Annabelle's Birth Story

I realized somewhere along the line that I documented Olivia's birth story, and our journey to her, in detailed near-perfection. With Annabelle, well, some good context might be this recent conversation between Rob and I:

Rob: what are you doing? What's that you're writing in?
Me: Annabelle's baby book. I want to document some things, at least
Rob: Annabelle has a baby book?

This is not a "look what a clueless dad my husband is" moment, it's a moment where we acknowledge the realness of having more than one kid. It's crazy busy, crazy overwhelming, and time passes in the blink of an eye. Only fitting, I suppose, that I'm finally writing Annabelle's birth story nearly a year after the event.

Annabelle was due the day before Olivia's birthday: September 26. I actually feared and fantasized about them having the same birthday. As adults it would be cool, but in the 18-ish (heavy on the -ish) years preceding, would they be as thrilled? Not likely.

With Olivia, we had tried for over a year and a half. Had gone to our doctors to make sure we were otherwise healthy, and played the long waiting game. Around age 3, Olivia started asking for a baby. She preferred a sister and would like one "now please. Or maybe tomorrow."

We decided we wanted one more summer as a family of 3 (remembering that I had already had one summer pregnancy and that was crazy, so I had decided never to do that again). We'd try in the fall, so I'd have a longer maternity leave either in the spring into summer, or summer into fall.

That summer was amazing. We went to Disneyland! Legoland! The beach! The mountains! Picnics, playgrounds, restaurants, pools! My sister got married, we were in that wedding. We partied hard as a little family of 3. You name it, we did it that summer. Really packed it in. It was a glorious summer.

Fall came. People, this was the hardest year teaching I've ever had. Difficult chemistry of students, lots of new curriculum, and just a rough year all around. Oh, and I blew out my knee 3 weeks into the school year. Fuuuuuuun.

September: no positive pregnancy text. October: nope. November: well, there goes my plan of having an extended maternity leave. Whatever, I'll enjoy the holidays and we'll try after that. December... I'm late. Could it be? A Christmas baby announcement?

Nope. Late, painful, but definitely a period. Sad and cranky Christmas but hey, we're only 4 months in, Olivia took so long, it's probably just going to take a while for this one, too.

January. I was exhausted and the return after winter break was not typical. Still as hard as September no matter what I did. I had a glass of wine. I checked my app (yes, I used a fertility app. No more peeing on an ovulation test daily, I did not have the time or energy for that!). Oh, I should take a pregnancy test tomorrow, said the app. Whoop dee do. *insert eye roll here*

The next morning I almost forgot. With Olivia, I remember I just knew. This time, I grabbed the test as I went to shower, and tossed it unceremoniously onto the back of the toilet. I was almost in the shower and decided to take a sneak peek.

Wait, WHAT?!

I showered, checked again. Yep. Positive. We were going to have another baby. Oh shit. It's real now.

I remember Rob was standing by the back door. I showed him and he smiled. We hugged. I probably cried (hormones!).

A few weeks later we told Olivia by telling her we were getting her a special birthday present: a baby! And it might be born on her actual birthday! Her response, after her initial elation: "ok, but make sure it's a baby sister. I really want a baby sister."

The pregnancy itself was rather uneventful. Very similar to my pregnancy with Olivia: I still hated being pregnant, I had yet another summer pregnancy, and both baby and me were happy and healthy. I had anemia and heartburn, and ate a lot of steak and ice cream. We went to Wallowa lake as a family in the hottest August I've ever experienced. But it was a lovely "babymoon" for our little family. We found out we were having a girl at 20 weeks. Olivia thought she had a direct line to God after that - she had ordered a sister, and a sister would be delivered to her!

The school year started back up, and we had a plan for work, and everything for me. We had Olivia's birthday party almost a month early, over Labor Day weekend, just in case. That turned out to be a smart move...

My sister had come to town to visit, and she left the week school started. She and my mom were taking a road trip back to her home in LA, spending some time together on the way back. My dad had a work trip planned. "Are you sure?" My mom kept asking. Yes, of course. She's not due for 2 more weeks! Go, do your thing. We'll all be here when you get back, still waiting for baby girl to make her entrance.

On September 12 I went to the doctor for my regular weekly appointment. That day had been so hot at school, and I had had a headache all day long. I was so tired, I couldn't see straight. The nurse took my blood pressure and remarked that it was high. Ah, we've been here before, I thought to myself. I braced myself for the news that I'd be put on bedrest again. I did mention my headache and blurry vision, too.

"Congratulations!" said my doctor as she entered the room, "You've just bought yourself a ticket to the hospital!" I was confused. "Surely you just mean bedrest until she's full term?" Nope. Turns out the combination of those 3 symptoms sealed our fates: baby was coming at almost 38 weeks along, and my only trip home would be to grab the hospital bag and turn right back around.

The only problem was, we didn't have anywhere for Olivia to go! My parents were both out of town! We called Olivia's godparents, and thankfully, they were able to keep Olivia overnight while we went to the hospital. She still talks about it. She had a blast.

Olivia took one last picture of us as we left the house. It's extremely unflattering and our house was very messy, but it was such a sweet moment. We were walking to the door and she shouted, "Wait! We need one more picture of you guys before the baby is here!"

We called my mom. She answered the phone as they were pulling into my sister's parking spot. They had literally just arrived at my sister's house, and my mom turned back around, bought a plane ticket, and flew home.

I was induced beginning at 7pm that evening. Olivia had come in less than 6 hours, so we were anticipating a quick arrival for Annabelle as well. I did not take any sleep aids this time! We spent the night trying to rest and trying to move things along by walking. Progress was very slow, and by morning my water still hadn't broken.

So the doctor came in to break my water and things started moving along. "We'll have a baby before dinner" she'd said. After a while I decided I was ready for the epidural, and we called the anesthesiologist. And that's when things really got crazy.

We got the epidural in, and the pain relief was great... for about 30 seconds. I suddenly started feeling weak, light headed, and nauseous. The irony of the next few hours (hours? Minutes? Time is fuzzy for me here) is that I was induced for high blood pressure, but when the epidural was applied, my blood pressure dropped so low that I nearly passed out several times. The result of this was twofold: one was that they had to use an IV medication to raise my blood pressure again, but it was only short acting and had to be given again and again, wearing off each time. Two was that they had to lower and eventually stop giving me the pain relief from the epidural.

By the time I was stabilized, I started to feel contractions again. Only this was like nothing I had ever felt (with Olivia, the epidural went off without a hitch and I had a very relaxed labor once it was in). I kept telling them I could feel them stronger and stronger. Suddenly, I knew what was happening. I was going to have to deliver this baby without the pain medication I was relying on having.

I knew I could handle it, but I was mad. I was that mom screaming in the delivery room at every contraction, every push. I was tired and angry that the one part of this birth I thought I could control (pain medication) was no longer in my control. This baby was coming. Now.

The funniest part was probably that, in the middle of all of it, we got to the point where Annabelle's head was crowning. The doctor told me she could see her head as a means of encouraging me and my efforts. I responded "Good, so if you see her head could you just go ahead and pull her out the rest of the way?" She laughed. I wasn't joking.

She did not, in fact, pull Annabelle out for me. I made it through and all of a sudden there was a wiggly, wrinkly, tiny little thing resting on my chest. Annabelle was here, finally, and even in her brand new state, she was beautiful. My mom had made it back and she and Rob were holding my hands, and we all cried, of course. The wait was over, she was here. Most importantly, I was no longer pregnant!

And now the hard work would really begin. We knew this, but in the hours that followed, all we knew was love and bliss (and mesh undies).

It's been a wild almost year getting to know this new human in our lives, lots of ups and downs. But we wouldn't change a thing about how she's settled right into our family like it's always been this way. Welcome to the world, Annabelle. It's a better place because you're here.

Yesterday

Just gotta take a quick minute to give a shout out to all the full time stay at home moms out there. I am a month into maternity leave with our second and 2 days a week I have both girls at home with me all day. I have an end date to this time (which will have its own emotions, and probably its own post) but for now I'm in the thick of it and I just wanted to capture what a day in the life looks like for me right now. Maybe I'll do it a few more times in the first year... maybe I'll forget 😉

Yesterday. Yesterday was really really hard and I felt like a failure. But when I got a moment to breathe, I tried to reframe and give myself some grace. Here is my attempt:

Yesterday morning I slept while my big kid watched way more Netflix than I'd like to admit... but she excitedly told me about the show afterward while we had breakfast together.

Yesterday I told myself I was going to eat healthier to shed the baby weight, but instead finished my daughter's waffle for her and shoved a handful of cookies down my throat before bed... but honestly that was better than the day before.

Yesterday I made a mental to-do list and each time it got majorly derailed... but the things that needed to get done got done.

Yesterday I hid, crying, from my kids, under the guise of taking a shower because I felt like all I had done was yell and scramble around all day... but I got a shower and felt better after, and didn't yell so much when I was done.

Yesterday I was so lonely but decided not to text certain of my friends because I didn't want to burden them with my complaints about my kids and my feelings (again)... but I did text my own mom which felt really good, and later remembered that just as I would be there for them, my friends would've been there for me.

Yesterday I didn't do even half the things I had promised our big kid, or even what I thought we might do together, and I felt guilty... but she did get to play outside on her bike and I got to appreciate her growing skills.

Yesterday I realized how bad I am at playing pretend (I'm really bad at it)... but I realized that our daughter doesn't care, she's just happy I'm going along with it.

Yesterday I wondered if 10:30am was too early for a glass of wine, and then felt ashamed that I had thought that... but then I took some deep breaths and reminded myself I have other coping methods too. And I made myself some tea instead.

Yesterday I felt guilty for being on my phone a few times... but I then I reminded myself that it's ok to expect our daughter to do something by herself for 5 minutes while I take care of a few things. She doesn't need my undivided attention all the time. Just most of the time, which I think I do ok at.

Yesterday I decided I'd try to get the baby to sleep in the bassinet instead of in arms or carseat or stroller every time, and I'd try to help her fall asleep on her own... but after almost 3 hours trying, I nursed her and rocked her and told myself " she's not ready yet." (And she slept 2 of 3 intervals in the bassinet last night and I counted that as a victory)

Yesterday I wanted to get out of the house multiple times, and we didn't make it until after 1:30... but somehow we managed 2 errands in a row with both kids in tow, and arrived to our destination on time.

Yesterday I didn't get the dishes clean or the laundry folded or exercise or cook a proper meal... but I loved on my kids and we painted and we spent the day together, and that's what they need more than anything.

Yesterday was not perfect. Yesterday was really difficult for all of us. Sleep deprivation and kid behaviors and fussy baby and every other thing that could factor into a day, did. But we survived. We'll keep taking one day at a time.

And mamas (and dads too!), whether you're home all day or at work all day or some combination, cheers to us, because we're making it happen one day at a time. Let's give ourselves grace and let ourselves feel all the feelings, and try to embrace our imperfect parenting. We owe it to ourselves. And if you need to reach out to me, please do. I could probably use the conversation just as much as you.

Just a quick walk in the park

So I went for a walk along the river today. In our city, we have a beautiful system of paths, closed to cars, that go along either side of a gorgeous stretch of the Willamette River. I was near a trailhead this morning and decided to take our new baby out for a walk.

We went, and while I enjoyed the exercise, and it was beautiful outside, I can't say it was an ideal experience. For me, it never is, because today, like many other days, I was a woman, alone, and vulnerable.

You see, although I've had my fair share of "run-of-the-mill" #metoo moments (workplace sexism, being approached far too aggressively in bars or getting catcalled), I was assaulted on this same bike path about 10 years ago. I will not describe what happened here, but will share my experience with you if you ask. An important detail is that I had to be encouraged to call the police at all, because I knew they couldn't do anything about it. And when they came to my house to take the report, those suspicions were confirmed, and the female officer could only give me advice on how to attempt to protect myself in the future.

So how did today's walk happen? Let's unpack what it takes for me, a fairly confident white woman in a very white town, to go for a 25 minute walk along the river in broad daylight. (And then I'd encourage us all to think about how much scarier it definitely is for women of color).

I started preparing for the walk last night. Decided I'd wear my red sweatshirt because it's bright - easily visible - and baggy, so it covers most of my body. Nothing skin tight or attractive. I considered packing my headphones, but no, I'd need to hear what is going on around me. Specifically, if someone were to come up behind me. I had to consider that potential situation last night.

I left from the parking lot of my daughter's school, and told 3 different people that we were going for a short walk. So people would know where we were, and expect to see us return in a short amount of time. I had to think about who might realize if something went wrong.

We went at 10am. Bright outside, and not so early that the folks who sleep along the river are just waking up - the reasons they are there are many, and I've witnessed many times how unpredictable people can be on that path. I had to think about what time would be safest.

As soon as we left, I chose the direction that had more people on it. Witnesses. Potential allies. As I walked, I scanned the path almost constantly, including looking over my shoulder to check behind me. I had to think about who else might help me... or potentially harm me.

I watched a man get up off of a park bench, pick up his backpack, and begin walking, slowly, a bit in front of me. Had he seen us? Of course he had. Ok, what do I do? We just got started walking, I don't want to turn around. But there's no one else around. Do I pass him? Do I hover behind him? What do I do when I do get around? I forget... am I supposed to make eye contact, or avoid it? I don't want to look him in the eye. I hate that I have to think about this. Why can't I just go for a walk and enjoy this path like anyone else? Ok, I'm just going to go around him... oh he looked over at us. I can't look, I'll walk a little faster... whew, we made it. I can breathe again. Ok, we're going to be ok.

You guys. This is how it went the entire 25 short minutes I was walking. The constant scanning. The fear every time we passed another man on the path. The quick glance of solidarity every time I made eye contact with another female.

It was infuriating.

Of course I don't believe that every man I pass on the street (or path) is out to get me. I live my life day to day without being threatened or assaulted. In general, I feel safe in my community, and that is a huge privilege I know I have. But I, and so many women I know, live with a base level of fear doing daily activities.

Keys in hand before leaving the store to the parking lot. Glancing over my shoulder everywhere I walk. Walking friends to their cars or into their houses or texting to make sure they got home safely.

And I'm tired. As women, collectively, we're tired.

And pissed off. It made me so angry today that what should've been a beautiful, enjoyable experience was so punctuated by the measures I take (we all take, because I know I'm not the only woman who does these things) to take what on the surface appears to just be a quick, 25 minute walk with my baby in a stroller.

Again, I acknowledge my whiteness, and it scares me to think what my friends  of color experience compared to myself. Makes me consider how I can include making their safety a priority as we begin to sort through a lot of this as a society.

I will probably go for a walk again tomorrow. Along the same path. And I bet many of the other women I saw walking or jogging alone today will too. Because all the precautions are second nature to us. We do those things so we can be outside. And because we hope that one day, we won't have to.

Community

Olivia and I are part of a play group in the summers that is connected to our church. We've been going for the past 3 summers, and as we attended our last one of this summer, I reflected on how much this group means to us. To me, especially.

Today, after play group, I reflected on what a special thing we have together. I took a step back from the immediate moment-by-moment of what happened, and saw something beautiful, for which I found myself overcome with gratitude.

Today, I arrived late. I am late to everything, and these folks know that. No one gave me a hard time, and the conversation started instantly and easily. Olivia clung to me almost the entire time - wanted to sit on my lap, eat the breakfast I couldn't convince her to eat all morning, watch and listen to the adults. They engaged her in our conversation, asking her questions about our recent vacation, etc.

No one was bothered by the presence of little eyes and ears as they drifted in and out of conversations, and when my child finally left my lap, someone else's was on theirs. And no one minded when we all, inevitably, had to take turns stopping mid-sentence to attend to sandy feet, wet bottoms, hungry tummies, or little bodies demanding swings.

One parent had to work, so the babysitter brought those kids. She knows us all and we brought her into the fold. She knows our kids, too, and they enjoyed having her there to play and help.

A few other parents had been gone most of the summer but were there today. We made sure they didn't feel out of the loop just because they hadn't been involved in every single playtime for the past 9 weeks. The group does this for me every summer, too, as I rejoin while they've carried on throughout the school year.

Everyone helped someone else's kid. Everyone disciplined someone else's kid. "Leave the sand on the ground." "Wait your turn." "Share the toys." "Do you need help?" "Can I help you while your mom/dad is busy?" "Would you like some _____" (fill in the blank here: snack? sunscreen? toys?...)

One parent's child had a meltdown, and when we all asked how to help, they simply said, "I don't know what to do. We might just have to leave." But they didn't leave. And there was enough trust in that group to admit not knowing, and to stay through the difficult part, knowing that the community would support them. It was profound and powerful.

We shared stories of our insecurities as parents, as people. We sat with our common wish that sometimes, someone would just tell us exactly what is right for our kiddo and exactly how to do that, when we all know that there's no way to know until you guess and check and get it right.

We laughed about times when we've messed up and we shared happy stories of things we've done this summer and summers past. All of our kids ate one another's snacks because we've all had a week where we've forgotten a snack and that is, of course, the week that our own kid is ravenous the moment we arrive to the park.

Today was not special. Today was not unique. I find this community every week when I bring Olivia to this group. A place where we can feel understood and welcomed and vulnerable and human and that's all OK. We get to be with people who love us and we love them back. And for that I am so thankful.

Olivia, not playing in the water today at our last session for the summer. Because reasons.

On Gun Safety

I remember as a kid in elementary school, feeling safe. We lived in a safe community and neighborhood, and the school was no different. Then one day in 5th grade, we were at lunch and suddenly all the adults became tense and closed all the doors. They told us we couldn't go out to recess, and that we had to go straight back to the classroom. We were confused and annoyed, but went along with it.

Later that day, we found out that we'd had to lock down the school because there had been an armed robbery at the mall down the road, and that the robber had run toward the school in his escape. At that time, our doors were never locked, always left open to let in the breeze, and to welcome our community into our school. Within days of the incident, the entire school had automatic locks installed and our teachers had to carry their keys everywhere with them to get in and out of breezeways and back into the classroom. That was the beginning of the changes in our schools. I remember thinking... but my school will still be safe. The adults will make sure we're safe.

When I was 12, Kip Kinkel brought guns into Thurston High School and shot his fellow students before being brought down by other kids, and eventually arrested. (I did not attend Springfield Public Schools). The shock that went through our community was indescribable. My mom worked at the hospital where some of the students were treated. She came home in tears, hugging my sister and I tightly. My dad works in violence prevention in schools specifically. He was on the news shortly thereafter, and I was home from school. I'm not sure why I was home, but I remember hovering in the other room, listening to the interview. It was surreal. A kid had gotten a gun. He had killed his parents. He had killed other kids. A kid had gotten a gun. ...but my school will still be safe. The adults will take action to make sure this doesn't happen again.

About a year later, 2 students brought guns to Columbine high school in Colorado, and shot their classmates. Virtually the same exact scenario, only more were hurt and killed by kids. Kids with guns. Around the same time, some kid trying to get attention at my school wrote a threat on the wall of a bathroom stall. We went into lockdown at my middle school until it was resolved. We were scared, then angry. But mostly scared. ...but my school will be kept safe... right? Surely now the adults can see that we have to do something about access to guns.

In high school, we had an open air campus. There was a scare almost every year where a weapon was brought to school - typically a knife - threats were made, suspicions arose, or we locked down. Some years after I graduated, the school got walls with sliding doors put onto the front, which I assume have automatic locks if necessary. But I only assume that because I now work for a school in the same district, and that's what we have. ...but my school will be kept safe... sort of. When are schools going to be safe again? What are the adults going to do? They're the ones with the power.

I was a student at the UO when a shooter killed many fellow students at Virginia Tech. My first thought was how terrifying it would be to be trapped in one of the many huge lecture halls on the UO campus if something like that were to happen here. ...Will my school be kept safe? What can we do to stop this?

I trained to become a teacher. I got my license in 2011. Since I have begun teaching, there has been at minimum one instance of lockdown at the school where I teach each year. Some years there is more than one. At minimum one time each year where I, rather than worrying about reading outcomes and math scores, I think to myself: "Is this it? Is this the day someone in my school dies? Is this the day shit gets real?" It's terrifying and heartbreaking to look out at 27 terrified faces and try to be brave. To not know what to tell them because saying "It's OK" might not be right. Fortunately for my community it's only ever been a precaution. But other schools have not been so lucky - Sandy Hook and Umpqua Community College come to mind, among others. ...but will my school be safe? I am the adult now - how will I protect my students? How will I protect myself? How do large quantities of very dangerous guns keep landing in the hands of people who clearly shouldn't have them?

I remember the first time after Olivia was born, that we did a lockdown at our school for a potential threat to the building. As I herded my students into our little closet, I kept my phone near me, checking for text updates. I found out that there was an incident along a road near our school. Along the same road as Olivia's daycare. I froze. Her daycare was not a public school. What if they didn't know? What if someone walked in to that small white building and shot my daughter? My baby. ...my school is not guaranteed safe. No place is. No one is doing anything. 

A few months after that lockdown, we did an extensive, extremely well-conducted training, led by the Eugene Police Department, for our entire staff, teaching us new and vital information and skills for protecting ourselves from an active threat in our building. But the whole time I was thinking: "Wait, the response to increased school shootings is to further train teachers on how to deal with them? Shouldn't we be doing something about HOW THE GUNS ARE GETTING INTO THE SCHOOLS?"

It's here that my thoughts get jumbled. The words I try to say cease to make sense due to my fear, and, honestly, my anger. It's here that I am baffled by the folks who believe that the argument for stronger regulations on how, when, and who can buy a gun and how quickly suddenly means that what we're demanding is to take away all guns from everyone and give the government all the power.

I believe in the 2nd Amendment. I believe in citizens' right to bear arms, and to protect ourselves if and when necessary, and to hunt for our own food. But, we don't need assault rifles to hunt deer. We can no longer sit back on the 2 most common arguments I hear, and count those as valid:

1. "Guns don't kill people, people kill people."

2. "This isn't a gun issue, it's a mental health issue."

Fine, blame people. But somehow, "those people" are getting their hands on very dangerous guns. They are not being used for hunting food. They are not being used to defend themselves from intruders, thieves, or enemies. If we're going to blame people for misusing guns, then we have to take care of the people we're blaming, or make it harder for them to get guns in the first place. I could go on (again) for days about the treatment - or lack thereof - of people in our society with serious mental health issues. But the plain and simple truth is this:

We can't ignore both. We can't fail to increase regulations on gun availability and also fail to prevent, protect, and treat mental illness by failing to fund and provide vital services. Because if we're going to use individuals with mental illness as a scapegoat for why gun violence has increased so heavily, we're going to have to do something to stop them from getting their hands on guns. On the flip side, if we're not going to do anything about the regulation of guns in our country, then we're going to have to seriously support and bolster our social services to prevent and treat mental illness. Something has to change.

Wherever you stand on the issue, please consider that my story is not unique. I belong to a generation of people who grew up watching our schools become potentially dangerous places in a way that no other previous generation has known. Not on the same scale. Something must be done, because we can not go on like this, year after year. 

If you're looking for more information regarding gun safety, violence prevention, or mental health resources, I encourage you to follow these links:

Every Town for Gun Safety - an organization dedicated to education about gun safety

Institute on Violence and Destructive Behavior - a local institute focused on violence prevention in schools and communities

Mental Health Services for Adults - Oregon.gov's mental health resources for adults

Mental Health Services for Children - Oregon.gov's mental health resources for children

If you know of others, please post links in the comments below.

Take care, my friends, and be safe. 

Today

Today I had the most wonderful day with my students. It's been a hard year but we've worked really hard together and I love them. Even on the hardest days I love my students with a fierceness that only another teacher would understand. And today we triumphed together. I almost cried at morning recess I was so proud of them.

Today my daughter used a new phrase - "How about..." and gave choices for dinner. Today we snuggled before school and laughed until we had tears coming down our faces in the evening.

Today I let myself admit that I'm behind on my work. So, so behind. And even though I work well under pressure, this is too much pressure. Something might have to give that really can't afford to.

Today I gave in to the feelings of fear, helplessness, and despair that sometimes overwhelm me in our current political climate. The feeling that even though I'm doing SO much more than I was to resist, to act, to stand up for myself and others, to be peaceful...it feels in vain. My actions fall on deaf ears and blind eyes and empty souls. That my little actions are insignificant, even when combined with the actions of others.

Today I let someone's words destroy me. Someone who should not matter to me at all. But someone who knew just what to say to somehow make me question what I know in my heart is right. Today I could not respond calmly. I could not turn the other cheek. I could not stand down - but I also could not stand up. I did nothing to respond to this person's words. And the fact that I've been unable to come up with a response is also painful in its own way.

Today I failed at helping my daughter get to bed peacefully. It's a long, drawn out battle and it's impossible to know what's right or wrong. My husband finally got her down and instead of being grateful I only felt jealous and upset that my last interaction with my daughter at the end of the day was negative. And I snapped at him.

Today I worked late into the night, and I still won't have everything together for tomorrow. Today I ran out of time for so many things I'd wanted to do.

Today I cried.

Today I leaned on a lot of people for support. For the rest of today I give my thanks to everyone I know who supports me and my family in so many ways, whenever we need you. I believe that in gratitude we can begin to remember the things that are good and right in all the yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows. Friends and family mean the world to me and you all stepped up to the plate today. Thank you.

I'll be there for you, too. Today and always.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Olivia!

Hey my girl. You're a "big kid now. A To-o-o-o-ddler." You told me yourself. You're not a baby anymore. Here we are, nearing your second birthday, and I haven't been able to slow myself down enough to soak that in. You are You, and You are TWO. Well, almost. Your birthday isn't until Tuesday.

Here is your Year Two letter, my dear. Likely as jumbled as your first year's letter, but also just as heartfelt and sincere.

I joke that I drink lots of coffee because I'm a mom. That is true, but I love that I have to work hard to keep up with you. I have to keep up with your spirit, your physical speed (seriously, you're fast), and your totally illogical trains of thought. Ok, that last part isn't actually possible. I have no idea how you think, but, like I said last year, when you are thinking, it's almost like we can actually see your brain working. You are amazing.

You are in a really fun and exhausting age. You wear us out at nearly the same rate you wear yourself out. I say nearly because we are always done before you are. When you are in "go mode" there is no stopping you. You will find whatever you're looking for, you will finish what you're doing, you will put your pants on by your self and no we will not be helping you. On the other hand, you will snuggle close and give endless hugs and kisses before bed, you will read books with us for hours, and you will "help" with chores like feeding the pets, rinsing the dishes, and putting away the silverware. The dichotomy of toddlerhood is strong with you.

You are strong. You love to run, jump, climb, and move things around. This year we enrolled you in gymnastics classes, and you have taken to them like a fish to water. (Speaking of water, you've loved swimming this year too - check it out below!) This past week, your dad and I watched you return to lessons after a few weeks away with a fresh determination and ability to follow the directions. We were impressed that you did so well, and quickly congratulated ourselves on our superior parenting that makes you such a good student. Ha! Although we don't think we're failing at this parenting thing, we have lots of help.

This is your favorite trampoline. Here you are mid-air, jumping away at gymnastics!

Swimming in your kiddie pool. You got so brave this summer in the water!

Which brings me to your community. My girl, never, ever forget your community. The people around you shape who you are, whether you like it or not, whether you realize it or not. We as a family are fortunate to have an amazing community raising us. I say us, because your dad and I are still learning and leaning on our friends and family, too. I feel this part of your letter is better represented by photos.

You have your family, who love you dearly:

Yoga with Aunt Sarah and "Papa" Jeff

Fancy drinks with Auntie Sarah

Outside with "Mimi"

It's always fun and games with Papa!

Of course Mommy and Daddy!

Your Godparents, who mean the world to us, and who you have combined into "Jonny-Kayla":

Uncle Jonny isn't pictured, but you love him just as much!

Your school. Oh boy, do we love your school. And you love it there too, and you love your teachers. Such a great place:

Your Itty Bitty friends. Short for Saint Mary's Itty Bitty Bible Study friends. And your church in general. These people are our people, and they take such good care of both mommy and you. I hope they know how much we love them, and how much we look forward to seeing them on Tuesdays in the summer and on breaks.

Your extended family, who show you love in so many ways.

With your Coos Bay cousins Meghan, Max, and Lauren

Cousin Katie

Cousin Sydney

Cousin April

Finally, my dear, we come to the list of all the things you like. As with last year, I have no other vessel except to just list them:
Cinderella. Like is an understatement. Obsessed is more accurate. We spend a lot of time watching with you, saying things like "Men can sew too, if they like, and women don't have to." and "Remember that if you get married you don't have to do it because other people think you should have kids, unless you want them." But whatever. The weird mice make you happy, and you cackle with laughter every time that horrible cat bonks his face on something. I never realized how often that happens.
Daniel Tiger. Still. Forever. "DT" may be your first tattoo. He's a weird feline dude, but you love him, and the lessons are solid and the jingles tolerable.
Gymnastics. You recently stopped calling it "Nacky," which made your dad and I sad, because we loved it. Trampolines are your favorite, of course.
Busses. You know the difference between a school bus and a city bus. I think this has to do with your buddies at school, and I don't get it at all, but you totally love looking for and naming any bus we see on our commute home.
The Ducks! Anytime you see green and yellow, or the O, or football in general, you shout "Go Ducks!" And tailgates are called "Go Ducks Parties."
Art. You like to draw, paint, do play dough, play with your musical toys, sing, anything. You are creative and focused when you do art activities.
The pets. We got a new dog in December, after saying goodbye to Jack-dog. Risa is a firecracker; the perfect match for you! The two of you wear each other out. Which is awesome. You love Manny, but the feeling is NOT mutual. That's ok, you don't take it personally as you yank his tail and then feed him.

Your language has exploded this year, and your hair has gotten suddenly so long. We have watched you move from a baby to a kid, and it has been heartbreaking and liberating at the same time. You have always been curious and it is wonderful to watch you explore more and more. Keep exploring, keep learning, keep loving, and keep playing. We love you, our girl, and Happy Birthday! Here are just a couple more snapshots of your year. Here's to being two!