When toys just don't cut it ...

Childhood calling

One of the perks of parenthood is the chance to relive the best parts of being a kid.

I don't just mean the holidays, but the books, the toys and the excitement that comes with each day. My baby reminds me every morning how much better it is to wake up happy, as she throws her feet down in glee and flashes that gummy grin at the first sight of my husband or me. It's the best part of my day. To her, and that itty bitty mind inside, there's so much to soak up from her surroundings that she can't stand to be in her crib any longer ... but oh how I wish she'd just give me one more hour :)

I love her curiosity and fascination with new objects, which of course are never her toys. When she grabs my cell phone or reaches for my water glass, it's like she's saying, "C'mon Mom, I'm tired of the same old stuff." When she stretched her arm out for my frozen lemonade push-up pop, I reluctantly submitted to her taste buds - and probably some swollen gums - and worried that with each suck, I was somehow breaking a million mommy rules. Secretly, I enjoyed the moment almost as much as she did.

The first time I took Vera to the library, it was if I was eight years old again. As I roamed the shelf-lined aisles in the children's area, I felt a thousand warm memories rushing back. With each book I recognized, I pictured myself curled up in my little room with a paperback, soaking up each page so I could move on to a new story.  I had such a thirst for reading, and as I read to Vera every day - while she tries to use the book as a teether - I hope I'm instilling the same love for literature.

For Easter, I took my time selecting just the right items for her basket despite knowing the only memory she'll have of receiving it will be the 44 pictures we took that day. I'm excited for next year when we can, very carefully, dye eggs and I can resume what my mother did when my brother and I were kids. She created a stencil of the Easter Bunny's foot and made tracks up to our door with powdered sugar. And, of course, left a chewed up carrot in the middle of the living room floor. She's always had a way of making things special.

When the extreme heat dies down around here, I'll lather Vera up in sunblock and take her out for her first summer dip in the baby pool, cherishing her small splashes and looking forward to when she can strap on water wings and kick around in a big pool. Next month, we're taking her up to the lake that's been in my family for generations. I hope over the years, she'll create as many fond memories as I was able to - diving off the dock, learning to ride on the Hobie Cat and feeling a bit frightened when it rises up at one end and enjoying an easy ride on the pontoon boat. Maybe she'll even learn to ski, an activity that was never my friend.

All of this has got me thinking ... maybe people become parents just so they get a second chance at firsts ...

Le Nursh

This is the cheeriest room in the house. I think I will continue to add little accents ... until my husband starts to notice :) I love that Vera is already beginning to enjoy some play time in her sweet little nursery.

Memorial Day Cutie

Then: Leaving the hospital

Now: Visiting the doctor

My baby girl is three months and 19 days old, but I'd rather say she's 15 weeks. It makes it seem like these first few months are not going by as quickly as they really are. Friends told me time flies when you have a child, but I never wanted to believe it. Turns out they're telling the truth. I'm afraid to blink for fear she'll be a year old already!

Motherhood so far

Is it okay to admit motherhood is not exactly what I expected? Granted, I've long set too-high expectations for everything in life, and I'm often reminded of this flaw when motherhood proves more than I can handle.

Before baby Vera arrived, I dreamed of cuddling her all day while still getting stuff done around the house and preparing a full course meal each night. I thought after dinner, my husband and I would enjoy family time with our daughter, playing with her a bit and then rocking her to sleep with a lullaby after she's been bathed, read to and in her teeny pajamas. Oh, and then we all awake in the morning, fully rested.

Oh, naivety, you've long been my enemy.

Reality check: In the first few weeks, I did almost live on the couch holding our newborn. I was afraid to put her down for naps in her bassinet over fears she would either wake up or stop breathing. And I was too exhausted to move anywhere else, having been up throughout the night to nurse and worn out from the colic that plagued our baby from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. I didn't have the energy to think about making a grocery list or making dinner, which is why I'm still grateful for the meals I made ahead of time and put in the freezer and those our friends and my parents dropped off. I watched laundry pile up and cried grateful tears to myself when my mom came over and spent hours cleaning and cooking so I could sleep.

When I was pregnant, my sweet grandmother continually reminded me to be joyful so the baby would be joyful, too. I tried my darnedest and really thought I'd stuck to her request. I'm so thankful that God gave us a healthy baby; she has 10 fingers and 10 toes, the cutest smile and the prettiest pair of brown eyes you'll ever see, though deep down I'd hoped they'd be green. But I can't help but wonder why we've had to endure so much with her in such a short amount of time. I thought I was a happy, prayerful preggo.

In the hospital, when Vera wasn't sleeping, she was almost inevitably crying, especially at night. I can't tell you how many times we buzzed for the nurse because neither one of us knew what else to do. We learned she didn't like to be swaddled. She still gets mad when we put a shirt over her head and through her arms. And she's finicky about her swing. I thought those were Godsends!

I took her to our pediatrician at least three times in her first month. He diagnosed her with acid reflux and put her on medication, which still bothers me. And he chalked up our worries -- gassiness, tummy troubles, etc.-- to colic. Thankfully, in the past month or so, it only lasts about two or so hours. Like clockwork, Vera starts her uncontrollable sobbing right at 7 p.m. and doesn't quit until we can get her to sleep around 9:30. Our only reprieve is her 20 minute bath. It's exhausting, draining, frustrating ... we've tried everything we can think of,  read about or gotten advice on. And I got my hopes up hearing colic goes away at three months ... Vera will be four months in 12 days.

Aside from the colic and reflux issues, she's also struggled with taking a bottle. I even went out and bought the newest, most-like-the-real-thing bottle and she still refuses to take it. All I want is to be able to leave her for a few hours now and then without having to rush back to nurse. I don't know how else to plead with her ...

I adore my daughter. I can't imagine my life without her. And I am not complaining about her. I'm excited about all the milestones she's hit and those to come. She gives me a new purpose in this life. During the day, she smiles and giggles and loves when I read to her. Granted, she does demand more attention than I imagined, so I often have her crying as my background noise when I'm trying to throw in laundry, clean the bathroom or get dinner ready.

But tonight, my husband and I hit a wall. We regret reading any books and online resources and listening to well-intentioned family and friends -- we unintentionally set too-high expectations for our first born. We tried to put her in a box. We wanted her to be 'this kind of baby' or 'that kind of baby' and didn't let her just be Vera, taking things day by day. For instance, I don't want to know at what age babies sleep through the night because every baby is different; and if Vera isn't falling in that "norm," we'll get upset or confused.

We want so badly to enjoy every minute of her life, but at times, we have to leave in her in her crib, crying, and walk away, too frustrated to do anything else.

I keep praying for God to at least take away the colic, to grant us some reprieve. Sometimes, I feel like He gave us more than we can handle, like he threw us all these crazy quirks of hers at once. But then I'm reminded of the verse that He doesn't do that.

I think I'm beginning to see His plan. I tend to react quickly to situations and have very little patience. I was listening to a radio program in the car the other day and these parents were talking about discipline and different approaches with different children. I think God is trying to help me gain more patience with Vera now so I'll be a better parent when she's older, so I won't react in a way I'll regret.

And I feel like I keep failing.

I never dreamed my patience would ever be tested with an infant. And I don't really think it should. It isn't as though they know what they're doing. They're just trying to figure out this new world. I feel like we are, too.

Dinner plans?

A yummy find for dinner the other night. It's simple and quick -- great for those with a lot already on their plate!

Peanut Noodles and Chicken

1/2 pound linguine
2 Tbs soy sauce
2 Tbs lemon juice
1/2 tsp cornstarch
1/3 cup peanut butter
2 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp sesame oil
1 pound cooked chicken
cucumber to garnish

Cook linguine. Rinse in cool water.

Mix together soy sauce, lemon juice and cornstarch.

In a saucepan, combine the peanut butter, garlic, sugar, red pepper flakes and 1/2 cup of hot water. Whisk in soy sauce mix, heat and simmer. Remove from heat and stir in the sesame oil. Toss the linguine, chicken and peanut butter together. Top with sliced cucumbers and serve at room temperature.

What goes around comes around

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was very picky about the clothes in her closet and those in her dresser drawers.

There was some attire she preferred to wear ... and others she shoved to the back or hid at the bottom of the pile.

Sometimes, as she was getting ready for school in the morning, her mother would bound into the bedroom and, deaf to unyielding protests, select an outfit for her daughter - typically, one shoved the back or hidden at the bottom of the pile.

A bright orange, short-sleeved blouse with colorful flowers stretched across the top, was the girl's least favorite garment of all - but what her mother most insisted she wear.

One day, the girl secretly packed a second shirt in her backpack, hugged her mother goodbye and headed to the bus stop in front of her friend's house. But when she got there, she continued inside where she changed out of that flashy blouse and prayed for the bus's prompt arrival.

This tactic was employed each time the girl's mother picked out her clothes for school. And it seemed foolproof until the morning her friend's brother caught the girl coming out of the basement in a switched-out shirt. He was quick to tell the girl's younger brother, who didn't think twice about tattling on his sister.

I can't help but chuckle whenever I think back to one of my very first acts of rebellion. I don't remember the punishment I received, but I'm pretty sure it involved some sort of grounding and frequently sporting that orange shirt to school.

I share this story as my husband and I watch friends and family navigate through various learning opportunities with their young children. Some react instantly and often irritably; others approach situations more carefully as they look for teaching moments for both themselves and the child.

It makes me realize how intentional the two of us need to be as parents, though our baby is still cuddling snugly in the womb for a few more weeks.

I admit I've never given much thought to raising a little one, other than teaching her to be a kind, compassionate, loving child of God - and even knowing how to do this overwhelms me. I think I expected to make decisions and react to circumstances on a day-to-day basis, to cross that bridge when we came to it.

But lately, I've been hearing stories that make me sit back and think, "Would I have done the same?"

During a recent dinner, my friend's three-year-old emptied a plate full of chicken, piece by piece, onto the floor beneath her. My friend made the discovery after praising her daughter for her wonderful eating habits. In the moment, my friend was transported back to a dinnertime in her younger days when she did the same thing, only with hamburger. It's still one of her least favorite childhood memories.

So while she was still upset, my friend chose to handle the situation and the consequence differently than her parents. She sent her daughter to her room and then made her come back and clean up the mess. At bedtime, while reading a story, the little girl apologized, unprovoked.

Anecdotes like these give me inspiration for what kind of parents my husband and I can be and the tone we will set for our family. And they make me realize that these teachable moments are likely easier said than done.

I hope to view parenting not as a job, but as a ministry or service where we sacrifice our time, agenda and energy with a desire to raise children who will be blessings to those around them and however difficult it may be for us to let go, world-changers.

I want to be prepared now, however premature it may seem. To know how to reward obedience, to celebrate accomplishments, and every now and then, to discipline the slip-ups.

Like my friend demonstrated, I'd rather interact proactively with my daughter, not reactively. To think before speaking. To daily remember that nothing has a greater impact over a child than a mother and father. It's true for me and I hope it can be true for her.

And I hope years from now, when she's able to read over these archived columns, I've stood firm on these printed promises.