Tonight I hold him a little tighter
Stare at his lovely face a little longer
Shed tears of a greater number
Stroke his cheek a little softer
Breathe him in a little deeper
Speak words of love a little sweeter
Tonight I hold him a little tighter
For tomorrow he will be older

Copyright © 2011 Crystal Harris. All Rights Reserved.

The crazy mama that doesn’t update her blog for three months? That’s me. The same crazy mama that walks the dogs at 1am in pink plaid pajama bottoms. But that’s not really the point of this post now, is it?

The past three months have been crazy. No, scratch that. The past SIX months have been crazy. For those of you that do not know, last fall my husband switched companies. He was offered a position with a company he had been wanting to work with for a few years. It was a perfect opportunity… more money, less hours, GREAT company. We had to take it. The only problem was it meant moving a few hours away. So in January, we did. This was after a few months of Dustin traveling back and forth between the home we were trying to pack up and prepare to put on the market and his new job. We only saw him on the weekends. It was not fun and it got old really quickly, so we decided to trim the budget and rent a tiny (and I do mean tiny) apartment in the new city. We’ve been here ever since.

I must say, I LOVE it here. Love. To avoid getting cabin fever in our tiny (TIIIINNYYY) apartment and to also facilitate the absence of reclusiveness, I joined a few mommy groups. I was terrified at first. I’m not so great at meeting new people. Believe it or not, I’m pretty quiet until I’m comfortable in any given situation. (*gasp* *shock* You, Crystal? QUIET?) I know, I know. You had me pegged as the fluttering social butterfly, hmm? Yeah, not so much. I’m more the awkward, quiet observer. Until you least expect it. Then I pounce on you with my verbosity. Rawr. However, despite the terror, I marched on and went to play groups and play dates and found myself really enjoying it. I’ve met some really lovely people and Isaiah has made some cute little baby friends.

Speaking of Isaiah, he is… amazing. He literally changes from one week to the next. At 7 months, 4 days, he started crawling. This was just a week after being able to sit up by himself from a laying down position. Which was just a week after learning to support himself in a sitting position. Then this week at 9 months, 3 days, he took his first teetering steps. I fully expect him to build a rocket ship by, oh, mid-July.

His adoption was finalized in April. That experience was fabulous. Knowing it was 100% finished and done and all legal, mommyhood sort of clicked. I think perhaps I finally allowed myself to fully relax and start enjoying him more. And I have. He’s a big challenge, but he’s also a total joy. He can make me smile like no one else, and we laugh over his fun and beautiful personality every day.

Now our house is on the market and it looks GREAT, so we’re hopeful the right buyer will come along very soon. We’re also about to move out of the (TINYYYYYYYYY) apartment into a decent sized rental house, where we will stay at least a year until we are able to build a house here after the one in our previous location sells. This means we’ll be moving yet again, and this time it will be in the extreme heat of the summer. Yay.

It’s now 3am and I’m pretty much brain dead and have no idea how to wrap up this post without going on and on (and on) with meaningless drivel. So I shall end it with a photo of the cutest boy in the cutest little red swimming trunks, taking a little dip in his very first pool for the very first time.

I dare you to come up with a better ending.
Go on.
Yeah, I thought so.

He growls.

He flies.

Such talent, that little Z.

Not when you’re Mr. Frog, stuffed toy of baby Z, anyway.

This past weekend, he learned to roll from his back to his belly. Before he learned this skill, he usually hated being on his belly. Now when you lay him down, he automatically rolls over on it. Then he rolls to his back. Then to his belly. Then to his back. And his belly. He rolls across the entire bed that way. Silly boy.

He loves his toys. His favorite is a giraffe that sings the ABCs. We named him Geoffrey. We bought an extra Geoffrey because Geoffrey does not have replaceable batteries, and when Geoffrey stops singing, we might be screwed a little. Also, G has tasty ears and tail. If you’re a baby, anyway.

Then there’s Lenny the Lion. And Mr Monkey Man. But we can’t forget Mr Frog. He hasn’t gotten a lot of play time yet, but Isaiah made up for that the other day by trying to shove him in his mouth. Apparently frogs taste good.

He played with that thing for quite a while.

I was just happy that he got in some good tummy time. He must be making up for the 4.5 months when he absolutely hated it.

Happy froggy boy.

Some of my favorite moments in life right now are the simple ones late into the night with my lovely boy stretched across my lap, hand on my chest or neck, sweetly cooing at me.

I coo back.
I smile.
He smiles.
He talks himself to sleep while I gently rub his head.

How did I ever get so lucky?

Then there are the nights he moans and groans and whines and kicks and punches me as he fights sleep even as his eyes are closing… but we won’t talk about those.

Found in the couch crack while cleaning today:

An M&M
A mini M&M wrapper
A mini Twix smashed and in wrapper
A crushed mini Oreo

I take credit for the candy, but no one here has been eating mini Oreos. Oh no. We buy the big Oreos. The big ones with double the good stuff in the middle.

Conclusion:

I have a big taste for small sweets.
Aliens have been eating mini Oreos in my couch.
I need to clean my couch more often.
Especially when aliens come to town.

That is all.

I know the kind of parent I want to be.

I know I want our home to be full of love and laughter and gentleness and grace and peace.

I know the kind of person I am.

I don’t know how I can ever bridge this huge gap.

Thank God that grace is for mamas too.

You laugh instead of cry as you realize your baby has pooped while in his jumperoo and has not only managed to get it all over his butt, but his legs, feet, socks, leg warmers, arms, hands, jumperoo, and the pillow under his feet as well.

You laugh instead of puke as you get poop under your fingernails while you attempt to clean him.

You laugh instead of run away as you decide to cut off the onesie rather than get poop in baby’s tightly curled hair and on his face.

You wash your hands (and his!) five times.

You still love said baby after this most nasty deed.

It’s hard to believe it has already been four months since our little man came into our lives. It has gone by too fast. He’s already changed so much!

My tiny, scrawny baby that was a mere 4 lbs 14 oz at birth is now over 11 lbs. His once 18″ frame is now close to 25″. His skinny little bum and tiny feet have filled out and are now chubby and dimply. This boy knows how to grow. We are ever so grateful that he is healthy.

It’s been incredibly cool to watch him grow both physically and mentally. From one day to the next it seems, he picks up a new skill or refines a current one.

He grabs and puts everything in his mouth now. Loves to chew. He gets pissed when the whole thing, whatever it is, won’t fit. He shakes his little head and tries to shove it in, while making the cutest little sound. He’s a silly little boy.

He loves to bounce and jump and leap to one side or the other. He’s usually only happy when sitting or standing. Laying down is for little babies, you know. He’s a strong little boy.

He throws incredible temper tantrums already. He gets this look in his eye and goes wild. He hates going to sleep. There’s way too much fun stuff to do. He can’t miss anything! He’s a stubborn little boy.

He hasn’t been much of a cuddler, which was sad for me. He’s too busy for that kind of nonsense. But lately he’ll lay across my lap or chest and happily talk, play, and even cuddle a bit. He loves to play with my hand. It’s awesome. He looks at me with these eyes that turn my insides to goo. The expressions on his face are magic. His smiles are ginormous. He’s a sweet little boy.

His hair is awesomely wild. His adorable toes are fat little tootsie rolls. His eyes are wise, his dimples cute. He’s covered in drool and crazy loud. He squeals and squeaks and screeches and coos. He smiles and giggles and kicks and bounces.

He’s strong and strong-willed. Sweet and cute. Daring and curious.

He’s my world. He’s mine.

Just four months old and I can’t imagine a single day without him.

Merry Christmas… a few days late!

This holiday season has been especially special for us, for obvious reasons. Even so, it has been a huge adjustment. We were absolutely not expecting to be parents this year. Well, towards the beginning of the year we were, but about half way through, we gave up hope and had resigned to the fact that we’d have to endure another holiday season without a child. You’d think I’d be absolutely overjoyed, right? Well, I am. But I’m also a mixed ball of emotions. This is something I haven’t really said much about to anyone, because it’s hard to understand which makes it hard to explain, but here goes nothing.

I had no idea it was possible to be completely in love with your new baby yet still somewhat stuck in your old babyless funk. I feel guilty even admitting that, but I’ve always been an open book, so there you go. It’s a strange transitional thing. It’s the enormous weight of the situation on your shoulders. It’s the balancing of your vision of the thing with the reality of the thing. It’s something they briefly touched on in our adoption seminar and I’m sure was talked about even more in the resources we were given (which I did not read. Oops.), but it’s still not something I expected. You have this expectation of what it will be like. And it’s totally not like that. And that’s not a bad thing, but it’s still a thing you have to accept and deal with.

For example, when I would daydream about the day we met our child, I envisioned myself being completely overwhelmed by emotion and a huge bawling mess. Reality? I was entirely calm and strangely serene. It was partially due to being in shock thanks to how fast it all happened, but I know that can’t be the only reason. I didn’t shed one tear that night. I was indeed overjoyed and fell in love with him the second I saw him, but I didn’t feel the burst emotion I expected. I didn’t bawl the first time I saw him, held him, hugged him, kissed him. Was there something wrong with me? I choked up a bit as a nurse told us a little about his birth mother and as the realization hit me that he was mine but may not have been, but was, and I couldn’t live without him any longer… yeah, that choked me up. But no tears fell.

In fact I didn’t shed even one little tear until we left the hospital. After we walked out that door and the nurses said goodbye, exhaustion slammed me, and again reality hit that he was mine. Here was this tiny (TINY) vulnerable innocent little human, totally entrusted to my care. Dustin put him in this ginormous car seat, and I completely lost it. It was like motherhood struck me all at once like a lightening bolt, and I suddenly saw every bad and scary thing that could happen to him, and since I was the parent, it was my responsibility to prevent them and protect him from every bump and scratch and stick and stone. I was terrified to take him home in that truck. My poor husband probably thought I didn’t trust him to drive home, but it was the world I didn’t trust. Couldn’t we just keep him safe in our arms in the little hospital room, where doctors and nurses and life saving medical marvels were within arms reach? Did we really have to put him in that huge car seat and take him out into the cruel world full of an impossible number of people and things and situations that could hurt him?

Every tear that had been spared since we found out we would be parents suddenly rushed out and I was a huge mess. When we pulled over to get gas and snacks for the road, I took him in my arms and held him and bawled like I hadn’t bawled in years. We’re talking the type of bawling that’s so hard it makes your stomach hurt. I can’t even explain all the feelings that were there, but they were numerous. I think I freaked out my mom a little bit. I clutched him and I cried and I prayed until it was time to leave and I had no choice but to put him back in his seat. And then I was okay.

I’ve had such little discernible emotion since then, I’ve often questioned my love and bond with my new son. I’ll tell you that is hard to admit. Even though my head knows that love doesn’t equal feelings, it’s hard to let go of those expectations. I’m sure my husband and mom and friends are tired of my self doubt, and truthfully so am I, but while it’s greatly diminished, it’s still there a bit. I think every day his smiling face melts my heart, it goes away just a little bit more. Of course, it’s replaced with another self doubt – can I really do this?!

But back to the funk. I’m stuck in this weird transition phase, where I’m balancing these old expectations with the new reality. For years, I battled fairly severe depression. The pain of not being a mother when you want it more than anything can be so real and so deep that you feel it in your heart – your real one, the one that beats and keeps you alive. Physical pain. Most of the time I shoved it deep and tried to shield the majority of it from the world. It was mine and I would let myself feel what I needed to feel, but there were few that I exposed that part of myself to entirely. I dealt with that pain for so long, that moving from it to happiness is… interesting… and not as smooth as I would have thought.

Having Isaiah in my life has been very healing. His smile and coos and his wise, deep brown eyes are all like a soothing salve to my wounds. But while even deep wounds can heal, you know it’s gonna leave a scar. It’s like I remember that it hurt and it hurt badly, but though I don’t remember the actual pain, I still feel the aftershocks. I realize that makes no sense to anyone but me. Or maybe it rings true to someone else out there. Grief is a strange animal.

So this Christmas was odd. Not only was it sweet and strange all at once, my poor husband was sick with an icky case of bronchitis and I caught a cold. That picture perfect baby’s first Christmas of my dreams just did not happen. Reality? We spent a quiet day among the people that mean the most to us (that we could – obviously some of you were not with us, unfortunately). We started the day late, partially due to me being extremely tired and partially due to Dustin feeling so poorly. The morning was spent keeping the boy happy while merely surviving ourselves. *laughs* The afternoon came and we went to my folks’ house for a late lunch and to open (baby’s) gifts.

We ate turkey, dressing, green beans, mashed potatoes, and crescent rolls. Pecan pie, cookies, and apple cranberry pie rounded out the food portion of the day.

We held our son and helped him open up his first Christmas gifts.

We watched him try to eat the wrapping paper.

We caught a few photos.

We went home, exhausted.

Picture perfect baby’s first Christmas of my dreams? Hardly. Instead of beautiful carolers bundled up on the porch singing songs of joy, we heard hacking (hubby) and screeching (Isaiah!). Instead of taking beautiful photos all dressed to the nines, in front of a perfectly decorated tree… we took candid snapshots in decent, clean clothes in front of a tree we rushed to throw ornaments on that very afternoon (cause who has time to decorate a freaking tree with a newborn and a business?? And where are all the ornaments, anyway? We could only find two boxes.)

Even the turkey just tasted like turkey (imagine that).

So was it perfect? No.

It was better. It was real. We had our real selves there with our real son, experiencing the real reality of real life. Sickness and boring turkey and half decorated tree and all. I won’t look back on the day as a fabulous spectacle of great, picture perfect holiday memories… but I will look back with a smile and fond feelings, because of him. The real, screeching, pooping, exhausting, hyper, fabulous, dimpled, drooling, smiling him. (And oh yeah… you other people that were there, too. I guess. *wink*)

Grief. Failed expectations. Transitions. Reality. Motherhood. There are a lot of strange feelings going on in that head of mine. I figure I’ll sort them all out eventually, or they’ll sort themselves out. I still wonder if someday I’ll experience the huge swell of emotions that I expected to come along with each loving gaze at my child, but I now know that’s silly. Instead I’m trying to focus on being the real, loving mom that this real, little man needs and expects me to be. I hate that I’ll inevitably fall short of his expectations and he, too, will someday be hit with the harsh force of reality. Yeah… my not being perfect? One of the many things I wish I could shield him from. But on the other hand, it’s probably good that I can’t.

Because perfection is boring and overrated.

Reality is the new awesome.

See? Us. Real.

It’s awesome… snot, screech, drool, and all.