What's in a year: from contraception to cooing

Bubble,

Two years ago today, on September 14th of 2009, I started a health project (NOT a diet) because Daddy just dropped me off in Virginia to do a 3-month internship with Rosetta Stone's Endangered Language Program -- leaving me with the time and impetus to change my life.  The project was a great success and I was very healthy by the time it ended a year later on September 14th of 2010.  I was feeling so vibrant and alive that I asked Daddy to go to lunch with me so I could ask him a very important question that I'd been thinking about for a long time, even praying for hours while I climbed the 14-er Pikes Peak the week before.  I asked him to consider a hiatus from contraception; I asked him to consider inviting you into our lives.  We had fish-and-chips and bangers-n-mash at Connor O'Neals off Pearl Street in Boulder; I had a celebratory Strongbow cider (this being the last day of a year of ultra-health) and he had a Guinness even though he was wearing his RTD uniform.  Here's what I wrote in my diary on the sticky dark-wood bar table after he left:

**9/14/10 Connor O's**
Just told Brian I want to start trying!  His reaction was not negative, only very practical, hesitant and thoughtful (of course).  I asked our baby's spirit to go with him, help bring images to mind, help him consider -- and see what his or her father would be like.  We are all deciding, together.  I thanked Brian for considering it and told him I understand it is not a foregone conclusion.  I do...
  Child of mine, come play this afternoon.  Go tickle Brian's mind when you're satisfied with mine.  I look forward to your point of view.
  Mom -- oh, Mom -- let this happen!  As is best for us all, let this happen.
  I love you all --
-Muff-
**
 You accepted our invitation so quickly that, given how pregnancy technically begins two weeks before fertilization, I officially got pregnant a week before we even had this conversation, right around my hours-long prayer on the mountainside.  Since the beginning of the pregnancy co-occured with the end of my herculean weight-loss success, I gained an enormous ton of weight with you, despite exercising incessantly and eating primarily quinoa and spinach (or so it felt).  A good childhood friend, Tiffany Bressan, even printed me a t-shirt that said "Ask me if it's twins and I'll hurt you" so I would have the courage to leave my house that last trimester.

Maybe next year today I'll be somewhere near as healthy as I was a year ago, but even if I'm not, my life will be immeasurably richer.  As I've been typing this you've been cooing to me in your soft little voice, flashing your stunningly beautiful eyes around the dim room, reminding me that everything that bought me the prize of you, absolutely every moment that preceded your entry into my storyline -- all of it is made worthwhile by your coming.

Thank you so much for hearing me, and for joining our lives.  You are my reward.  I love you.

Sushi-grade Joy and Newborn Parenting

This was excerpted from an email to an old friend who is expecting his first baby in a month.

Dude, this baby-raising this is just a massive adventure.  It's nowhere near the hell I was expecting.  So much of it feels good -- it is true that having the time to do the dishes becomes a luxury, but it literally feels like a luxury -- not at all like the drudgery it once was.  That's the misunderstanding I had, that even parental luxury is a single person's drudgery, but really it's just that sushi-grade relaxation and happiness is suddenly absolutely free and a lot easier to come by.  Waking up refreshed with energy would no doubt generate sushi-grade joy for me at the moment.

I don't think I'm doing a very good job explaining this, but the coolest part is that it's a very satisfying adventure, and it feels to me very much like living in a country where I don't speak the language -- which I've always loved.  The learning curve is insane, but most of it is very, very low-stress.  Like writing a dissertation if it cried when you ignored it but then smiled at you with gorgeous crystalline eyes after you finished two pages.

:o)
-finn-
p.s. Hey, I'm going to use this on her blog.  Brian's using a bottle of breastmilk to put her down for a nap right now, for the first time while I'm home, which is utterly awesome.  You're going to be a kick-ass Dad, and birth really brought Brian and me closer.

What you're like and what we do

 

Amelie,

Before you get any older I should update you on what you're like, and this video is an example of what we do: we hang out with you in a sling a lot, usually with your canine siblings, little Australian Shepherds named (tiny) Tucker, (medium) Maddy and (big) Baxter.  We hike through the Rocky Mountains where it's lush and green, and this video is from the first hike we all took together.

You are an intense little baby, very focused.  We spend a great deal of time nursing, of course, and when you were very new you would glare at me with one eye closed -- you looked like a tiny disgruntled samurai.  You would usually nurse four "rounds" at a time, a round being one session of about 10 or 15 minutes after which you would fall asleep.  Daddy would read to me while we nursed during the first weeks before he went back to work, especially in the middle of the night.  You slept through the night for the first time when you were just 4 days old, and now at 10 weeks you average about 6 hours before nursing half-asleep and then sleeping another 2 or 3 hours.  Our house is very tiny so you share a bedroom with us, and your bed is a little side-car that attaches to our mattress right next to me.  You look like a humongous burrito all swaddled up in your blanket and propped between other blankets so you can't roll over.  You also spend a lot of time sleeping on or next to Daddy, and I am very fond of taking pictures of the two of you.

You are usually in a good mood, so we take advantage of your amiability by dressing you up in adorable and sometimes funny clothes.  You make great faces.  The flower on your headband in this picture became a good friend, and you smile up at it where it hangs now over your changing table.  Your best friend in the world is our ceiling fan.  This morning you woke up, looked glaringly right over Daddy's shoulder, caught sight of the ceiling fan and broke into a grin.

You were particularly distressed the day you said goodbye to Uncle Kelson, who moved to Italy for college when you were two months old.  Uncle Kelson is exactly as much older than you as I am older than him, and I hope very much you two grow to have as strong and loving a relationship as he and I do.  I also hope he teaches you Italian.
A lot of people love you and have come over to hold you, especially your scientist-turned-soccer-referee godfather Geoff. Aunt Sarah and her family also come to visit, and we go down there; Julia especially loves to hold you and play with you, though you sometimes seem almost as big as she is.  Another great friend is Mama Kate, your honorary grandmother, who loves to hold you for long quiet hours (which is wondrous kind for me).When you were 8 weeks old we started going swimming in a warm little baby pool.  It must have reminded you of the bathtub, because we always nurse together in the bathtub, and as soon as you felt the warm water on your skin you started sticking your tongue out like you always do when you're hungry.  There was no one around other than Uncle Bagel your swim teacher, so I nursed you -- and you fell right asleep!

I spend so many hours nursing you every day that I often amuse myself by reading.  You are just now starting to take naps without me having to stay lying down next to you, which is a relief, but it is also very relaxing to watch you breathe.  You are so beautiful you look like you're made of porcelain, and I often spend long periods of time softly tracing your cheek with my fingertips.  You smell good too.