Big Girl

Can you find two amazing things in this picture?

I'll give you the answer. The crib has been converted to a toddler bed, and this photo was taken in the middle of the day. Meaning she was NAPPING! At home! I don't know which is a bigger deal. Also amazing, she has now slept in the converted bed three times, and so far, she hasn't gotten out of bed ONCE!


And, she's been eating at the table in a booster seat. I haven't actually put the high chair away yet. But we've only used it once in the last two weeks.

There's a lot of growing up happening over here.

I'm Missing You

My Dear Sweet Baby Girl,

Giuliana, I can't believe it's been very nearly two years since you made your entrance into this world and changed me forever. Your birthday, your second one!, is just a week and a half away. So, tonight I dug out the rarely used video camera to capture a few moments of your YOUness, right now, so I never forget. You indulged me by being very cute. You helped me empty the dishwasher and we sang the ABCs together while we did it. You banged on some pots and pans and played with the dog. You danced for me, "read" me a story, and colored me a picture. You chatted up a storm, which was exactly what I wanted to document. Thank you for cooperating.

After we were done recording we decided to watch some of the old tapes of you as a baby. We had to watch them on the little screen on the video camera because Mommy and Daddy still haven't managed to buy one of the VHS tapes to stick the little tapes in. (YES! we are still recording you on VHS, I know, I know...we will convert them all to DVD one day, I promise! We even have the machine to do it...it's the time that's a problem.)

You were facinated when I put in the tape from a year ago. You watched your first birthday party and recognized yourself in that barely-still-baby on the screen. You were excited again watching Mommy help you open your presents, recognizing all your now familiar toys. You pointed out all your favorite people and drooled over your birthday cupcakes (you begged for one, but, I'm sorry, honey, we don't have any cupcakes in the house.)

Next I put in the very first video tape. It starts with Mommy opening mail and finding your Social Security card. I laughed at myself as I got all excited, holding up the envelope to the camera, your first piece of mail, the documents that prove you are alive, a citizen, you have a name (and they spelled it right!) Daddy also indulged me as I held our health insurance statement up to the camera, showing off that you didn't cost us a dime when you were born, dispite choosing to come into the world the hard way.

And then, the camera pans to the main event. You. Your almost two year old self doesn't recognize that baby. Oh, but I do! There you are, days old. You are lying in your pack and play, skinny little arms and legs twitching and flaying uncontrollably. Your eyes roam, in and out of focus. Your little pink tongue darts in and out of your mouth. You make little squeaks which are the cutest thing, but don't really mean anything. But you are here. In our house. In our world. This sweet, adorable, completely foreign little person. And instantly I am transported.


With an aching like a physical punch in the gut I instantly miss you, though you are sitting right here on my lap. I am lost, once again in those first days of your life. Reliving those moments when I learned how to be your mother. It was a strange mix. I had known you from the moment you were concieved. But I didn't know you at all. I spent weeks just getting to know you. Learning every curve, every bump, every wrinkle. I learned every sound you had in your repitiore and what they all meant. You and I worked hard on communicating with each other. It wasn't easy at first. I remember, vividly, wanting to somehow impress you. I needed you to believe in me, trust me that I could do this job, be your mother.


We spent every single minute together in those first days. I'd even cart you into the bathroom with me, swaddled and strapped securely in your car seat. What else was I supposed to do with you? Daddy had to go to work. I didn't dare leave you alone with a dog and two cats in the house. You were probably at least several weeks old before I dared to leave you sleeping in your bassinet while I ran downstairs to make you a bottle. I remember racing to the kitchen, getting half way through the adruous task of making a bottle (that took all of 1 minute) and then anxiety getting the better of me, I would run back to the bottom of the stairs and listen intently to make sure you weren't crying. Then I would hurry back to the kitchen, finish the bottle prep, and run back up the stairs to your side. You were two and a half months old before I ever let you take a nap in your crib. I had the baby monitor stapped to my hip and I still went up to your room to check on you and make sure you were breathing at least 6 times in your hour long nap.


Yes, you and I did everything together. The Christmas you were born nesting took over me and I decided it would be a good idea to dust off an old family tradition and make homemade eggnog on Christmas Eve, after church. I used to help my mom make eggnog when I was little, standing over the stove and stirring, stirring, stirring it for her. So, with you in your sling, I stood at the stove and stirred a large vat of eggnog for hours late into the night, eventually perching on a stool, stirring with one hand, cradling you and giving you a bottle with the other hand.

The video jumps to another scene of you in your pack and play. You are older here, by weeks. I have filled your pack and play with stuffed animals, a soft blanket, many hanging toys. You are achingly cute in a little pink hat with a teddy bear face on it, teddy bear ears sticking out the sides. Your little sweat suit has another cute bear on it, your pant legs have ridden up to your fat little knees. You have filled out. I remember how I could never keep your pant legs down. They would scoot up your legs in seconds. Those legs were in constant motion, bending and stretching. They end in adorable white bunny slippers on your tiny feet. The camera smartly zooms in on those bunny clad feet for a few seconds, just to rub in how unbelievably cute you are. And then I hear myself talking to you, cooing and making funny noises that you attempt to repeat. You swing and bat toward the hanging toys, still not able to actually make anymore than incidental contact, yet it's more than you were doing a few weeks ago. I am caught up in how beautiful you are. The most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I remember that was my first conscience thought of you when the doctor pulled you from me and held you up for my inspection. You are beautiful. And here, several weeks old, you are coming into your own. Your skin is perfect. You have a suitable layer of chubbiness filling you out. Your cheeks are blushing pink, your eyes a sapphire blue, your lashes miles long. Today, my heart longs to be able to cuddle that little baby one more time.

I've been reflecting on the fact that those first few days and weeks with you are a time in my life that I will never relive, never experience again. You are the child that made me a mother. That only happens once in a lifetime. If I ever give you a brother or sister, it will be special and miraculous in it's own way. But it won't be the same as those days with you. Every second was new, every breath a learning experience. When I watch you on video I can grasp those feelings. Exhaustion. Exuberance. Wonder. Sheer terror. Absolutely overwhelming love. I miss those days with you. Getting to know you.

But, my Chicaboo, I wouldn't trade a second of these nearly two years for anything. Every single day you manage to outdo yourself. You are a wonderful child. No, you're not a baby anymore. Not even a little bit. You are fully, wholly a child. You can do so many things by yourself. You learn new words everyday, I couldn't even attempt to keep count anymore. You have been sitting in your booster seat lately. We still have the highchair out, but I expect by your birthday I will tuck it away, another artifact of your babyhood. The attic is full of all the things you have already outgrown.

But, Baby, you will always, always be my baby. My angel. My gift from God. I am more thankful for you than I can put into words. I love you. You are my joy.

Love,
Your Mommy

...and how was YOUR weekend, Kami?

It's 8:20pm on a lovely Sunday evening and everyone in my house is asleep. Except me, obviously. But I am headed there quite shortly. You see, we have all been stricken with The Seasonal Cold Bug of Exhaustion and Snot.

I'm afraid I am most likely the offender that bought this Bug into our home. I began feeling a little achy and stuffy on Tuesday. By Wednesday evening I was in full-blown Head Full of Snot mode and John was already coughing up one or both of his lungs. He was smart enough to stay home from work on Thursday and rest. Not I. No, not I. I was "feeling better" and didn't want to waste sick time. So, I trudged off and have been paying for it all weekend.

Giuliana began with the Snotty Nose of Doom (trust me, 23 month old with a snotty nose=Doom, everytime) on Friday. Yesterday and today....have not been pleasant. And this afternoon I received a phone call from my mother. Uh oh! The Seasonal Cold Bug of Exhaustion and Snot has invaded their house! (Thanks to my carting my infected daughter over there on Friday. You're welcome, Mom!) I suppose I should have known this was going to happen when I woke up to hear her say "Daddy, tissue p'ees!" on Friday morning. How cute! I thought, till I went into her room to find that snot had completely obliterated her face! G-R-O-S-S! And, umm...still, I did not want to waste sick days. Hey, she was perky and in a great mood! How was I to know what was in store?!

This weekend has been: No sleep to speak of due to sharing my bed with a kicky, squirmy, angry little girl (she was even yelling at me in her sleep!) Loads of tissues. Indignent and whiney cries of "Daddy do dat!!" whenever I come near her with a tissue or try to fill her sippy cup or help her wash her hands or give her some ibuprophen or breathe. A pathetic looking child with red, runny eyes, blotchy skin, constantly flowing nose, and a raspy congested cough. But no fever, Hallalujah!

I snuck out of the house for a brief respite on Saturday to make a run to Target. I absolutely had to get invitations for G's birthday party, you see. To send out in a week or so. Had to. I also really did have to get G some snow boots, even thought it was 60 degrees outside. I needed to pick up a few stocking stuffers. They were good deals. And diapers! Oh, that's right! I needed diapers. See, I had to go. I felt like I was going to die after about an hour, and I'm sure my fellow shoppers were all so very thrilled that I shared my contagions with them (really, I can't still be contagious, right?! I've been sick for 5 days!) But, I did find a very cute pair of dangly black earrings for A BUCK! So, it was totally worth it.

Today, I woke up at 5:30am feeling like someone had poured sand and glass down my throat and filled my head with cotton and walked all over my back with soil areators and then jumped on me a few dozen times. I decided to give in and didn't even shower. And now, I am following suit with the rest of my family and going to bed.

So, it's 8:20pm on a lovely Sunday evening and I have already called in sick to work for Monday. So much for saving those sick days.

The Cute, the Demanding, and the Terrifying

"Hi-lo? Oh!, Oh-tay! Bye-bye. Here Daddy, Daddy!" She passes her little plastic phone from her ear to Daddy's. Daddy pretends to talk on the phone, too, but by then she's off to something else. She's pushing her little people mini-van around.

"Car! Skooo. Bear, skooo." Pretending all the little figures on off and on their way to school, a concept I'm not even sure how she learned. Then her attention is drawn to a poster high on the wall.

"M'Up, Daddy, up!" Daddy picks her up and she points to each letter on the poster.

"E! M! B! ABCD, Oh yes. All done!" He sets her down.

"No, Daddy. Up, up! ABCD!" He picks her back up. "All done. Down."

And so it goes. All afternoon. Up. Down. Mo' SIT DOWN! P'ay! Me, me, MEEEEEEEEEEE!


She climbs up into my lap, insistant on my attention.

"Hi, Mommy! Hi." She sits herself on top of the laptop. "Mo' p'ay, Mommy. Peeees?" Then she's down, and a sneaky little finger snakes up and punches the power button on the laptop before I can stop her. Well. That's one way to get my attention. Then she's dancing and singing, being unbelievably adorable, making me smile and wonder, for the 40th time today, how I was blessed with this perfect little girl.


The scene changes as suddenly as lightening, though. I notice she has a dirty diaper. "Come, on, Baby Girl, let's go change that icky diaper."

"No, no, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" And she's off and running. She's quick, too. She runs around the circle of the living room, dining room, kitchen. I head her off at the pass and catch her. She yells at me all the way up the stairs. Sometimes she willingly climbs up the stairs, sometimes it's like this.

We get to the changing table. I wrestle her pants off.

"No! Mommy, no diap!" I tell her that little girls who don't want to wear diapers need to learn to use the potty. We haven't actually tried this yet, but we're working up to it. She sings, "Paah-teee, paah-tee!" I try to talk up how exciting and "big-girl" it is to use the potty.

This scene would be funny, in a sit-com kinda way, if I weren't scared of a repeat of last night. Last night was no good. John was changing her diaper last night, getting her ready for a bath. She was in one of her "Me, me, me, memememeeeeeeeeeeee!" moods and yanked the diaper off her own tush. A very dirty diaper. Let's just say, it was providential that she was headed into the bath. Otherwise, she would have been anyway. Poop. Everywhere. On her head. Hands, legs, on Daddy. No, we don't want a repeat of last night.

I get a clean diaper on her little body and then. Oh, and then. The moment I have really been dreading. Pulling her pants back on. The last few weeks, there has been a Toddler-Monster lurking under the surface, jumping out at the most inopportune times, especially whenever she's getting dressed. And then it happens.

"Me!!! Mememememememeeeeeee, Mommy! No, me!!!"

"Ok, ok. You can try to put your pants on all by yourself, Chicaboo. Go ahead." I say this in very soothing tones. It doesn't work. For whatever arguement is going on in her little head is still being waged. She doesn't seem to get that I gave in.

"MEMEMEMEME! Gi'a do! No, Mommy. No! MEME, Gi'a self!" She is red in the face, screaming at me, wriggling and throwing her body around the table. Possessed. I try to calm her, let her know she can do it herself.

Eventually, I get a little irritated, I'll admit it. I use the "Stern Mommy Voice." She's crying. Real tears. Still red and screaming.

Eventually, I lift her from the table, legs kicking out at me, at nothing, and we go sit in the hall. Time Out.

We sit as she continues to yell at me. I talk in soothing tones.

"I know you want to do it yourself, Chicaboo. I know it's hard to be almost two. Sometimes you just need a little bit of help. It's ok to let Mommy and Daddy help. We can do it together."

She calms down a little bit. I take her back into her bedroom and lay her down. I hand her the pants and she struggles for a few minutes trying to get them over her feet. Still sobbing, but quietly. Those little jagged breaths that break my heart. She hands the pants to me. "Mommy? He'p, peees?"


Our days are variations on this theme. She wants undivided attention. We are conjoled and commanded to play with her, no matter what we are in the middle of. Most of the time, I happily oblige because I love playing "skooo bus" for the 1376th time. But, eventually, dinner does have to be made, a bath does have to be had, a diaper (shudder!) does need to be changed. And then, that unpredictable Toddler-Monster is upon us.

She's cute and unbelievable smart. She started counting 1-10 in Spanish the other day. Out of the blue. (Thanks, Dora, and Sesame Street!) But that temper! It is unbelievable how much fight she has in that little body!

Her father looked at me the other night, as she came down the stairs, pants in her hand, face red and tear-streaked. "I don't like this at all," he said. "I don't like this 'me, mine' stuff at all."

"She's almost two," I said. That's all I could say. "She's almost two."

Another Frightening Look Into My Brain

I’m not saying that I’m OCD or anything. But I love me a good, ol’ fashioned obsession now and then. Don’t you?

Past obsessions have ranged from major life altering events: “Here Comes The Bride,” “Let’s Buy A House,” “BABY! Baby, baby, baby…” To smaller time-suckers: “This Old Blog,” “Our Gross Yard,” “What Color Should I Paint The Living Room?”

My current, post-Halloween, obsession has become “Planning Giuliana’s Second Birthday Party.” I am a planner, you see. And I’m a little disconcerted that I only have 4 weeks to plan. But I have been living in denial of the fact that, yes, indeed, this kid is going to keep having birthdays. So, it snuck up on me. There are invitations to pick-out (obsess, obsess, obsess…) buy, fill-out, send. A birthday party dress splurge on (check! Did that last night.) A cake to agonize over decorating (I am not a baker, I just play one in my kitchen.) Decorations to make (I am, however, crafty.) So much to do! At least, there is if you live in my head. I think my husband is wishing that he didn’t. Live in my head, that is. I like to torture him by sharing all my obsessive thoughts, at all hours of the day and night. For example, this morning, as he was getting out of the shower and toweling off, I walked in and described, in detail, my ideas for using paper plates as hanging decorations. Lucky guy, my husband.

A “theme” has also been checked off the To Do List. We decided on that a couple of days ago. It was actually John’s idea. I asked him to think about Giuliana’s favorite things and list them off to me. There were the usual Elmo, Abby Cadabby, Dora ideas. But I don’t like the idea of using doing a character theme. Then, he hit upon the perfect one. I’m not going to share it just yet. But, for those of you who know my little girl, when you see it, you’ll understand.

Geesh! Look at the time. I should be googling cake decorating tips! Oh, and working. Gotta go!

The Luckiest Ballerina

We had an enchanted Halloween! I hope you did, too.

In case there was ever any doubt about what a lucky little girl Giuliana is, I think yesterday cleared them all away. She was surrounded and adored by her very favorite people all day. Giuliana has some fantastic people in her life, and she is blessed for it.



The rain threatened, but ultimately held off until after our neighborhood Halloween parade. Our friends Kate and Nick (G's Godfather) and Giuliana's Nana joined us for the trek around the neighborhood. G was determined to walk the whole way...when she wasn't persuading "Uncle Nick" to "fly" her in the air (she's got mile-long eyelashes and knows how to use them!) The parade is sponsored by the West Endicott Volunteer Fire Department and the Ladies Auxillary. The firetrucks are out in all their bright red splendor and we gather at the station house at the end for cider, doughnuts, and, of course, candy. It's one of my very favorite things about the neighborhood.







After the parade and an irresistable romp in a pile of leaves, our exhausted ballerina took a break for some lunch and a rest.

We bundled up and braved the rain to Trick or Treat. We stopped over at Nick and Kate's house for a special Halloween treat then off to Nanni and Papa's for more holiday fun.


Finally, the "main event" of the evening. Nana's house for real Trick or Treating with her older cousins.


We got a little wet, but for the most part the rain held at bay. After the "short" circuit around the block the Luckiest Ballerina was pooped, her pumpkin was overflowing, and her ballet slippers were drenched. We walked back to Nana's while the other kids forged on, collecting massive amounts of candy at every stop. We dried off, changed into jammies, ate candy, and played with Nana and Grandpa until every one got back. The night dissolved into a chaos of scaring each other with ghost and goblins, tickling and running wild. A perfect end to a perfect Halloween.


Giuliana is a lucky girl. She is loved and adored. She is smart and funny and well-behaved and beautiful. As we were walking back to Nana's after Trick or Treating I reflected on how lucky, and blessed, that makes me. I could not ask for a better daughter. She is the joy of my life. She's got the world in her hands, can go anywhere and be anything she wants. She is joy and potential personified. She is love. And for a short time, she is mine. I suppose she'll always be mine. But not in the way she is now. And for right now, that makes me the luckiest mommy. I don't want to miss a second of this, this perfect moment.

I'm Going Crazy

I’d forgotten (repressed?) just how truly horrible, no fun, insanity-inducing and nerve-wracking the “two week wait” is. Living under a magnifying glass and examining every real or completely imagined “symptom” 100 different ways. Googling random twinges and cravings to see if they may give you a hint. Working yourself up into a total state of hysteria convinced it finally happened and then ridiculing yourself for being a twit…way too soon to know, duh!

Or is it just me?