She's ONE

I don't have my pictures up yet, but newsflash! SOFIA IS ONE YEAR OLD! I get all teary thinking about her and the incredible year we've had. Our every day miracle.
She had a fantastic birthday weekend--complete with THREE birthday cakes, lots of food, friends, presents and love. I'll be back shortly with a complete photo update.

My Cinderella

Remember that feeling you used to get as a kid on Christmas Eve? That butterflies-in-the-stomach, anticipation, over-stimulated excitedment? Well, that's me.
I'm getting so excited for Sofia's party--I'm so giddy and shaky it's silly. I mean, it isn't that big of a deal. It is a backyard bbq with cake. It is the philosophical side, I guess. I'm totally mushy about my girl, and the fact that we get to celebrate one whole year together, one year as a family, one year of her living and breathing and crying and being, is just overwhelming.
Is it going to be like this on every birthday? For Every kid?
I mean, she isn't even going to remember today, or Saturday (her actual birthday) or Sunday (the day or her party). She'll probably be tired and whiny and have hurt teeth and wonder where all the people who are trying to hold her are coming from. But to me, it means something more, and I'll remember all the feelings leading up to this day, just as I'm remembering all the feelings leading up to her Birth Day, the day she was born.

I still feel that she is a dream. Like Cinderella, at midnight she'll just disappear.

Last night, I was rocking her before putting her to bed, and her chubby little arms wrapped around my chest and she sighed and snuggled my bosom. I held her close, and couldn't believe this was real. How can I be so lucky to have this person in my life? How can she love me so? She's just too perfect to be real.

But she's not, not really. She whines. She fusses. She cries. She gets mad. Like all kids, some days I want to send her to live with the gypsies. Or at least let Grandma take her for the afternoon. But most of the time? It's a dream.

It's life-changing, this thing called birth, and each birthday is the memory of that day, with the person they have become blowing out the candles, and it is hard to wrap your mind around.
Life is real, and that clock will never strike twelve, even though I constantly feel like it is 11:59.
So, I finished her little party hat (complete with feather boa), and got the party decorations. I have plans for food, and will bake cakes tomorrow. Her portraits are scheduled, and we've been birthday shopping. All this preparation and anticipation to celebrate that incredible instant that her soul joined ours.



And so lucky we are.

A New Journey

I'm on a new mission, and I need whatever help I can get. I'm ready to no longer consider myself overweight.
I'm not certain that I'm ready for what that entails. You know, all the right choices. The will power, the continuity of it all. The fact that eating right today doesn't make up for yesterday. Working out this week doesn't excuse you from next week. Forever.
But it isn't just weight.
It is health.
I am basically a healthy person, but I want to stay that way. I want activity and fun to be part of my life for the rest of my life. I want to pass that love of activity on to my children. Sedentary moms just aren't as fun.
So, I'm making choices. I'm trying. I don't always succeed; sometimes I do. I need to make the successes happen more often than the mistakes.
I need a goal. Perhaps one that isn't weight-related. I'm on the prowl for a 5 k or a 10 k.
Please to ignore the coke I just drank.

Win a Baby Carrier

http://www.alongfortheride.biz/Win-a-Free-Beco-Butterfly-and--Beco-Toy-Carrier-s/49.htm

This is for a contest to win a Beco Baby Carrier. Enter! Sofia and I LOVE baby-wearing.

Planning for the FIRST

Sofia turns one on Saturday. Oh my hell.

How can it be nearly one year ago? One year ago today I was hugely pregnant,



Overdue, and just begging the baby to dislodge.



Forgive me, but I might get a mite nostalgic the rest of this week.

A Plan

We might have a plan. A much-needed direction. I'm so excited about it, and I only hope my husband is, too.

My husband is a stay-at-home Dad. For the most part, he likes it. He has a relationship with his daughter that most dads just dream of. He is an incredible father, and they are both benefitting from this arrangement. But. Being a stay at home parent is hard. It is a job that never ends, and a job that is un-glorified. Especially for a man, and especially for a Latino Man. He feels that he doesn't have a job, as much as I try to convince him otherwise. He doesn't want to find a group of Stay-at-Home Dads, the way that most stay-at-home moms do. That just isn't for him. He is lonely. Feels like he doesn't have a direction.

I think we've found a way to keep the stay-at-home parenting, yet have him and me working. I would love to be the stay at home parent, but since my job pays more, and carries the benefits, it just isn't feasible. Living on one income these days is so very difficult, and we're barely treading water. I'm knocking on wood and sending good thoughts to the universe, and yes, praying that this new plan goes to fruition.

Keep us in your thoughts.

Baby Signs

A few months ago, when frustrated with my daughter's means of communication (mainly whining, at the moment) I began to introduce some baby signs. A little late to the game, I realize, but I hoped it would help us both. In the past month, we have mastered waving hello and goodbye, and blowing kisses. Neither of which is an actual baby sign. Details.
The past few mornings, Sofia has decided 4 am is the wake-up time of choice. She's still tired, but doesn't particularly want to sleep. So, I gather her groggy-eyed from her bed, and lay her down in ours, in hopes that she'll get bored and go to sleep. Rather than sleep, we get hands on our noses, feet in our stomachs, and a sitting, standing baby demanding attention. In a half-assed attempt from a sleepy mama to get her to LIE. DOWN. ALREADY. I pat the bed, and say "lie down, sweetie". So, this morning, I asked Little Lady to lie down. She grins, leans over, and pats her little palm on the bed. Sitting up.
Little stinker. I think she's ready for baby signs after all.

Ella Rachel

We welcomed a new friend, a new member of the family yesterday-little miss Ella Rachel.
Announcment Here
I was honored and blessed to be a part of her arrival, and it was simply incredible.
There are no words to describe the feelings in a delivery room. When I gave birth last August, I felt Sofia's soul enter the room. I met my daughter. Watching my friend meet her own daughter, and experiencing birth not from the mother's perspective is a little different, but no less miraculous. All of a sudden, she was here, this tiny being with so much hope and promise. So much love.
Welcome to our world, Ella. You are stuck with us.

My Two Selves

I had a meeting with my boss today. I went...well...it went okay. Just okay. Sort of what I expected, but not what I'd hoped.

See, I've been falling in my job for awhile. First, I got pregnant. For 8 glorious weeks, I thought non-stop about that baby. I'd lost a baby before, and honestly believed that if I did not send love and thoughts into the universe at all times about my baby, talk to said baby incessantly, know exactly how big little baby was and what exact part of its anatomy it was developing that day, I would be responsible for killing the baby. So that is what I did. This had obvious consequences. Then, THEN, that baby died. Despite my constant talking to and thinking about. I had a (wonderful!) work review, and went (giddily) to an ultrasound that afternoon. Baby no longer alive. Perfect limbs, heart, head, body. Dead.
I floundered. How could I care about anything? Did nobody care? Nothing matters anymore. Work suffered some more.
Pregnancy and miscarriage pretty much summed up the next year, and then pregnancy pregnancy pregnancy the year after that. And then...labor. Obsessing about labor. When would it be? Why not now? Or now? So, I started maternity leave, and then my entire world shifted the instant my daughter was placed on my chest. My god. My reason for being. The only important thing in the world. I spend maternity leave dreading my return for work, sobbing over being away from her. She was/is my everything.

Only, that isn't the healthiest thing for either the person that IS the everything or the person that has made them the everything.

So, I returned to work, but only my physical body was there. The rest of me was home with my child, wrapped in her love. Sequestered in my mind. Work suffered some more.

I had another review not so long ago that didn't go so well. Surprise, surprise. Not badly, but not all sunshine and roses, either. Slowly, slowly, I've tried to bring myself back to work. Back to caring about what I do. I'm making improvments, I'm trying.

Problem is, though, I’ve been feeling in a rut lately. I am not excited about the work I do, and therefore, not as committed to it as I want to be. I need something to engage me, to be excited about work again. I am bored. My work is suffering because of it. In a company as progressive as this one, it is my fault for being bored, and need to get my ideas out there.

So, I talked to my boss. We scheduled this meeting. And she said, well, she said that I need to prove myself in the next six months. I've been given a project that I need to do well on. If this goes well, I am on the road to something of my design, something I can get excited about.

I hate that I let being a woman interfere with being a professional woman. I hate this dichotomy. I hate that I'm expected to have two selves; my personal self and my work self. Each one of these selves affects the whole, for good or for bad. The expectation we've placed on ourselves, as women, as moms, as employees is unattainable. To be the perfect mother, wife, daughter, sister. To be the perfect employee. There just isn't enough time.

The Right Side of the Bed

Sofia seems to have reclaimed herself. The grumpy gus that I left yesterday and sound asleep and snuggled against her papa's cheeks when I got home, her hot sweaty curls spreading across the sheets. About broke my heart, it did.
She dissolved in laughter all evening; giant belly laughs, subtle giggles, smiles, kisses and joy.
She woke up chatty and happy, giving kisses. She waved and blew me a kiss when I left, then snuggled into daddy's chest, giving him a hug. I'm SO jealous.
He is looking for work; to be stay at home dad AND work outside the home dad. We need him to. The hope is for him to get a second shift job, so we still don't have to send Sofia to daycare (not to mention paying for said daycare).
Anyone have a recipe for 100 dollar bills?

And we're back to Monday. Oh joy of joys.

I returned to work after having my daughter at the end of October 2007. My husband has stayed home since then, both of us jealous of the other. (damn health benefits!)

So, today was the first day that I was glad to go to work. Not jealous of my stay-at-home husband. Why, you ask? Because of some hugely important, self-motivating project I was beginning at work? Some monumental task that holds water over the day-to-day care of our daughter?

Or, could it be perhaps, that my teething, nearly one year old definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

You decide.

Friday!

I live for the weekends. Anyone ever feel that they are living only 2/7ths of their life?

I hate that feeling.

Teeth

There is a common theme at my house lately - Teeth.

Sofia is almost 1 year old (gulp). She has one tooth. Since Christmas, I've been waiting for that first tooth to pop through, due to the amount of drool on the front of her chin and shirts. Finally, at 11 months, the first tooth showed up. Now, its upper counterparts seem to be working on their appearance. There are bumps where gum used to be, and tears where laughter used to be. She's grumpy. She's sensitive. She cries. Poor dear.

My husband had teeth pulled yesterday. The inside of his mouth has been ravaged. He's got stitches. He's eating jello and pudding and yogurt and smoothie. A perfect diet, if you ask me. He wants burgers and steak and apples and salt. There just aren't too many soft, salty foods. Can't really eat humus with a spoon. The poor dear.

My dog's breath stinks. Puppy breath no more. His teeth, they will have to be brushed much more regularly than they are now. Poor ME. Not him, since he likes the chicken flavored tooth paste.

Lord help us in this toothy week.

A Different Kind of Love

I HATE miscarriage. Yes, with a capital H A T E.

I got pregnant unexpectedly about a year after my husband and I were married. We weren't in a very good place financially (is anybody ever, really) ((unless your name is Jolie-Pitt)) and the second those little pink lines showed up I panicked. Hyperventalating panic. Overjoyed and overwhelmed. I told the hubby a few hours later and he panicked. Oh, Lord, did he panic. The boy heard my news, made a joke and fell asleep for a few hours. Then he was able to talk about it. Not exactly the movie-like image I'd carried in my head for how I'd tell my husband about our burdgeoning child.
The first thought in my head (after the panic, the terror. the JOY!) was holy. shit. This either ends with a baby, or with a miscarriage. Neither one seems particularly pleasant right now.
But, as I started the vitamins, the nausea kicked in and I drooled in my sleep, I began to love that baby. Actually, I loved that baby the minute I knew that it was there. I really began to love the idea of having a baby right now.
A lot changed. I moved closer to family and waited for my husband to join me. I talked to a lot of moms, most of whom were not particularly happy about being moms themselves. I just smiled and knew that my baby and me? We'd be fine.
I had my first OB appointment. The papers, the information about birthing suites and newborns, the paper gown and stirrups, it all felt so real.
The first trimester passed. I read the weekly updates from babycenter. I remember the one that said my baby could now hear through the uterus. I positively beamed. I think I even called my mom. I am such a cheese, I started singing to the baby right then. I talked. I rubbed. God, I loved.
I drove across country to do our final move. There, alone with my husband, I felt a pop. And a gush. Red-tinted water.
We rushed to the ER. They were sorry, but there was a six hour wait. SIX HOURS. I thought my baby had a chance. I thought the wait would kill my baby. Literally. I tried to remain calm, as calm as the man in front of me, waiting in line. He held onto his forearm. I thought he was wierd. As he checked in, he said he thought his arm was broken. He let go, and there was his bone. May I repeat. He. waited. in line.
My husband went back home to get us a book or two and to call other local hospitals to see if they could see us.
After he left, I started to bleed. Pooling on the floor, on the chair, gushing like tears directly from my heart. They got me in faster than six hours. I was running a fever. I was soaking chuck pad after chuck pad. I hurt so badly, physically and emotionally. Husband arrived. "I wasn't ready for this baby, but I'm defnitely not ready to lose it". Tell me about it. All alone, twenty hours from anyone who loved us with a cross country drive ahead of us the next day, we said goodbye. 14 weeks of loving. 14 weeks of being a mom, ended in blood.
The moms I'd talked to back home had trite words "it was God's will", "it's better in the long run", "it's a blessing in disguise" and then they proceded to complain about their kids, saying that I was lucky.
I went on to lose pregnancy number two. And pregnancy number three.
I found out yesterday that one of those moms lost a baby. Her little boy. An unexpected, unplanned baby, leading to a shotgun marriage for the second time. A child she was terrifed to bear, and crushed to lose. She's broken, she's lost; she's the picture of me three and a half years ago.
She understands now. I'm so sad that she does.
This love, it is fierce and primal. It is a reflex, the need to protect our young. To rescue our children.
In my daughter's eyes, I see my babies lost. The way I love her now is not the same as how I loved her when she was just a line on a stick; an idea, a promise. It is deeper than that. The love of a person.
A different kind of love. Just as real.

100 Things

Okay, so as we just established, I'm new. Fresh. Green. Some might say Naive. Whatever.
In an effort to jumpstart this thing, I'll give you 100 things about me. Collective yawn? I'll forgive.

1. I recently stopped biting my fingernails. Hopefully it'll last longer than the other times I've quit.
2. I have a white dog. He's half yellow lab and half maremma and tatra. Google it.
3. His name is Polar (pronounced po LAR).
4. He drives me crazy. Naughty dog.
5. I have been married for five years.
6. My husband is from a differnet continent.
7. We dated long distance for a long time.
8. He arrived 8 days before the wedding.
9. We all nearly had a heart attack.
10. No, we did not meet on the internet. Live and in person, baby. Study abroad rocks, is all I'm sayin'.
11. We have a daugter.
12. The best, cutest child on the planet.
13. I'm allowed to be biased.
14. I've been pregnant four times.
15. Fourth time is the charm. Or was for me.
16. I drive a Honda. Best cars ever.
17. I'm learning to garden. So far, the racoons have eaten more out of it than we have.
18. Next year, baby.
19. I'm 27 years old. I think.
20. It gets harder to keep track of years the closer I am to thirty. Can't we just stop counting as soon as we hit 26?
21. I'm bilingual.
22. Well, sort of. I'd say proficient rather than fluent in Spanish.
23. My baby is almost one year old.
24. I gave birth almost one year ago.
25. How the hell?
26. I'd marry Harry Potter if I could.
27. I love chocolate. All things chocolate.
28. I'm trying to lose weight. See above.
29. I'm hypothyroid. See above.
30. I have two sisters.
31. I have no brothers.
32. I only ever wear white socks.
33. Or none at all.
34. I hate doing laundry.
35. I prefer Macs to PCs
36. Suddenly, I feel very boring.
37. This list is taking forever to write. What does that say about me?
38. I am a Lost junkie.
39. I hate reality tv.
40. I like to cook, but hate to have to cook.
41. I grew up on a farm.
42. I have a soft spot for all things sheep.
43. Including (and especially) lamb. Mmmm...
44. I like the color blue.
45. While pregnant, I decided I did not want to dress my daughter all in pink.
46. Guess what color she mostly wears?
47. Guess who likes it?
48. I had her ears pierced.
49. She wore baby bling until it fell off.
50. I never thought I'd be that mom.
51. I work full time.
52. I miss my daughter.
53. I should actually be working.
54. I'm currently reading, like, four books.
55. Am awesome.
56. The only time I have to read is right before bed.
57. I generally fall asleep two pages in.
58. Oops.
59. I really like to walk.
60. I don't like to take my dog along.
61. Does that make me bad?
62. Seriously, he pulls. And he shits.
63. Is that fun to walk?
64. I love photography.
65. I'm not all that good at it, but I wish I was.
66. I heart sushi.
67. I'm already thinking about baby number two.
68. Husband is not.
69. I hate compromise.
70. I am always right.
71. Am totally not stubborn at all.
72. No, really. Just ask me.
73. But don't ask my husband.
74. Or my mom.
75. I'm trying new things.
76. Knitting
77. Sewing
78. General craftiness
79. Everybody hope that I don't burn any houses down or something
80. I love Christmas.
81. My intentions are usually better than my actions.
82. or my inactions.
83. I'm horrible at keeping in touch.
84. I'm trying to get better.
85. My husband and I have only been out twice since the baby was born.
86. Both times we brought the sitter ice cream.
87. god, we're cheap.
88. Good thing she is my sister.
89. My baby has no uncles.
90. She has four aunts.
91. I really believe that the weekend should include Friday.
92. February is my least favorite month.
93. I realy want some chocolate right now.
94. See number 27.
95. Popcorn and cheese is totally supper. Shut up.
96. I thought I hated mangoes until I ate one fresh off a tree. I love mangoes.
97. Every mother should own a dog. If only for the floor-vacuuming skills post meal-times.
98. I love NPR.
99. Coffee has to start every morning.
100. Yum. Chocolate.

First

There has to be a first everything. First day above freezing in the spring. First colored leaves in the fall. First kiss, first love, first child. First.
This is my first blog post. I'm not sure I have anything to say, but I have an urge to write. First the urge, then the content.

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to choose a name for a blog nowadays? I'm a day late and a dollar short on this bandwagon, and every single idea I had was already used. I even tried just typing in random letters on the keyboard. My first try at that was ashe. Taken. Not first.
I landed on Fall and Spring (Spring and Fall was already used, so sorry to whoever that might be. I'm not trying to usurp your idea). I'm a transition. Always a transition, a progress, an ever-changing process. Spring and fall are my favorite seasons. I like the part of looking forward to what is coming, the anticipation of a summer filled with lakes and sunshine and warmth; a winter of snow and Christmas trees and frosted windows.

So. Here goes. My blog. My writing outlet. The illusion that someone might one day be reading might be the motivation I need to actual do it.

for better or worse, here we are.