Tuesday, May 31, 2011
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 ...
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.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
 |
| Then: Leaving the hospital |
 |
| Now: Visiting the doctor |
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.
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.
Monday, April 11, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
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.
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.
The great name debate
I am admittedly indecisive when it comes to, well, everything. I could pay those closest to me to disagree, but it's tough to hide the truth.
When our weekend date night rolls around, I'm out of ideas. Movie out or a cheap rental in? A stroll around the outdoor mall or the nearby park? Ice cream for dessert or creme brulee?
On evenings when cooking isn't' on my to-do list - a phenomenon that happens much too often - I never know what to grab in its place: Chinese? Pizza? Carry-our from our favorite eatery?
I seem to need a second opinion on everything from what flowers and shrubs to plant in front of our house to the type of decor needed to dress up our living and family rooms to the gifts to buy for birthdays and holidays.
I even seek suggestions about topics I choose for this column. In fact, I was so unsure of what to write this time that you were almost reading, "This page intentionally left blank." Much to the amusement of my editor, I'm sure.
So you can imagine my ensuing panic when I realize I'd have to decide on the name our baby will forever bear.
I'm having a hard enough time making a commitment to a nursery theme, which is only a short-term setup until the preschooler outgrows the cutesy newborn trimmings.
A few weeks ago, upon learning my husband and I are going to have a girl, I stopped into a baby store on the way home from work, eager to purchase her first outfits. I couldn't wait to finally shop for my own little one after spoiling others' for so many years.
But after walking in and out of the same aisles, overwhelmed by purple and pink layettes, I suddenly felt the urge to reach for my phone and dial my mom.
Surprisingly, I'd forgotten how to buy baby clothes. I couldn't decide on pajamas with footies or gowns; dresses or sweater and pant sets; or whether I should stock up on socks.
Surely she could tell me what to choose and what sizes I would need.
She could make up my mind.
But then I stopped, put my phone away, took a deep breath and refocused. Though it may have taken me a while I finally settled on an assortment of pajamas to get our baby girl through her first few nights.
And then I celebrated my mini victory, my first motherly moment.
Unfortunately, it was short-lived.
Later that night, when I pulled out the "100,000-Plus Baby Names" book - by first mistake, considering I couldn't choose between pink and purple - I slipped back into the old habit. Each name I considered I also second-guessed. Would family and friends like it? Would it fit our daughter as a toddler, a high-school senior, a career woman? Would she be filled with resentment about her moniker and one day demand it be changed?
After momentarily brushing these thoughts aside, I made my second mistake - I sent my mom a text with my wish list that included a name and its meaning I've long adored, but worried its rareness wouldn't catch on.
And she vetoed every one.
Of course I did the same when her list arrived in my e-mail inbox.
Fortunately, this game, which my co-workers hear weekly updates about, has subsided for now. Though I'm not quite sure who is winning.
I reason that whatever name we decide on, it could always be worse. We're not going with a name that's off the 100 most popular list, so she won't have to go by her last name throughout her school years.
And we're certainly not choosing to be part of the wackiest names contest, which Hollywood seems to be leading. Somehow, I can't imagine our daughter wanting to be named after a flower or a fruit - see Bluebell, Dandelion, Fuchsia and Petal Blossom Rainbow - or with no rhyme or reason, like Diva Muffin, Ever Gabo, Freedom, Java, Mars and Moon Unit.
You can't make this stuff up, yet it seems a few celebrities did.
As new parents, choosing our baby's name will be among the biggest first decisions we make. And I realize it should be an enjoyable experience, not one steeped in uncertainty.
So this is one decision I've made, at least until tomorrow when I change my mind: when the baby's delivery day arrives, hopefully in early December, she'll have the perfect name waiting for her because it will be the one only she can carry. And it will represent the first of many decisions we'll be making for her.
When our weekend date night rolls around, I'm out of ideas. Movie out or a cheap rental in? A stroll around the outdoor mall or the nearby park? Ice cream for dessert or creme brulee?
On evenings when cooking isn't' on my to-do list - a phenomenon that happens much too often - I never know what to grab in its place: Chinese? Pizza? Carry-our from our favorite eatery?
I seem to need a second opinion on everything from what flowers and shrubs to plant in front of our house to the type of decor needed to dress up our living and family rooms to the gifts to buy for birthdays and holidays.
I even seek suggestions about topics I choose for this column. In fact, I was so unsure of what to write this time that you were almost reading, "This page intentionally left blank." Much to the amusement of my editor, I'm sure.
So you can imagine my ensuing panic when I realize I'd have to decide on the name our baby will forever bear.
I'm having a hard enough time making a commitment to a nursery theme, which is only a short-term setup until the preschooler outgrows the cutesy newborn trimmings.
A few weeks ago, upon learning my husband and I are going to have a girl, I stopped into a baby store on the way home from work, eager to purchase her first outfits. I couldn't wait to finally shop for my own little one after spoiling others' for so many years.
But after walking in and out of the same aisles, overwhelmed by purple and pink layettes, I suddenly felt the urge to reach for my phone and dial my mom.
Surprisingly, I'd forgotten how to buy baby clothes. I couldn't decide on pajamas with footies or gowns; dresses or sweater and pant sets; or whether I should stock up on socks.
Surely she could tell me what to choose and what sizes I would need.
She could make up my mind.
But then I stopped, put my phone away, took a deep breath and refocused. Though it may have taken me a while I finally settled on an assortment of pajamas to get our baby girl through her first few nights.
And then I celebrated my mini victory, my first motherly moment.
Unfortunately, it was short-lived.
Later that night, when I pulled out the "100,000-Plus Baby Names" book - by first mistake, considering I couldn't choose between pink and purple - I slipped back into the old habit. Each name I considered I also second-guessed. Would family and friends like it? Would it fit our daughter as a toddler, a high-school senior, a career woman? Would she be filled with resentment about her moniker and one day demand it be changed?
After momentarily brushing these thoughts aside, I made my second mistake - I sent my mom a text with my wish list that included a name and its meaning I've long adored, but worried its rareness wouldn't catch on.
And she vetoed every one.
Of course I did the same when her list arrived in my e-mail inbox.
Fortunately, this game, which my co-workers hear weekly updates about, has subsided for now. Though I'm not quite sure who is winning.
I reason that whatever name we decide on, it could always be worse. We're not going with a name that's off the 100 most popular list, so she won't have to go by her last name throughout her school years.
And we're certainly not choosing to be part of the wackiest names contest, which Hollywood seems to be leading. Somehow, I can't imagine our daughter wanting to be named after a flower or a fruit - see Bluebell, Dandelion, Fuchsia and Petal Blossom Rainbow - or with no rhyme or reason, like Diva Muffin, Ever Gabo, Freedom, Java, Mars and Moon Unit.
You can't make this stuff up, yet it seems a few celebrities did.
As new parents, choosing our baby's name will be among the biggest first decisions we make. And I realize it should be an enjoyable experience, not one steeped in uncertainty.
So this is one decision I've made, at least until tomorrow when I change my mind: when the baby's delivery day arrives, hopefully in early December, she'll have the perfect name waiting for her because it will be the one only she can carry. And it will represent the first of many decisions we'll be making for her.
A new journey awaits
When the opportunity comes along every so often to contribute to this column, I cringe.
It's only because I never know what to write that isn't personal. I've been known for years to wear my heart on my sleeve. It emerges that much more when I put it down on paper.
Sure, I have my own opinion on issues, both local and abroad, about changing lifestyles and durable fads.
But it's hardly enough to fill a column.
It seems when my turn rolls around, I long for the chance to divulge some timely memories or an important occasions.
In the past, I've shared in this space stories about family - the birth of my niece; an anniversary trip with my husband gone slightly awry; grandparents' treasured wisdom - and my adventures from one military base to another as I grew up in the shadows of an Army battalion.
I suppose I view my openness as a way for readers to learn a little about the person whose byline they see each week. To laugh and reminisce with the face at board meetings, schools events and class celebrations.
And so, as I mark a major milestone, I'm following my ususl routine - sharing it with all ofyou.
For the past eight weeks, I've suffered from complete exhaustion. I fight to crawl out of bed each morning and keep my eyes open at my desk mid-afternoon. When evening rolls around, I've been rendered pretty useless. Laundry, ironing, cleaning and cooking are not nearly as much a priority as curling up on the couch for a long nap.
Just the thought of chicken or beef makes my taste buds quiver and my stomach turn. I've been living off cereal, Jell-O and fruits and vegetables, though once and a while, hot dogs and sausage are strangely appealing.
While most people keep a close eye on their waistlines during these summer months, I'll be watching mine steadlily grow.
I've heard of what's in store. I've read waht to expect. I know I'll soon be uncomfortable. I know everyday activities will feel nearly impossible to complete.
But within seven months, it will all be worth it.
If you haven't already guessed, my husband and I are expecting a baby.
Our first, and by my estimates, due around Christmas.
I admit this little miracle came as a bit of a surprise. I was a bit overwhelmed, and I couldn't decide if the tears streaming down my cheeks were due to happiness or nervousness - or maybe a little of both.
Yet, as I enjoy the last year of my 20s, I realize the timing of this new addition to our life is jsut right. God's plans always are.
I wanted a specal way to tell our parents, knowing our news would likely catch them off guard. Since buying a house six months ago, our priorities have been decorating and furnishing, putting up blinds and hanging curtains and paying extra care to a lawn long neglected.
Preparing a nursery was expected - a little further down the road.
I bought my mom and dad a small, baby-themed photo album and a bib that reads, "My Grandparents love me." I wrapped them separately and as the four of us sat around their kitchen table one night, I felt my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.
It took a few seconds for them to realize what they had opened, and then my mom, half crying and half laughing, squealed, "Are we going to be grandparents?!" It's a moment I'll never forget.
To tell my husband's family, we bought a blank baby card and addressed it to our niece. Inside, we scribbled, "Can't wait to meet you. Love, your cousin."
At their house for an early dinner one Sunday, we asked my sister-in-law to read the card aloud. The reaction from everyone was priceless.
Friends have bombarded me with excitement, well wishes and stacks of baby books. But it still seems surreal.
I've always had a mothering instinct. Just ask my younger brother, who's sure to begrudgingly agree. When we were chidlren, I was the one walking around our family cottage in the summertime with a little cousin on my hip. The older ones followed me around and nicknamed me Mother Theresa; the latter is my middle name.
When friends became mothers, I'd visit to dote on the newborn, but I never saw myself in their shoes.
Until now.
I'm trying not to get overloaded with information. There are hundreds of websites out there dedicated to pregnancy. They tell me what I can and cannot eat, how I should and shouldn't be feeling and what activites are safe and those I should avoid.
Each week, I get updates comparing the baby's growth to a piece of fruit. This week, for instance, it's the size of a kumquat. The sites tell me if I could peek into the womb, I'd see tiny nails forming on fingers and toes and peach-fuzz hair emerging, and vital organs in place and beginning to function.
I'm dumbfounded how a teeny person is developing, little by little; how a heart and brain, lungs and eyes, a nose and mouth have grown out of a microscopic cell. It's really remarkable.
I wonder if the baby will have my eyes and my husband's smile, or special features all its own. I hope it's helathy and happy - and that it doesn't one day grow up to resent how close its birthday is to the year's biggest holiday.
I worry what kind of parent I will be. Not that I don't have two amazing examples to follow. I pray I am patient and joyful; firm, yet forgiving; always around to wipe a tear, mend a broken spirit, share a hug and lots of laughs.
I want to inspire complete self-confidence and encourage dreams. I want to teach our little one about God's love and the importance of prayer. To live life wholeheartedly. To never regret, but move forward.
I can't wait to mark first sounds, first smiles, first steps.
I desire for our child to be so much more than I imagined I could be.
But most of all, at least in this moment, I want this baby to get here soon so our family journey can begin.
It's only because I never know what to write that isn't personal. I've been known for years to wear my heart on my sleeve. It emerges that much more when I put it down on paper.
Sure, I have my own opinion on issues, both local and abroad, about changing lifestyles and durable fads.
But it's hardly enough to fill a column.
It seems when my turn rolls around, I long for the chance to divulge some timely memories or an important occasions.
In the past, I've shared in this space stories about family - the birth of my niece; an anniversary trip with my husband gone slightly awry; grandparents' treasured wisdom - and my adventures from one military base to another as I grew up in the shadows of an Army battalion.
I suppose I view my openness as a way for readers to learn a little about the person whose byline they see each week. To laugh and reminisce with the face at board meetings, schools events and class celebrations.
And so, as I mark a major milestone, I'm following my ususl routine - sharing it with all ofyou.
For the past eight weeks, I've suffered from complete exhaustion. I fight to crawl out of bed each morning and keep my eyes open at my desk mid-afternoon. When evening rolls around, I've been rendered pretty useless. Laundry, ironing, cleaning and cooking are not nearly as much a priority as curling up on the couch for a long nap.
Just the thought of chicken or beef makes my taste buds quiver and my stomach turn. I've been living off cereal, Jell-O and fruits and vegetables, though once and a while, hot dogs and sausage are strangely appealing.
While most people keep a close eye on their waistlines during these summer months, I'll be watching mine steadlily grow.
I've heard of what's in store. I've read waht to expect. I know I'll soon be uncomfortable. I know everyday activities will feel nearly impossible to complete.
But within seven months, it will all be worth it.
If you haven't already guessed, my husband and I are expecting a baby.
Our first, and by my estimates, due around Christmas.
I admit this little miracle came as a bit of a surprise. I was a bit overwhelmed, and I couldn't decide if the tears streaming down my cheeks were due to happiness or nervousness - or maybe a little of both.
Yet, as I enjoy the last year of my 20s, I realize the timing of this new addition to our life is jsut right. God's plans always are.
I wanted a specal way to tell our parents, knowing our news would likely catch them off guard. Since buying a house six months ago, our priorities have been decorating and furnishing, putting up blinds and hanging curtains and paying extra care to a lawn long neglected.
Preparing a nursery was expected - a little further down the road.
I bought my mom and dad a small, baby-themed photo album and a bib that reads, "My Grandparents love me." I wrapped them separately and as the four of us sat around their kitchen table one night, I felt my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.
It took a few seconds for them to realize what they had opened, and then my mom, half crying and half laughing, squealed, "Are we going to be grandparents?!" It's a moment I'll never forget.
To tell my husband's family, we bought a blank baby card and addressed it to our niece. Inside, we scribbled, "Can't wait to meet you. Love, your cousin."
At their house for an early dinner one Sunday, we asked my sister-in-law to read the card aloud. The reaction from everyone was priceless.
Friends have bombarded me with excitement, well wishes and stacks of baby books. But it still seems surreal.
I've always had a mothering instinct. Just ask my younger brother, who's sure to begrudgingly agree. When we were chidlren, I was the one walking around our family cottage in the summertime with a little cousin on my hip. The older ones followed me around and nicknamed me Mother Theresa; the latter is my middle name.
When friends became mothers, I'd visit to dote on the newborn, but I never saw myself in their shoes.
Until now.
I'm trying not to get overloaded with information. There are hundreds of websites out there dedicated to pregnancy. They tell me what I can and cannot eat, how I should and shouldn't be feeling and what activites are safe and those I should avoid.
Each week, I get updates comparing the baby's growth to a piece of fruit. This week, for instance, it's the size of a kumquat. The sites tell me if I could peek into the womb, I'd see tiny nails forming on fingers and toes and peach-fuzz hair emerging, and vital organs in place and beginning to function.
I'm dumbfounded how a teeny person is developing, little by little; how a heart and brain, lungs and eyes, a nose and mouth have grown out of a microscopic cell. It's really remarkable.
I wonder if the baby will have my eyes and my husband's smile, or special features all its own. I hope it's helathy and happy - and that it doesn't one day grow up to resent how close its birthday is to the year's biggest holiday.
I worry what kind of parent I will be. Not that I don't have two amazing examples to follow. I pray I am patient and joyful; firm, yet forgiving; always around to wipe a tear, mend a broken spirit, share a hug and lots of laughs.
I want to inspire complete self-confidence and encourage dreams. I want to teach our little one about God's love and the importance of prayer. To live life wholeheartedly. To never regret, but move forward.
I can't wait to mark first sounds, first smiles, first steps.
I desire for our child to be so much more than I imagined I could be.
But most of all, at least in this moment, I want this baby to get here soon so our family journey can begin.
Disclaimer
I wrote the next three posts as columns while at my last newspaper job. I've decided to use them as filler here as I work on my first blog entry of this new season. Hope they elicit a laugh or two!
Starting over
I'm reviving this blog -- admittedly long overdue considering the date of my last entry -- if for no other reason than to keep my writing skills from leaving me. I do, afterall, want to put them to use someday soon. It feels a little strange staying home, having spent every weekday for the past seven years with my hands on a keyboard, a notepad nearby. My job came with daily ups and downs, petty drama and a dream of something better. But the writing kept me sane. It's been an outlet for as long as I can remember, back when childhood pen pals would bear the brunt of Army brat frustrations.
I hope to use this format to chronicle the adventures that come with staying home, not the least of which is raising baby Vera. To ask questions and solicit advice. And to stir up that creativity that seems so lost on me now.
Here's to a fresh start.
I hope to use this format to chronicle the adventures that come with staying home, not the least of which is raising baby Vera. To ask questions and solicit advice. And to stir up that creativity that seems so lost on me now.
Here's to a fresh start.
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