All at once

For any of you crazy followers of my blog, remember when I said something just clicked in Lilah's head and she suddenly loved books? Well, we're going through a similar phase currently. About a week ago when I got my wisdom teeth out, she started something different. Now, Lilah Rose has always been a very articulate child. More than once I've wondered if she understands more than she lets on. Maybe she's storing up all this information to be activated at a later date. Maybe she's a Cylon! Sorry, I digress...

Now, this change she underwent a week ago was the metamorphosis from thought to speech. She said her first word at around 6 months and hasn't paused since then. She picks up many new words every day, which is pretty par for the course for an almost 2 year old (is she almost 2? Dear God...). The abnormal aspect in her growth and development is her newfound ability to put words together in a stream of thought. It actually makes sense now. She always prattles away when she plays and I thought it was just babble. However, in listening to her now, she's talking and I can understand better what's going on in her brain. I'll share some of what I've overheard.

"Lilah, it's bath time."
"No bath. Shower, Mama."
"Um. Okay. Shower time."
"Squeaky clean. Clothes off. Take them off!"
(Me staring)
"Please."

~

"Hiiii Daddy. Hugs. Kissies too. I love you (growled). 

(Dano staring)

"Demon!"

"Yes, honey. You're a demon."

~

"Lilah, you can't come up on my lap right now."

"Hot coffee, Mama?"

"Yep. Hot coffee."

(Lilah blowing air in the direction of the cup)

~

"You stay away from the stove! It's hot and it will burn little girls. It's dangerous (a word she knows well)!"

(Lilah blowing air in the direction of the stove)

~

(Lilah in an attempts to crawl onto the bed with both arms full of stuff)

"Do you need help, little one? Want Mama to help you up?"

"Up your nose!" (hysterical laughter from Lilah)

~

Upon showing Lilah how to use an Advent Calendar.

(Eyes wide after learning what was housed behind each little window) "Caaandies, Mama! Chocolate! More? More, please? Candiiiies! Chocolate candies. I need it! Please? Please, more candies?" I think this was some kind of attempt to find a magic combination of words to open more Advent windows. An "open sesame" of sorts. 

~

And most recently this morning...

"Mama! All done! Finished eating! Finished it all! Now more candies!"

(Blank stare from me)

"Cleeeean up!" (Waving her dirty hands in the air)

In conclusion, I'm pretty sure she's either destined to be some sort of author, elocutionist, or poet, or she's most definitely a Cylon.

Buckets and Babies

Two subjects for today's blog. Both have to deal with obsessions of my small daughter. Once upon a time a few months back, I noticed my overenthusiastic little girl attempting to carry too many things at once, dropping them, and sitting down to cry in frustration. We went to Target and purchased 5 little green buckets with brown ribbon handles and pretty birds and mushrooms on them. She used them for everything from there on out. Morning snacks - in the bucket. Toys - in the bucket. Crayons - in the bucket. We started to worry when she wouldn't accept her meals in her high chair anymore. She would cry and say, "All done," until we let her down, then ask for her dinner to be placed in the bucket. We chose to put our collective parental foot down at that point. Most of the buckets got ruined by frequent snacks, pinecones, and full meals being placed in them. When we got rid of the last bucket, she was back to carrying a juice cup, 8 animal crackers, a fistful of craisins, and approximately 13 letters of the alphabet in her two tiny hands. And was also very frustrated. She considered herself handicapped and resorted to using tupperware and the bin that holds her blocks, neither of which were sufficient.  When she was regularly eating her meals in her high chair again, I went to Target for 4 more buckets. They only had small tin pails in holiday themes, but they were buckets. I came home and she pounced on me "Mamaaa!" After a hug as big as her arms could manage, she started rummaging through my bags. I heard a delighted shriek. "Buckets, Mama! Buckets! Buckets!" In seconds, she had not 1, not 2, but all 4 buckets in her clutches and was running around the house putting various objects in them.

Lilah has also become enraptured with something else. We prefer her not to watch excessive television, but we have exposed her to various programs from time to time. The only thing she's showed a slight interest in so far has been the Secret of Kells. We love it too. She watches out of the corner of her eye while playing and stops to pay attention to her favorite parts. Here's one of them.

One day, I watched the documentary Babies.

Lilah was enthralled from start to finish. She didn't move. She barely blinked. She has watched it approximately 700 times since then. Sometimes she asks questions. "Baby sad, Mama?" Sometimes she just watches how babies interact with the wide world around them. If she's ever having a rough day, she wants to go find her doll (she wanders through the house calling her. "Baby giiiirl! Baby giiiirl!"), finds her, picks her up, kisses her up and coos, and crawls up to the couch to get settled. It's 79 blessed minutes of silence. I don't feel guilty because it's educational. I'm very tired of it, but it's not annoying like a lot of children's programs. She's learning and enjoying watching the joy of babies around the world. I like that she's being exposed to different cultures, foods, languages, and ways of life. She likes that 4 adorable, roly-poly babies are playing on the screen in her living room. Everybody wins.

Too much

Today was one of the most terrible days I've had as a parent, if not the most terrible. It started innocently enough.

We'd had a few friends over for snacks and games the night before, and a couple of them had stayed over. We were all relaxing in the morning and having coffee and bagels, listening to music, watching silly YouTube clips, and being entertained by Lilah's endless antics. Our friend Mike followed Lilah up to her room and the happy pair were playing in her room. I can't remember what I was doing before. All I remember is hearing Lilah's cries, blinking, and being halfway up the stairs. I saw Mike holding Lilah in his arms and I took one look at her and knew something was wrong. She was squirming and screaming and I took her from him and walked back down the stairs to look at her more closely. I noticed that she didn't stop moving, like she was trying to get away from something. I'd seen that before in cases of extreme and persistent pain.

I looked her over and saw that the index finger of her right hand was dripping blood. I grabbed her by the wrist to assess it more closely while Mike explained that they had been playing peekaboo and Lilah's hand had gotten shut in her wooden bedroom door. It appeared she had tugged it free, resulting in nearly skinning her fingertip entirely. It was swollen to three times its normal size. It was purple, stiff, and dripping blood. The  skin left on the fingertip was hanging by a flap. I just stared for a few seconds. Mike and Danielle sat on the couch staring at us. Dano was standing over me with a white face. I processed the following thoughts rather quickly and incoherently: stop bleeding, reduce swelling, soothe pain, calm down, keep Dano from having a panic attack, don't have a panic attack. My daughter was screaming inconsolably and writhing in my lap, trying to shake the pain from her hand and successfully making it worse. I kept a calm tone of voice and asked Dano to bring me my bin of medical supplies from the bathroom closet. I rummaged through the bin while talking to her and telling her I'd make it better and not to worry. She kept screaming. I washed it with saline and found Steristrips (kind of like artificial stitches). I Steristripped the flap of skin over the open tissue and lined the edges with Bacitracin ointment (think Neosporin). That controlled the bleeding. I looked over my pile of supplies and a stroke of genius flashed through my alarmingly clear mind. We had Orajel swabs. I broke the seal on one and blew into the open end to get the medication into the swab faster than gravity would allow it to drip, then covered the fingertip with it. Lilah stiffened and tried to pull away, screaming louder with every ministration. I wrapped the finger in gauze and held her hand while I looked for tape. I turned back to Lilah to see that she had pulled the dressing/ointment combination off with her teeth and had resumed screaming and waving her hand hysterically.

Dano said, "I know you're a nurse, but try a Bandaid. Maybe this won't work right now." I remember feeling white rage course through every capillary. Everyone else had frozen. Everyone else had sat there white-faced and horrified. It was my face and hands streaked with my baby's blood. Not theirs.  No one had better start telling me what to try. I turned to Mike and Danielle and asked them to leave and go home. I asked Dano to get me an ice pack and go somewhere else to deal with his anxiety and leave me to deal with Lilah (still screaming, still flailing).

I held her down to ice her finger. That was actually worse, since she abhors being held down for anything. The finger looked better afterward, but I was still afraid she'd fractured or dislocated it. She wouldn't let me bend the joint without screaming harder and it was purple and edematous. The Orajel started to take effect and she quieted. I asked Dano to call the urgent care office and ask to speak to a nurse to see if we should bring her in. He dialed and had a short conversation, then hung up and relayed that all the nurses and MAs were busy, but the secretary had felt we should bring her in and stop the bleeding. The rage flared up again and I called back. Same secretary answered the phone. I wasn't about to have a woman without even the most basic first aid training give me medical advice about my baby. Working for a doctor doesn't give you any credentials. It gives you a paycheck.
"Hi, can I speak to someone who actually has some sort of medical training?"
*Long pause* "Was your daughter the one who hurt her hand?"
"Yes, and I need to speak with someone qualified to judge whether or not I need to bring her in."
*Another long pause* "Please hold." A nurse came to the line and asked a few questions and told us to bring her in for an exam and x-rays. Of course by this time Lilah Rose had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

By the time we got to the office, Lilah asked to be put down to play with the trains. A MA came out to assess her and we were seen within minutes. The doctor commented that she didn't seem too bothered, and I explained in medical terms that I had essentially numbed the shit out of her entire finger. He said that was a wonderful idea, and she clearly wasn't in any pain. I gave her a graham cracker and she pointed to the doctor and said, "Doctor," then promptly started munching. After assessing her and asking us questions about how it had happened, he led us down to the corridor to get an x-ray. Dano waited while I went in. I told her that the lady was going to take a picture of her hand with a big camera, and she'd have to be very still on my for a few seconds. I positioned her hand on the table. "All done Mama!" She was trying to pull away.
"She needs to take your picture, darling. It won't take long." I pointed up to the camera for her to see.
"Camera, Mama?"
"Yep! Just a big camera, baby bird."
"Cheeeeeese!"
And it was over. Lilah and I walked around naming different bones and body parts while we waited for them to print out. I sneaked a peek at them and breathed a sigh of relief. The finger looked pretty good to me. We were led back to the exam room to wait for the doctor to read them. She was well into her second graham cracker and requested that we sing her a song. I started "June Hymn" and Dano joined in and Lilah was pleased. Then we sang her "Bandit Queen" (a song I've been singing to her since the day she was born) and we all laughed when we got to the line that said, "She ain't fancy, she ain't fine, and while her fingers number only nine, she's the belle of the ball of the insurgency." I returned to my normal mindset while we were singing and just reveled in the joy that was our family for a few verses. Dano and I sang to her while she weaved her body in a little dance and sang along with a smattering of Bapapapa's. It's a strange family but very beautiful and my saving grace. Colin Meloy's line to his pregnant wife came to mind from the song wonder: "My darling, what wonder have we wrought here? It's weird and it's wonderful, dear."

 The doctor came back and told us to wrap it and put ointment on it every night while she slept, and ice it for 36 hours and she'd be as good as new. She'd only suffered soft tissue damage and traumatized the joint. He handed me a few samples of Bacitracin ointment and I smiled to myself, thinking about my stockpile at home. We went to Sonic and got Lilah a corndog. I went to work and she ate her corndog and watched the Secret of Kells with her daddy. To her, that was pretty much Christmas morning.

I came home from work tonight and finally had my breakdown from the day, sobbing for approximately 7 minutes. Lilah's already forgotten the whole thing.

Time for a change

I took Lilah to her 18 month appointment today. She is actually 20 months, but in the move she got to be a couple of months behind in her immunizations and appointments. This is our last trip to this family practice that "specializes" in pediatrics. I wasn't incredibly impressed with them the first three times we went, but I decided to give them one last attempt today.

We got to the office (which has no books or toys, only magazines for adults advertising various undesirable diseases and their treatment options) and I set Lilah up in a chair while I signed her in. "Setting her up" required giving her a cup of water and handing her a bucket. Everyday, Lilah Rose has a morning snack. It usually consists of grapes, orange slices, craisins, animal crackers, ginger snaps, or toast. This morning, it was toast with apple butter and animal crackers. Lilah is not like other children. Most children happily accept and eat their snack with relish (the emotion, not the condiment). Lilah, on the other hand, requires that her snack  be presented to her in a specific small pail with birds on it and a brown ribbon handle. This is her "snack bucket". It allows her snack to become portable if she so chooses to relocate, swing it over her head, save it for later, take it upstairs, or put her water cup in it for easy transport. If you attempt to take the snack bucket, she screams. Not whines, protests, or cries. Screams. So don't ever do it.

I left Lilah to her snack while I filled out paperwork. From across the room, I heard her say, "Hi." She proceeded to greet everyone in the waiting room. She then stood uncomfortably close to an older Asian woman and sang her a song, complete with a short dance number. We were called back to the exam room and the nurse weighed Lilah, her cup, her shoes, clothes, diaper, and snack bucket. I questioned this and she told me it couldn't add much to it. Lilah had one foot completely off the scale the whole time and I know for a fact it wasn't accurate, but the nurse said it was fine. She got her O2 levels, heart rate, respirations, temperature, and pulse. Lilah wasn't impressed with this and fussed and fidgeted. The nurse did nothing to distract or entertain her, just gave up and wrote down whatever she had and said "Close enough." She left the room and I heard her tell the doctor that Lilah would be difficult to give shots to. I seethed. "The only way she'll be difficult is if she has an idiot like you giving them," I was thinking.

The doctor saw her for a few minutes and told me she might begin saying more words than "mama" and "dada" soon. I just stared at him. Lilah ran around the exam room yelling "Open a window!" and "Take off the jacket!" He watched her for a few minutes, crossed something out in his notes and told me she was cognitively 2 1/2.  He also told me not to indulge in tantrums, as she would soon be testing the rules and limits. 5 minutes later, Lilah was crying pitifully because I threw away an animal cracker that had fallen on the floor and he said, "Ooooh, the poor baby! Don't cry!" I'm thinking, "Buddy, you just told me not to indulge her. You're an idiot." He spent the last few minutes trying to talk me into some unnecessary injections for her.

Him - "Hepatitis A is good to have."
Me - "Why?"
Him - "It effects the liver."
Me - "Yeah I know."
Him - "It's easy to get outside the US. Such as in Mexico."
Me - "I don' think she has plans to leave the country any time soon."
Him - "And it's orally transmitted. Babies are orally fixated."
Me - "Lilah, are you planning to lick any Mexicans?"
Lilah - "No Mama."
Me - "Well there we have it. We're all set then."

I hadn't even gotten into the car when I decided we're switching PCPs. These people have no idea how to do an assessment on a child. I miss my old doctor that spent time playing and talking with her and worked her assessment and exam in. The appointments were thorough, fun, and informative. These people got their educations at University of Phoenix, I swear to God, and I'm done dealing with it.

Nunnery nonsense

This Autumn has been wonderful. One of my goals for today (before I saw the forecast for rain) was to rake the leaves in the yard and allow Lilah to frolic in them for the first time. I was very upset because the giant tree in our backyard has so many leaves and I was only okay with the inevitability of raking millions of them because I'd get to see the colors change first. However, as the season progressed I saw the leaves change from bright green to dark green to dirty orangeish brown. I narrow my eyes at the tree whenever I look out into my backyard. I feel cheated. Like it knew all along and should have mentioned something.

Today was my bi-monthly mandatory *cough* bullshit *cough* meeting. Lilah and I went in the back employee door and I clocked in, only to find that the meeting was held in the front lobby. We have a very long building. It took 13 minutes to get where we were going. She stopped and talked to everyone along the way. She hugged Ananya from PT, she waved to patients and family members, she poked her head into offices to check for inhabitants.

I took Lilah with me because mostly when she's there people fawn over her rather than hold the meeting so I shave about 20 minutes off the time I spend at work on my day off. It worked like a charm. I really have no idea what the meeting was about and neither does anyone else. I repeated her name, age, height, weight, and favorite foods about 27 times, and everyone knows lots of fun things about her. Mission accomplished.

After the meeting we waited in the lobby for Dano to pick us up and Lilah peered into the pumpkins and said, "A ball, Mama!" I kept telling her they were pumpkins but she kept looking at me like I was crazy. They were big, round, and orange. They were clearly balls. After an exuberant greeting for everyone in the lobby, she watched the birds in the cage for a moment before spotting a 3 foot wooden statue of Sister Catherine of the Irish Sisters of Mercy Foundation, the founders of the Trinity Health System I work for. Lilah cautiously approached Sister Catherine (a thin, pale figure in dark garb and hood with a mouth that looks as if it had sampled a lemon recently drawn up into a wan smile). Lilah cocked her head to the side and said, "Hi!" They were eye to eye. Sister Catherine said nothing, moved not a wooden muscle, only stared her stately, frozen stare. Lilah offered several more "Hi!"s with no change noted in Sister Catherine's response. Lilah was not to be deterred from conquering even the most unamused person in the building. She threw her arms around Sister Catherine's spare frame in a carefree and loving embrace. Several things happened simultaneously in that moment. Lilah's weight shifted forward as she stood on her tiptoes to really give this hug her all. Sister Catherine teetered back on her base, then tipped forward into Lilah's waiting (albeit unprepared) little arms. Lilah's expression changed instantly from the wild ecstasy ("Hug, Mama!") to concern ("Uh-oh!") to utter panic ("Aaah!") as the unfortunate duo toppled to the floor. I was laughing hysterically as the other people in the lobby watched on in horror and concern. As with any other fall Lilah Rose experiences, I let her reaction dictate mine (even though I've bitten through my own lip not crying out and running to pick her up before). If she cries, I pick her up to comfort her. If she gets up and carries on, I don't do a thing. But she always looks at me first to see my face. My eyes met my daughter's (Sister Catherine's unfortunate eyes were buried in Lilah's sternum) and Lilah said, "Sorry, Mama!" I just laughed and helped her up, setting the likely-mortified Sister Catherine back upright. Lilah gave her one more pat on the shoulder and said goodbye to her before taking my hand and walking...right into the glass door.

Compromises and crackers

Lilah and I had yet another day of errands. Dano offered to keep her home, and I was surprised. I'd honestly rather go with her than have her at home without me. She's my little friend, and we have fun when we're together. First we went to Plato's Closet to look for an anniversary date outfit for me. She was very well behaved at first. She pointed to an attractive pair of brown boots and said, "Shoes!" I fell in love with them and picked them up. I picked out three sweater dresses to try on and found a fitting room. As soon as I put Lilah down, she shouted, "Baby!" and ran headlong into the mirror. Christened with a fresh red mark on her forehead, she explored the small room while I tried on the dresses. I chose two I liked best and set about getting dressed again. I was pulling my shirt over my head when I heard, "Bye, Mama." I tugged it down frantically and looked around the room. No small daughter. She had slithered under the gap in the door. I grabbed my things and rushed out into the store. Lilah had tracked down a small child and was hugging the life out of it. I rescued the poor boy and led her away, counseling her on the dangers of small people rushing out into the world without their mamas.

We put our purchases on the counter and Lilah insisted on handing my debit card to the cashier, who thought her precocious. We left and walked down the sidewalk to Joann Fabrics. Lilah tugged her little hand out of mine and made a dash for the parking lot. I used my best "stern" voice and said her name very seriously. She stopped in her tracks and I told her, "No way. You know that." She sat her butt on the curb and refused to walk. I carried her into Joann's and plopped her in a cart. She helped me choose a warm yellow and an attractive brown fleece for her Halloween costume. While waiting in line for the fabric to be cut, she got impatient. "Up, Mama." I picked her up and she tried to wriggle down. We call it her jellyfish move. She goes all limp and spineless (anyone who's ever tried carrying a reluctant toddler knows the move well) so it's like trying to hold onto water. It makes it nearly impossible to keep a hold on her. So I sat her down in the cart again and gave her my keys. The threw them defiantly on the ground and narrowed her eyes brazenly at me. "Uh oh." I counted to three in my head and picked up the keys, putting them back in my purse. She whined. "All done, Mama!" She whined a few times. I looked at her, trying to read her mind. I can never tell exactly how much she understands me, but I'm firmly committed to always treating her like a person. If she doesn't understand today, she might tomorrow. She's not stupid, and she just might comprehend more than I'm aware of. Some of her chattering might not be mindless baby babble based on what she hears. So I gave it a shot after another deep breath.
"Lilah Rose, I know you're not happy but it isn't a store for sweet little babies. Mama has this one thing to do, and then we're leaving for the next store. If you can be a patient little girl for Mama for a few minutes, you may have a cracker when after we leave." I appealed to her stomach, since it was 6:00 and I knew she was getting hungry. She looked at me and sighed. She asked to be picked up once more, and I held her. She calmly watched the older woman measure the fleece. She cocked her head and asked the woman, "Hotdog?" I told her that the woman was their to help with Lilah's Halloween costume, and did not have any hotdogs on hand. The woman noticed a tiny stain on the yellow fleece and went to find a pristine bolt instead. I told her it was unnecessary and she waved me off. I thought, "Oh dear God, I'm pushing my baby to the limit of her patience and hunger. That lady better run." The rest of the experience went off without a hitch, however. She found an unstained bolt and cut our fabric. We checked out and Lilah asked the cashier if she had a hotdog. The cashier looked confused. I could feel Lilah fidget and wiggle in my arms, and her repeated queries for food let me know she was hungry, but she had stopped acting up completely and I honestly wondered if she understood me. A woman in line had looked at me like I'd just snorted a line off my diaper bag when I had that talk with Lilah. People often do, but she's a human being, not a puppy or a teletubby. I respect her as a human and she (more often than not) respects me as a Mama.

We left and I gave her a big hug and told her how proud I was of her and thanked her for being such a good little girl. She said, "Cracker, Mama?" I kissed her cheek and wheeled her into Target and immediately picked up a small package of Goldfish crackers. She squealed and started eating them up, dancing in her seat. I talked to Dano about it, and we both agreed that she probably had a fair grasp on what I told her, even if she didn't get every nuance. She got the overall gist of the conversation and she responded. I have a good baby who just keeps getting better with age. Like wine. Or cheese.

Dark days

I started taking birth control again a month ago. I had tried before, and I had been very sick, no sex drive, headaches, and other problems. I talked with my doctor and said, "I don't want to puke or lose my sex drive. If you've got something for that, I'm willing to try it." He prescribed Yaz, which was supposed to be more mild than some of its predecessors. I decided to give it a try.

Within the first 3 days, I got the first yeast infection of my life, so I had to treat that. I got nauseated frequently but not to the point of vomiting. The vertigo got bad, and I had blood pressure fluctuation. I broke out badly and my already-frequent headaches were a daily companion. Within a week, I had gone from my usual outspoken self to downright antagonistic. Someone could say something that wouldn't normally bother me and instead of it not even being a blip on my radar, I would go off at them. In my head, I was thinking it was a good opportunity to speak my mind and tell people how I really felt and even if they were upset at first, it was just because I was being honest and they'd come to appreciate it in the long run. That's how it started anyway.

Within two weeks, I was just plain irritated. At everyone. Everything. I could have three days off and I'd return to work snapping and perturbed like I'd been there 6 days. My coworkers were taking notice. My staff was unimpressed with my irritability. My friend Melissa even said one night, "What is wrong with you? We're having a good night and you've still been nothing but crabby." I shrugged it off. "Just burnt out I guess."

By the third week, I was taking active steps to sabotage my closest friendships and nip any new relationships in the bud. I couldn't get off the couch. I cried at the drop of a hat. In my head, I was a constant victim but at the same time the sane part of me knew I was the root of the problem. We went to Zedd's soccer game and I got mad at Lilah for not wearing a hat. I looked at her and thought of how all the other kids looked clean and cute and she just looked rough and raggedy with her crazy hair and play clothes.

This photo was taken that day and I looked at it later and thought, "She's beautiful just like always! What was I thinking?!" I was good at masking it when people were around, primarily because then I was distracted from being alone with myself. But I hated being on my own because I knew something was wrong. I didn't feel like me anymore. I could recall the best memories of my life and they were oddly tainted by negativity. Pictures of me everyone complimented, I looked at in disgust. I weighed myself constantly, feeling like I was getting fat. Thoughts started creeping in my head that I was ruining everything I touched and my family would be better off without me, except for the fact they needed the income from my job to survive. I was staying up at night online to distract myself until I truly couldn't keep my eyes open anymore so I wouldn't have to lay in bed and think because my thoughts were starting to scare me.

Dano finally had a few talks with me after being my constant voice of reason for weeks. He wanted me to go off the pill. I agreed that was probably best. Even after three days of not taking the pill, I'm not all right. In fact, I feel like I'm getting worse. It just feels dark in my head. Dano is the only thing keeping me functioning, and that's only because he can talk me out of my moods where I think the world would be better off without me. I tried going to bed at a normal hour last night and we ended up arguing and I sobbed for an hour until I was exhausted. I'm not even sure what I said to him. I remember hearing breaks screeching on the highway and wondering what it would be like if it was me in the car. I want to get better. I want to feel normal and happy again. I don't know what else I can do. I feel like I'm drowning in my own head.

Nightmares

I just need to get this out.

Two days ago, I was under a lot of stress from work. They gave me an extra day off, then after my shift started, tried to call me in to cover for someone who didn't show up. I was worried they'd find a way to write me up as a no-call to keep from giving me my bonus in two weeks. I was also worried this would somehow affect my ability to transfer to my new facility - a stealth operation on my part that's been in the works for a month now.

That same day, Lilah had woken up on the wrong side of bed. She was just unpleasant from the time she opened her little blue eyes to the time she closed them that night. I spent my day off practically 100% with her. We played. Read stories. Ate snacks. Snuggled. She was even sitting on her customary stool in the kitchen while I made tacos for dinner. She would get down off my lap while we were reading stories to cross the living room, look straight at me, and smack my laptop (big no-no in this house). She would have 100% of her needs met and still emit a high-pitched whine. She terrorized the cat, yelled for no reason, tried to smack me with picture frames, and was just generally naughty. I tried everything and concluded she was just having an off day because of the stormy weather (changes in barometric pressure really affect my little one). There were many one-minute time outs, stern looks, and gritting my teeth and going about my business without making eye contact during the shrieky whines. I was exasperated at the end of the day and more than ready to put her to sleep for the night. I was counting down the hours until bedtime. I kissed her haphazardly, told her I loved her, and Dano took her upstairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed for the rest of the night.

Late that night, I fell into bed, mentally and physically exhausted. I had the most terrible nightmares I've ever had in my life. They won't get out of my head now, and I need an outlet. I don't want to talk about them because they're truly horrifying to me and I can't even think about or write them without crying, but I need to exorcise them in some way. I decided to write them out here.

 I was home and distraught. It wasn't our house now. It was an older, darker house with 70's wood paneled walls and shabby, scratchy furniture. There were sheets over the dim windows and dust everywhere. Work had fired me days before my bonus was due and denied my transfer. I had begged and pleaded. I told them I had a family, a small daughter to feed. They were my same administrative staff, only bigger, colder, and more powerful. They didn't even hear what I was saying, and said I should have thought about all this before taking an extra day off I wasn't entitled to. I had come home and put Lilah distractedly in the bathtub. I was talking to Dano in the kitchen, very upset, and asking him what we were going to do. I was going back and forth between the bathroom and the kitchen, but not paying attention to Lilah. I don't even remember seeing her in the tub while going back and forth between the rooms.  Finally Dano just said we'd figure something out and went into another room to lie down on the couch with his laptop. I went in with a towel to get Lilah out of the tub, and I knew instantly that she was dead. I don't remember much of this part of the dream. Just that I felt something break in my mind. Something that was everything good, my sanity, my happiness, my will to live. I called for Dano in a broken voice that wasn't mine. He blamed himself for distracting me and not watching her in the tub. His face was contorted in horror and he couldn't drag his eyes off her. He backed out of the room.  I remember holding her in my arms and feeling how heavy she was. I covered her and dried her off, thinking calmly that I was glad her eyes were closed so I wouldn't have to see the lack of light behind them. I took her upstairs and chose an outfit for her. I put a diaper on her and dressed her, combed her hair. I tucked her next to me on my bed and closed my eyes. I remember thinking that I was no mother. I was a murderess, and if God had any mercy in him, I'd never open my eyes again so I could be with her forever. I woke up from my nap because I felt something cold next to me. I knew what it was and held her tightly to me, tears spilling out of my eyes. The sick, dead feeling that had started in the pit of my soul was spreading to the rest of my body and I felt a panic rising. I just rocked my poor child and remembered every moment I could recall from the time I laid eyes on her for the first time. Hours went by. I had to pull myself away from her as I felt my sanity slipping more and more, but I didn't care. I stood up and something in me needed Dano. My feet felt leaden. I closed the door quietly so I wouldn't wake her and walked down the stairs into the room where Dano was lying on the couch. Facebook was open on his laptop, and he'd updated his status moments before. "She's really gone. She's never coming back and I always knew it would be my fault." He had a dull look in his eyes, and an empty bottle of pills next to him. I realized that I was about to lose the only other thing worth living for, and I collapsed on the floor next to him and laid my head in his lap. He folded his arms around me distractedly and almost resolutely, and something inside me was screaming. Screaming so loudly that it drowned out every other thought, emotion, and feeling. There was most certainly a hell, and I was in it. Suddenly I felt like I was rising from deep water, a familiar feeling while I'm dreaming and it always means my consciousness is rising to the surface. My dream-mind felt a swell of hope that none of this had been real and maybe I had hope of redemption after all. I waited. It always feels like a baptism. Whether the dream was good or bad, I feel like I'm leaving it behind for a new life in reality. I felt my body rise with my consciousness, and I opened my eyes to find myself sitting up and sobbing wildly. Dano woke abruptly and reached for me. I can't remember how I ended up in his arms, but he held me tightly and stroked my hair. I had a death-hold on his arms and just sobbed. "Honey, honey it's okay. It was a dream. Calm down. You're okay." Snapshots from my dream kept flooding my mind, like a unique kind of torture. He was shushing me, and I quieted for a moment and heard Lilah's soft, rhythmic breathing in the next room. The image of her lifeless body invaded my mind and I relapsed into hysterical tears again. "I can't get it out of my head. It won't get out of my head!" I was almost shouting at this point. I don't know how long it took him to get me calm enough to sleep, or if I just wore myself out. But I passed into a dreamless sleep for a few more hours.

In the morning, I walked downstairs and Dano looked at me as if he was trying to read from my face how much I remembered. He mentioned something about me having nightmares, and I nodded and burst into tears again. He held me and I tried to get myself under control. He got up to get me coffee and I reached for Lilah Rose. She crawled into my lap and nestled her head into my chest and I held her desperately. She reached for the Xbox controller Dano had set down, unpaused Mass Effect, and fired a few rounds at an unfortunate alien who happened to be standing too close to Commander Shepherd. I laughed and dried my tears. She was my crazy, sweet little baby. It was going to be all right.

 I've been afraid to sleep the last couple of nights. I keep pushing the dream out of my head, but it resurfaces and fear grips me again. I'm holding onto one of my favorite verses - "God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind." Dano says it was my stress from work taking over my mind, and guilt about being so frustrated with Lilah that day. I thought maybe by writing this out, it would take the power and horror out of it. Now I'm not sure that's true. Maybe only time can take the images and fear away, but in the meantime, I dread going to sleep at night and hold my husband and daughter tightly and often. I'm not sure what else I can do.

Cider Mill

Fall is here, and despite some warm afternoons here and there, it feels like it. The air has a crisp taste to it, and an edge of chilliness. The leaves on the trees are rimmed with light color and the plants have lost their summer green. Everything feels expectant. It's the beginning of my favorite time of year.

Lilah has been changing too. She's more of a real person every day. It takes me forever to go grocery shopping because she has to say hello to every person we encounter and point to things and ask, "What's that, Mama?" She's so curious and fun. She's still a little scared of dogs, but she warms up to certain dogs after awhile. As Dano says, "She likes the ideas of dogs. Just not dogs themselves."

Lilah hates when I leave the house to go to work now. I pick her up to give her a kiss goodbye and she wraps her arms around me tightly and looks at Dano. "Bye bye, Dada!" She screams when I hand her to him. She's my little buddy. On my days off, she goes everywhere with me.

Lilah and I went to the Birmingham Farmer's Market. I got both of us ready and picked her up. "Bye bye, Dada!" I smiled. She was right, this time.
"Yep. Bye bye, Dada. You're coming with Mama today." She smiled so big I couldn't see her eyeballs.
"Mama!"
It was a nice drive down Woodward into Downtown Birmingham. The Farmer's Market was outside with live music and lots of friendly people and produce stands. We wandered about for a bit before getting back into the car and driving to the Franklin Cider Mill. "Out, Mama!" said my backseat driver. I got her out and we explored the mill. There was a large stone room with a giant candy apple-red, wooden waterwheel. Lilah stood on the stone ledge and gripped the metal bars with her pudgy little hands. She liked the spray from the waterwheel on her face. I wanted some fresh cider for the house, so we went to search for it. We passed a stand selling huge footlong hotdogs and sausages. Lilah smelled them on the breeze and her head snapped sharply toward the stand and her eyes resembled saucers. The hotdogs and sausages were easily as big as her arm. "Hooooootdogs, Mama!" I laughed.
"We'll have hotdogs when we get home, my love." She watched them until they were out of sight. The store was set up like an old barn. She tried samples of various crackers, sausages, and cheeses before deciding she wanted all of them. I bought a brown paper bag filled with hot spiced donuts and a half-gallon of fresh cider. We went to the tent outside and bought Dano a caramel apple with nuts and a large jar of apple butter. I prefer pumpkin butter, but I was outvoted. My arms were getting full of our acquisitions and I nervously let Lilah walk holding my hand. She wanted none of this and tottered off on her own. That was exactly what I had feared. Thankfully I'm still faster. She had stopped on the wooden bridge over the river to hold the bars and look at the water.
"Duckies!" I held her hand firmly and we walked to the stone hedge by the river. I placed her on the edge and sat next to her. Her eyes lit up when I pulled a steaming donut out of the paper bag (now getting dark spots from the frying oil). I broke it in half and handed her a piece. She munched thoughtfully and we watched the ducks. Some other children were throwing bits of their donuts to the ducks to lure them closer. When a duck (or child) would approach, Lilah would pull back sharply and shield her donut.
"What does a duckie say?" I asked her.
"Uh, quack?" a little boy said judgmentally, raising his eyebrow and continuing to stalk a duck. Lilah said,
"Quack, quack, quack," between bites of her donut. We sat together awhile and made our way back to the car. It was a lovely little detour, and I'm thinking of making it a Fall tradition. When we got home, I gave Lilah a cup of diluted cider and set about putting ketchup on a hotdog for her. By the time I turned around to hand it to her, she was trying to catch her breath. She had gulped down the cider in less than a minute. Our doctor always had told us "Let her eat her fruits, not drink them," so she only gets juices once in a great while. Obviously, she considered it a special treat and sucked it down quickly before I could change my mind. I've got to be honest. That doesn't bode well for me later.

Shopping excursion

It's so strange. I gave birth to a baby and somehow I'm looking at a kid. They can't possibly be the same person. I wrestled her into my lap yesterday and told her, "Did you know that for the first two months you were alive, you wouldn't take a nap during the day unless you were laying on your mama or daddy? Hours I spent holding you. Did you know that?" She glared at me and said, "Yeah."

We went to the mall last week to go shopping for Fall clothes. It was perfectly lovely. I shopped mostly at the Carters outlet. She played at the table of blocks in the middle of the store and I shopped. I have to admit it made me so anxious to have her out of my sight, I wouldn't go around the backs of the racks. She played happily with another little girl. Well, more played next to her than played with her. We got lots of nice outfits and moved on. Gap had nothing to write home about. Gymboree was mostly just frightening. So was the Children's Place. Both stores had more toddler/kid than infant clothing, and what they did have looked like it had come straight out of a Hannah Montana episode. Lilah doesn't wear anything with writing on it (special exceptions are made for things like the "Save Some For Me" shirt her Grannie got her, with a picture of the Earth on it). But my child is not the one you'll catch wearing the "Brat" or "Princess" t shirt, or anything with sequins or glitter. The clothes I buy for her are bright, colorful, usually mix-and-match outfits (buy less and end up with more!), and the only writing you'll find on anything I just bought her is a tiny embroidered "adorable" on the sleeve of a dress I just bought her. It was so small I didn't even notice it until I came home.

I was feeling more than disgusted by the baby mini-skirts and sequined vests decided to call it a day after wandering the Children's Place. We were making out way through the veritable mob of well-dressed mothers, miserable fathers, and carefully groomed children when I heard a small peep from the front of the stroller. "Hat!" Lilah is decidedly anti-headwear, and not for lack of her mother trying to change her mind. She takes hats off and flings them. I looked and saw she was pointing to a row of hats on a shelf. "Yes, those are hats, Lilah."
"My hat!" I sighed. 'I wish!' I thought.
"No, love. You hate hats."
"Hat, Mama!" I picked one up and handed it to her. She jammed it on her head over her eyes. I laughed. It did look adorable. She took it off and handed it to me. "Hat." I put it on her head. She pulled the brim over her eyes and giggled, then pulled it off. "Peek!" We played that game for a few minutes before she put it on again and kept it on.
"Do you want this hat, Li?"
"Mine."
"Well, okay. Your hat." I was actually overjoyed. Not only did she have excellent taste, but she was already making her own clothing decisions at a year and a half. My mother still tried to dress me in coordinated outfits when I was 11, and had more than what could be considered a healthy say in my wardrobe at 16. We endured a line of unpleasantly conventional people to get to the register. I didn't see one person ahead of me that spent less than $150.00. Most spent much more. And we were checking out with a solitary hat. I laughed a little to myself about it. Lilah grabbed the ten dollar bill out of my hand and I helped her hand it to the check out lady, who looked like someone had, to borrow an expression from my friend Melissa, "pissed in her cornflakes". We left the Children's Place victorious, hat in tow.

We decided on a victory lunch at a little cafe. I got a great turkey and artichoke flatbread and Lilah had a three-cheese flatbread, orange slices, and as a special treat she even got an apple juice. I informed her of this (her first doctor always said, "Let her eat her fruit, not drink it," so juice is very rare), and she started bouncing in my arms. "Appa juice, Mama! Appa juice! Juuuuice!" She was very excited. I watered it down 50/50 and she never knew the difference. We chatted over lunch and I reveled in how great our day had been. One of the things that had been drilled into my head over and over as a child/teen/adult was my mother saying, "I hate shopping. I'm not a girly-girl and I hate girl stuff." Strangely she grew out of this when Gracie was born and became to her the mother I had always wanted but had resigned myself to never getting, believing her to be truly incapable of it. Apparently, it was just me. It was always me. Lilah and I are not "girly-girls" by any means. She loves her ride-on firetruck above all her other toys. She roars like a demon and eats dirt like a champ. But she genuinely enjoyed spending a day at the mall shopping for her clothes with her mama, and even started picking out her own things and inserting her own tastes and opinions. So I'm really thankful for a little white hat and a sweet little girl and a trip to the mall.

An outing

One of my favorite things to do with Lilah now is go shopping. It can be for anything. Groceries. Toilet paper. Milkshake run at Sonic. I love taking Lilah Rose and I love making it an adventure. She's so inquisitive and happy. She drinks in the world around her and I'm just happy to be a part of it.

Today, Lilah and I went to Target and Kroger for everyday things. She was dressed in a pretty 1960s throwback dress. It was yellow with white hems and neck, and had black flowers on it. Her hair was in a ponytail (which isn't just a bean sprout anymore!) and the not-quite-hair-but-longer-than-bangs strands were restrained with a black headband. She had yellow knee socks and looked beautiful as usual. The ride to Target was short. We listened to Colin Meloy Sings Live. I sang along and Lilah tried from the backseat - "Ba pa pa pa!" The songs were punctuated with a British man's voice giving us directions from the GPS on the dash. When we got to Target, I said, "We're here!"
She said, "Get out, Mama?"
"Yes, love. We're getting out." I settled her into the cart and strapped her in. We were barely through the automatic doors before her sneaky little butt had done a 180 in the cart (while still buckled in) so she was on her knees facing the back of the cart. She grabbed my list and pen out of my hand and tossed it on the ground, and started bouncing up and down on her knees and saying "Hi!" to literally every passerby. Most were charmed and said, "Well, hi there! Aren't you beautiful?!" Or something along those lines. She'd say, "Yeah!" and smile to show of her pretty white teeth. Every single person who interacted with her got lost in those wily blue eyes.

We went to the shoe aisle. She needs good shoes to support her almost-walking. She's taking 6-8 steps independently now. I looked at a lot of them and chose three pairs that were cute, comfortable, and functional. I held them up. "Okay. Choices, Lilah. Pick two pairs of shoes please." We've been trying to offer her choices between two things lately to foster a sense of independence and control. We do not want a snotty toddler. I made a mistake by offering her three items to choose from on a trip where she was already feeling sassy and busy. She cocked her head and lifted one pair of black shoes out of the box. I secretly hoped she would change her mind about them. She got a devious smile on her face and tossed them on the ground. "Uh-oh, Mama!" *Giggles*. I sighed and knelt down to pick up the shoes.
"So I'll take that as a..." *Thunk*. A pair of little brown mary janes hit me on the head followed by hysterical laughter from the cart.
"Uh-oh, Mama!" More laughter. We ended up with two pairs of shoes, a bump on my head, a cart full of stuff, and we moved on to Kroger.

We loaded up the cart with fruit and bread, since that's what we came for and I can't seem to keep any of those items in my house. I showed her a pretty cake with a daisy on it. "Bite, Mama?"
"No, love. It isn't your cake."
"...Bite, Mama? Mine?" We moved on to the produce section. I picked a cantaloupe.
"Melon, Lilah. It's tasty." I sat it in her lap. She took a bite of the rind and made a face. I sighed.
"Yuck."
"Yeah, yuck. It's not peeled. We still need berries, grapes, kiwi, and something else." We can't say the word 'banana' around Lilah unless we're prepared to produce one for her consumption instantly. She was busy trying to pry open the carton of strawberries when we passed the banana aisle. I prepared myself for what was ahead. As soon as she spotted them, she started rocking back and forth like a crack addict and reaching for them.
"Nana, Mama! Nana! Nana!"
"Yes, Lilah. You can have one as soon as we get in the car." We went to check out and the lady was nice but a little flustered. Her bagger was late so she was going back and forth between bagging and checking out. I told her I could bag my own. She asked if I was sure. "Yeah, it's not a problem." She looked relieved. Lilah started chatting with her. It was so strange. I watched the stress and worry melt off her face as she continued exchanging words with my daughter. Before we left, she said,
"You're just a little ray of sunshine, you know that? I needed you today. I could use a few more things as good as you to brighten up my days." We thanked her and left.

On the way home I got to thinking about how many grouchy, unhappy-looking people I frequently noticed in the world, and how many happy, smiling people I had encountered today. The world probably wasn't getting more carefree. It was the effect my sweet little baby had on the people she interacted with. Her smile lights up the people she graces with it. Sullen-looking people can be moping about their day, and it all changes when one little girl says, "Hi!" I think that's pretty special.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight..."

"...and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~Oscar Wilde

I am, by nature, a dreamer. My mind is usually a jumble of stress and emotion during the day, but for some reason manages to sort and file itself into an almost recognizable and damn-near functional human psyche after I slip into The Dreaming (as Neil Gaiman calls the twilight world). Consider the following...

My dad asked me to call him on my birthday. We kept missing each other, and he emailed again a couple days ago to pinpoint a more exact time that would be good for both of us. I had talked to Nick about it already, who shared his sunshiney opinion - that my dad was starting to see things from a different light and wanted to turn over a new leaf. I was more inclined to a slightly less optimistic point of view - perhaps he had a terminal illness and wanted to make amends, or perhaps early-onset Alzheimer's and wanted to talk to me before he forgot how.

My heart was pounding and I tasted metal on the back of my tongue as I dialed on the way home from work. He picked up, and his tone was strained. We weren't more than a few words into the conversation before I realized I didn't need to clear my calendar for Thanksgiving and Christmas just yet. Here are some highlights -

He was less than impressed with my 13 year old brother contacting me a few months back and me not immediately reporting his disobedience to my parents. Apparently my duty was to rat out a troubled little boy to the people who forfeited any communication with me 3 years ago, and by not doing so, I proved to them that I would still prefer a sneaky, dishonest state of existence to an above-board relationship. I "set Mason up to fail." If I had made a "better" decision, the long-awaited conversation with my dad would have been 100% different according to him. Got to hear the same old sob story about how my mother will take my words and actions to the grave and re-lives them every day. He said, "Do not have any sort of contact with my minor children. I'm sure, as a parent now, you can understand..." and that's really the last thing I actually heard. My mind flashed back to countless arguments in my childhood that had ended with, "When you're a parent, you'll understand." The problem is, now that I'm a parent I understand even less. In fact, I find their words and actions appalling. Here are some of my responses -

I did the best I could with a difficult situation and handled it in the way I felt was most right. I had a troubled sibling reaching out to me and didn't turn him away or sell him out. I acted like a big sister. I still felt like I'd made the right decision and was sorry he disagreed, but that was the nice thing about us both being adults - we could make decisions the other disagreed with. Just the fact that he considered Mason talking to me "setting him up to fail" spoke volumes about how his opinion really hadn't changed. I was really over a happy relationship with my family being the proverbial carrot always dangled in front of me. He hadn't called to start over. He'd called to tell me that once again, he thought I'd fucked up and was disappointed and I had so many other things going on in my life right now, I really couldn't be bothered with all that. As far as my mother was concerned, I told him that I asked for forgiveness for my actions and apologized years ago. I had forgiven them and moved on to lead a healthy, happy life. It wasn't any concern of mine that she chose to relive it until it ate her alive like a cancer. My responsibility ended years ago. The rest was on her. "And as for me being a parent, all I understand is that as a parent, I could never let one of my kids slip through the cracks, so I'm pretty sure we can leave my child out of this. You're going to think what you want about this, so there's really nothing left to say. I love you, despite what you may think." He hung up.


I pulled the car into a parking lot so I could cry properly. I started to drive home again when I could see the road again. Now I'm not saying this for worry or sympathy, but I saw a car in the oncoming lane and I was too far over because my eyes were still blurred. I swerved out of the way and pulled onto my street, but I thought, "Maybe I should have just let them hit me. Maybe things would be different then." I banished the thought as fast as it slithered into my head and realized just how poisonous my parents still were if they could instantly inspire such unhealthy emotions. Dano held me when I got home and told me he was proud of me, that I'd done and said the right things. I said I should have known better all along and trusted my suspicions that he had ulterior motives. Dano reminded me that I had shared the same suspicions when Nick had emailed and I was wrong then. That made me feel much better. I had sharp pains in my stomach and felt nauseated and had a headache. Par for the course after a conversation with one of my parents. I thought, "Feeling like crap physically - check. Feeling like crap emotionally - check. Self-esteem hanging in around zero - check. Oh yeah. Same old Dad."


I went upstairs and ran my hand over a sleeping Lilah Rose and swore before all the universe for the thousandth time that I'd never leave her. I got into bed and Dano held me until he drifted to sleep. I was restless and tossed and turned. Tears sneaked out of my eyes even when I screwed them tightly closed and I cursed my lachrymal glands. I tried feeling sad, angry, sorry for myself, and no emotion consoled me. I thought, "I bet my dad's not sleeping well tonight either, after all this." So I closed my eyes and meditated, emotionally reaching my arms out for a daddy who always loves me, never leaves me, and always heals me when my heart breaks. I asked to grant my dad a peaceful rest and a calm mind. As soon as I started asking good things for my dad, the hurt started to soothe a little and the scar tissue started to form again where my heart had just been wrenched open. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed. 


I felt like I was falling, but not fast. I was more drifting down through an inky blackness, a dark so deep it was thick and palpable. It wasn't a scary darkness. It was calming and friendly. I fell into a dream where I had planned an elaborate party in the woods down to the last detail. I'm not sure what I was celebrating, but I had cooked all of this amazing food and made a bunch of handmade delicious candies. I made just enough for everyone I knew was coming. I was exhilarated, proud of my work, and excited. My dad and little brothers Noah and Mason (at the ages I saw them last) came along uninvited and ravenously devoured everything. My decorations were ruined, the food was gone, and they mocked my efforts. "Who has a party in the woods anyway? That food wasn't even good." I ran deep into the woods crying and threw myself at the base of an ancient oak tree. I felt strong arms around me and I opened my eyes. For some reason, I was still me, but I was also an acorn. I was covered in pine needles and looked almost like a hedgehog (I was me, but I could also see me. It was one of those dreams). I thought I'd open my eyes to a man holding me (they were man-arms) but I saw I was being held lovingly in the branches and boughs of the tree. I was surprised and curious. With hands that looked like branches and leaves but felt like hands, the tree brushed off the dirt and needles from my skin. "Why am I an acorn?" I asked the tree.
"Because you've always been mine."
"Who are you?"
"You were theirs for a time, but you've always belonged to me."
"But who are you?" All around me, and yet only in my head, I heard a line from the song "The Hazards of Love 4 - The Drowned". It went "And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes so filled with crying. A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying. But I pulled you and I called you here, and I caught you and I brought you here."
"You brought me here? Why?"
"Because you're mine. I love you and you're mine. They had you for their time but we have taken you back." I looked around the canopy. 
"Who is 'we'?" It was just understood that it was the same tree, but that tree was connected to all the other trees in the forest, the soil and water with its roots, the heavens with its highest branches, the universe itself.
"You aren't theirs anymore. Now grow." And I was planted between two mountainous roots at the base of the ancient oak tree.


Then I woke up.

Still not walking

I'm not too terribly bothered by the fact Lilah Rose is a late walker. Her vocabulary grows by the day, and she speed walks around furniture or holding onto a bigger hand. She had made no attempt at walking solo until this weekend. We had coaxed and encouraged and even shouted, "Just walk already!" on occasion to no avail. Yesterday Lilah and I went out on the boat with my aunt and uncle and she adored it. The wind, the water, the people floating lazily by on tubes or speeding past on seadoos. She loved all of it. She leaned as far as I'd allow her to over the side and wave her chubby little arms at passersby. "Hi. Hi. Hi, Lilah!" She even swam a bit in a shallow sandy corner of Coldwater Lake. While on the boat, she took 3 or 4 steps by herself, nonchalantly like she had been walking her whole life. I wanted to push her down. "Lilah Rose Marie. You won't walk on solid ground in a house but you'll stroll around when you're on a moving boat? What's wrong with you?!" My aunt suggested she just needed more of a challenge, that anyone could walk on land. She could walk on a boat. I was more than a little exasperated.

Lilah's trademark is never shutting up, it seems. I put her in the shower with me and she babbles away to the point I can't even hear my own thoughts anymore. One time I actually did get impatient. "Lilah! I can't even think with your constant chattering!" She grinned up at me. "Hi, Mama."

We're going to Hiawatha again. We're leaving this Thursday. I'm curious to see how Lilah tolerates camping at 16 months rather than 6. Updates to come!

Father's Day

It's Lilah's second Father's Day. It's going to be fairly low-key, due to the fact that (like every other day ever, it seems) I work at 3. Lilah and I have finished a light morning snack and a shower and have ordered a large breakfast from Toast downtown Ferndale - Eggs Benedict for me and Grand Marnier French Toast for Dano. I would have dearly loved to cook said breakfast, but work is stealing my soul.

I'm increasingly thankful with every day that goes by to have such a devoted and loving father for my daughter. He gets down on the floor and plays with her. He sets boundaries and limits for her gently. I can tell her to stop doing something and she laughs. One word from Daddy about it and she dissolves into heartbroken tears. He's with her while I'm at work and never does it even cross my mind that she's not being excellently cared for. He doesn't see it as a job or a responsibility. He loves his little girl and would do anything for her.

I was in an insuppressible mood this morning to hear the album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out. Now I enjoy Panic at the Disco as well as the next girl, but I'll be honest. The first album is little more than a catchy guilty pleasure. Nothing of musical or lyrical substance to speak of. I chose to analyse why I might be in the mood for this particular album. Probably a poor choice. This was the album that I listened to most when I first moved out of my parents' house in Nashville. And it's a day dedicated to thanking and loving your father. Aaand mine refuses to have a relationship with me. Total Father's Day buzzkill. I started getting into my traditional "holiday/birthday/Mother's Day/Father's Day/family member's birthday mood" last night. This mostly consists of systematically ushering those closest to me to the door of myself and telling them to come again soon. I prefer to spend these days deep inside myself with a sardonically-smiling facade. The way I see it, I'm entitled to a couple of days out of the vast remaining 365 to be a human girl and miss my family. I miss my dad. He called me Pigeon when I was very little. He was the dad to pick us up from school and take us to the circus, just because. He was the best at science projects and when my mother was in the hospital with Zack for pretty much two straight years, he learned how to be a parents to a little girl who liked having her hair done and helped me with all of my badges for Girl Scouts. He has the best sense of humor and could always get me to smile and laugh even when I got in a mood where I was dead-set against it.

Most people who know me are appalled that I work every Mother's Day, Father's Day, some major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and especially my birthday. Let's think about it. I could keep myself busy with taking care of very sick/recovering people, or I could stay home and kill everyone else's good day by being soberingly introspective about my pseudo-family off someplace having a lovely time while I'm here by myself and sad. Pretty obvious choice. I still send my traditional email wishing the parents a lovely day. I tell myself ahead of time I won't get a response. I still feel foolish and furious with myself for "casually" checking throughout the day to see if this year they'll prove me wrong. They don't. It's family tradition, after all.

One of the things I love best about having a child (since that is, after all, the theme-topic of this blog) is the chance to start over. All the majorly fucked up things about my childhood and dysfunctional relationship with dysfunctional people who share blood and genes with me will never really cease to exist. But I can look at Lilah and her starry blue eyes, laughing pink-lipped smile, upturned nose, and sunny blonde hair and all I feel right now is relief at the chance for redemption. That's how this Creator God I love works. No matter how dismal the feeling or how long it lasts, he never fails to gently point out a chance to redeem it into something beautiful. Dano being such a wonderful father armed with nothing but instinct and his own examples in his life reassures me that my childhood and adult relationships with my parents aren't the norm. They aren't the automatic default. There are many beautiful parents in the world, and my husband is one of them. So thanks to all the fathers in the world who love their little girls. Don't ever stop. It means more than you know.

Misc.

I'm mostly updating this blog out of a sense of obligation, which leads me to wonder as to its life expectancy. Lilah is still stubbornly refusing to walk. She stands with an ever-increasing sense of purpose but plops down forcefully when anyone holds their hands out to encourage that magical first step. Her favorite word is "Hi!", which she chirps to everyone. If there are no people present to greet, she simply sits by herself chanting, "Hi, Lilah, Hi Dada. Hi Mama," and then running through her ever-increasing list of friends' names.

She had her belated one-year photo shoot yesterday. My old friend Mitch Haarer is an incredibly gifted photographer and I wouldn't hear of anyone else doing her photos. We drove the nearly-two hours to Hillsdale, MI and Lilah slept until the last 20 minutes when she started to cry and chant her signature, "All done!" The shoot itself was a success. Lilah charmed the camera, sat where she was posed, pointed, played coy, and smiled winningly. However, Mitch had three locations planned, and even though it was a short drive to each, she still managed to fight getting back in her carseat and wail when strapped in. After a very long hour, we bid the Haarers farewell and drove 20 minutes to Coldwater. Lilah screamed the whole way. Dano dropped me, Lilah, and her purple carseat off at Biggby Coffee so we could spend time with the Sevens (Mike was transporting us to their house after he got out of work) while Dano jammed with Brent Yuhl. Lilah was given a chocolate chip cookie which she ate at record speed before exploring the store and generally trying to wreck everything. I had planned to read American Gods again while she sat and played with her toys quietly and we waited for Mike to be done. I'm not sure what possessed me to believe that was possible. We made it to the Severn's around 9:30, and fter Lilah made the rounds of "hellos", I could see she was over-stimulated and over-tired so I attempted to get her to fall asleep. That "attempt" lasted 3 hours of her mostly screaming. Dano got there and tried for a few minutes to no avail. I tried one more time and we both fell asleep.

Today I felt her gums and they are, for lack of a better describing phrase, riddled with teeth. At least four swollen little bumps that I could tell. She screamed most of tonight at home as well, so we gave her an ice cream, infant Motrin, and sent her to bed with fingers crossed for a regular baby in the morning, and Dano asking when he could schedule a vasectomy.

I'd take childbirth any day

So today, May 6th of 2010, I pinched a nerve in my back/neck. I've done it before but never to this extent. I had been feeling strange for about 10 minutes, like I had a muscle cramp in my back. I asked Dano to rub it and leaned forward. Immediately upon doing so, I felt like something inside my nervous system had literally exploded. My eyes saw only colors and I think I cried out because Lilah started screaming and Dano said, "Babe, you're scaring the baby," and all I could say was, "Don't touch me. Don't anybody touch me." He took the baby and I stood up hoping to relieve the pain positionally with no luck. I sat in the rocking chair and it kept growing until I thought I'd die. The pain was radiating to my neck, the crown of my head, my right shoulder, my right hip. Everything tingled and I clamped my jaw shut and forced myself to breathe short, shallow, controlled breaths. Lilah was still crying and staring at me and I just told her I was sorry in my head. I was frantic with pain at this point and maneuvered myself onto the living room rug and laid flat on my back, spine aligned. My head was spinning even though I was still and flat. My whole body tingled and all I could think was, "I have to go to work. I have to leave in two hours." Dano sounded light-years away when he said, "You're not going anywhere. You can't even move. Your job requires lifting! How can you take care of others if you can't take care of yourself?" He was right. I knew he was right. But I couldn't even process it at that point. "I'm sorry."  "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

He fed Lilah her lunch and I whiled away the minutes on the floor attempting to call Bekah for more nursing advice to see if I'd missed anything. She suggested different ways to position my affected arm and side to reduce the nerve compression. Her ideas helped. I felt my phone continuing to vibrate next to me after I hung up. I knew it was Mike texting me and was again furious for making myself unavailable to yet another person who might need me. Patients, friends, Lilah, Dano, coworkers. The pain tingled and throbbed with the feelings of inadequacy. "I'm broken. I have a problem," I thought. "I'm have the mental incapability to be selfish. I'm crazy." Dano left to run to CVS and buy me copious amounts of Icy Hot and Ibuprofen. I laid on the floor, alone with my brain. She's my arch-nemesis. It hurt to breathe deeply, and the hurt was exacerbated by worry, which was my primary mode of thinking. I looked toward my phone, which buzzed merrily again. "You have a text message. Hope nobody's dying in a fiery crash because you can't answer your phone." Thought #1: I'm a horrible person! What if my phone is right?! Thought #2: I am certifiably bat-shit crazy. And my phone didn't tell me anything. No one is dying. Mike is probably just bored of Bekah's checking in again. Thought #3: Could my phone be the devil? Or worse, 10-Speed (the demonic bicycle of the Coheed and Cambria's Amory Wars graphic novels) reincarnated? I came back to Thought #2. I'm not normally incoherently insane. I really was in enough pain to make me delusional. My thoughts then meandered to the origin of the phrase "bat-shit crazy", one I am oh-so-fond of (incidentally, aerosol-transmitted rabies has been known to occur in caves with high numbers of, you guessed it, bats. Thanks Google). I stared at the ceiling. It appeared to be moving in weird white swirls, so I looked away. I closed my eyes and went through my yogic mudras. I even visualized the nerve cluster that was currently ruining my life and pictured the pain ebbing away like the tide going out and that actually helped considerably. I opened my eyes when the pain was manageable and watched a muscle group from my obliques to my right hip spasm and ripple. It looked too cool to be alarmed. My mind then wandered to wishing for Valium to relax said spasms. "Yeah, at this point, I'd risk my nursing license for it." I started shivering because for some reason my body was struggling to maintain my core body temp. "It's like my nervous system's giving me the finger today," I lamented to the cat who stared back unblinkingly and (I felt) unsympathetically. I spent 5 minutes (I clocked it) rolling from my back to my stomach before realizing I liked it better on my back but could now not get back there. I started feeling tingly and crawly and was convinced there were bugs crawling on me. To make matters worse, a lone ant tracked across the floor about 16 inches from my head. I was on the verge of screaming. Dano came back. He put Icy Hot on the affected areas, killed the offending ant, assisted me off my stomach (which took 10 minutes and I still ended up almost passing out from the pain), helped me swallow 5 Ibuprofen tabs (he only bought 200mg tabs!) and answered my question with no, he didn't believe he knew anyone from whom he could score illegal Valium or Vicodin.

Currently I am resting on the couch on my back. I can't move anything but my hands, so my laptop is resting on my legs and my phone is on my chest. Dano is cooking me a pizza and Mike is texting me his usual endearing craziness and I'm actually able to respond at this point. No one died in a fiery crash, and I have exactly 15 minutes to be at work. I don't think I'm going to make it. Oh well.

Where to start

I haven't been able to blog in what feels like years! We have officially moved and are slowly but surely unpacking and making our sweet little house into a home. This house chose us more than we chose it. I had looked at it online but was deterred by the price they were asking. It looked to be a decent place, but more than I was willing to spend on a 2 bedroom, so I passed on seeing it. I looked at a few other places and saw some that would adequately meet our needs, were affordable, and met our specifications. Something just didn't feel right about all of them. The clock was ticking, since Lilah and I were staying with Dano's sister and her beautiful family for 2 1/2 weeks while we made the moving transition and I started my new job. Finally (a little against my better judgement) I set up an appointment to see the house on Wrenson. I pulled into the driveway a few minutes early with the dulcet tones of Claudio Sanchez gracing my speakers rather loudly and Lilah babbling/singing in the backseat. I sat in the driveway with an adorable house on my left and lilacs in full bloom on my right and tried not to get my hopes up. I looked at the tree-lined, double-lot backyard, huge covered front porch, 2-car garage, and tried not to picture our family here. The realtor shower up and showed us inside. The living room was large, the ceilings were coved, the doorways arched, there was an office adjacent to the living room, a library/dining room, many windows with lots of natural light, laundry room, kitchen with counter space that caused my husband to ask, "Be honest, sweetheart. Did it turn you on a little when you saw how much cooking space you'd have?" The bedrooms were perfect for us. The spirit of the place seemed to embrace me the moment I walked in the door. This house wanted us. I told the realtor I liked what I saw, but weren't willing to pay that much for it. I got my application approved and made an offer to the owner for what we were willing to pay a month in rent. He accepted with a 2-year lease. This may sound strange, but this house loves us as much as we love it. When I pull into my driveway after work, it says, "Welcome home." When I sit on my porch and watch Lilah caper about the yard, it says, "This is where you belong." When I cook in my kitchen, the whole spirit of the place goes into what I'm making and somehow makes it better. When I look out my big kitchen window to my backyard, the house suggests places for my garden to go. "What about a melon patch behind the garage? Herbs close to the kitchen door so you can get to them easily. Flowers would look great here." The owner is very friendly and plans to repaint the porch and put new floors in the kitchen for us next spring. He's also offered to let us buy it if we would ever like to. We're trying to think up a name for our house now. It seems to need one.

I've started my new job, and Lilah has plunged headlong into separation anxiety. I work 64 hours a pay period. Unfortunately, they have me working 6 days one week and 2 days the next. I expressed my concern that it was too much time in one week away from my poor baby who's used to having me at her beck and call 5 days a week. The scheduler was more than willing to adjust it...on the next schedule. So this is my schedule until May 26th. Great. Lilah is absurdly clingy with Dano when I'm gone, and when I'm home, she cries if I even look like I'm going to go somewhere and she glares at Dano like he's the enemy and might take her from me at any moment. He's trying his best not to take it personally. We both realize it's a hard adjustment for all of us. She just left all that was familiar to her and had a parents go back to work full-time. She'll settle down soon.

She's also gotten very adept at chattering away and saying new words. She adores her cousins and likes to follow them around squealing. "Zedd! Ephraim! Zedd! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Adam (her uncle)! Bye bye! Bye bye!" She also lets us know when she's hungry. "Num num, Mama?" and sleepy. "Night night." She loves to greet people. "Hi. Hi. Hiiiii!" God forbid they ignore her. Dano took her upstairs to lay with her in hopes she'd nap yesterday. He ended up dozing and she waited until he was asleep and slithered down off the bed and let herself back down the stairs! She entertained herself for about ten minutes before her daddy realized in horror that she was gone. She's gotten very crafty. She was great on the drive here. There was one point in the UP that she woke up from her nap starving and started crying, "Num num! Num num, Mama!" My heart broke for her because we were about 30 minutes from the nearest anything. She didn't understand, obviously, and thought I was just withholding food from her. I shared a chocolate shake with her to say I was sorry after letting her devour a platter of pasta and garlic bread. I'd never felt so guilty as a mother, but I hadn't had any other options. I had kept handing her graham crackers but she was still hungry. She was an angel after she ate until about 20 miles from our destination. She started fussing mildly. "All done, Mama. All done!" I handed her what I thought was my empty to-go cup of chocolate shake for her to kick around or whatever, since she had tossed all her toys on the ground. She had the straw out in seconds, tasted it, and was pleased. She popped the top off and flung it. She then took the cup and turned it upside down on her face/head to inspect the bottom for any remaining contents. I was horrified as I watched in the rear-view mirror to find that the cup wasn't quite as empty as I'd thought. It had a bit left in the bottom and that "bit" was dripping down Lilah's hair and trickling into her eagerly awaiting mouth. By the time we got to Hazel Park, she was a sticky, chocolaty mess, but I was so relieved to have made it that I didn't really care. 

Too much too fast

Lilah turned one a week ago. I took her to her yearly check-up the very next day. We were to see Alice, the PA-wife of the doctor who owns the practice. The nurse weighed Lilah and got 17lbs, 6oz. I was shocked. I weighed Lilah at home the day of her birthday party and she had been exactly 20lbs. I kept to myself my opinion of the infant scale they use (the same model used to weigh baby Jesus) and was ushered into the exam room where Lilah proceeded to try to wiggle away, tear the paintings off the walls, eat the blood pressure cuff, and cause her usual ruckus. The nurse asked if I had any concerns (I didn't care for this particular nurse. Having had her before, she is very friendly but altogether inefficient when it comes to dealing with babies, especially while giving shots). I informed her of Lilah's milk fiasco.

When Lilah had decided about 4 weeks shy of her first birthday that she was finished nursing, I pumped every drop I could produce and mixed it with 1% cow milk. She tolerated that well. I gave her just 1%. She had diarrhea. I was unsure if that was milk-related or perhaps the GI bug many people at work had come down with. I gave her whole milk the next week. She tasted, loved, and consumed all of it in minutes. Then proceeded to projectile-vomit for 12 hours. Hoping against hope it was, indeed, the remnants of some foul virus, I waited a week and gave her 1% in a cup. Diarrhea again. She was lactose intolerant. Great. Just great. 

The nurse bobbed her head in understanding and scribbled notes in Lilah's chart. She told us Alice would be in shortly. Alice (what do you call a PA?) didn't keep us waiting long. She was a shorter, middle-aged woman with past-shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. She had a kind face and Lilah took to her right away. She spent many minutes just holding and talking to Lilah. I found myself sighing again that I would be leaving such a wonderful family practice in just a few short weeks. She asked about Lilah's recent growth and development, as well as our problem with milk. I voiced my hesitance to give her formula for so short a time, and that I had been willing to nurse longer had she any interest in participating, but was unable to pump much at all anymore. Breastmilk is, after all, a supply-and-demand-based product and my Demand was more interested in the cat than nursing. Alice said it was unnecessary to give her formula, but she needed to gain back her weight. She suggested whole-milk yogurt, high-fat and nutrient-dense foods like cheese, avocado, fish, and humus. Thankfully, Lilah loved all these things and was only intolerant to milk, not dairy. She suggested going across the street to the Food Co-op and talking to those fine, educated individuals. They frequently serve vegetarian and vegan families and would have no trouble finding a substitute suitable to our needs. Everything else about Lilah was more than satisfactory. She wrote me another prescription for birth control and also suggested a CBC with differential and ferrous level for me, since my hemoglobin and thyroid like to go on holiday from time to time. I chose not to get them drawn before moving. She ordered a lead test at my request for Lilah after finding her merrily chomping away at paint chips she had scraped off the window sill.

We made our way to the top floor of the building to the MGH lab. The same woman is always there. She's an overly chipper, short, thin woman with very curly brown hair and glasses. Her lab is always cluttered and is approximately the size of a walk-in closet. I have no problem with blood-draws, but that room makes even me a bit queasy. I warned the woman that Lilah is very headstrong and will mind being held down more than the pain of the finger-prick. She smiled back at me, then at Lilah. I could tell she underestimated the tiny person smiling up at her. Never underestimate her. It took both of us to hold her down while she screamed first in pain and surprise, but then in anger as she realized she wasn't being released after the poke like she was used to with her immunizations. When the vial was full, she released Lilah and I held her. She instantly stopped screaming and looked at us with disgust. The woman gazed at Lilah in disbelief, then at me. "She just...stopped." I nodded. "I told you. She was just mad you were holding her down. She reacts this way to getting her nails clipped." I was reminded of what her ophthalmologist had said when she was just 6 months old. "Some babies will let me cover one eye while I look at the other, and some absolutely refuse to do it. The ones who refuse turn out to be very stubborn later, every time. Miss Lilah wants nothing to do with it." Yeah, that's Lilah to a tee. 


We drove to the Co-op since it was too cold and blustery to walk. I looked at all the alternative milks - soy, almond, hemp, oat, coconut, rice. So many! I compared the fat content for all of them and chose hemp and coconut. Together they out-fatted even whole cow milk! I also picked up some whole-milk yogurt made from fresh organic cream. This was unavailable at the regular grocery stores. While I was checking out, Lilah made eyes at the cashier, showing her the band-aid wrapped around her finger. "Oooh you have an owie! You poor thing!" I kept my eyeroll to myself. She sure knows how to play people. The cashier asked if my purchases were for the baby. I nodded and explained her issue with milk. She said her son had weight-gain issues and she did exactly what I was doing. She told me the properties in hemp milk that were second only to human milk in calcium, fat, omega 3s and 6s, and B vitamin content. I was thrilled. Had I known all that, I would have chosen hemp over cow milk even if Lilah could tolerate it! Since then, Lilah has been filling out again and doing wonderfully. Hemp milk even treats eczema from the inside out! She enjoys the coconut milk because of its natural sweetness and eats the cream yogurt by the bowlful. I have gotten several strange looks and comments. "Isn't hemp what marijuana is made from." Yes, clearly that's the same thing. Idiots. Anyway, all that took place not 10 days before I had to pack my house and move 7 hours downstate to start my new job without Dano. I leave in 3 days. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

Pros and cons

It's been a year to the day since Lilah's birth. The details of that day are etched into my memory like an intricate design on glass. I remember my labor with her, but it always feels like I was hovering above my own body, watching someone else hurt and labor and fear. Jewish mystics hold that while in utero, the soul of the infant is watched over by the angel Layla - the midwife of souls. Upon the entwining of the egg and sperm, Layla is charged with retrieving the soul God chose for that body from the Vault of Souls and sending it into the fertilized seed. While the body is growing in the womb of the mother, the soul is elsewhere learning the wonders, secrets, and languages of all the world. Upon birth, Layla puts her finger to the lip of the newborn, causing it to forget all the secrets it learned and also causing the indentation on the upper lip that is a universal characteristic of human babies. The soul is then charged with spending its lifetime re-learning the secrets it forgot. In a way, I feel like labor removed me from my pain and I hovered in that in-between, the place for souls who haven't quite forgotten the secrets of all the world. The pain melted away; my fear was gone. There was only me, and yet I wasn't.

The moment my child was delivered from my womb, my soul plummeted downward and collided with my body again. There was a cosmic "snap" and I was wholly myself again. I could hear the people around me. I could see out of my eyes. I could feel again, making the fuzzy numbness I had just experienced feel merciful in comparison. Most of all, I could gaze into the eyes of the alien little person resting on my chest. She was real, and she was beautiful. Our eyes locked in a look of understanding. "I know you," her mind said. "You're my mother." And she was my daughter. People like us get the angel Layla a divine slap on the wrist. We never completely forget what we learned before we were born. Some innermost part of us hides it away, calls on it later, seeks it out wherever we can find it.

Many times this year I have lamented that my tiny, helpless little one fades more with every milestone Lilah masters. She fades from being, but never from memory. Today, watching her playing at my feet, I realize I wouldn't trade her. Yes, 3-hours-old Lilah needed me for everything but breathing, slept in the crook of my arm every night and on my breast every day, couldn't even imagine drifting off to sleep in a midnight world where Mama's lips didn't press softly against her velvet fontanel with Mama's breath sifting through her satin hair. But 1-year-old Lilah can roar at the cat while holding fistfuls of her fur and exultantly chanting, "Cat!" Brand New Lilah couldn't sing "La-la-la-la-LA!" along with Australia by the Shins, or "Badapapapapa!" along with Army by Ben Folds. Helpless Lilah wanted to sleep on me more, it's true, but she couldn't crawl exuberantly to me, stand, hold up her pudgy arms and say, "Mama!". She didn't nuzzle close to me when I picked her up, sucking on her fingers and cooing contentedly and occasionally saying, "Mama," just in case I'd forgotten who I was. She couldn't crinkle her nose and hiss at complete strangers in the grocery store or mimic perfectly the "prawns" from District 9 after watching it. She couldn't belly laugh for no apparent reason or make an unholy mess out of a simple meal. She couldn't use my phone to call and text anyone she deemed necessary, leaving lengthy babbling voicemails. She couldn't fake cough and she certainly didn't think an "epic sneeze" (as we call them in this house) was the funniest thing ever. She didn't like to grab fistfuls of my hair and shove it in my mouth (I could live without this, but it's a strange quirk of hers. Perhaps she's trying to make me appear bearded like her Daddy). She couldn't have a pretend tea party or bake pretend cookies and take so much joy in her parents pretending to eat and drink with her.

All those things made me realize today that I wouldn't go back. It went too fast and I'd love to have an hour for each second that went by this year, knowing I can never replicate it or go back except in my mind. But I wouldn't trade it for anything, and I wouldn't change a thing.

Happy birthday Lilah. Your Mama loves you more than you will ever know.

You can't always get what you want

I've said it before, and I'm sure this won't be the last time, but I have a very willful child. She's an angel most times, but she's headstrong. When she sets her mind to something, it will happen (in her eyes). She hasn't lived long enough to know anything different.

As many of you know from personal experience, Lilah has commandeered my phone and has learned to dial, change settings, and (believe it or not) text using the preset templates that came with the phone and are unfortunately undeletable. I hate my phone and therefore wouldn't care if it got ruined, and it's easier for me to apologize for her babbling voicemails and erroneous texts stating "Watcha Doin?" and other obnoxious phrases than it is for me to put the effort into keeping it constantly out of reach. This being the case, Lilah has come to the understanding (quite unintentionally on my part) that any object that seems remotely interesting and is within her line of vision is automatically hers. Today I got my camera out to take some photos of her cute pigtails and ribbons. The only ones I snapped were either blurry with her arms reaching for the phone or of her bawling her big blue eyes out because I didn't let her have the camera. She nabbed it a few times throughout the afternoon, but I redirected and distracted her away from it.

After a few more episodes like this, I was getting a little impatient. I struggle with this with the residents at work from time to time. It's always the same cycle - "Behavior. Redirect. Behavior + anger at the redirection. Distract. Behavior + kick you in the shins." It usually never ends well for me. This time I wouldn't get a kick in the shins, only a screaming baby. Lilah and I went upstairs and I put on a Veggie Tales movie. I was going to choose Lyle the Kindly Viking because it's her favorite, but I chose Madame Blueberry: A Lesson in Thankfulness instead. The premise involves a "very blue Berry" who is sad because her neighbors all have nicer things than she, so she goes to the local "StuffMart" to buy her way to a happy heart. On the way, she sees a very poor family celebrating their little girl's birthday with only a piece of apple pie, and a little boy whose father can't afford to buy him the train set he really wants. Instead of being unhappy, the little kids sing, "I thank God for this day, for the sun in the sky, for my mom and my dad, for my piece of apple pie, for the love that He shares, cuz He listens to our prayers. That's why I give thanks every day. Because a thankful heart is a happy heart. I'm glad for what I have. That's an easy way to start. For our home on the ground, for his love that's all around, that's why I give thanks every day."

This is the kind of mindset I want Lilah to grow up with (and I would do well to follow it more myself), so I wanted to get it in her head early. After the movie was over, I sang her "You Can't Always Get What You Want" to really seal it into her brain. She resumed playing and I congratulated myself on a lesson well-taught as I dabbed some mineral powder onto my face to hide the purple shadows under my eyes that I'm learning to accept as a permanent fixture. I saw Lilah's hand snake into my lap for the little jar of powder and I caught her wrist. "No, Lilah. That's Mama's." I handed her a toy. She looked at me with disgust and threw the toy. I raised an eyebrow and went back to what I was doing. Over snakes the little arm again and we repeated the same thing, only I was a little firmer this time. I picked her up sat her down about a foot away and handed her the toy, making it dance happily in front of it. She tossed it aside and made a grab for the jar. I raised my voice a hair. "Lilah, No." She burst into tears and threw herself back onto the floor, then sobbingly held out her arms for me to come get her. I made an executive decision and went back to what I was doing. She screamed and kicked her legs, then came back for the jar again! This went on for about 10 minutes before she accepted that she was not allowed to have something and just cried quietly to herself until I was done. She did not, under any circumstances, understand the lesson from the movie and it's going to be a long, uphill battle if she responds like that to a gentle and firm "no". It's a battle Dano and I are willing to fight if we want a little girl with a happy heart and unfortunately for her, that not only means she has to be glad for what she already has, but most importantly she can't always get what she wants.