Mommy & Me

These are the moments I am going to miss the most when I return to work. 

Napster

And the Arlo Award for Best Place to Nap goes to...

Dad's chest! 

Hittin' the Bottle

Last Friday we toured one of our two hopeful day care center picks. We toured our top pick--located in a neighboring county about a 25 minute drive away--during my pregnancy, and we have been on its waiting list since that time. Our second option, and the one we visited on Friday, is affiliated with the hospital where I work and is located an easy walk across the street from the hospital (and also walking distance from home). While it's not quite as modern and its curriculum is not as kumbaya-tastic as our first choice, it is significantly closer and more convenient and will allow for me to pop over to nurse Arlo at least once a day (fingers crossed that my crazy work schedule will allow for that). Arlo's name came to the top of the waiting list for our second choice last week, and with my maternity leave drawing to sad and wistful end, it was time for us to make our final decision... The closer center is the obvious choice.

Arlo has been exclusively breastfed for these first two months of his life (with the exception of a couple of breastmilk syringe feedings in our early breastfeeding days). With day care looming in our too-near future it was time to finally introduce the bottle. Arlo could take or leave his pacifier, so I must admit that I was worried that he'd rebuff the bottle with similar indifference. I had envisioned a woeful scenario in which he refuses to take his liquid nosh from a non-boob decanter, but nope! After a few lippy noms of the bottle nipple, he was on his merrily sucking and sated way. I teared up a little--a strange mixture of pride over his new accomplishment and sadness over his newfound independence from me. Sigh.

The introduction: Bottle, meet Arlo. Arlo, bottle.

Arlo's first bottle = Daddy's first feeding!

You Are My Sunshine

We had a gorgeous, unseasonably warm February weekend in Fredericksburg replete with lots of cabin-fever-fighting sunshine! We savored every moment of it by taking long walks, strolling through downtown, and even lounging for a spell in our backyard hammock. Cuddling with Arlo in the hammock I had the perfect view of our three raised garden beds, all empty and sad looking from a winter's chill and neglect. It put me in the mood for some seed-starting, so perhaps in these last few weeks of maternity leave I will investigate some fun and unusual seeds to jazz up our garden this spring...

 Out for a walk on the canal path!

Enjoying some decaf java refreshments downtown!

The girls also loved lounging in the weekend sun!

What Do Two Exhausted New Parents Look Like?

 A couple of old pictures from those first few weeks:

Coffee? Yes, please.

Yikes! Are there extra fees for the carry-on under those eyes?

My Gummy Valentine

I took this picture of our sweetheart on Valentine's Day with my phone and sent it to Nick for a little cupid-like pick-me-up at work.

Arlo at One Month

Dear Arlo,

Hello, my wiggly little babe. My one month old little babe. Can it really be that an entire month has passed since I first kissed your damp little head?*

One of my friends remarked today that though a month's time has passed, you've always been in my life. Forever. What a stunning sentiment--stunning because it's a breath-stealing, throat-knotting kind of True.

While December 19th is your birth date and by most accounts the date you and I first met, I consider July 27, 2010 our first meeting. I was typing up a letter to you in the throes of insomnia when I felt your very first exaggerated movement. Sure, I had been feeling little bubbles and blips for about a week or more previously...but this movement, it was gigantic. It was like a goldfish belly-flop, so animated and so distinct and so unmistakable. My chest tightens when I recall that exact moment--as I was typing out a letter to you, you were tapping out a little Morse code to me from inside, telling me you were there with me, receiving me.

Oh, how you swept me away.

And this undercurrent of love and an almost primal desire to never be more than a few inches from you...it's sweeping me farther out to sea. I pray that this feeling of undistilled awe never fades.

We have now settled into an almost rhythm during our days, you and me. Your dad brings me tea and oatmeal in bed in the morning before he leaves for work. I drink my tea and listen to NPR while we cuddle and nurse. Some days we don't leave the bed before noon. You fall asleep after nursing (and sometimes with a generous side of fussing), and I hold you until it's time to nurse again. Sure, I could put you down in your co-sleeper or crib and perhaps shower or take care of some chores, but I hate putting you down. I love watching your chest rise and fall on mine. I love watching you sleep with your little mouth open in a perfect and delicate little triangle. I love feeling the weight and warmth of your body on mine. There is something chemical about it all, and boy am I hooked.

To be fair, we've had our share of miserable days, too. When you cry so hard that your face turns sunset shades of pink, red and purple. There is something chemical about that, too. Your cry, especially the hard, fierce one, triggers something in me. The drive to soothe you courses with a near frenzy, as if there is some biological imperative that I not fail you. It's so important to me that you find comfort in your dad and me, that you trust that we'll soothe you.

I wasn't prepared for how exhausted and exasperated I would, at times, find myself in your first month. You are like a prehistoric bundle of needs and drives that feels completely undecipherable to me sometimes.

Concurrently, I wasn't prepared for how deeply I would fall for you. How I would stare at the fine little hairs on your ears and tear up over how miraculous they are to me. How I would rest my lips in the crook of your neck while you sleep on my chest, and it would be the most tender thing I've ever felt. How heart-arrested I would feel when I gently unswaddle you and you stretch out like a sleepy, satisfied kitty cat. How I would try time and again, unsuccessfully, to read the first book I bought you to you without crying, especially the part about how wanted and loved you were before we ever met you.

You've not yet slept a night in your crib. You've had a few naps in it. Same for your bassinette. At first we tried placing you in your bassinette, which is right next to our bed, at night to sleep. But you felt so far away. And I hated that I couldn't directly see you. I pulled your bassinette up to the bed, like a sidecar, and I perched my pillows on the side of the bassinette and slept almost hanging into your bassinette. I needed to be able to open my eyes and immediately see your breaths. I wasn't sleeping at all. A few days after bringing you home we bought a little in-bed co-sleeper, and if you're not in our arms, this is where you sleep. Right between us. Inches from both of our heads.

We've still not yet given you a proper bath! All of your baths so far have been sponge baths. You're not crazy about bathtime, but you do like having your hair washed. Like an elderly lady enjoying a salon day, your posture instantly relaxes when we wash your soft, abundant hair. It's adorable. We'll put you in your little tub one of these days...

I love that you dig the Moby wrap. You're sleeping in it right now, hugging my breast, mouth open in that tender little triangle that melts me. You spend a good chunk of the daytime in it. I love that I can nurse you in it, and that when you're finished nursing, you just snuggle back into slumber.

You giggle--an open-mouthed series of chuckles--in your sleep. I suspect that this is probably gas-induced, but it's so, so charming. You give us the best gassy smiles in your sleep, too, and we catch glimpses of these amazing dimples. You are a noisy little fella, full of grunts and growls, whimpers and wails, and sighs and suckles. I get the feeling that you are going to be an expressive dude.

This week we took down our Christmas tree and decorations. I was still pregnant with you when we decorated for the holidays, and your dad and I bubbled with excitement for your impending arrival. I always had a feeling that you would join us before Christmas. I'm not sure where that feeling came from, but my gut told me that you'd arrive before your due date. You are the best Christmas gift your dad and I have ever given each other.

My darling son. I love you. More than I'll ever be able to capture in a letter to you, but hope to capture in a lifetime with you. While I am eager to see you develop your personality and meet new milestones, I am relishing your babyness. Please don't grow too fast.

~Your Mama

*written the week of January 19, 2011

Valentine's Day on the River

Valentine's Day is one of our anniversaries--our first kiss! Twelve years ago on Valentine's Day we started the relationship that would bring us our funny Valentine:

It was an unseasonable 60 degrees on Sunday, so we celebrated our 12 years and our sweet babe with a picnic and a hike around Belle Isle.

Rockin' his knit booties from Deborah & Sarah!

down on the rocks on the James River

Mama + baby Yoda
In love truly we are!

XOXO