You'll miss this someday...

I recently came across a blog post, article, what-have-you, the title of which was "Never say THIS to a Sleep-Deprived New Mom." I should mention I found it at 2am. While my baby was, coincidentally, NOT SLEEPING. Screaming, in fact. While I agonized, yet again, over whether I was doing my daughter a service by teaching her to help herself go back to sleep, or traumatizing her forever. Such are the woes of a new mother. I'm no expert. And every expert has a different answer anyway.

I digress. The gist of the article was that when new mothers "complain" of lack of sleep, other people say "Cherish this time, because someday you'll miss this," as though a sleepless new mother should not only embrace her lack of sleep, but further, should understand that someday, she will miss getting up every 2 hours or so to have a small, manic being wiggle and refuse to be soothed by anything that takes less than just-enough-time-to-have-a-hard-time-going-back-to-sleep to do.

No. My answer to that is no. No one in the entire human existence thinks, "Yes, I love waking up all night, then pretending to function normally the next day as though I slept 8 hours (let's be honest, I'd settle for 6), and doing it again day in and day out." No one does that.

But the post goes on to say that what we mothers begin to miss is the closeness. The dependency that very nearly suffocates us in the early days, but kills us to leave at the same time. The snuggles, the look that baby only gives to you (not to grandma, or daddy, or in our case, the dog). The mommy. The only person in the world with whom baby shared a literal, physical connection. We are special in our babies' experiences.

This is what we will miss. This is what I realized today that I will miss. Last night was hard. The husband was sick as a dog, and woke me up (which, honestly, he wouldn't do unless he really needed help). The baby was still sleeping. As soon as Husband was cared for, the baby woke up. She has a mysterious sense of when I've just nodded off. So I got her cared for and went to bed. And she did what she rarely does, which was to wake again at 5am. I "get" to sleep until 6 most mornings. 6:30 when I'm lucky. So I have a choice at 5am: Feed her and hope she goes back to sleep, then try to sleep another 20 minutes before my alarm, or just get up.

This morning, I gambled, and did something different. Husband was sleeping on the couch in case his sickness was contagious. So I went in, picked up Olivia, and did something I haven't done... maybe ever. I've always been focused on making sure she is accustomed to sleeping in her own bed (something I don't regret, by the way). But I couldn't do it today. Maybe because I was dead tired. Maybe because I wanted more than 20 minutes of sleep. Maybe because I'm a teacher, and it's mid-May. I picked up my baby and carried her into my bed.

I'm no longer afraid that I will somehow manage to crush her in my "sleep." We are well established in our "sleep nursing" skills. We laid there, my baby and me, and she nursed and fell back asleep, she on the still flabby flap of the inside of my arm, me on my exceedingly comfortable pillow. And we actually overslept. I think she would have continued sleeping had my alarm not gone off.

But there was a split second there where I opened my eyes before she opened hers. And I saw my sleeping baby, snuggled against me. Peaceful. Content. And I thought, this is what I will miss. The sleepless nights? No, I could do the whole baby thing minus the sleepless nights any time. But the connection, the complete dependency coupled with the look of joy that accompanies my arrival into the room whether it's been 10 minutes or 10 hours. This I will miss.

Someday my baby girl will not be a baby anymore. Someday she'll wake up, and snuggling with me in the mornings won't be what she wants to do anymore. Someday she'll have her own morning routine, and I won't be part of it. And all of that will be normal, and healthy. But for now, I'll try my hardest to cherish the moments like I had this morning (confession: and this afternoon, when I let her nap on my chest like she did as a newborn).

The Baby in the Mirror

My dear Olivia,

It seems that writing you letters may become a "thing." I do it because someday I hope you will read them. I hope you will enjoy them. I hope they will bring you a sense of love and security when you need it most.

I write today as we approach your 7-month birthday. Nothing significant, really, in the grand scheme of life. We've passed your half birthday, and you're not yet one. But still, this past month has been a big one for you. Your little personality has started to come out; you show preferences for things, and have started to reach for us to pick you up, and to call out to us. It is heartbreakingly adorable, and we love it. You have started to show reciprocal emotions, whereas before it was simply dependence upon us to care for your basic needs. What an amazing development.

You are social. You love people. When we go to church, or the grocery store, you make eye contact with anyone and everyone, and flash your little two-toothed smile, charming your way into their day. And because you're so beautiful (I'm totally biased, I know), they smile back. Strangers say hello, wave, smile. I worry about this a little bit, because I know someday we'll need to teach you about how much or how little to trust strangers, but for now, we can keep you close and safe, so the world is your oyster. Smile away, little one.

You especially love other kids and babies. When you were even littler, this started to become evident when we'd go to play groups or church events, and although you weren't even crawling, you wanted to join in. Kids would come up to you and hug you and kiss you, or say hello, and you would lean in, reach out, and beam at them. You loved watching them play, and would bounce on my lap as you stared, enchanted, at other little faces and bodies.

One of your favorite "friends" is the baby in the mirror. Anytime you see your own reflection, your smile is the biggest. You don't know it's you yet. But you love that face. You love that she smiles back at you, and you love reaching out for her.

 
But someday, you may not love that face as much. The world will hurt you. People's words will hurt you. You will see images in your life that tell you that who you are, what you are, and the way you look are not beautiful, not good enough. That some part of you, or that all of you, does not measure up. The mirror may not always be your friend. You will not look at yourself with the same love that you do now.

It is painful for me to think about that day, because I know it will come. It does for all girls, no matter what anyone says. Maybe for all people, regardless of gender. No matter how hard we try to protect you from it. I stand in front of that same mirror most mornings and see something I'm not happy about for my own self. I'm still a work in progress, and I know that. But I refuse to vocalize the negative thoughts in front of you. I refuse to let you see the critical look in my eyes when I examine my own imperfections. Because the same look that crosses your face when you see yourself in the mirror is the look you give to me and to your father when you see ours.

It is a look of love. Uninhibited, unconditional love. And maybe I can learn from you here. You, my 7-month old bundle of neurons and mysteries and hope. Maybe someday I can look at myself with that same love you have for me now. And I can model that for you. Model something more than confidence, but the love of self that we are all born with.

So, my dear, hang on to that love for your own face, and smile, and eyes, and toes, and every part of you for as long as you can. I can't protect you from everything in the world, but what I can protect you from, I promise I will. And I will build you up, little one, every chance I get, in the hope that you grow into a confident, strong young woman. Humble, not boastful, but confident nonetheless. So that you will take the right risks and achieve your dreams and goals.

Because no matter how you see yourself, no matter how young or old you are, I'll always see my beautiful baby girl, who I love with all my heart.

Go, girl, go!

"The first 40 years are the hardest."

My mother reminds me often that her father, my grandfather, says frequently that "The first 40 years are the hardest." Because being a parent is never easy.

"She's not sleeping!" I sobbed at my daughter's 6 week appointment. I believe she was, in fact, sleeping at that moment. But that was just the problem. She would sleep until the moment I lay down. And then? Her weird baby ESP would kick in and she'd wake up, not to be coaxed back to sleep no matter what I did. "Just make it to 3 months," her doctor said, "then she'll be more ready for sleep training, or coaxing, or nudging into some sort of routine." OK, I thought. 3 months. I can do that. So we hung in there, and I tried to nap. Sometimes. I wanted to be a part of the world, too.

The 3 month mark came and went. She was more ready. So was I. Things settled in. She started going to bed earlier, and sleeping for longer than an hour, although naps were still short. Once in a while I could get away with staying up until - gasp! - 9 or 9:30.

Then I went back to work, and felt the weight of exactly how little sleep I was really getting. By noon, I was wiped! But, as I read more mommy blogs and did more bizarre Google searches ("does pumping make you more tired than just nursing?" "can babies be immune to the effects of Tylenol?"), I read things that led me to believe that the 6-month mark is a turning point. I just needed to make it to Spring Break, her 6-month birthday, and the start of solids. OK. I can do that. So I hung in there, and tried to find a balance between teacher me, mommy me, and wife me. Oh yeah, and taking care of myself.

Let me tell you, there was no balance. Just a constant struggle between the four. A constant competition. If I was a good mommy one day, my students and husband suffered. If I came through for my students and had good lessons, I felt like I missed the short time with my daughter between my arrival home and her bedtime, and after bed was spent working, not being with my husband. With whom, in the time since I went back to work, I have had a total of 2 dates. Two. As far as self care, I'm lucky if I run once a week... Not helpful if I want to run a half marathon in 4 months.

The 6-month mark has recently come and gone. Spring Break was not as restful as I wanted it to be, but was far easier than working and mommying. I went back to work this week, and my students have been great. My colleagues are great. Olivia has even (dare I say it to the universe?) been sleeping a bit better. But I'm absolutely wiped. I go home each day feeling like I've been hit by a truck, I have a terrible attitude, and I feel like I could sleep for days. I wake up at the absolute last minute in the mornings, with barely enough time to take care of myself, let alone feed Olivia and get her taken care of before I leave for work.

I was thinking to myself this evening, as I drove home from our church's Maundy Thursday service, I sound like a broken record. I can't help it. I'm an honest person. And people go through the motions of conversation: "Hi," "Hello." "How are you?" ...My response? I simply can't say "Oh, I'm good, how are you?" if I'm not good. Granted, I don't unload on the occasional passer-by with what is really going on: I'm beyond exhausted, I feel like I'm barely scraping by in all aspects of my life, and I am ashamed that it's so hard for me because I know that other people have it waaaaay harder than me. But I do admit to people, when they ask me, "How are you?" that I'm not good. I say things like, "I'm OK." or "I'm here." or, "I'm getting by."

I wasn't always like this. "Good, how are you?" was my default. Because I was good. I was happy. Well rested. I exercised often. I ate well. I had leisure time.

But then I had this baby. This amazing, beautiful, heartbreakingly lovely baby. She melts my heart every day. Every moment. She is the new center of my universe. And I mean that. I wanted to be a mother my entire life. For Pete's sake, I was a "Fairty-Princess-Mommy" for Halloween 4 years in a row as a child. I L-O-V-E Love being a mom. But I now find myself in a difficult dichotomy. I love my new self, but long for my old self. I want to go on dates, to movies, concerts. But the thought of missing bedtime when this time is so short tugs at my hearstrings. Also, and possibly TMI, it makes my boobs hurt real bad. The point is, I feel like I'm between 2 worlds. That of mommy, and that of "the old me."

But as I already said, we were at a service for Maundy Thursday tonight. That has always been a special service for me, because the focus is on serving others. As a teacher, I'm a public servant. But on a deeper level than that, I've always seen myself as contributing to the community. That is where I see my value. So teaching is not just my job. It's a part of who I am. Jesus served those he loved, and the message tonight, and every Maundy Thursday, is that by making Himself a servant, he showed love to those who needed it. I serve those I love by teaching. I love my students and their families. And I try to serve them as best I can.

But what really spoke to my tonight, what made me tear up, was a ritual we have weekly on Sundays: We sing the words to the presentation of the alms: "All things come of thee, O Lord, and of Thine own have we given thee. Amen." It's one of the things we've not changed across the course of my life at my church. The tune, obviously the words,; nothing has changed. And tonight, that message touched my heart. God gave us this little one because we asked for it. And now, we are charged with caring for her, whatever that means. I watched as Brad+ washed her tiny feet, and I watched as she listened to Bingham+ do the children's story with enthusiasm and attention. She is a child of God, literally and figuratively. And God blessed us with the challenge of raising her. So we rise to it, even when it is hard.

All things come of Thee, O Lord, and of Thine own have we given Thee. I have to remember that God will never give me anything I can't handle. Even if it's so. damn. hard. I can do it. And ultimately, I want to do it. I need to do it. I can thank God for the blessings we have, and try to make my default "Good, thanks, how are you?" again. I can get there. I don't have to be there right now. But I will get back to that. I have a blessed life. I will eventually be able to express that daily. Good, thanks, how are you? Hopefully earlier than 40 years from now. Day by day. Moment by moment. Amen.

Spring Break Memories - and 30 before 30

We've been having such a wonderful Spring Break this year. 2015 has been so good to us so far. On my 29th birthday, I made a list of 30 things to do before I turn 30 (here). I've checked off some of those this week, and tonight I want to share some of those with you, and some of the moments that have been making my days warmer and brighter.

First we'll start with things I've checked off my list:
I've planted carrots, beets, and strawberries in our garden. The weather got nice Wednesday afternoon, so I finished turning the soil over and pulled out the last of this one plant (still not sure what it was), which had a root system that spanned about a 4 foot radius. It took me 3 separate sessions of digging, pulling, chopping up the roots with my shovel, and shaking the dirt off of them. Whew! I also relocated several flowers from the patch which is now for food, and moved them to other parts of the garden. I have plenty more room to plant beans, tomatoes, and peppers from starts when the time is right. Here are some photos from the gardening:

The "Before" photo - this is actually after lots of work a couple weeks ago

After: Strawberries in front, carrots and beets behind, with lots of room for more later this Spring

Other things I've checked off my list?
Drink wine and beer. Had a nice IPA from Stone Brewing in Carlsbad (I know, I know, not local, but we visited the brewery when we were down there, and it is very yummy), and a glass of Acrobat pinot noir. Yummy.
Cook from scratch... We had friends over and BBQ'd steak and sausages, and had strawberries and a veggie tray. So it wasn't a complicated meal, but it wasn't from a box, can, or the freezer. So it counts. I've also been roasting veggies a lot, which I feel like counts, even if we did have them with frozen turkey meatballs from Trader Joe's. It's a work in progress...
Go to Itty Bitty Bible Study with Olivia. This is obviously an ongoing one. Itty Bitty Bible Study is our church's play group for children under school age. It was the one commitment I made on maternity leave, and Olivia and I made it almost every week. But it's on Tuesday mornings while I'm at work, so I can only go on breaks. This week we went and Olivia had a blast! I love seeing her around other kids because she's not in daycare yet. She is fascinated by them and gets all smiley and laughs and squeals. It's super cute. On Tuesday, she got hugs and kisses from the "big girls" and got to play with the other babies there. She and I also helped out in the nursery on Sunday, and here is a photo of her interactions with the boy whose mother (one of my best friends and a fantastic mommy) and I are determined will be her husband one day, Marco:

I think that's all I've checked off so far, although I plan to take Olivia to the park (another ongoing item on the list) tomorrow, and may even get around to painting my nails, drawing, and maybe even playing some Just Dance on the Wii.

Now, onto the things that have happened but aren't on the list. What a blessed life we have.

Running. I have run by the river and run with Olivia. Most importantly the running was in the beautiful sunshine, and, eerily (for me) allergy free. That's right, folks, the tree pollen is high right now but my allergies have not been bothering me. Odd, and I don't trust it, but until they kick in, I'll just roll with it and enjoy the sunshine!

BBQ adventures. We got a BBQ with our tax return, and have been grilling up a storm. The other night, as I mentioned, we had friends over for steaks, and last night we made carne asada and grilled asparagus. Rob is already a master with the grill, and we've enjoyed having meals outside together.

The new BBQ in all it's glory!

Yummy!

Speaking of meals outside, Olivia, although she won't be 6 months old until tomorrow, has had her first couple of tastes of solid food! We're going with Baby Led Weaning, or BLW, which, in a nutshell, is very well explained by my friend Carolyn, in her post about it, here. Another good one is here. In any case, the gist of it is that rather than bothering with the hassle and expense of pureed and/or jarred baby food, and spooning food into baby's mouth, you just let baby get messy and taste things on her own, in her own time. Olivia had sweet potatoes for the first time the other night, and it went... interestingly. It's hard to fight the impulse to bring things to her mouth for her, because that's what we're used to, but our child won't open her mouth for them anyway, so it would be a losing battle. We just have to remember that at first, it's about play and exploring, then later about actual eating. Anyway, here are some photos of Olivia's first "food" experience:

She did get it into her mouth this time. The night before, it was mostly just smooshed around the tray

Not sure what to think!

But the whole experience was really enjoyable. She was really excited to be sitting with us at the table and was very "chatty" all through dinner. Jack, the dog, enjoyed the fact that only fractions of pieces made it into her mouth. The rest landed conveniently within his reach!

She tried a chunk of pancake tonight with similar reactions, but went back for more at least twice. So she's open to the idea. She was also really into watching us eat our foods, so we made a big deal out of that process. Pretty silly to see two adults talking excitedly about taking bites and then chewing with our mouths open!

We did some crafting, too, as I made a couple of little baby headbands (inspired by Pinterest, of course) for Olivia to wear, and we went shopping for her Easter outfit. No sneak peeks at the Easter clothes, but here are her new headbands:

We had lunch with our friends who (if my memory serves me correctly) have not had a full "Spring Break" of not working since high school - one is now a teacher and the other is a part time student at LCC. It was glorious and relaxing. Finally, today I had a "mommy-date" lunch with one of my dear friends. Without our kids. It was quiet, and calm, and the only times we were interrupted mid-sentence was when we were laughing. It was also short, as we're both still nursing. In any case, it was good, and we both really needed it.

We have a great few days ahead of us, and it's going to be really really hard to go back to work on Monday. However, as blessed as we've been this week, it will be nice to go back refreshed and (mostly) rejuvenated. Here's to Spring Break, memories and plans yet to come, and to cherishing the moments, big and small, of our wonderful little family.

Love and Blessings to you all!

29 is the new 29

 A year ago today, I got my first glimpse of what was to be the greatest gift of my life to date: Olivia's first ultrasound. Rob came with me, and as she came into view, we could already see her kicking her little "legs" and moving her whole, miniscule little body. It was miraculous and amazing, and it is a birthday I will never forget.

For my 29th birthday, things have been a bit more ordinary - and that is totally OK with me. Olivia wanted to be the first to wish me a happy birthday, and she did so at 3am, and again at 5:30. But that 5:30 time was time spent snuggled up in bed, all 3 of us, drifting in and out of sleep. And I opened my eyes at one point to see my little girl gazing up at me. When our eyes locked, her face broke into a giant smile. How could my birthday start off any better than that?

Rob made me breakfast before work, and I got "Happy Birthdays" from so many people. My students made me hand made cards and brought me chocolates (am I really that transparent?!), and my mom sent me flowers at work, like she does every year. Rob brought cookies to my students at the end of the day, and so of course Olivia came too, and loved meeting my students. Who, by the way, were adorable about seeing her, and they were so sweet to her I may have cried a tiny bit.

As I think about my birthday and what the last year has brought me, I think about the many ways I am blessed. Although year 28 was amazing, I know that year 29 can be as well. So I want to start planning to make this year a great one. As it happens, I have been inspired, and plan to unashamedly steal an idea from a friend. My friend Carolyn had her birthday a few days ago, and posted 35 Things to Do Before I Turn 35. I loved it! So I've decided to post my own list. I may not get to all of them, and some are easier to accomplish than others, and others may simply be wishes more than goals. But here goes:

30 Things to do by the time I Turn 30
1.  Run a half-marathon. Here is the one I have picked out!
2. Plant vegetables in my garden and grow food for my family
3. Drink wine. And beer. And really, really enjoy it.
4. Read at least 2 books, all the way through. This may sound easy, but I have a child under age 1! I'm starting small and realistic.
5. Take, and (finally) pass, the Spanish ORELA. That test is terrible.
6. Sleep in.
7. Take Olivia to the park
8. Cook from scratch once a month. As in, nothing from a can, bottle, jar, or freezer - nothing pre-made. Right now, Trader Joe's and Costco rule our kitchen. I will slowly try to take it back...
9. Go camping. Or maybe Yurting. Is "yurting" a word?
10. Hike Mt. Pisgah and Spencer's Butte
11. Run the Butte to Butte
12. Go to Itty Bitty Bible Study with Olivia at Saint Mary's
13. Learn to sew something - anything
14. Write all the Thank You notes I should. Not just think about them. *winces in shame*
15. Date night with my husband once a month.
16. Take a class for credit that will add to my teaching license.
17. Write a blog post at least once a month.
18. Bake something from scratch - not from a box!
19. Make something to decorate or improve my house.
20. Go on a vacation out of the U.S... Or at least to Hawaii.
21. Draw, doodle, sketch. I used to love it. I need to do it more often.
22. Dance. Take a Zumba class, or play my Kinect "Dance Central," or Wii "Just Dance." I love dancing.
23. Do yoga once a week. More if possible.
24. Put my feet in the ocean.
25. Go Snow-shoeing. Coupled with this goal is getting over my fear of driving over the snowy pass. I'm an Oregonian for Pete's sake!
26. Vacation Oregon: Portland, Bend, the coast, Belknap, Silver Falls, Hood River
27. Paint my nails.
28. Find a mirror to go above my mantle, and hang it.
29. Learn more about the bible
30. Think a kind thought about my body every day.

So there it is. Thank you Carolyn for the inspiration to make the list. Thank you to all my friends and family who made today a wonderful day, and who make all my days a lot more wonderful. I am so blessed by you all.

Here's to year 29. And here are a few moments from my day today!

Happy Birthday to my Baby Sister

I was 3 or 4 years old. It was Christmas time. "Honey, what do you want for Christmas?" Mom asked me. "I already told you, Mommy, I want a baby sister or brother. Actually just a sister. I want a baby sister."

I was 5, just about to start Kindergarten. Mom was working nights, Dad had just started at Indiana University in the Special Education department. Mom was so tired all the time, but she held it together. I remember being happier on the days I had to stay home while mom slept than the ones going to daycare. I loved looking out the window and trapping the cat under the laundry hamper, and sneaking cartoons. We had just finished dinner. It must have been a night Mom didn't have to work, or she had changed her schedule by then, I don't remember. "Come sit down at the table, sweetie," Mom had said, "We have something to tell you." I remember how big she was smiling. "You're going to have a baby sister or brother!" She beamed. Dad smiled, too. His hand was on her shoulder. I looked Mom up and down and declared, "But you're not fat!" Thankfully, our parents worked on my tact enough to make me a functioning adult.

Mom went to the doctor and got an ultrasound - a girl! I was so excited, and was also convinced that it was a girl because I wanted a sister. Boys were gross and wild and mean. Girls could play Barbies with me! I told all my friends at school and at daycare.

We were in the hospital. Mom was in labor. I didn't know what that meant, only that Aunt Sue made me go to the waiting room to color by myself, but a nice nurse brought me a PB&J on white bread with no crusts! But then someone came to get me, and I got to see you be born. And you came out and you were all slimy and covered in "stuff" and you were purple. I was scared, but Mom and Dad were laughing and smiling and crying, so I figured it would be OK.

You got sick. You stayed in the hospital for a long time. If Mom and Dad were worried or scared (now that I'm a parent, I know they were), I never knew it. They were strong. Everyday I would ask if it was time to bring you home yet. I drew pictures for you. I saved Barbies for us to play with together.

We brought you home in our Toyota minivan. I had to sit in the "way back" because of the car seat. Or maybe I chose to.

All of our family came out to see you - Aunt Sue stayed for a long time, and I remember getting in trouble for interrupting and asking lots of questions. I was confused. Usually, family came to see me, but sometimes I felt invisible. But when the adults were talking, or setting up dinner, or just plain busy, I would take your bouncer into the kitchen, or onto the landing near the stairs, and sing to you, my baby sister. I would hold your little fingers and sing Twinkle Twinkle or something from my Wee Sing Bible Songs cassette. And you would smile, just for me.

Grandpa and Grandma Sprague came for Easter that year. I got mad at Grandpa for a whole day because you would laugh at everything he did, but nothing that I did, even if I did the same thing as him. They stayed home the morning of Easter Sunday. I think Mom's excuse was that they didn't bring church clothes. Really, they were hiding the eggs for when we got back.

Grandpa Jay came out to baptize you. I don't remember how old you were, but I remember it was a beautiful sunny day, so it must have been springtime.

I was almost 8, and you were almost 2. It was our last Christmas in Indiana. We pulled out all the ornaments, and after Mom said, "Remember this one?" to me a few times, you pulled out each one, pacifier in your mouth, and gleefully asked, "Mememer dis?" And every time you did, we laughed, so  you kept doing it, your giant beautiful eyes gleaming.

It was my 10th birthday. We were at the breakfast table, early, to open presents. I had asked for a specific American Girl book for my birthday. You have never liked surprises, I have always loved them. I picked up a rectangular present. "I think it's an American Girl book," you blurted. I knew that was what it was, but you had said it before I even started unwrapping. I cried.

It was your 7th birthday. Mom and Dad had gotten you a bike and a kitten. The Hamrens had kept the kitten in their downstairs bathroom all night the night before so we could bring her in for your birthday morning before school. She was scrawny and black, from the humane society. You named her Princess. I made a gagging noise, and got in trouble. Princess was a royal pain, so I guess you got the name right.

It was a weeknight, sometime after the holidays. You were somewhere between the ages of 5 and 8. Jerry used to have this really nice camera, and he brought over some pictures of you that he had taken at our last holiday gathering. The photos were in stunning black and white, clear as true life. You were jumping on their bed. Your hair was flying all around, and your smile was pure bliss. You were ecstatic. When I think of "Little Sarah," I think of those photos.

I was 13, and my first boyfriend was in our house for the first time. We went up to my bedroom to get away from "my loser parents," but the rule was that the door stayed open. Fine. We were in my room talking for about 10 minutes when you came upstairs, plopped down on the landing between our bedrooms, and proceeded to stare at us for the next 2 hours. To this day I'm certain mom and dad put you up to it. I don't blame them. I'll do the same thing with any younger sibling Olivia ever has.

I was in college, you were in high school, I think. It's summer. We go on our family trip to Italy and Spain. You have been suffering from debilitating migraines, and the medications you take to prevent them make you sleepy and cranky, which is a bad combination with general teenage angst. Some days Mom, Dad, and I go out and experience Europe without you. But there are moments, when it's just you and me, that I will remember forever. We went shopping together one afternoon. Got paella together and practiced our (terrible) Spanish and thought we were so sophisticated. Later that night we took a series of selfies that can only be labelled as ridiculous. Before selfies were a thing, we did that.

You were in J2A, and I was a chaperone. We were in England. I got to be there while you experienced your pilgrimage in some of the same places I experienced mine. I watched you make memories with your friends and grow in your spirituality and strength. And sometimes, you would let me be a part of that with you, and I was so thrilled. And so proud.

You were a junior, maybe a senior in high school. I was working and living with my boyfriend - fiancee? I don't know if we were engaged yet. You called me from your friend's house: "Can you come over and help us do our hair and makeup for prom?" I tried to be cool. "Oh, yeah, I can do that. Sure... I just have something to do before I come over, but I'll be there soon, OK?" I forced myself to sit at home for 30 minutes before heading over so I wouldn't seem desperate. I was over the moon that you and your cool friends asked me to come help you.

It was summer. I don't know which one, or when. We were in the car, singing to Jesse McCartney at the top of our lungs, windows down, hair flying. We laugh, and laugh, and laugh, then we go down to the river and put our feet in, and talk about who knows what.

It was New Year's Eve. We were in Oceanside, and we had to leave the next day. No one else wanted to go to the beach - it was like 50 degrees in southern California, for Pete's sake! But you and I went down together, and watched the sunset. I took a photo of you, feet in the water, silhouetted against the ocean.

It was this past June. You graduated from college with 3 degrees. Three! You were always a better student than me, but the weight of just how good really set in at that moment. You nailed that shit! And you did a semester abroad. And you worked a lot. And everyone loved you. I remember thinking how much you reminded me of Mom with your work ethic.

It was September 27th, 2014. You stood by my side with Rob and Mom and Dad when my daughter was born. In the middle of labor I remember seeing your face and hearing your voice, and being so glad you were there. You held my hand. You immediately loved my daughter.

It was the end of Winter Break. I was about to go back to work, and I was scared. You were on vacation with your boyfriend, who I adore, and I'm so happy you met. You sent me a text late at night: "I'm listening to Sean-uh Paul. There's really nothing like it. Jamaica meets Hip-Hop." I laughed out loud at your reference to our inside joke from years ago. You thought to text me while you were off living your wonderful grown-up life.

It was Tuesday night. You came over to help me when I had gone back to work after my maternity leave. I was broken. I had mommy guilt. I hadn't slept. I cried at work. I cried when you walked in the door. You let me. You did my dishes while I cradled my daughter in my arms, and didn't even ask to see her until I was ready, even though you hadn't seen her in over 2 weeks. You listened to my crazy talk, and encouraged me. And then you went home to care for your sick boyfriend. I wonder if you did anything for yourself that day.

Tomorrow is your birthday. You will be 23. I can't believe it. You will always be my baby sister, but I am so, so proud of who you have grown up to become. You are an amazing woman, full of beauty, grace, discipline, intelligence, power, and confidence. You are my best friend. You are a wonderful Auntie. You are Sarah Anne, and I love you. Happy Birthday.

The 9-Letter "S-Word"

I am a fighter. Stubborn. I fight just about anything and everything. If something is not my idea, or not part of my plan, I fight it. And I don't back down. Being a fighter can be good: I push through difficult runs, accomplish goals because I won't give up when the going gets tough, I get over illnesses fairly quickly. In those cases, I might be considered driven, resilient, persistent, or determined. But I don't always know when not to fight, even if it would be good for me. And sometimes I fight things that aren't worth it, just because they're not in line with what I had in mind.

For example, a few weeks ago Rob, Olivia, and I went on vacation to California with my family, and we flew. I was talking to my mom about getting to the airport. Here's how the conversation went down:
Me: What time are you guys coming to pick us up if the flight leaves at 8?
Mom: Your dad and I thought we'd leave our house at about 6:30
Me: Well, I think it should be more like 6, since we have all Olivia's things, we've never flown with her before, it'll be holiday traffic, etc.
Mom: I think we should be fine at 6:30, your dad has express check-in, and we can help you with all the things for Olivia.
Me: But everything takes longer with her. We should really actually get to the airport by 6. And what if you guys are running late? Then you wouldn't even get here until like 6:40.
Mom: Your dad does this all the time, I'm sure 6:30 will be fine. But I can talk to him if you like.
Me: We'll just get ourselves to the airport.

Ahem. Insert foot in mouth when my parents beat us to the airport later that week. Why did 30 minutes matter so much to me? It didn't. It was that I wanted things to go my way. And that is just one instance where fighting something minute did me no favors, and just amped up my anxiety - like I really need to be more anxious about anything!

While on said vacation, I was up in the middle of the night, feeding Olivia, and praying. My prayers are more like conversations with God: "Hey buddy, thanks for this beautiful baby. She's pretty awesome. But I guess you knew that, huh?" You get the gist of it. While I was musing to God about this and that, a word popped into my head. I like to think it was God talking to me, but I was taken by surprise by the word. It was enlightening and frustrating at the same time, like I was being called out by God:

Surrender.

That's my 9-letter "S" Word. I rarely say it, let alone think about it. And practice it? Well... See the above conversation. But it was a two fold lesson. First, I need to do it more. I need to learn to surrender to the process. To God's plan. And second, that I actually have been doing some surrendering lately, and it's paid off for me.

When I say I need to surrender more often, I don't mean that I think I'm meant to roll over and become a doormat. There is a difference between intentional surrender and giving up. I believe I am who I am because I'm meant to be strong-willed. But I need to learn when not to be stubborn. When to give in to the ebb and flow of life. How to let go of the minutiae and embrace the journey so I can be in the moment and enjoy life a little more. I need to give myself permission to relax - something that might make people who know me laugh, because you all know how high-strung I can get, and it's hard to work myself down.

Surrender. Such a powerful word for me right now.

Upon reflection, I realized I have been slowly embracing the act of surrender, and much of that centers around my baby. After all, babies don't care if you have a plan for the day, or want to sleep in, or try on one more pair of shoes. They just want to be fed, and changed, and rocked, and loved.

My first surrender came at her birth. 2 hours into what ended up being a very fast labor, I was in agonizing pain. I had wanted to wait for the epidural, because I wanted the freedom to walk around. The doctor said, "Let's just have the anesthesiologist come up and have a chat." By the time he got there, I surrendered. I believe I said, "I know you have to explain all of this to me, but the answer is yes, just do it. Please. Now." As soon as he did, I relaxed, and Olivia's delivery went quickly but smoothly.

When she came home, I wanted to do so many things with her - go to the pumpkin patch, help my family in the yard, go to our friends' tailgate parties. I didn't always nap when she slept because I wanted to be a part of the adult world again so badly. But I was so tired. I pushed myself to the edge of exhaustion and became so weary that all I did was cry and snap at people and cry some more. And Olivia had a hard time too. I surrendered. I focused on just staying home and learning about my baby. She stopped crying so much. My body calmed down. I took a deep breath. Life seemed better.

At about 5 weeks, I was desperate for sleep. I researched sleep training and "no tears" methods for getting babies to sleep. I stayed awake a precious few minutes after she went to sleep reading about how to get her to stay that way. I tried setting a sleep schedule. She hated it. I hated it. We both cried all the time. My poor husband had two exhausted, screaming women on his hands and he handled it so well. I went to the doctor and sobbed my eyes out at my 6 week appointment and hers. Both doctors listened and reassured me, and both said the same basic thing: "Surrender." Neither actually said the word, but my doctor told me to slow down and stop reading - just trust my own instincts. "You really can't do it wrong if you're feeding her and keeping her clean and loving her." Oh, yeah. That. I can do that. Her doctor said I could try whatever I wanted, but that honestly mommies just need to "hang in there" for the first 3 months. Oh. I can hang in there, I guess.

And I did. I just let go. I surrendered to Olivia's schedule, whatever that was. I took things one day at a time. And I survived. I even began to feel like I was getting the hang of things. Some days, we never left the house. Other days, we ran errands or went to play group. She got older and started sleeping longer stretches. I napped when I could. I showered - daily! I even put on makeup some days. That was a Big Deal.

Surrender.

It's so hard. It's still hard. Sometimes I yearn so badly for "my old life," but every day it gets harder to remember what that was like without her. I am so happy with her. Yes, it is possible to be sleep-deprived and happy at the same time. I'm still exhausted. I'm still unsure of myself. I still find myself getting trapped in cycles of self-doubt, and obsessing over minutiae. I couldn't enjoy Christmas Eve dinner because I thought Olivia needed to get home and go to bed or we'd go back to sleepless nights because her routine - the one I'd worked so hard to surrender to - was getting turned on its head. Do you know what she did? She went right back into her pattern the next day. I can't do that night over again. But I can learn from it. Surrendering to life, to fun, to participating in "my old life" activities is OK. She will live. So will I.

Tonight, as I put my sweet daughter to bed, I cried. This is my last week at home with her before returning to work. Next Monday marks the end of the longest consecutive time I will likely ever have with my daughter for the rest of our lives. Summer breaks are 10 weeks. I've had 14 with her because of Winter Break. When I go back to work, I will be missing her all day long. She might roll over for the first time without me. She might sit up by herself for the first time without me. I might miss her first real laugh. Now I know how my husband felt when he went back to work when she was just 3 weeks old. He will continue to work, part time, in the evenings. That will be hard for him, too.

I'm trying really hard to surrender to this process too. Even though it was my idea, and my husband and I both have to continue to work in order to make ends meet, it is hard. I find myself clinging to every moment with her. I don't want other people to hold her right now. I just want to hold her little hands and stroke her little head, and kiss her cheeks and rock her to sleep forever. When she did fall asleep tonight, I almost didn't put her into her crib. I thought about just holding her all night.

Don't get me wrong, I love teaching and I do miss my students and I miss doing what I believe is a calling, not just a job. I just wish I could split time so I could do both. I know that if I surrender to the process, I can make it a little easier on myself. The first days will be so hard, I will probably cry at work, I'll forget something for pumping or wear mismatched shoes, or only shave one leg. But for now, I'm just going to let myself fight it. I am going to live in each moment with my baby girl, hug her and cling to her and cherish these last few days, so that when I go back to work I can focus in, finish the year strong, and look forward to summer, when I get to be with her again.

Amen.