My One and Only

Last night on the way home, I found myself in the same environment doing the same thing I was doing in that environment almost exactly this time last year: in the grocery store bathroom - in the same stall - taking a pregnancy test.  Except there were two very glaring differences this year as opposed to last.  First: this year my baby girl was in the stall with me, cooing and laughing and squirming to get out of her car seat, looking up at me with her big baby blues as I paced nervously for three minutes.  The positive result I so desperately hoped for last year was right there at my feet, waiting with me to see if my world was about to drastically change as it had with that little purple plus sign last year.  The second difference is that this time, I am NOT pregnant.  The positive result is that there is no positive result.

I honestly did not think there would be.   I knew I wasn't pregnant.  I have been popping birth control pills like candy from the moment my doctor said, "Go!", and I didn't have any of my tell-tale signs from last year.  But I have been feeling super-tired lately, and I've been nauseated the past few days, and I haven't had a period since Isla was born.  So, I thought I'd better check, just to be on the safe side.  Standing in that same bathroom with my baby, waiting to find out if there would be another baby, I told myself I would handle whatever happens.  "Whatever happens is meant to be; we will make it."  Of course I am immensely relieved that the test was negative.  We are not having another baby - we CAN'T have another baby!  Sean is unemployed and in school; I am unemployed; we are both flat broke and struggling to get by.  Financially, we'd be fools to have another baby and besides, that is not in the cards, anyway.  We are not exactly spring chickens, and Sean made it very clear last year that if there would be a baby in our future, there would be ONE baby and that would be it.  Every day I look into Isla's face, I know how lucky I am that she is here.  Sean has three other kids; he wasn't looking for any more.  Another one in addition to our little girl now would put our lives into the kind of tailspin that could end in disaster.  Not that it would, but it is entirely too possible.

So, no baby on the horizon, not now and very likely not ever.  I know this and I am okay with it.  I am beyond ecstatic to have my daughter, getting closer to my pre-pregnancy jeans and immensely enjoying being a Mom.  But I have to admit, I did feel a small pang.  Just a teeny, tiny little gulp as I saw confirmation that there will be no need for, "Sean, uh, we've gotta talk."  I know I don't want another baby, but yet I'm not ready to not want another baby.  It's like the clearance sales have ended and the windows have been boarded up, but I still can't believe I'm going out of business.  I picked up my Isla Bug and headed out the door, slightly remorseful that there won't be a Number Two but ever-so-thrilled that I've got my Number One.

Precious Gift

Last night I put Isla down for bed and while Sean played his Xbox online with Hunter, I finally watched the movie “Precious” after wanting to see it for months.  It was a very engaging and powerful movie (it’s easy to see why Mo’Nique won the Oscar for her role) and I definitely never want to see anything like it again.  What an utterly depressing story, even though I realize it technically had a positive ending.  I couldn’t sleep after watching it so I just stayed up and fussed around, cleaned, did some laundry, arranged and re-arranged Isla’s Easter basket – anything to get my mind off of that movie.  Sean came upstairs while I was washing out bottles and asked me how I liked it, and I burst into tears while telling him the storyline and what happens.  I found myself organizing shelves and folding clothes in Isla’s room, even though everything was already in its place – anything to be close to my girl.  I really wanted to go in and scoop her out of her bassinet, snuggling her to me with no possibility of letting go until she’s at least eighteen, but I’ve already learned that trying to sneak my sleeping baby out of bed and into my arms does not yield positive results.  

So this morning I am nursing a cup of cold coffee, sitting at my desk with my sleeping daughter across my lap in the Boppy, unable to put her down and still trying not to think about that movie.  Trying not to think about the horrible things that can happen to kids, make them question their worth and wonder if they are loved or wanted or even tolerated.  My daughter will never, ever feel any of that, not even for a second.  Sure, sometimes her behavior will not be tolerated or her presence necessarily wanted right in a specific moment (hello, teenage years!), but she will always know that she is loved and cherished beyond all possible measure.  I know that keeping her protected from outside harm will not always be easy or even prevented – I can personally confirm that playground equipment and broken arms go together like PB and J – but I will nonetheless work as hard as I am able to make sure her physical, mental and emotional security are intact and valued.   

One of the most amazing things I continually try to wrap my head around as a mother is that when Isla needs soothing, she needs me.  She needs her Mom, and OH MY GOD, that lucky Mom is ME.  Think of how many times we have held someone else’s baby and when that baby became fussy or upset, we were quick to give him or her over to the one person who could seem to calm them – their mother.  You almost feel defeated or indignant in some kind of way, like it was so clichéd that only Mommy could fix the problem.  And you know, that isn’t even the case all of the time with Isla.  Sometimes I am the last one she wants to see and there is nothing like the arms of her Daddy to make her smile again.  But more often than not, I am now the person to whom others are all-too-happy to hand off my daughter when she’s a little anger ball.  To seemingly be the one thing she needs in that moment of baby despair just crushes my soul with love and gratitude.  Of course I know over the years I will not always be that person – not to her, anyway, as she “Oh, pleases” and “whatevers” away from me, but I will make sure that she knows she can find her way back to me for the same comfort and love I am thrilled to be able to give her when she needs it, now and forever.  

[caption id="attachment_151" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Beyond lucky."][/caption]

Baking with Baby

Before temptation had a name...

  

Isla and I decided that today would be our first mother-daughter day in the kitchen.  In my current quest to embrace all things foreign and domestic (read: cooking is foreign to me and I need to learn to be more domestic), we hatched a plot while out walking in the park to make a wonderful dinner and follow it up with a sweet little something.  Rather than continue to dazzle Sean with bags of microwaved popcorn as the main course, I decided to grill up some hamburgers, put together a nice salad and throw in a light dessert.  I wanted to make something with bananas because my sister-in-law Sahara recently told me about how much my nephew, Bryce, is loving eating bananas these days.  Tomorrow is his first birthday so I figured what better way to justify some unnecessary dessert for us than by whipping up a little bit of banana goodness for him?  Well, LO AND BEHOLD, flipping through pages while brushing my teeth this morning, my Glamour magazine came through in a major way: "Propose to Him Banana Cupcakes."

 

The recipe was in this piece about making food that men will love, thereby putting them under our magic spells with every tempting morsel.  At first I was more interested in the chart at the bottom of the page showing different cuts of steak and explaining how easily to cook each kind, as I am planning on showing a couple of rib-eyes who's boss on Valentine's Day for Sean.  Then I realized that the cupcakes featured in the recipe above contained bananas, and so my decision for Bryce's birthday treat was made. 

 

So, okay.  I have a problem.  Not ten feet away from me, taunting me from what I hope will continue to be their tupperware prison until they make parole tomorrow at the birthday party are these little criminals:

[caption id="attachment_144" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Isla Butters. SO INSANE."][/caption]

 

Good.  Lord.  You don't even want to know how good these are.  I had to immediately plunge both the batter and frosting bowls straight into soapy water before I rabidly licked them and it has taken every ounce of restraint I can muster not to devour the whole batch.  I have to say with unflinching pride that I have succeeded.  For now.  I even went so far as to cut one cupcake in half and share it with Sean rather than eat a whole one by myself.  Rock of Gibraltar.  That's me.  I am trying to keep things in calorie perspective by reminding myself that both the batter and the frosting each called for an entire stick of butter, because forgetting that little detail isn't going to help me get back to my pre-pregnancy weight!  However, as I am trying to embrace the "everything in moderation" philosophy as a good example for my daughter, I am opening the door to the idea of hamburgers and cupcakes for dinner without piling on too much guilt.

 

Speaking of guilt, Sean had to make the hamburgers - and the rest of dinner.  I was way too enthralled with these perfectly innocent-looking cupcakes of Eden and frosting them JUST SO that I simply had no time for frivolities like putting together an actual meal beforehand.  I could see the little beads of sweat forming on his temples as I informed Sean that they are called "Propose to Him" cupcakes, so I immediately put his mind at ease by calling them "Isla Butters" instead.  Since I was obsessed with peanut-butter and banana sandwiches when I was pregnant, I figure banana cupcakes with peanut butter frosting (hello, two cups of powdered sugar!) should be dedicated to my daughter as well.  Especially since it was our first foray into baking together.  Even though she fell asleep about five minutes in.

 

Unfortunately, in my madness to perfectly frost the cupcakes, I forgot that Sahara does not want Bryce having anything with peanuts in it yet, as she understandably wants to introduce them slowly into his diet in case of allergies.  The whole point of making these cupcakes was for him, and I meant to bring him plain ones without frosting.  Oops.  I guess Bryce will just have to eat the bottoms for now and then someday when he does discover that peanut butter is the food of the gods, I will dutifully introduce him to the wonder of Isla Butters in all of their true glory.  In the meantime, I plan on saving one cupcake for Sean and I to split on Sunday and I will hopefully pawn the rest of them off on the unsuspecting party guests tomorrow.  Oh, Glamour magazine!  I hate you for introducing me to these sinful little sweets, but I will be thanking you every time I make these over the years with my girl. 

Sweet Sweet Baby Feet

[caption id="attachment_120" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Don't they just look delicious?!?"][/caption]

 

I am obsessed with my daughter's feet.  I am! 

Baby feet are impossibly adorable anyway, but when they belong to your own child...good Lord.  Isla's feet were on the side of gigantor when she was born - little skiis that almost seemed to be the same length as her whole lower leg.  Now past six weeks, she has grown into them more, though they are still crazy long and lean.  Her toes fold right over the tip of my finger when I tickle underneath them, and her toenails are about the size of tiny pin dots.  I find it next to impossible to keep those feetsies away from my mouth because all I want to do is drown them in endless smooches, which is exactly what I do for the first part of our diaper-changing routine.  I hate to even cover them up, although the itty bitty little socks and tights (Oh, the ruffled socks!  Oh, the black and red polka-dot tights!) we do put her in are so insanely cute, I don't know how I'll ever part with any once she grows out of them.  And the bunny slippers?  Please don't even get me started on the lure of the bunny slippers.  They will suck you right in. 

[caption id="attachment_121" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Rockin' the bunnies like nobody's business."][/caption]

 

When Isla falls asleep, snuggled up in the crook of my arm, I cup those feet in the palm of my hand and imagine the limitless places they will take her.  I see now how they move in concert with her fists as she kicks madly in both anger and in excitement, communicating to me the best way she knows how, aside from tears.  I picture her first wobbly steps and her realization that -wow! - she thought she could get around well before!  "Screw the crawling now that I know how to really work these things!  Good luck catching me, parents!"   I think of how she will teeter and toddle her way to the playground, laughing with wild anticipation at the roller-coaster thrill of the swings and the slide.  Something tells me - possibly the way she cycles her legs like Lance Armstrong on the changing table - that once she discovers that kind of mobility, it'll be on like Donkey Kong.  And not just for her, but for me.  I anticipate endless games of tag and hide-and-seek, painting those toenails bright colors and watching her clomp around in my high heels while playing dress-up.  Those feet will run her away when she's in trouble and bring her to me when she needs lovins.  She will trust those feet for their endless possibilities, as she learns that they will enable her to kick a ball, sprint over hurdles and swim the English Channel if she so chooses.  Of course, there will also be a significant chunk of time spent chasing boys (GULP) and one day, when she catches THE boy, those feet will float her across the floor for the first dance at their wedding reception, while her father and I, tipsy on champagne and happiness for her, look on and wonder why it seemed to have been only a moment ago that she was a baby. 

Thankfully right now, and for at least a little while, she is still a baby.  My brand-new baby, unaware of her mother's feet obsession and all too willing to let me kiss on them as much as I want.  Those sleepless moments when I am blindly fumbling for the light and the wipes and the diapers while the late-night hours run into morning, I know my reward is sweet little baby feet.  Soft and warm and thrashing about as Isla goes from sleep to hunger mode, they are two tiny reminders (as if I need any) of how awesome it is to be part of this whole thing.  This whole Being a Mom thing.  Because it is awesome, in the very truest sense of the word.  Baby feet smooches are just one of the already endless perks.

Two Weeks Today

I am sitting here with my wee babe on my lap, slowly getting better at trying to multi-task while holding her. It strikes me that today Isla is two weeks old - an unbelievable milestone as I still cannot wrap my head around the fact that she is even here, let alone that she's been here for two weeks. My ridiculously amazing sister Sam has returned to what I can only imagine is the calm peacefulness of L.A. as compared to the frenzied "vacation" she has had here with us. She stayed with us for the first week we brought Isla home, endlessly cooking, cleaning, laundering and doting on all of us as we got used to the fact that the baby whose arrival we have been anticipating for an eternity is actually here. I would have been so lost without her and I am still navigating around the void Sam left behind as she and her sweet D.R. had to get back to their own lives. In the meantime, it has been a wild ride of tracking feedings, naps and surprises in diapers, learning to function on as little as one-hour sleep intervals, kissing sweet little baby toes at every opportunity, and embracing all of the other baby-centric things that make me an official card-carrying Mom. While so many things are still the same and will remain so, I also cannot believe how different everything seems. People tried to warn me about how much of my time would shift into focusing on Isla, but wow - I don't think I really realized just how true that is! If I am not feeding her, I'm pumping to try to get a backstock of milk going for future car trips, nights when nothing but a bottle will do, or just for those times she can eat with her daddy. My frantic over-purchasing of diapers and wipes before she was born has now turned into "I can't believe we didn't buy more diapers and wipes!" as she charges her way through diaper after diaper. The same goes for the Dreft supply - I thought we'd have enough for the next six months but HOLY BABY LAUNDRY! Didn't see that coming, either! While it certainly has been a period of adjustments, I can in no way complain when I look into that little face staring back at me, with eyes the changing colors of the sea like her father's, asking me to simply love her. And oh, how I love her. I'm still breaking spontaneously into tears at any given moment over her sneezes, her sleepy smiles and her Isla Mousekowitz hiccups. I marvel at her skinny little limbs as she bicycles her legs in disgusted tears over getting her diaper changed, and analyze where she could have possibly gotten her long, elegant fingers that wrap around mine while she eats. Everything she does is a marvel and every moment I spend with her a reminder of how truly lucky I am to be here in this life. I thought I had everything I could have ever wanted when Sean came into my world, and now to look at this little human being we have created together makes it next-to-impossible for me to hold it together when I look into Sean's face, as well. It amazes me that I continue to fall deeper in love with him when it seems the capcity for me to do so has been maximized over and over again. We have been able to enjoy this time with our daughter together, due to the holidays and his winter break from school, so I am cherishing our days even more. With my maternity leave ending the last day of January, I want the days to drag endlessly instead of flying by as they are. Every moment is precious and fleeting, and I just want to spend each one drinking in Isla's sweet breath - sweet like Sean's. Actually, so many of her characteristics are her father's that it has been a challenge to see where I fit into the puzzle. At this point, the best I can say is that I'm pretty sure she has my ears, possibly the shape of my eyes and definitely my penchant for drama. She also balls her hands up by her face as she sleeps with her legs twined endlessly around one another - my go-to sleep position, as well, when afforded the luxury of sleep these days. She is Isla Mousekowitz when she hiccups, Isla Baggins with her long, Hobbit-like feet, and Isla Raptor when she screams for her food. But she is all Isla, all her own, and all ours. I could not be more grateful.