My daughter, my sweet baby girl, is 3 years old. Her Auntie took her out for a birthday lunch and sent me a photo of them eating hummus. I burst into tears at work and demanded of one of the billers, "How old does this child look?!?" Bewildered, she answered 2 or 3. To me, she looked 15.
On the day of her actual birthday, I got up and made her strawberry pancakes per her request. She looked around and asked where her puppy was. Apparently I'd missed the memo that on one's 3rd birthday, one was automatically presented with a puppy. We had a quiet day at home playing, snuggling, and talking. Her grandpa came over after her nap and played some more. He took her to Target to get her a brand new "fedder peelo" (feather pillow). She's been asking for one for ages. We grilled burgers for dinner, and Lilah got a nice piece of grilled salmon (also her request). We watched the Muppets with Grandpa, and Erin and I made cake pops after she went to bed. It was a calm day, but very enjoyable. It made the transition easier on me. She'd moved from toddler to preschooler before my very eyes.
The day of her party, I dressed her in the black and white dress with polka dots and pink trim that just screamed "Lilah Rose" when I first saw it. I thought back to the day she was born as I brushed her long, blonde hair and weaved it back into a little crown. She was so little. Even after going through labor and delivery, she still blinked up at me with those big, blueberry eyes so full of peace and tranquility. And now she was 3. A little lady, no longer a baby. I didn't know how I'd cope.
Her party was lovely. She was so happy to have family and friends there to celebrate her special day. She loved her cake and gifts and spent most of the time running round barefoot in the yard with her cousins and friend Anya. There was minimal cleanup, hardly any stress (other than the chaos surrounding opening presents), and an overall great day. I felt blessed to have people in our lives so willing to celebrate the life of my child.
Her 3 year physical with Dr Kolin was yesterday. She was 2.75 inches taller and 1.25 pounds heavier than her last visit 6 months before. I was amazed. The child had grown that much in half a year? Where had I been? Why had I been such a jerk, yelling at her every other day for growing out her her pants and shoes? My increasing grocery bills and never-ending shortage of fruit and coconut milk suddenly seemed justified.
Other than a slight duck-walk to compensate for flat feet, her physical was perfect. Dr Kolin was most concerned with making sure we paid close attention to her education, since she was "precocious" and extremely advanced in her language and social skills. She showed some concern over us living in the Hazel Park school district, but we assured her we'd be very involved in her education and were willing to transport her to whatever school district could best meet her needs. Dano acknowledged we would probably meet with some opposition, but that we had discussed at length the possibility of home-schooling Lilah Rose during her middle school years. Dr Kolin was surprisingly supportive, saying she thought middle schools shouldn't be co-ed. "As long as she's actually taught, I think it's a good idea. The only thing you learn in middle school is how to study and use your time wisely." I wasn't expecting any support for this tentative idea of ours. I was pleasantly surprised. When we (mostly I) expressed concern about her not knowing her shapes, letters, colors, etc. Dr Kolin shrugged it off and thought her brain was processing things at a higher level than green squares. Every parent thinks their child is exceptional. It was nice to hear an educated medical professional agree that Lilah Rose Marie had big things on her horizon as long as we provided her with the opportunities she needed.
With every year, I love her more. She grows more into a wonderful little person. The further away from a tiny, helpless baby she gets, the more of the"Lilah" comes out. I think of how she's going to be at 10, 15, 20, 30. It scares and excites me. I know she'll be wonderful. I know it will be challenging. Even so, I can't wait.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Spring is here
Amidst the busy house-hunting and birthday party planning, Spring has crept up on us. It's been a lovely combination of cooking outdoors, open windows, fresh air, singing birds, early sunrises, flowers blooming, long walks, and sidewalk chalk.
Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."
After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.
There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.
Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.
Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.
"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.
"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?
After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.
A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.
Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."
After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.
There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.
Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.
Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.
"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.
"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?
After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.
A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I got big plans...
For pretty much everything in my life, I have a plan.
We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.
My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.
My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.
Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.
It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.
Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.
The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.
I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.
We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.
My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.
My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.
Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.
It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.
Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.
The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.
I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.
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