Post-Christmas

The Alexanders thoroughly enjoyed their first holiday season as a family. The few days leading up to it were emotionally tumultuous for me. We bought Lilah her little swing set (eBay for 50.00!), a baby doll, a handmade teddy bear, a small bead maze, and a toy hammer and owl for her stocking. When some people at work would ask me what we got her, I excitedly told them, having spent many hours hunting and bargain shopping for age-and-developmentally appropriate toys. We bought her things we could afford that she wouldn't just grow out of in a month. More than one gave me a raised eyebrow and started reciting the literally thousands of dollars they had spent on their children. One co-worker of mine actually bought her 10 month old a tiny four wheeler. She can't even walk! Another "just" gave her 10 year old son 500.00 to spend, since he put off making a list until the last minute. Yet another "had to spend almost a thousand dollars on Alexis (her 11 month old granddaughter) so we would be the favorite grandparents. Gotta out-do Katie's parents, ya know!" I came home in tears more than once, feeling completely inadequate as a mother and sure Lilah was going to look at me in disappointment on Christmas morning, Santa having betrayed her. After many pep-talks about the real meaning and spirit of Christmas and being a good parent from Dano, Kim, and Ann, I was just barely feeling like a decent parent.

Needless to say, Christmas morning came and went without said disappointment. Lilah was presented with her stocking treats, and we had to take a break for almost an hour. She was that enamored with them, especially her toy hammer. Larry has nickname her "Thor", since she can rarely be spotted without hammer in hand. Lilah chased the cat around with the hammer for awhile, then we sat down to the rest of her presents. She finished opening the bead maze, and it was over. Dano opened her other two presents for her, because she was so overwhelmed with a maze, a hammer, and an owl. Even now she hasn't fully experienced all her toys. Her attention span just isn't long enough. I felt sorry for those other poor babies who got thousands of dollars worth of presents on Christmas morning. They must have ended up overstimulated and overwhelmed.


Today was her 9 month appointment, and her last appointment with Dr. Hatfield, who is leaving the practice to stay home with her kids and spend more time with her family. She told us via letter about a month ago, and I promptly burst into tears upon reading it. She is such an amazing physician and patient advocate. If she told me, "I think Lilah would benefit from eating nothing but candy for 24 hours," I would trust her. Obviously that's an extreme, but never have I met a doctor who is so in tune with her patients' physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. She spent over an hour at one of Lilah's appointments talking with me about my parents and how my issues with them could be affecting my ability to feel like a good mother and enjoy Lilah. She was present for 4 straight hours of Lilah's delivery, and was on the L&D floor for 100% of it. Any OB/GYN I've ever seen has run into the L&D room to "catch" the baby at the tail end of the proceedings. Many times, the RN ends up delivering most of the infant. "Stuck in traffic!" one doc called out jovially during my clinicals, still chewing food in his mouth. Dr. Hatfield drove to MGH as soon as my RN told her my water had indeed broken and stayed there all night until Lilah was born. She coached me through labor like a mother would, and has applauded my choice of a husband/father every time I've seen her. "It's very rare to see a father who is so interactive and genuinely excited about his relationship with his new baby from the very first second. You're so lucky to have him."


The day after Lilah was born, she came up to the hospital and spent 30 minutes in our room just holding Lilah and talking to her. She even discharged us earlier than is recommended (22 hours after giving birth!) because I told her I couldn't eat the hospital food and the dayshift staff wouldn't allow me to co-sleep with Lilah or nurse her for comfort. She's been supportive when she's needed to be, and stern and inflexible when necessary. She wasn't afraid to say, "I really don't know" about Lilah's corneal adhesion and send us to a specialist, and she listened when I insisted there was something irregular in her pupil. Last night, I dreamt we went to her appointment today and she had already left the practice and we couldn't find any flowers to give her as a thank you, and her replacement doctor was mean and didn't even read that Lilah was a girl in her chart! Apparently, I was more anxious about losing her than I had realized.


We drove through a blizzard to the appointment, stopping only to buy a live white lily for her. Lilah was still mid-16lbs and is now 28 in. That's 50th percentile for height and 30th for weight. If you're plotting her on a breastfeeding chart she's in the 60th for weight, so I'm not concerned. Lilah got two immunizations, but didn't even flinch! She just scowled blackly at the nurse who did it and complained at her. She never ceases to amaze me. As soon as Dr. Hatfield opened the door to the exam room, Lilah acted very strangely. She took one look at her, gave this loud and excited squawk, and held out her arms for her insistently. Normally Lilah is friendly with people, but not like this. Dr. Hatfield took her from me, and Lilah nestled into her arms and spent the remainder of the appointment perched contentedly on her lap, periodically laying her head on her chest. I was really amazed at her odd behavior, but it was darling. It was almost as if she could sense she would never again see the woman who brought her into the world. The rest of the appointment went as they usually do. She said not to worry a bit about Lilah's plentiful bruises or what I call her growing habit of getting "ballsy" and overestimating her abilities. She also told me it was absolutely fine that she consumes such large amounts of food and water as often as she does, and that she was nursing an adequate amount for her health and weight. She asked if my parents had met Lilah yet, and I told them they still aren't interested, but my brother Nick and I were talking now and he had seen her. She shrugged it off and said it was their loss, and that Lilah has all the grandparents she needs in Dano's parents, having met and been pleased with them at the hospital. She thanked us for the beautiful lily and said her kids would really enjoy seeing it. She told us to take care and left, quietly closing the exam room door behind her, although the sound seemed to echo inside my head.


I wanted to run after her like a child. I wanted to hug her and thank her and tell her I really don't think I could have gotten through so many things without her. I wanted to cry and let her know what a beautiful person she is, and a blessing to all her patients, clearly called to life as a healer. I wanted her to feel responsible for my empowering and magical pregnancy, labor, and delivery of my only child, and let her know how that experience has made me so much more confident as a person and parent to fiercely take on the rest of the world. How that experience has completely transformed me from a scared little girl - one who still relapsed now and then into needing her mother -  into a woman - complete and whole - and a mother to a little girl who will never know what it's like to go without one.

I wanted to tell her all that, but I sat frozen and still under the florescent lights. Instead, I gave her a single white lily in hopes that it would say enough.

Has anyone seen my baby?

I haven't seen her lately. I have, however, seen a small creature (usually dressed in footy pajamas) cruising about my house like she owns the place. She is mostly crazy. Lilah Rose has become this strange babbling thing who mocks me for fun. When I had a cold, she would grin at me and fake cough every time I had a fit of coughing. Dano found this wildly hilarious. If she attacks me to chew on my face and I yell for help, she sits back and give a mock shout to rival mine. After months and months of her parents trying to entice her to accept a pacifier with no luck in her early weeks, we gave up and settled for one of our fingers in her mouth to soothe her if she wasn't nursing. In the past few weeks, she discovered a pacifier laying about somewhere and has decided she loves it. To chew on, to throw around, and to suck on (normally upside down). Not at all a pun on my maiden name, but my baby is feral.

Not to say this time in her life isn't enjoyable. Fun would be an understatement. Dano and I often find ourselves breathless with laughter at her shenanigans and antics. I could watch her explore for hours. It's so amazing how the little wheels turn in her head, and how obviously those synapses firing are displayed on her quizzical face. Last night, I came home from work and Dano got her out of her crib so I could nurse her (as much for the benefit of my over-full breasts as for Lilah). After she finished, she spent a good 30 minutes "talking" to us and making strange noises and faces. She's fully convinced she's conversing with us and she's turned into such a mimic. She tries so hard to recreate any word we say to her. If we say "mama", she starts prattling away - "Mama. Ma. Mamama. Maaaaaama." The same goes for any other word blend we say. If she can't make the sound, she either starts into a new topic of conversation or just looks at us and shouts, "Aaaaah!" in a high-pitched, squealy tone.

I have forced her to sit through several hours of holiday favorites. She enjoyed Charlie Brown's Christmas, was indifferent to How the Grinch Stole Christmas other than the Whos breaking into unintelligible song, and barely paused her playtime during Eloise at Christmastime. Her playtime consists of much crawling about into corners previously unexplored by her immobile state. I bought her a lovely little toy called a Busy Ball Popper. While playing a happy tune, a fan uses bursts of air to pop colorful balls into the air, allowing them to momentarily hover before shooting them onto the carpet, theoretically causing the child to give chase to retrieve them. On the box, it proclaimed in large red letters, "Encourages crawling!" I fell prey to clever advertisement, paid my 17 dollars, and set it up on the living room rug. Lilah loved it and had the on-button figured out in less than a day. The only downside to the toy I could see was having a short daughter. She had to sit on her knees to reach the button. "She'll grow," I thought to myself. 24 hours later, Lilah had gone one step further. She had discovered that if she simply placed her hand over the chute where the balls popped out, she could prevent them from being dispersed throughout the room, therefore cutting down on the amount of time needed to go fetch them, put them back in the chute, and do it all over again. I was floored. How did my 9 month old outsmart the Busy Ball Popper in less than 72 hours?

Oh, and not only did she outsmart it, but as I was contemplating writing PlaySkool a letter requesting they take the cleverness level of their toys up a notch, I witness a new revelation dawn on Lilah's face. Rather than sit on her knees to activate the Popper, she could simply turn it on its side and push the button. This turned the toy from a Ball Popper into a Ball Cannon than launched balls at top speeds across the carpet at the cat, whoever happened to be in the way, or simply the wall, causing them to bounce back to her. With a squeal of delight at her discovery, I watch the makings of an Evil Genius. Look out, world.

The Library

Yesterday was the second time I have taken Lilah to the Children's Area of the Peter White Public Library in downtown Marquette. They have an enormous book selection, but we can't take any home without paying a membership fee since we live outside city limits. They also have an arts-and-crafts area (Lilah is a little too small to participate or care). The main appeal for me is the giant, softly-carpeted play area. There are puppets and a puppet-theater, a kitchen with pretend dishes, pots, and pans, a large train play-table, wooden blocks, puzzles, and Lilah's personal favorite - several colorful bead mazes. I like to sit her on the carpet and give her a maze to play with. She alternates between zooming the beads around their metal tracks, attempting to eat the beads and getting told no, and watching the other running, screaming, laughing children play. She never moves or crawls for more toys. She's so engrossed in watching the scene around her, since her usual playmates are her daddy and I and the occasional cousin every couple of months.

To be honest, I'm engrossed in watching as well. The first time we were there, a mother sat down near us with her little girl who was about 12 months old. It only took me about 60 seconds to figure out the mother was actually a man dressed in women's clothes. I'm not sure what's PC and what's not, but I'll say "she", because she really was the girl's mother, even if not biologically. She had an obviously and awkwardly padded bra that kept going crooked and needing adjusted, flowery embroidered jeans, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, women's blouse, and heavily made-up face. She had the build of a man - narrow hips, broad shoulders, angular face with a wide jawline - but what really gave the game up was the stubble from at least a day of not shaving. Dano was pretty taken aback, and I just talked back politely when she struck up a conversation. I actually felt kind of sorry for her. She was obviously trying so desperately to be a woman, and referred to the little girl's father in conversation. The little girl loved her and called her Mommy. Who was I to judge what made them a family? To each his - or her - own.

The second time, it was just me and Lilah. I'll be honest, I've put a little effort into my appearance lately. I really hope this doesn't offend anyone who read this, but I found myself slipping into the "mom" role very easily. Hair thrown back into a pony-tail, lounge-clothes I don't mind getting a little spit up or drool on, and if I'm going out somewhere, a little bit of concealer or eyeliner so I don't look dead. I know full-well that regardless of where we go, all eyes will be on the cute baby who charms all she meets. When people actually address me, they never break eye-contact with Lilah who (though she comes from two unassuming parents) has somehow learned that if she smiles winningly, tips her head "shyly" to one side, and bats her long lashes, people eat it up and fawn all over her. She coos and squeals to reward them, and they think she is "just a doll". All the while, I'm trying not to groan watching how she plays them and thinking, "This doesn't bode well for us." So upon realizing that I'm not that happy with looking like a "soccer mom" as Dano puts it (no offense to any soccer moms), I got my hair cut and styled, got put on some actual makeup, dressed in jeans and a sweater (I'm not a fashionista, by any means), pretty new earrings, and cute brown wedge heels (a poor choice on the slushy sidewalks). Feeling rarely self-confident, I sat down on the carpet next to Lilah and took in the scene around me.

There was a tired-looking woman pacing the bookcases on her cell phone, brushing her son away whenever he bothered her. There was a younger mother with an NMU laptop who answered her son's questions without her eyes ever leaving the screen. There was a grinning, unblinking brunette wearing an over-sized sweatshirt and (yes, really) Carhartt overalls. She was eerily cheerful and took it upon herself to make friends with every other mother. Most perched on the couches like eagles in their eyries, one eye on Oprah's latest book-club novel and one eye on their offspring, clearly poised to fly in at a moment's notice and intervene if necessary. Grinning Mom fluttered from Book Mom to Book Mom exchanging childhood developmental factoids ("So I suggested to him, 'Nathan, that little boy likes trains too. Maybe you should play with him,' and it was like a lightbulb going off! I'm pretty sure I read this is about the age they learn to share. Isn't that just fascinating?") or crock pot recipes ("And the chicken is really moist and tender. It's amazing for little teeth that can't eat big chunks, and even my pickiest one loves it.") or making connections ("Our girls look so adorable playing together! Write down your number and we'll have to get together for a snow day!"). Lilah and I sat in the middle of the carpet, both with one hand on the bead maze, both with two eyes on the room around us, and at least one of us feeling like a complete island. No one said hello, most of them made eye contact, and every one of the ones who did notice me made me feel (possibly completely irrationally) like they were sizing me up. I didn't fit in with the College Moms who were there to keep their kids busy and safe so they could get homework done. I certainly didn't fit in with the Book Moms, not because I didn't enjoy cooking or making new friends, or childhood development, but because it just felt so fake. I'm young and still working on my degree as a mother, but I'm not a single parent just trying to get through school. I'm a mother who loves to do crafts, bake, and keep a clean house, but I'm also a career-minded individual who loves her job. I absolutely love to read, but Oprah's stamp of approval reads "Never touch this book" to me (perhaps out of sheer stubborn will). Honestly, I've had most in common with Cross-Dressing Mom. I feel like I'm in between roles and not sure which one I'm most comfortable assuming. I don't know where I fit in, but somehow, despite all the wonderful toys and kids at Peter White Library, I don't think I'm a Playgroup Mom.

And the Holidays are here!

Having just completed our first-ever Thanksgiving with Lilah, I need to pause a moment and catch up on all that has happened since then.

The drive to Detroit was memorable. The time passed quickly, and Lilah was an angel. In between naps, she cooed contentedly and had a running commentary going on everything she saw out the window. We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. All the ladies helped cook (me, Kim, Ann, and Kate), the men manned (no pun intended) the small ones, Max did the dishes, and Adam cooked the turkey. It was a splendid effort all around. I learned two things this Thanksgiving. Lesson #1 - don't drink two glasses of wine before cooking a pumpkin cheesecake and Lesson #2 - don't cook said cheesecake with the help of 2 and 5 year old nephews. The explanation...
After my two glasses of wine, Zedd, Ephraim, and I undertook the cheesecake task. My head was merrily buzzing, but I was cooking, not driving, right? What could possibly go wrong? I read and re-read the directions I had scrawled down on an already-stained sheet of notebook paper. I had gathered my ingredients and measured as carefully as my fuzzy concentration would allow, all the while trying to keep small fingers out of the batter and supplies. I noticed a funny smell and realized with horror that in my hand being sprinkled generously into the batter was cayene pepper and not cinnamon at all. I stopped and scooped out what I could find. Zedd asked what I was doing and I told him I had accidentally grabbed the wrong spice. "Great. So it's going to be ruined now?" he asked, his 5 year old blue eyes filled to the brim with judgement. "No, it shouldn't be." I don't think he believed me. We added the three (yes three) packages of cream cheese, one for each of us. Zedd and I unwrapped them without any issues and were trying to free them of their foil wrappers when I glanced over to check Ephraim's progress. He had taken a largish bite out of the brick of cream cheese and was munching happily on it. "EJ! We don't eat bites out of the cream cheese!" He flashed me a creamy grin. "I like it, Auntie Allison!" After it was all said and done, it turned out fine (although it was almost ruined when the bottom fell out of the pan, but I saved it with my amazing reflex skills). It was a little spicy, but I blamed it on the ginger and wasn't even teased very much.

Lilah learned to really-and-truly crawl while we were there. We had a nice visit with the Sherfield and Severn families in Coldwater, and Dano took Lilah to the Build-A-Bear Workshop where he assisted her in the creation of her very first teddy. I finished her Christmas shopping. The ride back was a little more trying (mostly because Lilah decided that sleeping in the car was for squares, and also that she had no intention of being in her carseat for more than 2 hours at a time without wailing), but we made it back to the UP nonetheless more or less intact.

We now eagerly await Christmas. I work afternoon shift Christmas Day, but we'll have a nice Christmas morning and I get double time and a half holiday pay, so I'll live. It's not like Lilah has any idea what's actually going on. As far as she's concerned, she's seen a lot of brightly colored packages of toys being ferried into the house and out of her reach, and she is not pleased.

12 years in the making

Things have been going comparatively well. Lilah is growing more mobile and more crafty by the minute. I was a bit concerned for a very short while that she wasn't adequately meeting her milestones. She could sit up easily enough, but the moment she saw something mildly entertaining and seemingly within arm's reach, over she toppled so she could better scoot after it (these amusing things included anything from one of her toys to a piece of fuzz on the carpet). I never could tell if her muscles were developed enough to support her, or if her spine was straight enough for her to sit up for long periods of time. Strangely enough, when her attention span lengthened, so did the amount of time she spent sitting up on her own.

Crawling was something else I was wondering about. Don't get me wrong - my kid could move. She could scuttle around the carpet until she made it to hardwood, and then she was off. She'd simulate a breaststroke as fast as her little arms and legs could flail. She could also get on her hands and knees and rock back and forth, grinning up at us, and propel herself backward at top speeds. I recently discovered my little daughter had been holding out on me.

It was one of those days Lilah wanted every member of her family within reaching-distance of her chubby arms while she played. We didn't have to be interacting with her just as long as she could touch and see us at all times. This meant no leaving for extended periods of time, no unnecessary bathroom breaks, and a lot of non-floor activities being conducted on the floor (such as decorating a cheesecake). I had to get the cappuccino cheesecake decorated before Max's confirmation party, but Lilah wasn't having any of it. I ended up transporting my cheesecake on a plate, bowl of Kahlua-infused whipped cream, and chocolate decorative autumn leaves to a place on the rug about three feet from Lilah. She wasn't that fast on carpet, and I would have plenty of time to stop her before she got too close. I set to work on my masterpiece, but it wasn't too many minutes before Lilah started fussing over one thing or another. Exasperated, I went to her and gave her a tiny taste of whipped cream. Her pretty blueberry eyes lit up like purple stars and she was placated. I went back to work and was shocked when a tiny fist dove into my bowl of whipped cream literally seconds later. She had clearly teleported from her toys three feet away to my workspace after realizing I had sweet stuff she normally wasn't allowed to taste.

Upon cleaning out the closet today, I fondly opened up several boxes of my American Girl Doll collection. I remember the Christmas I got my first doll. I had asked my mom if I could have the one named Felicity the first time I saw her smiling back at me from the glossy pages of the catalogue. I had been told very apologetically that one doll was almost a hundred dollars, and her entire collection of beautiful things almost a thousand, and the money for something that extravagant just wasn't there that year. I was 10, I think, and cried pitifully, promising I'd go without birthday presents, or presents for Christmas next year, if I could just have this doll. The answer didn't change. By Christmas, I still hadn't forgotten that in the modest pile of brightly wrapped packages, there should have been a pretty green-eyed doll. I hadn't opened very many when I noticed that beneath the paper of one rectangular box, there was a white cardboard box with burgundy trim - clearly the American Girl colors. Nestled inside was my treasured doll. It was one of the happiest Christmases I can remember and I flashed back to it vividly when I was cleaning. I collected for years and ended up with thousands of dollars worth of dolls, beautiful dresses, furniture, and accessories. In the back of my mind after I outgrew tending to my doll family, I always made sure to take meticulous care of my treasures. Somehow, I knew I would someday have a lovely daughter and I would be able to pass down my collection.

I pulled Felicity out of her watermarked and wrinkled box, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and took her downstairs. I knew full-well that Lilah was far too young to appreciate or probably care at all. She doesn't have any dolls currently. I had put my foot down with all our well-meaning friends and family. "No dolls. I want to get her her very first doll, and I don't want it to talk, pee, cry, walk, get sick, eat, or do anything at all." My wishes were respected, and this Christmas, I will buy Lilah a doll of her very own and I wanted to see how she would react. Doll under one arm and Lilah under the other, I plopped her down on the couch and placed the doll in her lap. She let out this amazing squeal and her eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she held out her arms to the doll's face. I told her "gentle", and she softly ran her fingers through the vinyl hair and touched the green glass eyes that opened and closed. She was completely in awe and full of happy coos and I did my best not to cry. That moment had been 12 years in the making, and it was absolute magic.

Somebody call someone

I probably don't deserve to be going anywhere tonight. I should be grounded. However, at my husband's insistence (for fear of my becoming homicidal), I am going to L'attitude with Kevin Rush tonight for a martini and perhaps edamame. I like Kevin and greatly enjoy conversing with him. I'm turning off that part of my brain that's constantly whispering, "Dano talked him into it. He wouldn't be going on his own. He likes Dano and just tolerates me. He's doing it out of pity to help out a buddy." All of those might be factual statements, but I'm going anyway. The following is the series of mishaps that led me to be undeserving of it.

The heating and plumbing guys came today to fix the sink and hot water heater. Unlike the electricians, they were friendly, respectful and efficient. Example: Electric men take hours out of two separate days to stomp through the house while the baby is asleep and wake her up, stare rudely at me when I say good morning, and yell at each other from different floors of the house while slamming the occasional door. Heating/plumbing men make polite small talk, compliment my child (although calling her a "nice little fella" didn't win any major points, especially after I made a point of calling her by her name), fixed all three problems in an hour, and didn't turn up their noses at the piles and piles of dirty dishes that resulted from no running water for nearly a week.

When they left, I decided to take a shower with Lilah. We went to the doctor's yesterday for some rashes and blisters, and Lilah was diagnosed with very mild eczema. I was relieved. We're treating it with bathing only twice a week (bathing her, that is. We're continuing to bath regularly), olive oil in her bath, only organic lotions and soaps, and Bactraban ointment on any blister or open area to prevent infection. Our bathroom is located off our bedroom, so as usual, I places Lilah on our bed, surrounded her on all sides with large pillows, gave her a toy, and went to fill her baby tub and start the shower at an appropriate temperature. I sat on the toilet seat while it's filling so I could keep an eye on her, as usual. When her tub was half full, I leaned forward and added a cap full of EVOO and as I did so, I heard a very ominous thud. I believe expletives were the only coherent things running through my brain and I'm fairly sure I teleported the three feet out the bathroom to the floor where my child was lying face down on the floor, screaming. I picked her up to assess the damage, which included another bruise to her forehead (she conveniently pitched herself headfirst into Dano's computer while on the selfsame offending bed not a week ago; I yelled at my husband for not being more careful with the baby, as he had let her play on the bed with him in the presence of a deadly laptop), and a rugburn-esque abrasion to her right eye which was bleeding on both bony prominences above and below her eye, leaving her actual eye-socket remarkably unscathed. Being a nurse and an idiot, I promptly started doing "neuros" on her. At work, whenever any of the residents' falls happen to include a bump on the head, we do neuros every 15 minutes for an hour, every hour for 4 hours, every 4 hours for a shift, and then once a shift for 2 days. We check equal pupil reactivity and size, proper pain response, blurred vision, slurred speech, equal movement and reflexes to extremities, any numbness or tingling, and change in mentation. I, in my infinite wisdom (i.e. panic), attempted assess these things on a scared, screaming, bleeding 7 1/2 month old before giving up (since she was, for some reason, unable to tell me if her vision was blurred or had any numbness and her eyes were closed). She calmed relatively quickly and I stopped acting like an idiot and did an age-appropriate assessment on her. Her battle wounds were uglier than they were serious with a swollen, red scrape near her eye and matching bruises on her forehead - one green and old and one purple and new. Her screams subsided to hiccupy gasps, and I decided to proceed with the shower.

We stepped in, and I plopped her in her tub. The wisest would have foreseen the folly of placing a child in a tub full of water and...wait for it...oil. Under the water she slid, and my arms shot in after her to haul her up, sputtering and (again) screaming. Sure the neighbors were on the verge of calling CPS, I soothed her as best I could, assuring her I wouldn't let her drown, crawl off the bed, concuss herself, or bleed again. Today. It took a little longer the second time around before I could put her down again. I dumped all but a 1/2 inch of water out of her tub and sat her in it again before starting to wash my hair.

It was at this point I noticed the shower floor was filling with water and, after a closer inspection, realized there was a Bandaid stuck in the drain. I leaned down to pull it out and while I was leaning down, heard a gasping/sputtering/trying-really-hard-to-cry-but-can't sound and glanced over at the baby. Lilah's moronic mother hadn't given a thought to what would happen to the spray of water from the shower head if she weren't standing in it anymore and leaned down to unclog the drain. If she had, she would have realized it would pretty much catch Lilah full in the face, who was in her poor little tub and unable to escape. At this point, I was terrified of killing her if she spent another hour in my care, so I hauled her out of the tub, turned off the water, and called it a day. I dried and dressed her, not even bothering to comb her hair before she fell asleep, exhausted from her ordeal(s). I called Dano to tell him to come home and rescue his daughter as soon as he could, or he might not have a daughter to come home to.

I went downstairs to collect myself and had a French candy shaped like a log made out of dark chocolate and filled with milk chocolate fluffing. And it was good.

Three short, three long, three short.

That's all I know of Morse code, but I feel like I'm mentally sending out a constant S-O-S.

So Lilah learned how to say "Mama" with meaning less than a week ago. Saturday, I believe, was the first time she said, "Mama" in distress, for only me. It was darling to hear her call for me in the middle of the night if she woke up scared (we were house-sitting and she didn't do well at all sleeping away from home for so long). It seems that for every exciting new stage of development, there is a flip-side I never considered.

We're trying to work on "Papa" with her. She'll make the "P" sound, then grin and say, "Mama".

As I type, she is on the couch next to me crying for me. Her blues eyes fill with fake tears and she moans, "Mamaaaa! Mamaaaa!" until I plop her in my lap. Then we're happily playing with toys again. We have hardwood floors, so she scoots after me as fast as she can, crying if I so much as take my eyes off her to make my breakfast. It seems like she was only independent and mobile for a few weeks before hitting this separation anxiety. I feel like house-sitting made it worse, because she was out of her element and insecure. I've been working even less than normal lately, so it can't be added separation. Teething makes her clingy, too, and that's an on again/off again affair. It seems like the gods of motherhood are working against me so I lose my mind.

If Dano wants any "husband time", at this point I honestly feel like slapping him or screaming. Or both. I want to dress in jeans that make my butt look good, NOT wear a nursing bra and easy-to-pull-aside shirt, gather a small assortment of girls (hell, I don't even care if I like them at this point), and go do something fun. Gone are the worried days of new-motherhood where I checked my watch continually and imagined my poor child suffering without me. I love my daughter dearly and realize this is a normal stage of development that we will work through as a family, but other than going to Bible study once and out for drinks once, I haven't had any time away from work, Dano, and Lilah in almost 8 months and I'm a woman on the edge.

The walls are closing in. In my mind, I see Marquette as an island floating in a sea of pines. Driving here at night scares me because there aren't the brilliant lights of the city to guide me. Nashville had its faults, but it was so easy to navigate. The interstate ran north/south, so no matter where I was, I could jump on I-65 and get home. I feel panicky here. I have water on all sides of me, and miles between gas stations and tiny towns. I fear becoming delusional but I feel like even Lake Superior is menacing with over 350 shipwrecks to her name. She's a bloodthirsty empress with complete and irrevocable sovereignty and I feel trapped.

I think of the friends I want to rescue me - Bekah, Deidre, Kalli, Kim, Danielle, Sarah, Richelle, Mia, Sara, Kristina. Bekah is the mother of Sofia Milan, born only days ago, and in Texas. Deidre is in Ohio. Kalli is adjusting to life with Mellisa Sophia, and I know full well how crazy that transition is from newborn to infant. Kim is in Ireland having amazing adventures. Danielle is in Coldwater and going through her own trials right now. Sarah is tending to 7 month old Gavin in middle-Michigan. Richelle is in Utah but keeping me from becoming a homicidal maniac with her enlightening online chats. Mia is wonderful, but also a full-time student (and I always feel like Dano's friends are friends with me out of pity). Sara is wonderfully 12 1/2 weeks pregnant with Emma's little brother or sister in Hillsdale. Kristina is working hundreds of hours in Nashville. I'm here in Ishpeming singing a song by City in Colour, a band I don't even like. "Someone come and, someone come and save my life. Maybe I'll sleep when I am dead but now it's like the night is taking up sides with all the worries that occupy the back of my mind...Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide will swallow me whole. I'm breaking down."

Excitement

Despite my few weeks of extreme frustration (and by frustration, I mostly mean offering to work midnight shifts, if need be, to escape my parental responsibilities), Lilah's teeth and I have reached an understanding. I am aware that 32 of them need to enter the world in a relatively short amount of time, cutting through flesh in order to do so. They are aware that, as a nurse, I have extensive knowledge of the human body, medicine, and herbs, so I will keep her as numb and comfortable as I can without sedating her entirely. I most frequently use gripe water, infant Motrin, Orajel swabs, and the occasional finger dipped in whiskey. She usually wakes up to nurse around 3AM, but goes back to sleep until around 9. I can handle that. I can not handle hourly crying and nothing to soothe her.

Lilah has been saying "Mama" for several weeks now. It's really cute, and takes quite a bit of effort, usually coming out closer to "Mmmmumah". The first time she said it, she was playing in bed on a Sunday morning, trying in vain to get her lazy parents to wake up and interact with her. In frustration, she slapped Dano on the face and said, "Mama!" Then she moved on to banging her hands on her high chair and yelling, "Mama!" when I would get distracted while feeding her. I was afraid she would associate the word with food (having already mastered saying "Mmm" when she wants something to eat), which Dano found hilarious and encouraged. Just this morning, she was in her basket wanting to be picked up and awake. I wasn't quite awake enough to respond. After a few minutes of fussing mildly, I could hear her frustration building as I tried to drag myself away from dreaming. Finally, she gave a howl and yelled, "Mamaaaa!" I couldn't help laughing and scooping her up, praising her for her accomplishment. 7 months is very young to have mastered a word. I'm not entirely sure of her understanding of its meaning. I don't know if she associates it with me exclusively now, either parent, or just realizing it's the fastest way to get her needs met. Small babies are unbelievably clever.

Speaking of clever, Lilah is crafty beyond belief. In her efforts to explore the entire world around her, it seems like she innately knows what she is and is not supposed to touch. Not that something being forbidden stops her from attempting to grab/eat it. I've been reading that now is the time discipline (not punishment) needs to begin with setting limits on a baby's behavior and interactions. I learned that at this stage, babies are constantly reading their parents' faces for cues on the world around them. Mothers that are forever following their tiny explorer with a worried look will create an anxiety-ridden child who is wary of the world around him. This explained how Lilah knew when she had encountered something she wasn't allowed to have. When she inches toward an electrical cord, she always turns around to look at my face, which is wearing a "Don't even think about it" expression. Babies have no poker face. I can always read exactly how her synapses are firing just by watching her face. Synapses are as follows: "I want that. Mama is not happy. I am not supposed to have that. I will smile at her. I love her. She did not smile back. I am very fast now on this shiny floor. She is over there. Here I go!" She always seems shocked when I beat her there. I'm not sure what to say to her. I want to save "No" for serious things. The medical journals I've been reading said "Ouch" is fine, but even just removing her from the object with a stern face is enough for her to get the idea.

I was unaware that I was supposed to set limits on Lilah's interactions with people at this stage. I didn't even notice that her relationship with Soupin Cat has been changing. I would allow her to tug and wrestle the poor animal for a few minutes before setting the cat on her lap and teaching her to pet softly, saying, "Nice to kitty" and "Gentle". Again, Lilah would watch my face and watch me pet the cat. Now she and Soup are best friends. Soup will approach her and sit very close to her. After an initial shriek of happiness that the cat willingly put itself within reach (and sometimes a fistful or two of hair), she calms down and pats Soupin nicely, who responds in kind by head-butting her and nuzzling.

I had never thought about doing the same thing with people. She has a bad habit of grabbing glasses, pulling hair, and smacking faces in an attempt to touch and feel the person holding her. It isn't out of meanness in any way. She just has no concept of hurt. The more I read, the more important I see it is for us to teach her that "Nice" and "Gentle" don't just apply to the poor cat, and it isn't mean to remove her from someone/something she is interested in if she isn't being nice. It's a fine line between making her afraid to explore and teaching her to be kind to her surroundings. I have vehemently sworn myself from controlling parenting, but I would never want to raise a spoiled little girl. It's such a difficult thing to know where to draw the line. She's an adventurous, independent baby who gets pure joy out of exploring the wide world around her she just discovered was there. I never want that to change, and I wouldn't quell that spirit in her for anything. I just also see so much of myself in her some days - my temper, my defiance, my independence and willfulness - and I want her to be like me in some of those ways. I am never afraid to speak my mind, and I chose to become fully my own person, even though it cost me my whole world at the time. I just also made many mistakes along the way out of pure stubbornness, and I would love to keep her from doing the same. I just know that the Irish in her is as prominent as it is in her mother, and just by expressing my displeasure in something, I'll send her crawling toward it as fast as her chubby little arms and legs can propel her.

How could I forget?

Lilah started to cry last night at the exact moments our heads hit the pillow. I got her out of her crib and rocked her for several minutes before nursing her. When she was latched and sucking away between whimpers, I just let my eyes wander around the room in an attempt to stay awake. My gaze ended up resting on the small corner of the white banister in Lilah's room.I remembered a night about 5 months ago, and saw a ghost of my husband sitting in that corner crying while I rocked Lilah and nursed her, feeling like life was falling apart.

I can't believe I haven't written about this before. Maybe it was so painful and stressful at the time, I blocked it out or couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt like I needed to, now that things have improved, so other new parents didn't feel so alone and lost. When I first went back to work, it was still only two days a week, but it was the first time Dano had been left in charge of the baby regularly for significant periods of time. I had plenty of milk stored up, so I wasn't worried about that. I was worried about the two of them getting along well and being able to handle each other.
It didn't go well. For the first several months, I would receive calls at work from Dano not knowing how to soothe her. Lilah would scream, and refuse a bottle entirely. Every night I came home, my husband would look like he had been hit by a car, and Lilah would clutch me and whimper. I felt helpless, like a failure as a mother and wife. My job was stressful enough without being paged because my family was in shambles and I was, apparently, the only one who could put it together again. Work was very understanding, and Dano frequently brought her up for me to nurse her and calm her down so she would sleep. It was frustrating and somewhat embarrassing to me, but it worked so who cared?
I didn't have time to realize this solution was only a Band aid to the real problem. One night, a resident was really losing it and getting violent. Dano showed up with a crying Lilah, and I nursed her as fast as possible, hoping against hope I could get them out of there before the resident came to this end of the building. I thrust her back in his arms as soon as she finished. He started talking about how he was frustrated, an argument he had gotten in with his dad, and I was making no effort to pay attention. The resident was headed toward us, and I was not having my husband and daughter attacked my a rogue woman with Lewy Body dementia. I have them a hard shove toward the door and took the punch from the woman that had been aimed at them. As soon as they'd made it out the door safely, I went back to my work. Disaster had been averted, but there was an obvious problem.
Dano was at the peak of frustration. He said he would never dream of shaking a baby, but he could see how people could get to that point. Many times, he would just have to put her in her crib, crying, to calm himself down. It broke my heart. My husband was as upset as I'd ever seen him, my normally perfect baby was barely functioning when I was gone, and I couldn't get through a night at work without solving a crisis at home. His mom came over to help several times, and that eased my mind somewhat.
One night, I came home to Dano pacing with a screaming Lilah. I took her and went upstairs to rock and nurse her. Dano came up, sat in the corner, and cried. His glasses were broken in half on the floor - in his frustration with Lilah wanting nothing to do with him, my completely pacifist, gentle husband had thrown them at a wall.
After that, he realized that his frustration was getting him nowhere and making Lilah more agitated. He grew gradually more patient. He didn't acquire any magical new skill, and it could be that as she got older, she got more adaptable and easygoing, but after that especially horrible night, it got better. He stopped calling me and bringing her up to work. She didn't freak out as often, and was easier to soothe when she did. It's been much easier since then, but those first couple months of me going back to work were horrible. Looking back, it amazes me we got through it without losing our sanity. Our family learned adaptation and patience, and all it cost us was a pair of glasses.

Sick. And Tired.

The last 5 nights have featured the first stretch of sleepless night in our parenting experience thus far. During a growth spurt, Lilah has woken up for a small snack before going back to bed. Her top 4 teeth seem to be racing each other to break through. She's been miserable, and dragging her parents to misery as well. She's been waking up multiple times a night to eat, play, whine, cry, what have you. She only wants me, but keeps Dano awake as well. I'm resentful because she won't go to anyone else, and he's resentful of being constantly dragged from sleep by a baby who doesn't want him. It's a lovely combination.

Several people have suggested all-natural homeopathic teething tablets. They have raved, "They work instantly", "Babies love 'em!", "They can have as many as they want!", and "All natural = healthy!" I was a nanny for a family who started using them. I looked at the package before giving one to the little girl. They were sublingual tabs, which is one of the fastest routes of med administration. That caused me to be a little leery. Fast is good, but in the case of an allergy or ill effect, fast is very bad very quickly. I read the list of ingredients and two in particular caught my eye. Coffea Cruda - coffee. Why in the world would there be coffee extract in a teething tablet? I read on. Belladonna. Holy crap. There was seriously a small dose of belladonna in these tablets! And you can give the baby as many as they need to do the trick! Belladonna is in the nightshade family. It has narcotic properties and is a natural sedative. Ann also informed me it is one of the most ancient abortifacients. All that being said, why was it being used by parents for small babies?! I gave the parents I worked for a list of the ingredients from the back of the box and also a list of their effects, both positive and negative. They stopped using the tablets, something they had started because they felt more comfortable with natural products! Since becoming a nurse, I realize coffee was often used as a natural antidote for narcotic poisoning. I am extremely uncomfortable with these tablets and would never use them for my baby. I have, however, found a great alternative - gripe water. It's available at Walgreen's, and not terribly expensive. The active ingredients are deionized water, ginger, and fennel - all wonderful. It soothes colic, upset stomach, gas, and teething pain in babies, children, and adults. It works quickly, and it does work. Lilah likes the taste and smiles when she sees the bottle.

In other news - H1N1. Scary stuff. Even the regular flu seems to be hitting hard this year. School are closed and people are near panic. I'm not overly concerned about Lilah. She's breastfed and not in daycare. She has an excellent immune system. I'm mostly fearful for our already over medicated culture. If it ails you, there's a pill for it. The FDA normally takes 7-10 years to produce a drug it is comfortable is safe for the masses. It worries me that they can declare "safe" an H1N1 vaccine that is so new, no possible long-term effects could have even been considered. I won't even get a flu shot. My RN supervisor has seen many cases of Guillain-Barre syndrome as a result of the vaccine, even though it isn't supposed to be a live virus. We're seeing MRSA as a consequence of over medicating with strong antibiotics. Shingles and whooping cough are popping up in the college age population despite varicella and pertussis vaccinations. Strange cases of scarlet fever are being reported. I believe America is setting itself up for an epic fail of the human immune system. Pharmaceutical companies are making literally billions in profits, but at what cost? People did, indeed, survive to adulthood before us.

Coming from a nurse, this rant might seem a little strange. I rail against natural medicine in one half, and against conventional medication in the rest. The point I'm trying to make is somewhere in the middle - be informed, and be careful. You only have one body, and it's a temple. As parents we are charged with the holy responsibility of caring for our children. We need to make informed, responsible decisions about their medical care and not respond out of fear. We have opted out of several vaccines for Lilah, but there are an equal amount where the benefits outweigh the risks. As the patients, you always have the option to say no. Protect your body and take careful note of what is being put into it. It matters more than you think.

Time for me to go. My daughter is sucking on my ankles, then looking up at me and hissing. I don't know who this child is sometimes.

The Strangest One

The more babies and parents we come into contact with, the stranger our small clan appears. I'm not sure if every husband gets up early to brew coffee for his inept wife prior to heading to class, but I doubt it. I'm also not convinced other husbands slip a 6 month old into bed with their wives so, when the baby wakes up, the wives don't have to go get them. Most recently, I haven't heard of any other girls my age (or any age, to be perfectly honest) who are aroused from sleep every morning by what sounds very much like the hissing of snakes, only to open her eyes to find a small, fat baby millimeters from her face, sticking her tongue out and hissing to wake her mama up.

That is what I experience every morning. Dano's alarm goes off (not at all abrasive, as it is an string quartet version of "In Keeping Secrets With Silent Earth: 3" by Coheed and Cambria) and he gets out of bed and gets ready quietly. He eases Lilah out of her crib and into the bed with me (sometimes she's awake and nurses before going back to bed, sometimes she's still out cold). He makes coffee and leaves a cup for me in the microwave. I have tried hundreds of times to make coffee. It always fails. I burn it, it's watery, too strong, I don't mix in the proper cream-to-sugar ratio, or the milk has turned. By some design of the gods, I am unable to make coffee, so my husband always leaves me a cup. He then steals quietly back into the bedroom, kisses me and says, "Your coffee's in the microwave. Love you, bye." I attempt to mutter a response, a thank you, and that I love him as well. He kisses Lilah, and is on his way.

Lilah and I sleep for another hour or two. She always wakes up first. She amuses herself as best she can by trying to get at the cat until Soup lets out a discontented croak (yes, my cat croaks) and stalks away. Lilah pulls at the covers, rolls around, and finally gets bored and wakes me up. She does this the same way every morning. She creeps up close to me and, when she's so close I can feel her breath on my face (or would be able to if I were conscious), she sticks out her tongue and hisses. It never ceases to frighten me out of a deep sleep. I don't know why she does it or how she learned it, but she does it very well. When my eyes snap open, I see two large blue/purple eyes and a grin containing exactly two teeth. The hissing only lasts until she knows I'm awake. If I roll over or close my eyes again, she proceeds to slap my face or claw me with her talons. She is, truly, a Wild Thing. Maurice Sendak would be so proud.

Speaking of Sendak, we are taking Lilah to see Where the Wild Things Are this Saturday. She's been going to movies with us since she was a month or two old. She never cried, and mostly slept. I went to see The Watchmen a few days before she was born, hoping the loud sounds and vibrations would scare her right on out. They didn't. We recently stopped taking her to adult movies. She still doesn't cry, but she's more restless and also noticed the screen. What purpose would giant, talking people serve if not to amuse her, and what kind of baby would she be if she didn't talk back to them? The people around us thought it was cute, but I didn't want to be "those people", so we stopped taking her. Mostly that means we stopped going to movies. This one should be fine, as it is a children's film anyway, and some interaction with the screen and over exuberance is to be expected. When I took my siblings to see Happy Feet in Imax 3D, there were random children of all shapes and sizes dancing in their seats along with Mumble the Penguin, yelling, singing, crying, throwing popcorn, and running up and down the aisles. I figure it will be fine to take her to this one. I'm sure I will cry. Something about kid movies makes me cry. I took Gracie to see Meet the Robinsons when she was 6. I was bawling halfway through and she looks at me with disgust and says, "Are you crying? WHY are you crying?" In my defense, the mother put her kid in a basket or box or something and left it on the steps of the orphanage. WHO DOES THAT? It was a kids' movie for crying out loud. What happened to Beauty and the Beast or, well I can't even say Bambi. Why must we indoctrinate death in a child's life so early? Why make abandonment, divorce, death, pain, and evil so prevalent? I'm not one for sheltering kids from reality, but couldn't they have gotten their point across without having a mother leave a baby on a doorstep? I cried at Lilo and Stitch as well. Parents dead, the older sister is raising the younger, and CPS is about to step in and take Lilo away. Come on!

Anyway, moving on, I'm hoping this will be a fun, adventurous film we can all enjoy. Dano and I grew up with the book, and now our child will grow up with the movie. Funny how times change.

Breakdown

Not the cool kind of breakdown, like in a song where they say "break it down" and proceed to do a bunch of amazing licks. This was more of an emotional breakdown, and probably my first of many as a mother.

We live a pretty low-key life. I have a good job where I could easily get full-time hours, but we've chosen to live an economical life until Lilah is a year old and spend as much time with her as we can possibly squeeze in. This means a lot of lazy days just spent rolling around on the floor with her, taking walks, blueberry/apple picking, camping, and just general family time. When I work more than three days a week, I start to feel a little frazzled. Not because I can't handle it, but I literally feel the minutes ticking away - minutes with my family I will never get back. I do pick up extra days for bills, or to pay for something fun we want to do, but generally I try to keep it to a minimum.

Here's a time line for this past week. Saturday - work. Sunday - work. Monday - off and we did nothing. Tuesday - picked up a shift for end-of-the-month paperwork. Wednesday - Lilah's 6 month appointment (switched from 12:45 to 7:45 at the last minute!), grocery shopping, lunch with Ann, apple picking, visiting Ann at the new office, Target supply run, pharmacy run, autumn care package baking extravaganza, trying out a new dinner recipe. Thursday - appointment with an ophthalmology specialist, lunch at Tamaki and Tea, Dano's class, eye appointment for me, a couple pies to bake, and the Junoon concert at 7:30. Friday - work. Saturday - Blessing of the animals in the morning and Dano playing a can drive in the afternoon after his class. Sunday - church, pumpkin patch and corn maze trip.

Just a tad busy!

So the actual reason for my breakdown was mostly Lilah's appointments. It was early in the morning, but she was charming, as usual. She weighed 14lbs, 13 oz. She was 26in long. I was bothered by her weight gain. She had consistently gained 2lbs every 2 months, and all of the sudden she was just barely putting on a pound? I asked the doctor about it, who dismissed it completely. "Look at her. She's moving all over the place. She's actually burning calories now. The growth charts are put out by a formula company anyway. I don't apply it the same way to breastfed babies." I felt slightly better. I can't remember if I mentioned it before (and future 16 year old Lilah will be mortified), but when she was born, Lilah had a labial adhesion. The skin around her vaginal opening was, for lack of a better term, stuck together. It separates with growth, but we were watching it to make sure it was indeed separating instead of adhering more. At this appointment, Dr. Hatfield wanted to start an estrogen cream to the area to get the skin to release, since it wasn't shrinking and could start to interfere with her ability to urinate. That bothered me a bit, not because I was opposed to the treatment, but because (stupid, absolutely) it meant there was something wrong with her. Something minor and cosmetic, but something nonetheless.

At the appointment, I also brought up her pupils. They were both the same size, so I knew it wasn't a neurological disorder, and her vision was developmentally appropriate, but when they dilated in a dim room, one had a chunk missing! It was round, then all of the sudden at the top, it dipped down, like the moon when it's not quite full. It wasn't a coloboma, since those are near the bottom. Dano said he saw nothing and I was crazy, but it nagged at me. Pupil size and shape is very important. They should always be equal. I mentioned it to the doctor, who looked at it with her penlight and saw nothing. I said, "It only happens when her pupil dilates. If they're constricted, they're equal." I felt a "Let's indulge the worried mother" vibe emanate from her, and she turned out the light and shined the penlight at the wall.

"Oh! You're right. There it is." I felt a hundred percent better.
"My husband said I was crazy."
"You're not crazy. I can see it. I'm going to refer you to a specialist, since I don't know enough about eyes to be able to give you a good idea what it is."

Lilah finished up the appointment with 3 shots in the leg and a tasty lunch of Middle Eastern food. She had hummus and loved it, but mostly threw it up as a side effect from the shots.

Her appointment with the ophthalmologist was the very next morning. She flirted with the office staff and other patients in the waiting room. I saw our transporters from work with a resident after her appointment, so I chatted with them to quell the panicky feeling in my stomach. We were checked in by the assistant, who was very nice and found Lilah a stuffed purple fish to play with, since we had forgotten Ignatius (her plush pig and most favorite friend) at home. Even she noticed her pupil, since we were in a dim room.

We met with Dr. Ulrickson who made friends with Lilah and asked some questions. He noticed exactly what I was talking about and told me what I already knew - her pupils were equal and reactive, her vision appropriate, it wasn't a coloboma, and he had never seen anything like it. He also said, "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." "Great," I thought. It was true enough. He would smile and talk to her, waving a toy around, and attempt to cover one eye up. She would skillfully weave to one side and avoid it, smiling as if to say, "I like you. You're nice. But I have no intentions of letting you cover my eye. Thank you, though." He asked us to hold her still while her he looked at her eye under a microscope. You would have thought we were beating her. We had no sooner gotten ahold of her when she started to stiffen her body, flail, and scream (clamping her eyes tightly shut, of course). I'm sure it was scary to have a stranger pull on her eyelid in a dark room with lights shining in your eye and being held down, but she could have spared the theatrics. He got a few quick glances before giving up. She buried her face in my chest and bawled pitifully. He said he'd just suggest looking again in 6 months, because he couldn't see enough, but didn't think it was a tumor or anything that could cause her to go blind. "If it was, I'd suggest putting her under general anesthesia so we could take a good look under a powerful microscope. Ugh! If only I could get another look at that eye! It's rare. I've never seen anything like it." As a mother, my ears heard only "tumor...blind...general anesthesia" and this fierce feeling reared its ugly head and I wanted to hide her away and not let him touch her again. In a rural area like this, rarities are, well, rare, and there have been a lot of "exploratory surgeries" performed at the teaching hospital with no solution found, just fishing around to show the students. "Not my daughter," I thought. Obviously, Dr. Ulrickson wasn't suggesting anything close to that, but I was still afraid. I was also afraid she would go blind or have cancer go into her brain from something they didn't catch. I suggested laying her in my lap with Dano and I talking to her quietly, and him examine her with a handheld magnifier. He took another look, then started laughing.

He saw tiny strands of her pupil that had adhered to the front of her cornea. When the pupil constricted, they weren't pulled taut, so they looked normal. When it dilated, they were tugged at and the top of the pupil appeared to dip down. He said he's seen it on a minuscule scale before - one or two strands - under a microscope, where the person wasn't even aware and had never noticed a vision change. He had never noticed it on such a large scale, and still wants to see her in 6 months, but it appears to be just a genetic abnormality. "I see in her history she has a labial adhesion. It's kind of like that. Just a small adhesion of the pupil and cornea, only not so easily fixed with a cream." Something happened in utero, causing small, random adhesions in her body. Undoubtedly it's something from my genes, but at least it's something that is, for all intents and purposes, cosmetic only.

Still, the good news didn't keep me from having a complete and utter breakdown later in the day. Too much activity, stress, and pent up emotion and fear from that appointment pushed me over the edge. I think I've been building up to it for 6 months. Maybe I can go another 6 before the next one. Here's to hoping. In other news, Dr. Hatfield had said Lilah is so busy and curious, love standing, has little interest in sitting up, and her leg muscles already so well developed, she expects the child to be walking by 9 months. Walking. If that isn't enough to get me working up to another freak-out, I don't know what it.

Autumn crept up

It seems like we were sitting around all summer, wishing for warm weather and sunny days, and while we waited, the leaves changed. Seeing the oranges and reds, and the apples turning rosy on the branches made me restless. Some people get depressed in the winter, or restless in the summer to get out and "do stuff". Not me. I get this itch as soon as I smell the wonderful hint of decay in the air. The leaves are dying, the year is dying, and I get an urge to pack up and go, to write, to bake, to create, to live. So I made up my mind to go camping.

It seemed like the universe was working against us. I got mandated for a 12 hour shift the morning before we went, Lilah was impossibly needy, Dano had class until 1:00 on Saturday, and I had to do all the cooking, packing, and errands alone and with a baby who followed me around the house, crying and holding up her arms. I finally got everything finished, and picked Dano up from the school. We got a quick lunch and headed to Munising for 48 hours. I was delighted to see our phones didn't get reception. I needed some time away from phone calls, facebook, texts, work, and drama. We picked a beautiful site by Pete's Lake and set up camp. I, with no formal training, created a beautiful fire and felt like I was starring on an episode of "Man vs. Wild". Dano, in setting up the tent, realized the poles weren't in the bag. We had to drive back into town and buy a new tent. I refused to let it get me down. Lilah played happily in her portable crib with her toys, for the most part. Unfortunately, she absolutely and utterly refused to nap. Not in her crib, not in the tent, not in my arms, or the car. There was too much to do and see, and she wasn't going to miss a minute. That got old fairly quickly.

We had a lovely dinner (even though Dano didn't like half of it) of baked chicken and spaghetti, and bakery-fresh Italian bread. S'mores were for dessert, of course, and Lilah even got a taste of marshmallows. Dano played songs on his guitar, and the music carried through the woods and over the water. The stars came out, the fire died down to embers, and it was beautiful. We went to bed pretty early. Lilah finally fell deeply asleep in her basket, and Dano and I laid in our tent talking quietly and listening to the sounds of the woods at night. He drifted off before I did (because I was sleeping on a rock), but I eventually followed.

It was a rough night. 3 different times, large, thumping, snorting animals stomped around our campsite and rifled through our supplies looking for food. They tore through our garbage (which contained only diapers and aluminum foil from dinner), snarled, fought, screamed, and hissed. I was sure a flock of bears was waiting just outside to kill us. Dano woke up a few times with me, tense and alert, but dismissed it as raccoons or porcupines and rolled over again. Pride would like me to say I did the same. Truth, however, prevails, and I did not. I shook with fear, sweat a cold, terrified sweat, held Lilah's basket close to me, and cried hysterically. Lilah never stirred. She was in a deep sleep until the sun came up.

We went on a hunt for local waterfalls the next day. After having a breakfast of stick bread filled with cream cheese and fresh blackberries, we had coffee in a wonderful local coffee shop/bookstore called The Falling Rocks Cafe. The staff was really friendly, took Dano's information to play shows there occasionally, Lilah charmed them, we had our great coffee, and we left. We strapped Lilah into the carrier (thankfully, she's old enough to go on our backs now! Much more comfortable), and headed out. One charged a small fee to get into the falls area, but the rest were free and, as God intended, nestled back in the woods. A few didn't even have signs to tell us where to go. We relied on the advice of friendly locals and helpful fellow-hunters. Some were visible from the road. Some were a short walk over a boardwalk. One was part of a city park. A couple (my favorite ones) were unmarked and a little deeper in the woods. I love precarious trails and steep inclines. I love having to work to get there. It makes it that much more rewarding to round a corner and see a waterfall in all its glory. Lilah even got to stand under one and get wet. She wasn't pleased. At all. I was consistently amazed at God's handiwork, and the beauty of creation. The most magical waterfalls we saw were the ones no one owned or kept up with. They were hidden away like secrets, and we found them.

Despite the "bears" (which were really a herd of very angry, very stupid raccoons), sleepless night, rocks under my ass, and tent fiasco, I have wonderful memories of our first camping trip as a family. I'd love to make an early autumn camping trip an annual tradition.

A monster has been created

Her name is Lilah Rose. She's eating everything! I was fully planning on exclusively breastfeeding until she was 6 months old. We've given her rice cereal several times when she boycotted bottles while I was at work, but that was the extent of it. Around the same time her first tooth came in a couple weeks ago (and another tooth st just below the surface!), she would nurse frantically while flailing and screaming until the milk let down. Typically, this took 30-60 seconds. She would proceed to gulp and suck down every drop of milk she could get. She emptied the breast in 5-10 minutes. She would repeat the performance on the other side. After both were empty, she would ball up her fists, screw up her face, and howl angrily and pitifully until I made more milk. Then she'd do it all again. It got so bad that I called the doctor's office and begged to be able to start her on some solids. I got the okay 2 weeks early.

I've been making my own baby food and it's going great. I created a monster, however, by saying, "Mmm!" as I spooned a bite into her mouth. I thought it was adorable and precocious when she started saying it back to me, or would slap her hands impatiently on her high chair, close her eyes, and yell, "MMM!" if I was taking too long to give her a bite. I always laughed and thought, "How great is this? She can tell me what she's wanting! Wonderful." When we were out for lunch at the Wild Rover, this new skill turned around and bit me. I was having a cup of soup and a pub salad, and I had no sooner lifted the soup spoon to my mouth when I heard a frantic noise coming out of Lilah's carseat. "Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!" I looked at her, and she was flailing her limbs in all directions, and looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. I gave her a bite of broth off my spoon and tried to take a bite myself. "MMM!" She was frantic and wide-eyed. I barely got to eat my lunch. She ate all the carrots and most of the potatoes, and a good bit of broth from my soup. What was once the first verbal communication attempt on the part of my child has now become a habit which often results in hunger on my part and her consuming most of my food. The good part is she's not nursing like a crazy person anymore, and she's back to 4 hours or so between feedings as long as she's getting solids. The bad part is I know I'm not going to get much to eat if I hear rustling from her seat and her shouting, "MMM!"

Clueless

I have come to the conclusion I am clueless as a mother. Until now, until this point in my journey, there has always been an obvious next step. She's hungry - feed her. She's tired - put her to sleep. She's wet - change her. She's teething - soothe her. I have always felt a calling on my life to sustain human life and give the person/people in my charge the best quality life I have to offer them. You could say I'm in the business of keeping people alive until they reach their appointed time to die, then helping them make the crossing over as peacefully as is in my power to do so. I have never in my life encountered a situation where I have felt helpless or without direction in this area of my expertise until this week.

Lilah will be 24 weeks old on the 8th of September. She's nearly 6 months old now, has nearly doubled her birth weight, has a tooth, is crawling, and has met all her milestones. I realize now that's what I was concerned with - assisting her to meet her milestones. There's nothing wrong with that, since she is a somewhat advanced, if not right on schedule, baby. This week, however, I came to the startling realization that what was once a small bundle of raw emotion was now a cognitive person. Lilah's first developmental task according to Erikson (the psychologist I most closely adhere to) is Trust vs. Mistrust.

"first stage which corresponds to Freud's oral stage centers around the infant's basic needs being met by the parents. The infant depends on the parents, especially the mother, for food, sustenance, and comfort. The child's relative understanding of world and society come from the parents and their interaction with the child. If the parents expose the child to warmth, regularity, and dependable affection, the infant's view of the world will be one of trust. Should the parents fail to provide a secure environment and to meet the child's basic need a sense of mistrust will result."

That was hugely important to me. For at least the first 6 months of her life, if was my entire job as a mother in a nutshell to provide that safety and security that would not only shape my relationship with my daughter in the future, but also dictate how she would view the whole world her entire life! This week, I realized she had mastered that. She knew when her parents or grandparents had her, she was safe, and therefore happy and willing to explore the world around her. With that exploration has come a new challenge that I feel I am unprepared for as a mother - autonomy.

Lilah has a routine that we stick pretty closely to. She goes to bed, eats, naps, and plays at specific times of the day. This happened naturally, and she's thrived on routine and habit. Now, she's started exerting her will more and more each day. I put her in her swing to take her nap as usual, and she looks straight at me and whines (not cries, just whines) until she gets picked up. Sometimes she even manages a tear or two. It never occurred to me it was a behavior issue until I watched her smile even as I was reaching for her. Now, I know you can't spoil a baby with love, cuddles, or security. If she was in need of reassurance and needed a snuggle from Mama, that's perfectly all right and what I'm here for. But after cuddling her and putting her back in her swing, the whining picks up again. It only stopped when I A) Let her lie on the couch next to me and hold my leg for her nap or B) Put her upstairs in her crib. If I kept her on the couch, she slept poorly and mostly played. If I put her in her crib, she understood it was nap time and went down with barely another noise. It's easier for me to keep her on the couch so I can pay bills, fold laundry, or do whatever else needs to be done. It's better for her if I take the time to put her up in her crib and tuck her in.

Situations just like that have popped up more and more. She knows what she needs (sleep, playtime, food, etc.) and she knows how her routine dictates the need will be met (part of the trust she's mastered already). But she's pushing the limits. I can see it in her eyes, too. She'll look straight at me and whine for a variation, something - from her purely emotional point of view - more desirable. She doesn't do it when Dano is alone with her. He was home one morning and watched her do it and watched me give in to her. "Why do you give in? Why don't you put her in her crib?" "It's easier..." I was horrified to hear myself say. I have since stopped doing it and putting her in her crib to nap. She's too young to be "naughty", or to push limits to get on her parents' nerves. She's just learning cause and effect. "If I push the belly of my musical seahorse, he sings and lights up!" In the same way, she's learning, "If I make these awful noises at Mama, she picks me up and I don't have to put myself to sleep in my crib!" This is just the next stage in her ongoing exploration of the world around her. It's just a stage I'm not entirely ready for, and one in which I highly doubt my own abilities.

Slow down already!

Today I was looking over pictures of Lilah's first month of being alive and wondering, "Who was that alien little creature we brought home?" She was tiny and helpless, and never made a peep. Somehow, that baby went away, and was replaced by a big girl who sits up, crawls and rolls around, and talks to us every day. She attracts people to her like moths to a flame.
"How old is she?"
"Isn't she a doll!"
"Is she a good baby?"
"Does she sleep through the night?"
"What's her name?"
Those are the usual ones I get. She'll never remember how many times I answer them every time I take her out. All she knows now is that humanity, it would seem, was created to pay homage to this tiny being. It's absurd, the amount of fawning and adoration she's subjected to, and she just soaks it all up. If every person on earth were a separate planet, they've spent the past 5 months revolving around a tiny, baby-shaped Sun.

Where did the summer go?

I've been telling myself to blog for a week now, before I get so behind I forget something. Every time I sit down to do it, I think to myself, "I could spend time on the computer, or play with Lilah" and I always end up playing with Lilah. She's sleeping now, so it seems like the opportune time to do it.

She's eating cereal before bed nearly every night now, because she was waking up famished in the middle of the night. She sleeps in her crib every night, as well. Mostly it works out well. She always wakes up around 7 and realizes there are toys within reach, so one of us has to drag our lazy butts out of bed and retrieve her. Whenever it's my turn, I find a grinning baby with chubby arms wrapped around one of her favorite stuffed animals in place of the peaceful, sleeping baby I had left in the crib 8 hours earlier.

She loves to experiment with her voice. She always seems surprised at what weird and bizarre noises she can make come out of her own mouth. Her first sounds were just squawks, which evolved into "conversations" with us. Then she learned she could screech like a hawk, and liked to wake us up that way. Then she taught herself to whisper. She sounded possessed. She would roll over to me and nurse in the morning after we got her from her crib, then roll over to Dano and proceed to grab his beard, smack his cheeks, or just grab both sides of his head and whisper menacingly until he woke up. Now she's moved on to the deeper range of her vocal cords. She sounds exactly like a mourning dove when she makes those sounds. Larry swears she said "Mama" when she was upset the other day. I think 5 months is still a little young for that.

She's crawling! It blows my mind to think about. A week ago, we could put her down on the floor and she'd have so much fun rolling around and playing with her toys. She'd occasionally give a half-hearted effort to scoot a few inches, but didn't seem too interested. About 3 days ago, she discovered that if she got her knees under her and her butt in the air, she could go about a foot if she pulled herself along with her arms outstretched in front of her. It was cute to watch her try. I guess I didn't realize she was getting better and better at it until last night. We were at Ann's and Larry's house, and Lilah was on a sheet on the floor (she likes to put fistfuls of dog hair in her mouth) and every time I looked up, she was off the sheet and headed somewhere else. We laughed at her the first few times, but then it became very clear: Lilah Rose Marie Alexander could crawl, and was very good at it. God help us all.

Where did July go?

I felt like I barely sat down one time last month. One day, we're hanging out with Max on July 4th eating Veggie Burgers, and the next day, I'm doing documentation at work and saying aloud, "Is it really 8-1? Are we sure?"

So much happened last month. We were busy every single weekend and many times throughout the week. We celebrated Lilah's first Independence Day with brownies and strawberry daiquiris. Even Max got a virgin one. We went to Pioneer Day fireworks and had a great weekend hanging out with Dano's high school best bud Brent (whew! That's a lot of B's!). We went hiking and had a cookout with Dano's cousin Sam and her little girl, Ada. Lilah loved her second cousin and they giggled together all evening. We picked my friend Bronson up from the airport and went to L'attitude for martinis and snacks. He spent the night, then we drove to Gay, MI to spend a day with his family there. While in Gay, we explored the ruins of an old iron ore mill, watched his kids play Wii, and had an awesome campfire on the beach. That same weekend was Hiawatha weekend, a traditional music festival. We ran into Mike Waite on a bus, where he held Lilah and had a few minutes of folk-bonding. She camped for the first time and did wonderfully. The weather went from 40s at night to 75 during the day. Lilah got the full hippie experience complete with songs around a campfire and her very first tie-dye dress! Thanks Grandpaman! She loved it. She got to play with her good friend Talula Ravani, and they both wore their tie-dye and played in a hammock. She got to see her cousins, Zedd and Ephraim, and met her second cousin Kelsey and her Uncle Chris and Aunt Karen for the very first time! The last weekend in July, we stayed with Max for the weekend again so Ann and Larry could camp and bike. It was mostly rainy, but we all went shopping and had a laid-back, good time.

What's Lilah been doing during all of this? She's been growing, mostly. She started boycotting bottles when I went back to work, so now and again she gets rice cereal, which she loves and devours. She now weighs 14 pounds even, and she's 24 1/2 inches long. She's more than met her milestones. She has the cutest belly laugh at inappropriate moments (like when Mama is talking to Daddy about "old people sex" at work), a smile that darn-near takes up her whole face, she can sit up nearly unassisted, and she rolls like a boss. She never stays where you put her anymore. She always ends up 5 feet away. She's also attempting to scoot across the floor by pushing with her toes. I have a feeling she'll be a mover early, this one. The doctor definitely thinks it's possible she's got a tooth trying to pop through, since she's a drooly mess and eats everything. She sucks on her fists until she gags. We were outside playing today and exploring nature, and she ate a flower. One minute she was looking thoughtfully at it, and the next minute it was gone. I nearly dropped her and started to search for the number to Poison Control when she made a face and spit it out again. I told her not to do that again and she grinned. She's very vocal and has a lot to say about the world around her. She'll go to anyone who wants her, and she's an absolute darling 90% of the time. That other 10%, well, it makes you very thankful for the 90%.

Memories

For some reason, I've been having flashbacks from being pregnant lately. Maybe it's just talking a good friend through her first and second trimester that's doing it. I remember all too well being afraid that every sneeze, every indulgence in Chinese food, every day I went without the money for insurance would kill the little thing inside me. I don't miss being pregnant, per se. Every day is a new adventure. I just realize (especially in my line of work with Alzheimers) how unfaithful memories can be. They might not be as vivid later on as they are today. I decided to jot down a few of them now. Maybe I've been reading too much L'Engle lately, where every little memory might be important later on in saving the world. However, since this is for me, and perhaps someday for Lilah, the "why" doesn't really matter.

Memory #1
I was still in school, and we were doing our geriatrics rotation in clinicals. No one knew I was pregnant, and I was still very sick. I was in the room of an unresponsive, comatose patient, and Tabitha, Jill, and I were washing him up and changing his linens. Tabitha had told me a few days earlier she was pregnant. Jill had told me a few minutes earlier she was pregnant. I felt like it might be a good idea to let them know, since we could help each other out and cover for me, since the instructors didn't and couldn't know. Policy dictated that we present a physician's note clearing us for clinical work in order to graduate. That was problematic, since Jill and I couldn't afford insurance but made too much for state aid, and Tabitha was a high-risk pregnancy and no sane doctor would ever clear her. My hands were sweaty, which was inconvenient, since I was holding a naked man steady on his side so the other girls could wash his back. He nearly slipped out of my grasp. I was shaking when I told them I was the rumored "Fourth". Gossip in school had whispered there were 4 pregnant girls in a class of 16. The instructors were going student to student trying to get them to rat out the ones the instructors didn't know about. Nikki was the third, but there were no problems with her pregnancy and she had insurance, so hers wasn't a secret. Both of them were so excited and swore secrecy. The rest of the class knew before the week was out.

Memory #2
It was my first day of my mental health rotation at the state mental facility. I was throwing up constantly, and more than a little resentful of this tiny cluster of cells causing my constant discomfort. We were told to be careful, that the patients there weren't as innocent and harmless as they might seem at first. They were all there for a reason. My group was walking through the hallways, very bored. No one wanted to talk to us. The only thing they seemed interested in was whether or not we had cigarettes. Out of nowhere, my boredom ended as I felt a strong, wiry arm reach around my neck and tighten. I'd heard of fight or flight mode, even studied it, but never experienced it. I dug my fingers into the arm and twisted out of its grasp. I put plenty of distance between me and it before looking to see its owner. I identified him and told my instructor, who removed us from the area and alerted the staff. Later, when I could think again, I wondered at how my brain had immediately responded, and my only thoughts had been for the safety of my growing baby - the baby I hadn't planned, and didn't even want at first. I think that was the first time I really loved her. I didn't know who she was, or even if she was a boy or a girl baby at this point. All that mattered was that she was my baby, and it was my job as her mother to protect her from everything harmful. That included mental patients with half their brain removed trying to choke her mother.

I'll record more as they come to me.

Leaps and Bounds

Little Lilah isn't so little anymore. She weighs nearly 14 pounds now. She has two tiny little teeth that keep trying to break through the gums. They're hanging out just below the surface, making her miserable. I'm doing everything I can to keep her comfortable and happy. She's also started waking up in the middle of the night to eat, after sleeping straight through for a month. She's going through a growth spurt, and I think she's ready to try a little cereal soon.

I've been working my regular 2 days a week and working as a mother and wife 7. I've been doing my best to keep it all afloat, but some days are harder than others. Some days I feel like there isn't enough of me to go around, not by half. I can't imagine how full-time workers or single mothers do it.

I've been too busy to do anything but what is absolutely required. It took me a week to finish two new books. That's absurd for me. I want things to slow down a little. Being able take a breath without someone calling my name, crying, or needing something would be a refreshing change of pace. Hats off to all those who have survived more than one child.

A major accomplishment

As many of you know, I'm not a big fan of lacy white bassinets (or anything lacy, for that matter). A month or so before she was born, Kim had made Lilah a beautiful Moses basket to sleep in. It was lined with green fleece and a cute brown embroidered owl. It had a removable brown pad about an inch or so thick to sleep on. I was thrilled I could take it out and wash it if the situation arose (and no doubt, it would). To cover her up, it had a matching green fleece blanket with another charming little owl. I couldn't wait to bring my baby home, plop her in it, and go to bed for two hours before having to get up and feed her.

When we finally brought her home, we were a little unsure of what to do. The hospital had been straightforward enough. From birth, she had boycotted the strange plastic bin they toss the babies in. I could sympathize not wanting to feel like you're in an aquarium, so I had her in bed with me the whole time and she slept like a rock (a strange expression, since rocks are inanimate and don't sleep or do anything else, for that matter). I wasn't allowed to sleep with her in bed, in case I rolled over and squashed her. I thought that was ridiculous. I was acutely aware of every sigh, breath, and squeak that came from the foreign little bundle in my arms. Every nurse and aid that came in the room stressed the same points over and over - "Don't sleep with your baby. You'll kill it", "Put your baby in a basket or cradle or you'll kill it", "Put your baby to sleep on its back or you'll kill it". I was beginning to think babies were very susceptible to the elements and likely to drop dead at any point. So when we brought her home, I dutifully put her in her basket next to the bed and laid down to sleep. My head hadn't even hit the pillow when she started to cry. "No no, they sleep for two hours, *then* they wake up to cry, " I thought. "That's what new babies do. All the books say so." I picked her up to lull her back to sleep. This consisted of me rocking her and shushing her softly while she stared at me happily with very awake-looking eyes. I was beginning to get horrified. "What if I have one of those defective ones that confuse day with night, like all my Alzheimer's residents?" I recalled many a night at the nurse's station being asked by one angry man with a walker, "WHERE are my car keys!?" every 5 minutes for hours on end (this is how my brain was functioning after 40 hours of no sleep). I tucked her safely and securely in her basket again. I hadn't even turned around before she started wailing again. Dano and I looked at each other with dread. "What do we do?" he asked. "How the hell should I know? I've never done this before!" I thought. "I'm not sure," I told him. "She slept just fine in the hospital." Then it dawned on me. She slept with me in the hospital. I decided to just let her fall asleep in my arms, then transplant her into her basket. We all snuggled down into the bed, and Dano drifted swiftly off to sleep. "Jerk," I thought. I watched Lilah's eyes get droopier by the second. "Only a few more minutes until I can finally sleep."

We all woke up at 4:00 AM when she woke up to eat (after going to bed at 11:00). I was relieved and a little surprised to find my newborn daughter still alive. I fed her and tucked her next to me again, wondering at the fact she hadn't woken up screaming for food every two hours. "Maybe she's broken." She didn't wake up again until the next morning at 9:00. In finding that I could get zero sleep and let her scream in her basket all night, or let her sleep between us in my arms and get nearly a full night's sleep, I chose the irresponsible, selfish option. "Don't do that!" People would tell me often. "She'll be 5 and still in bed with you!" If having a 5 year old in bed with me meant 10 hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep, that was fine with me. "Your husband will resent you. You'll never be able to have sex again!" Again, see above.

When she was 8 weeks old, she let us put her down without bursting into pitiful, lonely cries for the first time in her short life. We decided to try the basket again. She slept in it half the night, then wanted to be in the bed after her middle of the night (and only) feeding. Over the past month since then, she's stayed in her basket a little longer each night. Two nights ago, I woke up feeling rested and refreshed, and heard birds singing in the sunshine out the window. I leaned down to give Lilah her morning kiss and greeting - "Good morning, beautiful baby!" - to find that she wasn't there. I flung aside the blankets to see if she'd weaseled her way somewhere else. No Lilah. I was frantic. I leaned over the side of the bed to see if she'd fallen off and died during the night. Instead, I saw her supine, limp little body in her basket. "She's dead. She died of SIDS during the night," was where my brain immediately went. I snatched her up and held my poor baby close to my chest. She her eyes snapped open confusedly and she scowled at me. She had been sleeping? She slept in her basket all night? That seemed much more unlikely to me than her dying in her sleep.

I asked Ann later if I was ridiculous for being so worried, for immediately jumping to Lilah being injured or dead, rather than happily sleeping in her basket (which was a goal we'd been working toward for 13 weeks). She said it was very natural, and she had continued checking to make sure her children were breathing well into their teens. After I got over the initial shock, I celebrated. Not only did my baby sleep through the night from birth (as long as she was being held), she was doing it alone in her basket at 3 months! Then I thought the same thing I always do when I realize what an exceptionally good baby we've been blessed with - "Our next baby will be Devil's spawn..."