At the end of every parent's day...

(Originally posted Thursday, July 19th on Facebook)

So you know how you put your child to bed and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief and thanking God that it's finally bedtime because you're exhausted and just can't take any more?  And then thirty minutes later, your heart aches because you miss them already, so you peek in on them just to watch them sleep and make sure they're okay?  And sometimes you open the door to find them awake, maybe reading a book or talking to their baby or cuddling with their blanket, and ultimately they always seem to see you, regardless of how quiet you are?  And you immediately duck down and slink backward, shutting the door, thinking "Oh, crap, I've been spotted!"

What the hell is that all about?  Why do we keep hiding from our kids?  Ever wonder how that looks from their perspective?

That's exactly what happened here tonight.  Well, almost.  At the end of a very long (albeit fun) day, I put Piper to bed and retreated downstairs to read on the front porch and watch the storm.  After the first clap of thunder, I went up to check on her and see if she had stirred.  There she sat, resting against a pillow and cuddling quietly with her baby, eyes right on me.  With a sharp intake of breath, I instantly pulled back on the door handle, but the look in Piper's eyes made me stop.  And I realized what a crappy thing I've been doing for the last two years.

Why on earth shouldn't Piper know that I'm checking in on her?  Shouldn't she see that I love and miss her?  Shouldn't she know that I care enough to watch her all through the night, and that she is never truly alone?  Doesn't she deserve to hear "I love you" one more time before she falls asleep?  And I swear to you, all of these thoughts raced through my mind in about three seconds while she stared at me.

So I let go of the doorknob and stepped forward, nudging the door open with my elbow.  I tiptoed over to Piper's big-girl bed, where she looked at me with a cautious expression that read "Oh shit, am I in trouble for being awake?!"  I leaned over and smiled as I brushed her hair off of her forehead, and she grinned in return.  "I just wanted to give you more kisses."  And I kissed her on the cheeks and nose and told her that I loved her.

"Love you," she whispered back.

So from now on, I'm waiting a full hour before I check on her :-)  But if she's still awake and sees me looking in, I will not shut the door and pretend that I wasn't there.  Even if my peeking in causes her to stay awake an extra fifteen minutes, at least it's fifteen minutes that she knows I'm loving her.  At the end of the longest, hottest, crankiest, teariest, most tiresome day, we could both use a little extra love, after all.

Share, and share alike

Hi, Daddy!

I know it's way past my bedtime, but Mama said it was okay.   She can be cool like that, sometimes.  We've had a lot of teachable moments around here this week.  Usually Mama is the one doing the teaching, but tonight she was the one doing the learning.  She's mumbling something about “humility,” but I don't know what that means.  Anyway, my favorite word lately has been “mine.”  A lot of my friends use that word too, but I don't like it when they say it.  That word is mine.  And every time I say it, it seems like Mama has some kind of response:

“Yes, Piper, that is yours, but Caleb is using it right now.”

“No, Piper, that's not yours, Kara is just letting you play with it.”

“Piper, that nice lady is not going to steal your snack cup.”

“Honey, here at Gymboree, the toys belong to everyone. We like to share!”

I don't know what “we” she's talking about, because I sure don't like to share.   And as it turns out, Mama doesn't really like to share, either.  I mean, some things she shares, like food and hugs and lip gloss and napkins.  But today she got all weird because someone wanted to use her idea (which, like, isn't even a real thing, anyway.)  She might not have said the word “mine,” but I know she thought it. So tonight, I used her own words against her.  After, like, the sixth time that she thought “that idea was mine!” I started asking her questions.

“Yes, Mama, it is yours.  But are you using it right now?”

“Well...no.”

“Have you used it recently?  Or did you just now notice it because someone else wanted it?”

“Well, yeah, but...what if I wanted to use it?”

“Were you really going to use it later?”

“Maybe!  Okay, probably not.  Um, okay, no.  But it was mine in the first place!  I thought of it!”

“Yeah, so?  What's your point?”

“The point is that it's mine!”

“Mama, if you never used it and aren't planning to use it, then how can it be yours?”

Mama took a deep sigh, smiled a little, and ruffled my hair. “How'd you get so smart, kiddo?” And then I said the smartest thing ever, Dada.  I told her I learned it from watching Elmo.

So it all worked out in the end, I think.  Mama's mostly okay sharing her idea.  Auntie Becca pointed out that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  I didn't understand what that meant, so Mama took out the big words and said that people like to copy the cool kids.  I'm still a little confused, but I think that Mama's one of the cool kids.  And I think you're pretty cool, too, Dada.  Have fun with sticks, area pee dragon, and ted new jet.  I'm glad you're only gone for a month, and I can't wait to see you when you get home.

P.S. – I don't recommend using Mama's words against her unless you're in another state or in Mama's imagination.  It could get real ugly, otherwise, I think!

Infinite love

April 17th of 2010 kind of disappeared in a blur for me. Between the pain, the fear, the drugs, and the euphoria, there are only a few outstanding moments that remain in my most reachable memory. And even those, I generally chose to overlook. When I think of Piper's birth, I immediately recall how I spent the night before, and how I felt the week after. Fortunately, I have been able to focus more on Piper's present than I have on her past. The PTSD still rears its ugly and violent head, and I didn't recognize its crafty form until this morning. I've been more sensitive and weepy than usual (I used to cry once a year, and now I'm brought to tears on a daily basis) but I haven't felt the anger or pain that I encountered last year. And I'm grateful for that.

St. Vincent's can breathe a sigh of relief as tomorrow we exceed the statute of limitations. Despite the advice of many, including those in the medical and legal fields, I simply could not bring myself to take action against them. Do I absolve them of their responsibility in the critical mistakes during Piper's birth? As my beloved girl Whitney said, Hell to the no. But I can't put any more energy and action into being angry and negative. I have come to peace with the way things transpired, and I hope that everyone understands that. If I ever see Sally Talbot in a public place, my foot might slip off of the brake and hit the accelerator (and I might accidentally put it in reverse and do it again) but I can't put myself or my family through the drama and turmoil of a law suit.

The last year, and the last 15 weeks in particular have taught me a great deal, which I won't fully go into tonight. I have been blessed and lucky to have such an amazing support system, especially since it sometimes comes from the most unexpected places. I have several close friends and coworkers who have gone out of their way to help me, two besties who would go to the ends of the earth for us, and an amazing husband who sacrifices so much to keep his ladies happy and cared for. I have an overwhelming number of people who have been following our countdown on Facebook, and as silly as it sounds, their attentiveness and “likes” have helped me get through nearly four months without ever truly being alone. So thank you.

As I got Piper ready for bed tonight, she kept asking me to read more books. At one point, I told her “Just one more, and then we're done.” I realized that I had no real reason for rushing her off to bed, other than my own selfishness. Okay, and my sanity, too. But mostly it was selfishness. And I immediately remembered those first twelve hours when I wasn't able or allowed to hold her. I then told her to get all the books that she wanted, and pulled her into my lap. I snuffled my nose into her crazy toddler hair and gave her furry-purry kisses on her big-girl head. I listened to her say the words that she knows from her books, savoring her voice, reminding myself how lucky I am to hear it. I recalled those first moments after they pulled her out of my belly, when she wasn't conscious or strong enough to cry. I admitted that the words “mine” and “no” are far better than the bone-chilling silence that followed her birth. I understand that every day I have with her is a gift.

Maybe that's what gets me through the toughest of times. You know, when Doug is gone and the dog has the poops and I tear my rotator cuff and Piper throws up for 24 hours and I have to be at work the next day. Perhaps my subconscious reminds me “It's all good, chica. It could be a lot worse. It could be just you and the dog.”

But I digress.

Tomorrow we wish our amazing, bright, funny, strong, goofy, beautiful girl a happy two years. Piper's earned each bite of cake, every single gift, all the kind wishes that come her way. She continues to amaze me with her infinite love, her capacity to explore, and her joy in simplicity. I hope that I can reciprocate the ridiculous amount of happiness that she brings to my life, and pass some of it on to all of you as well.

Reflections of a cutie-pie

Hey, Daddy!

Sorry I haven't written much this month; Mama and I have been really busy. I just want you to know that, even when I don't write, I still think of you all the time. Everyone always tells me that I look exactly like you, though my fairy godparents just said that I'm finally starting to resemble Mama, too. My eyes are definitely not staying blue, but it's hard to tell if I'm going to be Daddy's brown-eyed girl or have Mama's hazel eyes. My hair is coming in very, very, very slowly, and it looks like it will be dark brown like both of yours. Hey, speaking of what I look like, there is another baby who looks exactly like me, can you believe it?! And her mommy looks exactly like Mama. They live in our bathroom, which I find rather odd. It seems awfully cramped in there. You know what, though, they seem to be in every bathroom that we go in. I think they're following us. They seem nice enough, always smiling and waving, but they seem kinda' cold, with really flat personalities. Anyway, I don't want to reflect on them anymore. I forgot what I was talking about in the first place.....

Oh yeah, Mama and I have been really busy. She's working at Auntie B's, and now she's fixing up the old condo, too. She's really bummed about selling it. She told me what it used to look like, and how much work she's done to make it look like it does now. But I've heard her talking to people, and I think I understand why you have to sell it. I've been such a good girl when we're over there. Mama plays with me for a bit, and then I hang out in the pack n' play with my toys. I've been taking good naps there, and Mama gets to work for almost two hours at a time. Our friends have offered to watch me, but then Mama would have to drive back and forth, and make up bottles, and it's almost more effort than keeping me with her. So we make it work for us (kinda like everything else, huh?)

I'm really excited to see you on Saturday!! Mama said we can hang out in the morning and afternoon while you work. I know you'll be busy, and we won't get to play too much, but it will be great just being there with you. I'll be sure to bring my ear muffs for when it gets loud. I bet the rest of the crew will think they're pretty cute! I'm still trying to decide what to wear. It's my first concert, after all, even if I can't stay for the whole thing. I don't really have any outfits that say “baby rocker.” I'm sure Mama will come up with something. Maybe we'll go to the consignment store this weekend. They have some cool, funky stuff.

Auntie B. is taking me special shopping tomorrow morning for our trip to Vegas. I heard her leave a voice-mail for her personal shopper; “She's six months but wears size 3. She looks great in every color, but we'll skip black, and we need something shiny or sparkly, something “Vegas.” And a matching headband.” This is some fancy shopping, Daddy! I don't think they have personal shoppers at Target. Mama just rolled her eyes and said, “Baby, I AM your personal shopper!” Good point, Mama. And my chauffeur, too. And my personal chef.

Alright, Daddy, I'm gonna' go. I have to catch up on my cutie sleep. I can't have that shiny girl in the bathroom looking better than me. Safe travels on your way down here, and we'll see you on Saturday!

Love, Piper

P.S. – I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but, well, I was sitting right there when you and Mama were on iChat today. I didn't understand everything that you were talking about, but I know that Mama was in a much better mood after the conversation than she was before. Thank you for being such a good daddy to me and Mama. She would never admit it, so don't tell her I told you, but she really does need your support and help. She loves you lots, and I do, too.

Vegas baby

Good morning, Daddy!

Actually, I guess it's afternoon where you are. But I hope that you had a good morning, anyway. Mama woke up this morning to a silver-dollar sized fist in her eye. Ka-pow! Oops. I'm still getting the hang of this whole motor-control thing. I'm learning new things every day! Yesterday, I learned that if I open my hand to feel the texture of Mama's hair, and then close my fist, I can keep her hair with me. I like that, but I'm not sure Mama enjoyed it. Lola also seemed a bit alarmed when I tried to keep ahold of her whiskers. How was I supposed to know they were attached? No one tells me these things. Her ears look pretty appealing; I bet they're a permanent feature, too. Mama is teaching me “gentle.” She learned that if she softly squeezes my wrist, I open my hand. Probably I'll get better about the hair-grabbing thing when I get hair of my own. On second thought, I'll likely just pull my own hair and then cry about it. The whole cause-and-effect thing eludes me.

Like with my mouth. I don't have any teeth yet, but they're sure coming. I can feel them way underneath my gums. The front of my mouth is a little tingly and sensitive. It feels a lot better when I chew on something. A lot of those “teether” toys are hard plastic. Now, Daddy, who the heck wants to gum on something hard? That doesn't feel good! You guys got me a baby toothbrush, and it's made out of soft rubber (BPA-free!) and has cool little spiky-bumpy brushes. I love that thing! My favorite thing to chew on is my own hands. They're just the right shape and size to go right in my mouth. But sometimes (this is where the cause-and-effect thing comes in) I bite down on my fingers really hard. I have pretty strong jaws for a five-month old. Well, then my hand hurts and it makes me cry. I keep right on doing it, though! I'll figure it out someday.

So Mama says we're taking a vacation in October. It's my six-month birthday, Mama's birthday (I'm not allowed to say which one) and you're all done with your tour. What a fun celebration! I've never been to Las Vegas before. How many babies get to spend their half-birthday at the Hard Rock Casino? Mama and Auntie B. say I'll need a special party dress. Nothing too cha-cha, of course; I'm still underage. I'm excited for the airplane ride. Mama's excited for the pool. And we're both excited to see you again. Lola's bummed that she can't come, but I explained to her that they don't allow doggies in the casino. I think Mama's a little worried about taking the first part of the trip by herself, and making sure she packs everything I need. I told her that as long as she remembers to bring me, we'll be just fine. All the other stuff will fall into place.

Well, Daddy, I guess I should go. It's my naptime, and then Mama and I are going to the fabric store. We've discovered that I love my soft little blanket, so Mama's going to make more. I think she's crazy and should just buy them, but she insists. She's kinda' stubborn like that. But you knew that already. Enjoy your day off in Boston, and I'll see you soon!

Love, Piper.

P.S. – I don't know who Alison Jains is. Is she nice? It will be my first concert when you come through town, and I hope I like it. Mama says it will be too loud to stay for the whole thing. Just how noisy can a girl named Alison be, anyway?

Grand love, blue heart

Hi, sweetheart!

Piper is sound asleep, so I figured I would write on her behalf tonight. She got her vaccinations this morning, and had a pretty rough go of it this afternoon. On one hand, I wish I could efficiently convey to you the feeling I get when she suffers through the effects of those shots, but on the other I'm glad that at least one of us is spared it. My breathing gets shallow and I try to ignore the feeling of my chest getting tighter and rising into my throat. My mouth sets into a forced smile and I blink away the beginnings of any tears. I certainly can't console her if I'm blubbering, myself. The worst part is that feeling I get in my belly, about an inch below my navel, deep inside. It's not a sharp pain, it's a slow tugging feeling, like my incision stitches are unraveling and they're being pulled toward the front of my body. Piper looks at me through tears and lets out a yell that magically translates in my mind, transforming from an incoherent squawk to “Mama, please please save me and make me feel better.”

I tell you all this for a reason.

Since I've had Piper, I've learned that I experience two very different types of love, one for each of you. While my pain for Piper is in my belly, so is my love. Your pain and your love I feel in my chest, beneath my left ribcage; coincidentally, right where my heart is.

My love for Piper is strongest in the morning when she wakes up, and in the night when I rock her to sleep. It is a brilliant shade of golden yellow-orange, and it washes over me like sunrise at the Grand Canyon. There is a radiant warmth to it which fills the inside of my belly and makes me feel like I could never be cold again. Her love grounds me to the earth, makes me breathe deeply, and inhale her scent of warm baby skin with the aroma of steamed milk. She makes me feel capable and strong.

My love for you is strongest at night, as I fall asleep in our bed, and in the daytime when I'm reminded of all the wonderful things you do for us. It is the deepest blue of the sea at St. Martin, and it surrounds me with a gentle and fluid grace. Your love binds itself around my heart and keeps it safe. I feel a fluttering lightness behind my sternum that tickles its way out of my mouth, first as a taste of sweetness and then as a smile. Your love makes me feel delicate, vulnerable, and secure.

When I miss you, I feel a crushing tension in my chest that makes me round my shoulders and sigh. When I remember you during Piper's delivery, the ribs around my heart threaten to crack and splinter. My gentle, blue love goes ice cold from the regret that you were so helpless and yet so strong. Fortunately, it is easy for me to transfer the pain back into the love; easier with you than with Piper, for some reason.

I have been overwhelmed and amazed during these last few months by my capacity to love and endure pain. I feel blessed to have two such wonderful people in my life. You and Piper challenge and inspire me to be the best wife and mother that I can. You are my everything, both of you, and I don't think that there could ever be a luckier woman than I.

Safe travels, daddy, and we'll see you in a couple of weeks.

Love, Mama

P.S. – Piper would like to go to the Grand Canyon someday. She wants to know what her sunrise looks like.

One third of a year

Daddy!

I can't even believe that I turned four months old today! Mama pulled out the first picture that they took of me in the hospital. I swear, it looks like a totally different baby! We hopped on the scale this morning, and it said that I weigh 11 pounds. That means that I've gained about a pound and a half each month. Holy cow, that's a lot of growing! Of course, Mama just pointed out that she gained an average of 2.5 pounds a month when she was pregnant with me. I guess we're both good growers.

Anyway, we didn't do anything special to celebrate my mini-birthday. We took my monthly pictures, but that's about it. Oh, and we went to the store, too. Mama had a really good idea. Since I stare at the ceiling as I'm falling asleep and upon waking up, she decided to get me something fun to look at. I picked out a poster with the alphabet on it. I know, I can't even read yet, but if I'm gonna' stare at something, it might as well be educational, right? And I got a really pretty poster with the colors on it, too. I liked them both so much that I started to cry when Mama took them away to pay for them. I cheered up again when she put them in the car. I'm excited for them to be up on the ceiling (don't worry, Mama will be careful on the ladder.)

We've been going over to Auntie B's house once or twice a week so that Mama can work. I hang out in my bouncy seat on the counter while Mama does stuff like laundry, organizes the pantry, and separates fresh fruit to store in the freezer. I have a good time hanging out, watching Mama and smiling at Auntie B. when she comes upstairs to say hi. Mama seems like she's having a really good time, too. I think she likes getting out of the house, and I know that she loves Auntie B. I also think that Mama just feels good when she completes tasks and projects that are quantifiable and concrete. I know she loves staying home with me, helping me learn how to sit up, make sounds, focus on her words, track her motion, grasp my toys, and find my toes. Never really thought about it, but that's a lot! But when someone asks her what she does all day, she has a hard time answering their question. Mama knows that she does a lot, but I think she feels like she has to justify herself by being able to make a list of what she accomplishes each day. We're working on getting over that silly feeling. The point is, she likes working at Auntie B's because, for a three-hour chunk of time, she can see the immediate results of her work. I think that anyone who meets me can see the results of her hard work, in ways that are far more impressive than cleaning out Auntie's refrigerator. The most important thing is that Mama feels good. She is so happy to have me there with her. She always talks to me while she works, spelling things out and singing made-up songs. I'm really lucky to be able to hang out with her and not have to be in daycare. Thank you for that, Daddy.

Okay, it's waaaaaay past my bedtime. I'm sorry that you didn't have such a great day at work today, and I hope that tomorrow is better. At least you had my birthday pictures to cheer you up! Safe travels, and I'll write to you after my doctor's appointment next week.

Love, Piper

P.S. – Mama was on the phone with grandma for a long time tonight. It started out kinda' tense, but at the end they were both laughing and saying “I love you” a lot. I'm not too sure what that was all about, but conversations that end with those three little words must be okay, right?