what's in a name?

I've had a few people ask where Lydia Lou got her name. And while it would be fair to assume that I just really like alliteration (because I do), like Annabelle, Lydia's name has some meaning behind it. I personally love it when a middle name carries some sort of tradition or meaning behind it. And for both of our girls, while their first names are pretty random, their middle names come from cherished relatives. Here's how their names came to be.

Annabelle Charlene | When I was pregnant with Annabelle, Jess was pretty sure I was having a boy. Thus, dreaming up girl names wasn't high on his priority list. Still, I kept dreaming them up, and he kept nixing them. One day, very randomly, the name Annabelle popped into my head. This was just weeks before she was born, and thankfully, Jess liked it. He liked it a lot, actually, and so did I. Not only was it pretty and a little old fashioned, but she could also be Belle, close to the all too popular Bella, but not the same. (Bella has been my favorite name for years. Twilight has destroyed it for me, however.) Her middle name comes from Jess' grandma, Gladys Charlene. She also shares her middle name with Jess' Aunt Diana Charlene (Gladys' daughter), who passed away last year. The name is representative of a whole lot of love. Jess' grandma and aunt are are two of the most amazing women I know, full of wisdom, wit and humor. I love that she shares names with women to be admired and respected. When she just started saying big words, Grandma Charlene taught her her middle name. It was so beautiful to see how proud the elder was that a younger was being raised up. Oh, and it's actually pronounced with the "ch" (not a "sh). The original Charlene was named after her father, Charles. Thus the "ch."

Lydia Lou | Lydia's first name came about similar to Annabelle's. I had loved the name Charlotte for months but suddenly got sick of it. Jess and I tossed names back and forth for a while, each of us not liking what the other suggested. Then one night just before I fell asleep, the name Lydia popped into my head. I mentioned it and Jess said, "That could work..." And so we let that name simmer for a few weeks. I liked it more and more every day, and while I'm not sure that Jess was totally in love with it, he liked it enough. Her middle name is a special one. Jess' grandpa, Jesse Lewis Cheney, passed away this year (he's Charlene's husband). Because he's one of many Jesses, he went by Lew. If we had a boy, he would automatically carry the Jess name, and we were also considering giving a son the same middle name as well. But when Lew passed, I told myself that if we had a girl, I still wanted to pass on his name. And so we have our own Lou. We spelled it more feminine, but the name is for her great grandfather. He was a man of incredible strength, wisdom, and love. I hope somehow that by sharing his name, she'll become the same.

adjustment

She loves her baby sister. She really does. She loves to hold her and kiss her and pat her when she hiccups. She tells her, "You have a pretty little face!" and says things like, "What's wrong little girl?" or "I love her little hands!" She nuzzles up to her and murmurs, "I love you...I love her."  

We prepared her as well as we could for a new baby. She understood that one was in Mommy's tummy, that it would come out, that she would have a new brother or sister (she always insisted it was a sister). But she didn't know what was coming really, what having a sister really meant. The difference is chiefly seen at night, when she goes to bed. Instead of doing the fake cry accompanied not by tears but by random requests to prolong the bed time routine, there are real tears. Lonely, heart breaking tears. And so I go back to her room over and over again. We talk about how much we love her. We talk about how safe she is in her bed with blanky and her fifty three stuffed animals watching out for her. We sing her favorite song over and over again. Last night, she finally gave in and slept when I wasn't talking or singing. I was just there, watching her, letting her know I was there. She checked through heavy eyelids to make sure I was there a few times before finally giving into that kind of exhausted sleep that tears bring.

And as I left her room, my heart ached. My baby is being forced to grow up a little. I wish I could keep her tiny and small, a grown up baby of sorts. And I wish that only because I want to protect her. I'm just grateful that this growing up can happen where I can still hold her and hug her and make sure she's safe.

But the changes are there. They come in tiny rifts, little bumps in her day-to-day life of love and structure that she has to negotiate. As adults, we had nine months to prepare for this, to open up our hearts and make room. We knew that the changes would be thick and heavy, that instead of doing just a million things at once, we'd have to do a billion. We knew all about the late night feedings and the diapers. But Annabelle didn't know, and so now she grows up in tiny measures at a time.

What I hope she does know is my love for her hasn't changed. And if it has, it's only grown. My gratitude for a brave little girl so willing to love a new sister without question is unmeasurable. And I'm simply grateful for her, period. My first born. The one who truly changed my life in all the best ways. As always, I hope she senses that her place in my heart and my life will never go away. I hope that as she adjusts, she'll remember that her parents love her more than they have words to convey. And most of all I hope that our love for her will carry her through these next weeks as we find our new normal.

they're girls

Annabelle: My foot is someone else.

Me: Oh, really?
Annabelle: {lifting the other foot} And this foot is someone else.

Me: Really? What are their names?

Annabelle: Mmmmmmm....they're both girls.

{Because who isn't a girl at our house these days? Poor Daddy... :) }

one week

 

I can't decide which is the bigger accomplishment: pushing an almost nine pound baby out of my body or taking two babies to the grocery store and getting everything up three flights of stairs successfully without any tears, pukes, or blowouts. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I need a cape. Granted, this feat was mostly possible because I have a super chill newborn, but still. I think a cape is in order.

 

We've had our little Lou for a week {yesterday}. I feel like time is passing much too quickly; every day she looks a little different. It's the worst part of having a baby. All that time that previously passed so slowly during pregnancy suddenly hits warp drive and it just flies. I wish I could freeze some of the moments: her little gassy smiles that are becoming more and more common, her intense eyes that stare-stare-stare, her always flexed feet and toes and skinny straight legs. Thankfully, we take too many photos for our own good. And here's a selection from her first week. Perhaps if I post enough, I can freeze some time.

 

 

fake 'n' bake

So I make babies with blood that fights with my blood. And they end up on the dang bilibed lights. To say I dislike these bilibeds would be a mild description. They make my babies {and me} cry. That said, they do the trick and they keep my babies healthy. Lydia's bilirubin levels were better than Belle's, but she still had to spend some time (about twenty four hours) in the tanning bed (and she has seven prick marks on her poor little heels to prove it). And although I expected the lights for her, it didn't make it any easeir to slide her squishy loveable body into that glowing envelope. My babies - thankfully - love to be squeezed and loved and snuggled. And a plexi glass bilibed doesn't exactly reciprocate.

Don't worry - Annabelle and I hung up some rainbow streamers left over from her birthday in Lou's view so she wouldn't have to stare at a plain white wall when she was awake (she spends a decent amount of daytime with her ridiculously already accurate eyes open). And my mom and I spent hours up with her at night trying to help her feel better. Bleck.

So glad it's over and we can love on our little Lou again.

i'm coming home

It's kind of funny. You walk into the hospital very pregnant, a family of three. You walk out missing that ridiculously large stomach and with an extra person in your car. And trust me when I say that the extra person in the car is much preferred to the extra stomach on the body. :)

NOTE: This is the same outfit Annabelle came home from the hospital in. The only difference? They weren't floods on Belle. Little Lou is tall (and big). Most of the newborn clothes I pulled out when I got home are already obsolete and she's into the official 0-3 months clothes. You go girl.

plus one

The night before I was to be induced (yes, it was totally planned, gotcha), as I put Annabelle to bed, I completely lost it. I could barely hold it together enough to sing her bedtime songs. She noticed and asked, "Mommy sad?" When I walked out of her room, I sunk in a heap of tears. I sobbed. It was hard to explain, but suddenly the reality of losing the time with just Annabelle hit me with full force. Suddenly I realized that things would be different. Things were going to change. The predictable life of love and routine that we had so carefully shaped for the last two years would change. It's a strange paradigm to be in - wanting my new baby so very much, but fearing the change that would occur as that new baby changed everything and grew us to a family four.

My induction was a dream (besides the small issue of being sent to a different out-of-network hospital). The pitocin did its magic. I "suffered" through contractions for a few hours before I wimped out and got that blessed epidural, we waited a few hours (read: I totally snoozed), I pushed through five contractions literally without breaking a sweat (a sharp contrast to my labor with Annabelle, during which I sweated enough to fill a small lake), and our big baby girl was there.

Annabelle was waiting in the hall with her aunties and before the gender had been revealed, was outside the door requesting, "Go inside and see my sister?!"

She walked in to the room tentatively. And who wouldn't. Hospitals are weird. And Mommy was in a weird dress with cords and wires hanging out of her arms. She wanted her aunties to stick close to her, to keep her safe. But she also wanted to see Lydia. She wanted to touch her and hold her and give her loves. The next morning at home, as Daddy got ready to go, she followed behind, and in classic toddler style repeated over and over, "Go see Lydia? Go see my sister? Go see Lydia? Go see my sister?"

And when they arrived that morning and she gave her baby sister some more loves without reservation or jealousy in her sweet understanding toddler heart, I realized that everything would be okay, that sometimes change is good and beautiful and comes in eight pound twelve ounce packages. And how wonderfully perfect those packages can be.

introducing...

Lydia Lou Cheney

July 20, 2011

8:59 p.m.

8 pounds 12 ounces

21 inches

Yes! It's a girl! AGAIN!

it's been said

While eating a banana and burping shortly after a swallow: "My banana barfed."

+

When sliding around me to reach something: "Scuse me Mommy."

+

When bumping into me when sliding around me to reach something: "I sorry Mommy."

+

When announcing she's finished with her dinner: "I want not any."

+

When trying to get our attention: "Let me ask you a question."

(She doesn't actually have a question.)

+

After I told her she needed to use the potty not a diaper: "Stop saying that!" (Oh boy.)

+

After I moved her leg to pull a towel out from under her: "Don't push me!"

+

After I hear her whimper a bit and ask what's wrong: "I just need a hug."

(If that doesn't melt you, I don't know what will.)

+

If she sees a popsicle in the vicinity: "Let me hold it please?"

+ 

After I ask her a litany of dinner options: "No, I good."

+

When trying to be conversational: "Uh-whatchadoin' Mommy?"

(The inflection of this smooshed up sentence makes it really excellent.)

+

After reciting with me (for the billionth time) what will happen when Mommy

"goes to the doctor to get the baby out," she finishes the conversation with,

"And remember, Mommy loves me so much."

(I almost cried. I'm so grateful she listens so well.

Because while I'm not here, I really need her to remember that.)

itchy

I itch.

From head to toe.

Every inch of skin, including my scalp.

And it's considerably worse at night because then I have time to just lay there and think about SCRATCHING.

It doesn't stop.

I finally gave up and went and got a popsicle and turned on Gilmore Girls.

Ridiculous.

Again, I repeat that being up with a newborn is so much more preferred than this option, scratching myself into my grave.

Dying.