk without singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" while doing the motions and pushing a stroller trying to entertain an increasingly fussy infant who is done with the walk before I am (picture that on a busy street, passing lots of people. entertaining, it is not). Sometimes, I even have thoughts of my own. Or at least time for my brain to relax.

Why, then, do I feel selfish if Sofia has woken up already when it is time for my walk? Because I do. And most times, I take her, and I want to take her. I wish I had the luxury of needing to get away from her, but I don't. The hours I'm at work are away from her as I have to be. That's probably why we haven't really gotten a babysitter or had a date (we HAVE had a date. three times. In one year). Any minute of home time not spent with my daughter is a waste of precious, precious time.

So, I'm back to begging the universe for just one more day a week. Couldn't the Earth turn just a little slower? Give me one more day for to be with my daughter?
Or vacuum. Dog hair doesn't clean itself, you know.

Sleep

or rather, the lack there of, for me, my husband, and most notably, Sofia. Boy, are you going to be tired of hearing about sleep.

We go from having one great night to one horrible night. Last night falls in the horrible category. She was up, literally, every half an hour. Wanting to nurse. No, insisting to nurse. Loudly. In that cry that makes me want to move mountains to be by her side. Or make it go away, anyway. I acquiesced the first three or four times (really, who's counting) but finally at 3 am, I refused. I held her, I cuddled, I hushed, I gave her her pacifier. I told her it wasn't time to nurse, it was time to sleep, and to my immense surprise, she laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. So, I put her in her crib.
You would have thought I was trying to kill her, the noise she made. So I said goodnight and forced myself out the door. Hubby (dear, dear hubby) wakes up. He goes to her room. He brings her to me, asking if she had nursed.
Me: "YES!"
Him: when? It's 3 am already.
Sofia: RRRRROARRRR
Me: at 2:freaking30!
So, he takes her and I hear crying, and I cringe in my bed, forcing myself not to go nurse her. Then, she gets quiet, and eventually I fall asleep.
And then, the dream. I'm on a walk. Across the country. With my sisters. Suddenly, I realize that I left Sofia at home, alone, upstairs. I start running. And running. And not only do I have to run, but I'm being chased. And I have to dodge my predators and get through all these traps. Finally, I almost reach home, and see Sofia coming toward me. Only she isn't whole--something happened to her legs and her body. I had failed her.
Think my subconscious is telling me something?
So, I just don't know what to do. She is ONE.YEAR.OLD. That is plenty old enough not to nurse at night, plenty old enough to sleep all night long. But, I don't want to deny her if she is actually in need. What if she's getting sick and just wants mom? What if her teeth hurt? What if she's missing me and just wants to be reassured? Do I keep up nursing? Do I put my foot down?
All I know is, I get another cup of coffee. at 2pm.

Bitter

Sofia has always been a waker. As is, not a sleep-through-the-nighter. She's over one year old now, and consistently waking twice a night. To nurse, always to nurse. Imagine my surprise and glee when I heard the first cries at 6:20 am this morning. That would be one entire night of sleep for me; uninterrupted for 7 hours. Heaven.
So, we nursed, as usual, and she fell back asleep, as usual. I got up, cleaned up the kitchen from last night (yes, we are lazy at times), made the morning pot o' joe, and did my workout.
Afterwards, I poured myself a mug and relaxed in the livingroom with my husband, listening to the radio news, and rolling our eyes at the debacle of the RNC.
Perfect beginning to the day.

If Sofia wakes talking and happy, she's ready for the day. If she wakes in tears, she is ready for a nap. So, when I heard her crying at just past 8, I braced myself. She immediately wanted to nurse, so we snuggled in on the couch. Then, she spotted it.
The mug.
She pulled off, pointing and groping toward the coffee table. I relented, and gave her a sip.
All smiles.
My girl, she needs her morning cuppa, as well. Breast milk, well, that just doesn't cut it. The sweet, nourishing mama love holds nothing over the bitter taste of morning.

Finding Motivation

So, how does one find motivation?

I'm falling off my work-out wagon again. My get-skinny-before-getting-pregnant-again agenda. I always have an excuse, and most of them are valid! I'm tired. It is dark. The mosquitoes are bad. Sofia woke up three times last night. I have to work late. My sports bras are all dirty. I'll do it later. I'll be better tomorrow. And all of a sudden tomorrow becomes next week and you realize you haven't been on a walk/run in over 7 days. That you are slacking.

So, I need to find my motivation. That part inside of myself that wants this, for me. That wants that extra flubber off my middle and wants to put on a swimming suit and not dash for the cover-up. The me that glances in the mirror and sees what she remembers.

I need to make the time for me. I feel guilty whenever I take a minute to do something that isn't for the house, or for my daughter, or for my husband, or for my dog, or for my extended family, or for a friend, or for my work. Something that benefits ME. When I go for a walk, I always take my daughter. Why? Because she likes it. Because I need time with her. Because I like it. But it is also not just for me that way. When I search for motivation, I think first of how I want my husband to see me (though he always tells me I'm beautiful, and I know he always means it) how I looked when we met. Because that way this journey is also for him, not just for me.

Why is it so hard for me to recognize that I need this? That it is mine, that my health and my self-confidence are what is at stake?

I think moms could do with being more selfish sometimes. In the end, a happy well-rounded mother benefits everyone.

Happy first birthday, my love

Sofia is One Year Old.


Dear Sofia,

Happy Birthday, my girl! Today we celebrate you, your first year with us, and the many years to come. It wasn't too long ago that we met, this twinkle in my eye and flicker in my womb



We watched you grow



and grow



and our anticipation grew along with you.



We named you on the day we found out you were our daughter.



Then, on the most incredible day of my life, August 16th, you slipped out of my womb (or more like wrestled) and will remain permanently in my heart.





We were filled with our fears about being parents, and our wondrous joy at meeting our own personal miracle.



You were so impossibly tiny, so incredibly perfect.



The most beautiful newborn I'd ever seen.






Walking into the house with you for the first time was so surreal. I couldn't believe it. Here you were! Finally, our beautiful daughter in her very own home. Our new family of three. I've never felt so blessed.



Those first days home with you were so much fun. We had lots of visitors, and we all sat around admiring you, being with you, cuddling you, and enjoying each other. You were the star! A sleeping star, but we all loved you so very much.





You grew so quickly, changing every day. We loved to kiss every inch of you!






By two weeks old, you were positively chubby!




In the blink of an eye, you were smiling, and nearly 1 month old!







That fall, you and I went for so many walks together. I loved being out with you, showing you the places I loved and just being together. Always, I talked to you, forever, I loved you. Your personality began to shine through and I'd get glimpses of the person you were becoming. No longer a newborn, but my baby.




At two months, your smile was plentiful, and you started to laugh! I've never heard a more beautiful sound than your precious giggle.





Every stage brought new joys, new discoveries, and lots of love. Each month that passed made me more grateful that I was chosen to be your mother.




You dressed as a pumpkin for Halloween,



and started sitting in your Bumbo, happy with your new view of the world.








Soon, it was winter.


We would bundle up and sit in front of the fire as a family.



You loved your first Christmas tree, and made an adorable elf!



Christmas brought family and fun! You started to show an interest in toys, and began wanting something in your mouth at all times.







We started our own family tradition in Kings' Day. You had a good time eating your new toys and sitting in your high chair for the first time!




And still you kept growing. You could sit by yourself, and loved to read stories and snuggle with Mama and Papa.





We got to visit your family in Venezuela, and you had a great time! You laughed with everyone, and were able to swim in the ocean! The sand was your favorite part.





You really started to eat foods other than breastmilk, and we discovered that you absolutely adore berries!




The winter was long, and I ached to get back outside, for spring and flowers. It was so fun to introduce you to grass and playgrounds!






Spring slipped into summer, and you began to really explore your world. You started to crawl, to stand up on things, to express your opinions. And girl! You have a lot of opinions!



You had your first boat ride, and your first dip in a lake.




I turned around, you were eleven months old, started to take some steps, cutting your first teeth, and rapidly becoming a toddler.






You have given us the most incredible year. I still can hardly believe that you are my daughter, that I've been blessed so much. I love waking up to you in the morning, I love giving you a bath at night. I love your kisses, your wave, your babbles and your very first words. I love how you read stories, and how you kiss babies and kids. I love your laugh. Most of all, I love you, my big one year old girl. I am so excited for your second year and all the years beyond.