j.o.y.

Too Fast

Growth takes them by the hand while they dream, leads my babies from one size to the next, too slow for my eyes to see, too fast for my heart to accept.

Peaking Around Daddy

Adventure Bowls

 "I need bread and apples and carrots and celery."

"Why do you need all that?"

"I gotta get a knife and a... and a... one of these..." She wanders off and grabs a cutting board.

"Whatcha going to do with all that?"

"I need and ADVENTURE BOWL!" she says the words "adventure bowl" with extra emphasis as if I should know what the plan was.

"What's an adventure bowl?"

"I cut and cut and cut and then eat."

I thought I would watch and wait to see what happened.

Emily soon joined in once she saw the knife. She loves things that can hurt her.

"Megan, do you want some peanut butter?"

"No, thanks."

"How about Ranch?"

"No, Mom. Just like this."

"Sorry, I guess that would be too much, huh?"

"Yeah. Too much."

Because we like adventure... but not too much...

Feet

Happy Face

Paint. It is something I am never keen on bringing down from the shelf. I hate the prep, I hate the instructions, I hate the clean up. It is so hard for a two year old (or even a four year old) to understand that you get one brush and many colors and if you don't rinse your brush between switching colors you end up with a lovely color of poo. But today, I decided I needed some bright colors on our art door. So I took a deep breath and pulled it out. I changed up the routine a bit and only let one kid paint at a time which greatly reduced my stress level. (I can more easily give directions to one kid at a time plus the other sits and says cute things like, "Oh, good color!" which makes it worth it.) 

We ended up with six paintings. Megan tried her hand at some letters and writing sentences but my favorite was her painting of "Megan and a rainbow". Unfortunatly, she did not follow the directions about not mixing the colors so her rainbow is more of a line than a rainbow... meh.

Emily's technique is very flowy and fluid. Her paintings remind me of Chinese characters. I am pretty sure this one says, "Do You Think Mom Will Notice I Painted The Underside Of The Table?" Another pretty one in all greens and blues I will title, "There Is Paint Up My Nose And In My Ear."

 

The Anchor

Today I can focus on how awesome you are. Today I can see your sweet little face and perfectly round head of raven black hair. I touch your tiny ears and bitty nose and look into your alert eyes. I see a sweet little baby smile and all of it tells me you are going to be alright. 

Over a month ago our wonderful pediatrician walked into my hospital room. He paused as he listened to my one-day old daughters heart. Then picked her up and talked to her a bit and put her back down. He listened again to her heart. Checked her head, her arms, her hips, her tummy and again went to listen to her heart. Then he spoke the words, “I hear a little murmur that I want to keep my eye on.”

Boom. There it was. A phrase that had the power to crumble me. Both husband and I asked a few questions and I tried to flip mentally through my anatomy & physiology books to remember what is normal for a newborn heart and what is not. This perfect baby girl. We just met her a few hours previously. A crazy diagnosis. I reassured myself that there was nothing to worry about. The doctor didn’t go running out of the room to schedule a cardiology consult. Nor did we see anything on any of the two-a-week ultrasounds.

I flash back quite a bit to my own blood disorder and wonder if my blood mixing and flowing with hers has anything to do with it. Or just my genetic make-up instead of my husbands for one tiny gene. Did I pass on to her this crazy disorder as one of my parents had passed it along to me? Did I overlook an injection? Did I miss a dose of medication? Is it my fault?

In a few days we go back for a recheck to make sure it is gone. He still heard the abnormality at her first check up and said if it is not gone in another few weeks from that time it would be cause for concern. She is scheduled for a recheck on September 7^th. I am scared. Every once in awhile I see her circulation in her feet and hands is a little off or I will look down and see her perfect little lips have an area right above and below that is a little bluish-tinged. I don’t panic. I don’t rush to an emergency room. But I wonder. I try not to let the worry seep in, but I wonder.

Words don’t come easily when nothing makes sense in your head. But here I am now, our reality adjusted and mentally prepared for an appointment I hope goes well. I refuse to let frustration move in and push out the ability to enjoy her presence in this world. After all, it is most likely nothing.

So I'm not sure how much I want to talk about, or dwell on it but it is out there now. I hate feeling useless and frustrated. I hate feeling like there is nothing I can do. I hate feeling like it is my own fault.

So I anchor myself to the last month of memories. I anchor myself to those tiny fingers and tiny toes. I kiss her neck folds and feet as often as I can. If nothing else it is a tangible reminder that she is perfect in every other way. Which is a pretty amazing thing.

 

Curled Up

Forget Not

       

   

 

    

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet,
and the winds long to play with your hair.
-Khalil Gibran

Four Weeks Old

You can stop growing now.