from the lowest low...to such great heights.
happy new year, friends.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Jack. Hates. Food.
You'd never tell by looking at him.
What with those ruddy cheeks
And the way it looks like rubber bands encircle his wrists
But listen to the harried mother
Who has tried in many, many ways
To give her poor bosom just a bit of a rest
And introduce her son to the delights of cuisine
(and come up woefully short)
That this delightful, beautiful child
With such a zest for life
And a tendency to put everything (and I mean everything) in his mouth
Will not suffer
The occasional
bite
of
food.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Dear Jack
Today you are six months old. While I write this, you are on the floor of your room, "airplaning." You stretch that long body of yours and cycle between pushing up on your arms, angling on one knee, and giving up altogether to roll instead. You've gotten quite efficient at getting to whatever you want, but I can see (and hear) your determination to move in a forward trajectory. I will blink one day very soon, and you will be crawling to me. Your growth seems to have levelled off a bit, but you've reached 20lbs, so it's safe to say you're still a big, big boy. Your hair is thicker and longer and lately I've been thinking it's "Biden-esque," with a little extra at the nape of your neck. Minus the bald spot, of course.
I've made some notes about all the changes and all you've been doing over the last month. The list is long - new friends, new experiences, new sounds, new skills. You continue to amaze me, humble me, and thrill me. You are not always easy, but you are such happy, happy kid. You're growing and changing in so many ways. But I'm not going to list it all here, today.
What I want to tell you today, my sweet son, is how much joy you bring people. You're a social butterfly with a sweet, sweet smile. Being out with you is one way to chase away any cold, gray-day blues that can creep in this time of year. People light up in your presence and you rarely disappoint. I feel like your agent or rep - lucky to be in your inner circle, where I can catch some of that glow. I love to show you off and sometimes I feel like a candy striper in a weary world. It makes me so happy that people's days can brighten at the sight of you.
When you gaze up at me when we rock, when I read to you, or when you're in your carrier, my heart breaks into a million pieces. When you fall asleep in my arms or on my chest, or even when you lean in close, my battery is recharged.
From my favorite book these days:
"How do I love you?
It's impossible to say.
For if I had a million days,
and time enough for all the praise,
I couldn't tell you all the ways...I love you."
I feel so very undeserving of the gift that is you, but I am never ungrateful.
Love,
Mama
I've made some notes about all the changes and all you've been doing over the last month. The list is long - new friends, new experiences, new sounds, new skills. You continue to amaze me, humble me, and thrill me. You are not always easy, but you are such happy, happy kid. You're growing and changing in so many ways. But I'm not going to list it all here, today.
What I want to tell you today, my sweet son, is how much joy you bring people. You're a social butterfly with a sweet, sweet smile. Being out with you is one way to chase away any cold, gray-day blues that can creep in this time of year. People light up in your presence and you rarely disappoint. I feel like your agent or rep - lucky to be in your inner circle, where I can catch some of that glow. I love to show you off and sometimes I feel like a candy striper in a weary world. It makes me so happy that people's days can brighten at the sight of you.
When you gaze up at me when we rock, when I read to you, or when you're in your carrier, my heart breaks into a million pieces. When you fall asleep in my arms or on my chest, or even when you lean in close, my battery is recharged.
From my favorite book these days:
"How do I love you?
It's impossible to say.
For if I had a million days,
and time enough for all the praise,
I couldn't tell you all the ways...I love you."
I feel so very undeserving of the gift that is you, but I am never ungrateful.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Dear Jack,
Today you are 5 months old. You’re napping now, which means I probably have about 25 minutes to write this letter. You take these little power naps and wake up with a smile, but I do think you need more rest. I’m trying to do my best to help you sleep better, but you may just be, well, like me. We will both be dragging your father out of bed on Saturday mornings.
Over the last month, you seem to have grown more in length than chub. You still have great big jowls and pork chop thighs, but you seem so long. Your hair is starting to sprout a little more and looks different in every kind of light – light brown, white blond, even a little strawberry at times. Your eyes are crystal blue with a darker blue outline, like mine, but prettier. People love to comment on your eyes. It helps that you are a regular charmer, grinning at everyone you meet. It’s wonderful, but it makes me feel a little bit like you are a germ magnet. Everyone wants to touch you! I can’t say I blame them.
I carry you in the ergo now that you’re so big. You are content to see the world from this vantage point, and every now and then you look up at me. I love the way people smile when they see us snuggled up like that. When you’re on your own, kid, you’re moving. You roll, roll, roll. For now you seem to only roll to the right side, but you’ll begrudgingly roll back to the left if you get in a pickle. I’ve moved the coffee table so you have the whole living room floor to roll around on. A couple of times I’ve seen you prop up on your knees but lose motivation. You’ll be crawling before we know it.
You’ve been a loud kid for most of your five months, but you’ve really turned it up a notch. You have started squealing and babbling with more frequency. In the evenings, you “talk” to your dad and squeak at the dog. I’ve heard all the vowel sounds and every now and then an “l” or a “g” or an “m.” You know your name now.
When I think about how much has changed in the last five months, I realize that you’re not waiting for me. I’m not sure why I ever thought you would. Go on, Jack. I’ll catch up.
Love,
Mama
Today you are 5 months old. You’re napping now, which means I probably have about 25 minutes to write this letter. You take these little power naps and wake up with a smile, but I do think you need more rest. I’m trying to do my best to help you sleep better, but you may just be, well, like me. We will both be dragging your father out of bed on Saturday mornings.
Over the last month, you seem to have grown more in length than chub. You still have great big jowls and pork chop thighs, but you seem so long. Your hair is starting to sprout a little more and looks different in every kind of light – light brown, white blond, even a little strawberry at times. Your eyes are crystal blue with a darker blue outline, like mine, but prettier. People love to comment on your eyes. It helps that you are a regular charmer, grinning at everyone you meet. It’s wonderful, but it makes me feel a little bit like you are a germ magnet. Everyone wants to touch you! I can’t say I blame them.
I carry you in the ergo now that you’re so big. You are content to see the world from this vantage point, and every now and then you look up at me. I love the way people smile when they see us snuggled up like that. When you’re on your own, kid, you’re moving. You roll, roll, roll. For now you seem to only roll to the right side, but you’ll begrudgingly roll back to the left if you get in a pickle. I’ve moved the coffee table so you have the whole living room floor to roll around on. A couple of times I’ve seen you prop up on your knees but lose motivation. You’ll be crawling before we know it.
You’ve been a loud kid for most of your five months, but you’ve really turned it up a notch. You have started squealing and babbling with more frequency. In the evenings, you “talk” to your dad and squeak at the dog. I’ve heard all the vowel sounds and every now and then an “l” or a “g” or an “m.” You know your name now.
When I think about how much has changed in the last five months, I realize that you’re not waiting for me. I’m not sure why I ever thought you would. Go on, Jack. I’ll catch up.
Love,
Mama
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
from the archives
You were born a little yellow and your second night here, you had to sleep under those crazy blue lights. I could hardly stand it, seeing you there with just a diaper and a blindfold on, aching for comfort. I warmed up blankets and put them all around you and stayed awake all night to keep a (moving) hand on you and savor the few minutes I could hold and nurse you. In the spectrum of things that can go "wrong" with a baby, this was surely mild, but the only time I have felt more helpless was the night before, when after a day and a half of labor it became clear that you would be delivered from an incision in my abdomen. You were so new, so fresh, so small. Your place was in my arms, on my chest, at my breast. Not under those blue lights. Not alone. My body ached for sleep, but I was afraid that if I nodded off, I'd awaken to find you staring up at those LEDs, going blind, or flailing in search of human touch. I spent the time between nursing nervously adjusting your blindfold, stroking your cheeks and arms, lending a finger for you to hold. You slept, but only after we finally offered you the pacifier. When I think back now to how opposed I was to them, I feel silly. I "get" the arguments for avoiding them. They are logical and practical. In a perfect world we may have avoided them. But just like with almost everything else that has happened since you were born, being certain isn't a luxury I have. In fact, certainty is foolish.
When you were in that little plastic box, I realized why most parents will do almost anything to comfort their children. I wanted to protect you, too, from the billirubin in your blood. I was on the brink. It worked. Thank God. I learned a lot that day. Hard lessons that cemented my growing, changing role as your Mama. I will spend my life in the flux of protecting and comforting you. Praying I get it right.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Leaps Tall Buildings with a Single Bound
I want to apologize for making you wear a cut-up knit cap and velcro-ing a huge 'S' to your chest, but I just can't. You're too stinkin' cute. I had fun making your first (and I'm sure not last) Halloween costume. Lately it seems napping is your Kryptonite, but I'm working on building up your immunity.
P.S. Phone booths don't exist anymore.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Two Rhodes and a Ballard
Jack got to hang out with his cousins this weekend! Thanks, Whitney. We had a great time with you and your boys.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Cousins
Kat and Jack are just over two months apart. Sometime next year, Kat and her parents are moving to Easley, just about 40 minutes from us. I am excited that the two kids will grow up near each other! They will probably be in the same grade. :) Kat is a sweet little pixie girl! I love my niece.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Dear Jack,
Today you are four months old. Already? Already. Everything has accelerated, just the way every veteran parent told us it would, but in a way no one can really understand until they’re in it, watching their little sleeping bundle suddenly start drooling, outgrowing clothes, and getting a sense of humor. The time really is flying, and when I rock you to sleep I try to soak in every bit of those sweet, fleeting moments. Your smell, the weight of you in my arms, the staccato breathing of your dreams. I pray I don’t forget.
Everything you touch makes it into your mouth somehow. As your cousin put it the other day, “If you put your hand near him, you get a bath!” You’re soaking your onesies and bibs right through. This new way for you to experience the world is good training for your mama, keeping me on my toes and training my eyes for all those little things you maybe shouldn’t have in your mouth. I don’t feel any teeth trying to crest just yet, but you’re on your way, it seems. We play a game where I wipe your mouth and chin with a burp cloth and you responded by squirting.
Your hair is starting to lie down a bit but it still sticks out on the sides above your ears. My little Bozo. You’re giggling and gurgling more and more and you’ve developed this coy little smile to throw at little girls and old ladies. Flirt! You’re still loud at almost all times. You love to audibly yawn and sigh and then look at me to make sure I saw. You “walk” up my belly and chest when I hold you upright, and you’ve decided that tummy time is for the birds. As soon as I lay you on your tummy to play, you immediately turn onto your back. Pretty tricky, little man. You will stay on your tummy a little bit longer if I put a little mirror up. You love to see your reflection and mine in the bathroom mirror, grinning from ear to ear and then bashfully burying your head in my neck. You’re rolling pretty regularly from tummy to back and only a few times from back to tummy. You like sitting up in my lap and you try to pull yourself up in the bathtub. Any day now.
You’re in your 9-12 month clothes now and everyone who sees you remarks at your size. You’re dense, like a medicine ball – solid. You may be big, but you’re my little guy. You love to be outside in the beautiful fall weather. We sit out back on the glider and look at the trees, or rock on the front porch when Daddy is on his way home. You love to look around at the sky when I’m hanging laundry on the line. I fear you take after your mama when it comes to sleep. You’re a catnapper and an early riser for now. I hope you learn to sleep longer and better than I ever have.
Like a little orangutan, you are starting to hold onto me when I’m holding you. You’re becoming a hip baby. The feeling of your little hand grasping the back of my arm – ah! I swallow hard to keep from crying. The joy of it is almost too much. I’m holding you, and you’re holding me.
Not letting go,
Your loving Mama
p.s. Your Dad loves you, too.
Today you are four months old. Already? Already. Everything has accelerated, just the way every veteran parent told us it would, but in a way no one can really understand until they’re in it, watching their little sleeping bundle suddenly start drooling, outgrowing clothes, and getting a sense of humor. The time really is flying, and when I rock you to sleep I try to soak in every bit of those sweet, fleeting moments. Your smell, the weight of you in my arms, the staccato breathing of your dreams. I pray I don’t forget.
Everything you touch makes it into your mouth somehow. As your cousin put it the other day, “If you put your hand near him, you get a bath!” You’re soaking your onesies and bibs right through. This new way for you to experience the world is good training for your mama, keeping me on my toes and training my eyes for all those little things you maybe shouldn’t have in your mouth. I don’t feel any teeth trying to crest just yet, but you’re on your way, it seems. We play a game where I wipe your mouth and chin with a burp cloth and you responded by squirting.
Your hair is starting to lie down a bit but it still sticks out on the sides above your ears. My little Bozo. You’re giggling and gurgling more and more and you’ve developed this coy little smile to throw at little girls and old ladies. Flirt! You’re still loud at almost all times. You love to audibly yawn and sigh and then look at me to make sure I saw. You “walk” up my belly and chest when I hold you upright, and you’ve decided that tummy time is for the birds. As soon as I lay you on your tummy to play, you immediately turn onto your back. Pretty tricky, little man. You will stay on your tummy a little bit longer if I put a little mirror up. You love to see your reflection and mine in the bathroom mirror, grinning from ear to ear and then bashfully burying your head in my neck. You’re rolling pretty regularly from tummy to back and only a few times from back to tummy. You like sitting up in my lap and you try to pull yourself up in the bathtub. Any day now.
You’re in your 9-12 month clothes now and everyone who sees you remarks at your size. You’re dense, like a medicine ball – solid. You may be big, but you’re my little guy. You love to be outside in the beautiful fall weather. We sit out back on the glider and look at the trees, or rock on the front porch when Daddy is on his way home. You love to look around at the sky when I’m hanging laundry on the line. I fear you take after your mama when it comes to sleep. You’re a catnapper and an early riser for now. I hope you learn to sleep longer and better than I ever have.
Like a little orangutan, you are starting to hold onto me when I’m holding you. You’re becoming a hip baby. The feeling of your little hand grasping the back of my arm – ah! I swallow hard to keep from crying. The joy of it is almost too much. I’m holding you, and you’re holding me.
Not letting go,
Your loving Mama
p.s. Your Dad loves you, too.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Meeting Aunt Klaire
She hadn't held many babies. But she's a total champ already.
Oh yeah, Uncle Mike was there, too. These guys are buddies.
I knew Mike was coming into town to help my dad with some stuff, but I had been told repeatedly that Klaire couldn't make it. I was sad, but figured we see her at Christmas. Well, it isn't easy to surprise me, but sure enough, Saturday night as I put Jack in his bed, I hear the front door open and down the hall comes Klaire. I was shocked and happy and tearful. It was so wonderful to see her and to introduce her to our son. What a happy day. We got to spend the whole day with them Sunday and breakfast Monday before they headed home. Surprises are so rare for me, and I was thrilled.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Squirrel Girl and her family
This post was preempted by Jack's 3 month letter, but I just can't wait any longer to write about our visit from our Florida friends, Sara, Roger, and Max. We had such fun. They made the 9 or so hour trek from the Panhandle to the Upstate.
I got to meet this guy:
Max is a bright, beautiful kid with the sweetest smile and the best little mischievous sense of humor. It only took a few minutes for him to warm up to us and by the end of the weekend he was saying "Non," "Kah-tee," and "Ack." Love that munchkin.
We took walks around the neighborhood:
We drove up to Asheville and visited downtown and the Biltmore Estate:
Daddy patrol.
We went to Falls Park in downtown Greenville:
We got hot dog shirts:
Aren't they a cute family?
Jack loved his Auntie Sara.
Thank you, dear ones, for the visit. We had a wonderful time and we can't wait to see you again soon.
I got to meet this guy:
Max is a bright, beautiful kid with the sweetest smile and the best little mischievous sense of humor. It only took a few minutes for him to warm up to us and by the end of the weekend he was saying "Non," "Kah-tee," and "Ack." Love that munchkin.
We took walks around the neighborhood:
We drove up to Asheville and visited downtown and the Biltmore Estate:
Daddy patrol.
We went to Falls Park in downtown Greenville:
We got hot dog shirts:
Aren't they a cute family?
Jack loved his Auntie Sara.
Thank you, dear ones, for the visit. We had a wonderful time and we can't wait to see you again soon.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
3 months
Dear Jack, my little Goose,
Today you are 3 months old. I vacillate between feeling like there is just no way, these 90 days or so have flown by, and a distinct feeling like there almost was no life before you. Of course there was, and of course I remember it - but distantly, like a photograph that jogs a memory I didn't quite hold on to. There is no before and after, really. The fluidity is surprising. Maybe I was always your mama, and I just had to be born, too.
Enough about me. At three months, you are such a fun kid. You started laughing about two weeks ago and heaven help me if it isn't the most delightful thing. It's so spontaneous (though yes, I try to draw it out) and rumbles up from your belly. It's a little goofy, too. I kind of hope it stays that way. Your Dad laughs really loudly and it's one of my favorite things about him. You're a happy kid, most often content to take in your surroundings and be loved on. I hope this contentment stays with you, too.
Over the last month, you have grown a lot and started drooling. You love to blow spit bubbles and the neck of your onesie seems to be constantly drenched. You've figured those things attached to your arms are your hands and you like to clasp them together and try to eat them. In fact, you're a bit quieter now that you've always got some fingers or a knuckle in your mouth. You've also started grabbing your feet and I'm pretty sure they'll be in your mouth soon.
Your hair is fuzzy and sticks straight up like a buzzcut. Your eyes are brighter and brighter blue. Your smile is broad and encompasses your entire face. As your great-grandmother puts it, you "smile with your eyes." I may apologize one day for passing onto you my enormous cheeks, but for now they are the perfect little parentheses around your grin.
You're just plain delightful. See?
I'll end with an excerpt from the letter I wrote when you were a 3 month old fetus. When I read it now, it means so much more:
...most of the time I'm thinking about how much I love you and how I'll do anything to give you a good life - even though that means some sacrifices. But sacrifice is the wrong word - it implies that I'm letting go of something I love. There will be changes of many kinds, but we gain, in you, tomorrow. You beckon us into a new era, a rich one. We follow you there gladly.
Love,
Mama
Today you are 3 months old. I vacillate between feeling like there is just no way, these 90 days or so have flown by, and a distinct feeling like there almost was no life before you. Of course there was, and of course I remember it - but distantly, like a photograph that jogs a memory I didn't quite hold on to. There is no before and after, really. The fluidity is surprising. Maybe I was always your mama, and I just had to be born, too.
Enough about me. At three months, you are such a fun kid. You started laughing about two weeks ago and heaven help me if it isn't the most delightful thing. It's so spontaneous (though yes, I try to draw it out) and rumbles up from your belly. It's a little goofy, too. I kind of hope it stays that way. Your Dad laughs really loudly and it's one of my favorite things about him. You're a happy kid, most often content to take in your surroundings and be loved on. I hope this contentment stays with you, too.
Over the last month, you have grown a lot and started drooling. You love to blow spit bubbles and the neck of your onesie seems to be constantly drenched. You've figured those things attached to your arms are your hands and you like to clasp them together and try to eat them. In fact, you're a bit quieter now that you've always got some fingers or a knuckle in your mouth. You've also started grabbing your feet and I'm pretty sure they'll be in your mouth soon.
Your hair is fuzzy and sticks straight up like a buzzcut. Your eyes are brighter and brighter blue. Your smile is broad and encompasses your entire face. As your great-grandmother puts it, you "smile with your eyes." I may apologize one day for passing onto you my enormous cheeks, but for now they are the perfect little parentheses around your grin.
You're just plain delightful. See?
I'll end with an excerpt from the letter I wrote when you were a 3 month old fetus. When I read it now, it means so much more:
...most of the time I'm thinking about how much I love you and how I'll do anything to give you a good life - even though that means some sacrifices. But sacrifice is the wrong word - it implies that I'm letting go of something I love. There will be changes of many kinds, but we gain, in you, tomorrow. You beckon us into a new era, a rich one. We follow you there gladly.
Love,
Mama
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)