motherhood is

Before I had Annabelle, motherhood was my most ambitious goal, something I longed for with everything in me. I felt as though motherhood was a bit of a caged animal - trapped inside, just waiting for a baby to come out. Now, I realize that motherhood is so much more.

So much more. 

Motherhood is watching the rise and fall of your baby's chest, your ears listening for raspy breaths of sleep in the night. Motherhood is having a constant companion, one who does not share your agenda, but whose agenda you mold your life around. It is a guessing game, a constant yo-yoing of "maybe this, maybe that." Motherhood is a privilege and a blessing felt in the quietest corners of your soul. Motherhood is the ability to hear meaning in a cry. Motherhood is mastering the five minute shower, a quick shave included. Motherhood is a deep love, beyond description, the most selfless love you've ever known. It is the knowledge that you would give and do anything for another person. Motherhood is the ability to peel yourself out of bed in the middle of the night because your baby is hungry or sad or cranky. 

Motherhood is accepting that half your closet has become obsolete. Motherhood is the patience to be content with a life undone, an apartment not completely spotless. It is never getting one thing done and always multitasking. Motherhood is the ability to love without reason - I believe that if everyone acted as a mother, the world would know a different peace, patience, and beauty. Motherhood is balancing twelve grocery bags and a baby carrier up two flights of stairs. It is a bursting pride in small accomplishments - a smile, a wave, first steps without help. Motherhood is an aching hip and increasingly tired arms. Motherhood is fulfilled exhaustion. Motherhood is love at its finest, an unconditional type of love.

Motherhood isn't what I expected at all. It is more. How grateful I am to my mother for allowing me to experience this thing we call motherhood. I know she hated being pregnant maybe as much as me. But I also know why she agreed to do it four times over. Because motherhood is more than a simple goal or an objective. It is perhaps one of the most loaded words I've ever known. From my mother, I've learned that motherhood is forever. And among the many things that motherhood is, this is what I treasure most.

hungry hungry hippo

So for a few months, Annabelle was doing awesome with her baby food consumption. She took to baby food like I do to chocolate. Immediately. Then, one day she decided she was over it. (I wish I could just get over chocolate.) She stopped eating solid food almost altogether. Of course, we (including the doctor) weren't too worried because she's plenty "healthy" on milk alone. The doc told us to just do what we were doing - continue offering her food, and one day she'd take to it again.

Well, in the past week or so, the girl has taken to it again - in a big way. However, baby puree foods are still no longer allowed. Not even applesauce. This girl likes what we're eating. Among her favorites are: chicken nuggets, Mac & Cheese, bread with jam, apple bits (although she tends to gag on them because she can't properly chew with just the one tooth), yogurt (when she's in the mood), beef stroganoff, Asian noodles (seriously, and you should seriously make these too), and get this: York Peppermint Patties.

For real. I was eating my favorite treat one day, and she motioned that she'd like a bite. I thought, why not? I thought surely she'd be blown away by the intense mintiness, and why not teach her that candy is bad, especially chocolate. But that didn't exactly work out. Apparently she loves the mintiness. If she even smells it on my breath, she does a dance until she gets a bit. 

This photo appeared on the Daily Annabelle today. I think she looks so big, like a toddler. I guess she just has toddler tastes, and she was waiting for one of us to get a clue and hand her a peppermint patty, with a side of Asian noodles. Please.

baby boy?

So if you catch her just after she wakes up,

her girlish curls flattened from a good night's sleep,

and you strip her to her diaper,

and then you give her a cowboy hat...

...you get a good idea of what would happen if we had a boy someday.

Good thing our baby boys are going to be ridiculously cute as well. :)

THIS IS OF COURSE NOT AN ANNOUNCEMENT. That announcement will be clear - shining lights, morning sickness, swelling, the whole bit.

let's pretend

Let's pretend that ten months haven't passed. Let's pretend that she's not almost walking by herself (just a few steps before she takes a flying leap into our arms).  Let's pretend that she hasn't officially added another word or two to her baby vocabulary (mama, da!, ba!(th), num num). Let's pretend that she isn't trying to actually put puzzle pieces back by herself. Let's pretend that she can't identify my nose and her nose, back and forth. Let's pretend that she hasn't figured out how to get one arm out of her car seat straps. Let's pretend that she sleeps through the night regularly (no really, let's pretend).

Mostly, let's just pretend that she was just born yesterday, that she isn't growing this fast, and that she'll always be my tiny baby.

Let's pretend.

nuzzle

 

 Everything changes when your baby

can tell you she loves you too.

house hunting humor

So we're trying to find a place to live when we move back to Utah. And doing it from North Carolina is something like a bad blonde joke: NOT FUNNY. You try convincing someone that even though you're not in the state and you can't meet with them, you really do want to rent their home. Whatever. So far, I've tracked down a couple large refrigerator boxes. They look cozy.

So I'm constantly perusing Craig's List and KSL Classifieds for something, right? Well, I stumbled upon this condo in Bountiful that looked really great - new, beautiful wood floors, only shared one wall, views of the valley (and the petroleum plant). But it was only $500 a month. That's less than we pay now. For something considerably larger. And nicer. Not to mention that the price is substantially lower than its comparables. I thought it looked too good to be true, so I emailed the poster asking when it was available, if the price was per week or month, etc.

The response we received changed our view on house hunting long distance dramatically. Suddenly IT'S HILARIOUS.

So I get this response that starts, "Hello Dear." Listen, I'm nobody's dear. But it only got better. The responder (I guess I'll allow her to remain anonymous) then went on to say that she was in West Africa (with the keys and documents to the house to boot) on a mission for God. Now, I have nothing against missions for God. As a Latter-Day Saint (Mormon), I actually fully support and believe in missionary work. Our nineteen-year old boys serve missions around the world, our women head off when they're twenty-one, and we have gobs of grandmas and grandpas spreading the good word as well. It's an extraordinary work, no matter whose church you belong to, a selfless and dedicated act that I completely respect.

But what got hilarious was when she went on to promise me that "if you take care of our house, the GOD of our father of faith abraham will never let you down" (all punctuation marks or lack thereof and grammar mistakes are those of the missionary's).

Forget keeping the commandments. I'm just going to rent this condo and call it good.

letters

Dear Sugarless Bubble Yum:

Not only do you make me feel young again (I challenge anyone to blow a big bubble and not feel four years old), but you also trick my taste buds into thinking I'm eating a yummy treat. 

When actually I'm dying for a big, gooey chocolate chip cookie, loaded with fat and delicious calories.

Signed,
MUST EAT COOKIE



Dear Pack N Play:

Thank you for providing a resting place for my daughter for her first nine months of life. However, I do have a minor complaint. You see, when she rolls over, her girth hits your screen walls and wakes her up.

And then we have an all night dance party.

Signed,
You Will Not Be Missed

P.S. If you could just hold out until we move back to Utah, where we're having the crib delivered, we'd greatly appreciate it.

P.P.S. Don't be offended - you'll get plenty of use when the next one comes along. IN LIKE TEN YEARS.

Dear Annabelle:

Our apologies for making you sleep in that Pack 'N' Play for so long. Even though I've created a thick mattress of blankets, I still think you're rather uncomfortable. The thing is, we didn't expect that we'd have such a - ah hem - healthy baby. But we promise that a crib is on its way. And I firmly believe it will not only solve all our sleeping problems, but also most other world problems.

Rising fuel costs, rush hour, humidity.

Signed,
Your Semi Negligent Mom

P.S. If you didn't shove your face into the corner of the Pack 'N' Play, you might be a little more comfortable. Just a thought.


The pictures have absolutely nothing to do with anything, except that I just stumbled on these and realized they were never included in the Daily Annabelle and felt that they were too good to not be shared somewhere. :)

i needed a girl

Jess, a few weeks ago: I was thinking today. And I think you needed a girl first more than I needed a boy.

______________________

We're packing up our apartment, which has left it looking as though a tornado may have blown through about fifteen minutes ago. Boxes - assembled and not - everywhere, food storage extracted from its quiet corner of the apartment, bags of donations for the Salvation Army piling up, bookshelves unassembled, other shelves empty and wiped clean. All this freneticism really stresses Annabelle out (she is SO her mother's daughter), so I try to pack her around with me as I pack other things into boxes. Yesterday, as I organized my nightstand drawers, going through stacks of papers long forgotten and hardly needed, she sat next to me. She found a tube of chapstick and an old watch, an item for each hand. Occasionally, she put her hand on my leg and looked up at me, as if to say, "Hey....you know I'm still here right?" I'd kiss her, she'd bump her head against mine in what has become her own little nuzzle, and we'd keep packing, Belle patiently waiting for me to finish, an item in each hand.

And I couldn't help thinking, oh how I needed a girl, this girl in particular.

competition

So on Friday mornings, I get my sorry butt out of bed at 5:00 a.m. so I can make the 5:45 a.m. spinning class. And I am not alone. The gym opens at 5:30 a.m., and when I arrive at about 5:25 a.m., there is already a line of people trailing from the building.

(Yes, the class is that good. I work so hard the top of my hands sweat. Too much information?)

So it becomes a bit of a comedy. As we get out of our cars, it's pretty obvious that we're all trying to race (without looking frantic) to get in line - you know walking really fast, but not so much that we're running, while simultaneously casually sipping our water bottles, as though we haven't a care in the world (besides GETTING A BIKE IN THE CLASS). Once you secure your place in line, you can watch each person mentally count what number they are. Because there are only twenty bikes. If you find yourself in the bigger teens, you start biting your nails, hoping that one of the people in front of you isn't doing the spinning class, that maybe they just want to run in place at 5:30 a.m. (I did it for years - it happens folks.)

It's really stressful up until that point where the doors open and we file in - all the while trying to maintain our casual obsession with getting into the class, almost pushing and shoving but not quite because that would be embarrassing - and we write our names on the list. Today I was number EIGHTEEN. I was there twenty minutes early, and I barely got a bike. Eighteen gave me the bike in the corner where the fans don't really toss any air so much as they provide nice decoration, but by the end of the class I couldn't decide what was the bigger victory - completing the rigorous work out of insane sprints uphill followed by long durations of seated climbing, or getting a bike in the first place.

No. I'm not at all competitive. Why do you ask?

stiff as a board

 

Growing up, I had a good friend whose mom wouldn't let her use hairspray. Because as she said, "If God wanted your hair to be as stiff as a board, he would have made it that way."

And I think about her every morning when I spritz the Little Miss and her sweet little curls. :)

Incidentally, I often wondered why she wore clothes. After all, she wasn't born wearing clothes...

By the way, these curls have an extra boost from gobs of sunblock.