What the future holds

I think that writing is a craft.  One that you have to work at and, for it to be any good, one you must enjoy doing.  This blog was originally intended to be a sounding board for me to express my thoughts about pregnancy, about being a mom, about what an amazing little man we're raising.

Somehow, especially in the last few months, I feel like it's become more of a chore.  I feel obligated to update every weekend.  It takes a good amount of time to upload photos (sometimes more than two hours depending on the size and number of photos and videos due to our internet speed).

Although I'm glad to have updated weekly for the last 52 weeks, updating is the thing that weighs on me on the weekends.  I often list it as a thing that needs to be accomplished in the long list of other things that need to get done on those two short days at the end of the week: "laundry, cat food, target, practice piano... oh, and I need to update the blog."

What am I getting at? I will continue to update on a regular basis.  At the very least, there will be monthly updates about Miles.  There will most likely be more frequent updates than that.  My goal is to return to writing, to write for the love of writing, to document some fresh thoughts about my life, my family, my perfect little guy.

This is a good developmental place for us to move on from the weekly update about Miles.  Lucas stated it most perfectly the other day, "We won't still be doing weekly updates when he's 16."

I sure hope not, anyway.

Miles Version 1.0

As you may know, Miles turned one this past week.  It was a week filled with activity, presents, a party and cake!

Miles lounging at his very first baby play group!

He may have a future in being a clown.

Definitely a clown.

Maybe that old guy in 'UP'

Maybe he has a future in shepherding.

Professional plum eater?

Plastic house builder?

Obviously no future in film.

Birthday presents!

Shake-a, shake-a, shake-a.

Brand new airport!

All Miles cared about at the party was strawberries...

or balloons.

Or strawberries and balloons.

Miles, chowing down on strawberries, with Granny and Gramps.

Food at the party.

The very hungry caterpillar theme.

The moment..

you've all been...

waiting for!

Baby swings!

Miles: One Year Old.

One Year!

This is a video of Miles' first year.  I'm really happy with how it came out.  Happy Birthday little man!

Dear Miles: Year One

Dear Bubbub,

I call you Bubbub more than I call you Miles.  I don’t quite know how I came upon that name for you or why it stuck, but it has.  

It's your birthday today and I wanted to write you a little note.  I would like to do this every year, maybe for you to read each year as you grow up, or maybe as a little book I put together for you when you’re on your way to college.

When I met your father, I wasn’t sure about having children.  In my relationship with him, a love grew and grew and grew so much that it had to spill out and over and into another being.  I thought of you often, even before you were conceived.  Who my child would be one day.  What he or she would look like.  What kind of person he or she would become.

Your father and I made you, and you grew and grew inside me, just like our family’s love.  And as you grew, I dreamt of you, of what you would look like and what kind of person you would become.

You were in such a rush to come out, ready to face the world, to see everything.  When I think about your birth, it’s a perfect analogy about who you are.  Restless, like you were in my belly.  Busy.  Discovering things.  Touching everything.  Testing the world and its limits.  They say children are scientists until we teach them not to be.  I think you are the most perfect scientist.  I have to say no sometimes, because it’s not quite safe to eat computer cords or the moss that grows in the cracks of the sidewalk.  But there is so much of me that wants you to experience your entire world, including what that moss tastes and feels like inside your mouth.  I hope that your Dad and I do our best to foster that love of exploration that seems to seep from your pores.

You started out so helpless, wobbly, unsure.  Now, at just one year old, you’re a little independent man. Running, dancing, stomping, growling, crouching, pointing, grunting and gasping.  And oh my, are you sweet.  You tenderly hug your stuffed animals; your bedtime buddy, Zebra; your neighbor friend, Frankie.  When your Dad and I kiss when we’re holding you, you lean in for your kiss too.  You cuddle with the best of them.  

I never really understood unconditional love until I had you.  

I remember the moment you were born.  The exact moment is still fresh and clear in my mind.  I heard you cry and someone said, “It’s a boy” and your father and I looked at each other and we started crying.  Your dad said, “We have a baby boy.”  And the love hit me.  Hard.  I hadn’t even seen you yet but my love for you was complete and instantaneous.

It seems that every day I see something new in you, something you’ve learned, some new way to move your hand or play with a toy or shuffle your feet.  Some days the changes are big, like the first time you said, “Mama” or the first time I saw you take a few steps.  Some days the changes are small and nuanced, so small that they would be missed by anyone but your father and me, like the way you lift your feet ever so slightly when we’re putting on your shoes or your pants.

The things I enjoy the most about you are your persistence and your sweetness.  You will continue to work with the problem at hand until it is accomplished.  Whether that problem is removing all the books from the bookshelf or getting the cat to chase the toy you’re holding, you will get the job done.  And at night, when the business of the day is finally over, your body folds so nicely into my lap, your head against my sternum, your breath soft, your hair sweet, and I feel like I could sit there with you until the end of time.

Miles, Bubbub, you are a good boy.  I’m so very glad you came into our family. 

Love,

Mama.

11 months: Almost there

Next week is Miles' birthday!  We are so close!

This week, after we switched over to milk, Miles stopped... Well, he got stopped up.  There is nothing sadder than watching your kid cry from pain and there's nothing you can do about it.  As a result, we added water and juice, beans and pears.  We took away milk and cheese.  He was only in pain for two days but those were a rough couple of days.  On his worst day, Monday, my little mover and shaker lay still in my lap for about an hour in the evening, head on my leg, staring into the middle nothing, and let me stroke his head and back.  This behavior is unheard of with Miles.  He's too busy exploring the world to sit still with his mama.

During his bout with constipation, Miles learned a new noise - sucking air.  It really scared Lucas because he would strain, cry, and then make a wheezing noise.  Lucas thought he might have a problem with breathing.  When I got home, I listened to his lungs and they were clear, without a trace of wheezing.  Also, he would do it intermittently, when he wanted to.  It was not a fun noise to coincide with his problem, though.

There's been a lot of planning for Mile's first birthday and Lucas' birthday, in several weeks, and our vacation coming up.  I feel a little overwhelmed this week, trying to balance all the events coming up and my day to day work and family obligations, as well as my personal goals, like piano practice and training for road races I have coming up.  Vacation will be welcome!

Here is our cutie patootie toddler this week:

Somebody discovered beans.

And so did the rest of his face.

What the?

Not helpful.

Miles now has a collection of balls of all different sizes.

The view through the tree outside our house.
The sky was so blue this day.

This is how the nurses celebrate a staff pregnancy.
They're all taking pictures of two pregnant nurses.

We went to Best Buy to get a new radio installed
in the van for Lucas' birthday.
Don't ruin the surprise everybody.

Chillaxin' while eating. 

Swinging!

Grumpy swinging!

Best friends forever.

Always with his nose in a book.