What I Love Most Print

My life used to be immaculate. All of my belongings were intact, pristine, dust-free, tidy. Everything appeared as if it were new even after years of use. I lived in a sea of white—white couches, white carpets, white throw pillows and blankets, white sheets…white, white, white. And none of it was stained. I invested in nice furniture, and polished the unscratched surfaces weekly. My floors reflected the scenery above them like clean, shiny lakes and there was nary a cobweb in my life. There were no junk drawers or secret messy closets. Everything was organized, labeled, color-coded.

I used to be immaculate. My finger nails were always trimmed and my cuticles pushed back. My hair was washed with unnecessarily expensive shampoo that I purchased at the salon I would frequent regularly for cuts, colors, and deep-conditioning treatments. My face was cared for by a facialist, and slathered with only top-shelf products. I put time and thought into picking out outfits. I always knew what was in fashion. I worked out at the gym religiously, walked to yoga class before the sun came up, meditated daily. I got a solid 9-10 hours of sleep every night, uninterrupted.

Now, my life is blemished. There are rips in the bookjackets of all my favorite books, tiny claw marks across my once-prized leather ottoman, butternut squash puree stains on my white clothes, a crimson childbirth stain on my bed, scratches on anything made of wood that lives within the walls of my home. There are enormous divots etched into the floors of my living room from the time I attempted to move a piece of furniture, but couldn’t, because I was 6-months pregnant. I live in loungewear and slippers. My legs haven’t seen the sharp side of a razor since summertime. I use rubber bands instead of hair shampoo. I only manage to tend to my nails when I accidentally scratch the baby. My house is my gym, and wearing my baby in a sling for five hours a day is my exercise machine. My meditation involves rhythmically patting my child’s back with my eyes closed as I repeat my mantra—shhhhhh, shhhhhh, shhhhhh—until she finally falls asleep.

But, there are shared snuggles on that stained white sofa, evidence of infant-sized milestones on the carpet with the pulled apart wool on its edges, nourishment in the pile of paperwork that has been sitting on my kitchen counter since I gave birth, purpose in the duct tape covered holes in my floor. There are moments of triumph in my slightly widened hips, laughter in my overstretched belly button, inspiration in the split ends I’ve neglected, devotion in the seemingly permanent dark circles underneath my eyes. There are minutes and hours and days of my sweet angel’s life that I could not reclaim had I remained immaculate.

There is a life here where there used to be none.

Emerson turned 8-months-old on Saturday. Her advancing age never ceases to take me by surprise, nor do her emerging skills cease to amaze me. Typical first-time mama, right? I’m really loving the stage we’re in right now, notwithstanding the terrible teething woes and complete lack of sleep on account of said woes. Alex and I have been saying a lot lately, “we really lucked out with this baby!” That statement is not at all meant to imply that we’ve had an easy time, or that she doesn’t challenge us in numerous ways…..or that I never find myself wanting to scream. But, she is a good baby. Overly picky and demanding, at times? Yes. Stubborn as they come? Sure. A long list of emotional needs? Mmm hmm. (Wait, this is starting to sound an awful lot like me….). But, she is a good baby. She goes with the flow, adapting to being isolated indoors in the middle of nowhere with only her mama for days (or weeks) on end to suddenly finding her house filled with nine loud, intense family members to having no fear when she meets a dog for the first time (oh, how she loves her auntie’s doggy!) to cuddling up to my family with full trust because she somehow senses that they are important to me.

I feel so proud of the person Emerson is becoming—the person she is, and has been. She’s been tracking about two to three months ahead of the curve in reaching all of her milestones since birth, and I’ve never found myself shocked by it or felt like it’s an overly big deal (other than feeling unprepared for each new stage). It just seems to make sense, like of course Emerson would do something like that. She is my little old soul. She doesn’t have time to be a baby, she’s got plans. And I can’t wait to see what those plans are.

So, the big news last month was that Emerson started to crawl and stand up at 6-months-old. She has now begun her decent into the world of walking—again, not at all surprised, but must you really begin to walk at 8-months-old, Emerson?! She has made several attempts to stand without holding onto anything and adorably surfs our furniture (walking from one end to the other while holding on). I am trying, in earnest, to enjoy these last days before she begins to walk, because I know it will be slightly totally painful for me when it finally happens. I’ve had a hard enough time dealing with Emerson’s crawling and ability to leave a room without me (not that we allow her to ramble around the house on her own, but she certainly tries to).

The incredible thing about moving into yet another new phase with Emerson, is to watch her become confidently independent yet able to express her love for me more intensely. So, while it’s sometimes sad to see her not need me for long stretches of  time, she makes up for it in the maturity of her love (enormous kisses, long cuddles, lying on top of my body as she nurses). I think we both need these “check-ins” with each other in order to allow our relationship and dependence/independence to evolve.

One other thing that is quickly changing is Emerson’s awareness. I started making a list of my personal faults that I’d love to take to a therapist and say, “here, please help me get rid of these before I permanently scar my child!” From the small to the large, I am constantly noticing my behavior now….mostly, because Emerson is noticing. She is my audience when I am having a bad day, lose my temper, accidentally (or sometimes intentionally) swear, go to the bathroom, blow my nose, interact with my husband, on and on and on. And she wants to learn. But, what do I want to teach her? Certainly not everything I’m doing! We all want better for our children, and though I know Emerson already has it a heck of a lot better than I did, I want better than the better she’s already receiving from me. Some of this speaks to the abyss that is my personal background and my fear of recreating any of it at all, and some of it is the mere fact that I cannot stop swearing altogether nor can I stop losing my cool when Emerson digs her hands into a pile of poop.

Happy 8-months, baby girl!

On 12-12-12 Emerson turned seven-months-old (I know, I’m a little behind in posting this and it’s not my finest piece, but the holidays are a comin’ and my mind is jumbled). 

The past month has been an explosion of milestones. The week of Thanksgiving, Emerson started to crawl (across the room instead of just one or two steps), she popped her first tooth, and then a second, she started standing, she started eating solid food, and she became even more verbal (we’re still waiting for her to grow some hair, though;). All I can say is hallelujah! I’ve mentioned that life with Emerson has been quite challenging the past month or two, and I had a hunch the entire time that she was gearing up to make some major changes in her life and that she would remain frustrated until she did. I had no idea it would be this intense and so much all at once, but it sort of makes sense given her personality. So, it was milestone central up in here for about a week and now Emerson is the biggest bubble of joy—smiling and laughing and singing (cutest thing EVER) all day long. Her little big spirit is so enchanting, she commands attention. When in a silent room, she begins to sing and talk to all the strangers around her. Needless to say, she’s becoming much more of a person than a mysterious baby creature.

I will note that while Emerson is much happier these days, it’s still not easy. Because, is it ever easy? I’ve been relieved (at least temporarily) of whining patrol and soother of constant woes, but now I’m on safety surveillance all day long, doing what I can to make sure my crawling/standing little wonder doesn’t severely injure herself. And I’m still not getting much sleep with all the tooth popping going on around here.

Also highly notable to me as a mother, is the fact that my sweet baby is suddenly very independent. She still needs me and wants me all day, but things have definitely shifted. I have become very emotional (yes, more than usual, if that’s possible) and hugging her tighter than before (when she lets me) ever since she started to crawl. With mobility comes distance….between us. Right now, that distance looks something like me sitting on the floor while Emerson plays by herself. Every so often, she looks back at me to make sure I’m still there— she gives me an enormous smile and once I smile back (aka, confirmation that all is right and safe in the world), she continues to play. At first, she would only crawl in circles around me, not daring to move more than an arm-length or two away from me. But, as the days wear on, she’s more confident, more adventurous, and her strong body takes her farther away from me. Sometimes she seems to just want some time to herself. And other times, she wants to be a part of anything and everything I am doing. She crawls all over me, gives me wet kisses and puts her tiny hand on top of mine while I do whatever it is I’m doing (she likes to help). She’s my little mini, standing next to me with a huge smile and I just know she feels a little bit more like my buddy and less like my baby now. As nostalgic as I am feeling, though, I would never want to give up the moment I am in to go back and have her be a tiny baby again (okay, maybe just for an hour), because I would miss the person I am spending my days with now. She’s not just a warm, snuggly bundle of cuteness, but a person. A really awesome person. And I get to hang out with her all day. Our bond is too strong now to ever want to trade it for anything. 

More than anything, though, I can’t believe we are on the other side of six months. Up until this point, I felt like my baby was still a baby. Now, it feels like one year will creep up on us before we know it….perhaps that is because Emerson’s development has picked up speed rather than the slow, less profound milestones of those first few months. We’re on a crazy, fast moving train over here. Sigh.

My sweet baby is six-months-old today. And the past month has been insane. Insane, because Emerson has become a completely different child, and is no longer a “little baby” that we can plop down where ever we please and expect her and/or her surroundings to remain safe. And insane, because this has been the most taxing month (on mama) of all six months that Em-to-the-er-to-the-son has been alive. For real. I cannot count the number of times I’ve felt myself slipping toward the edge of insanity/delirium.

Emerson started sitting up at four-months, earlier than I expected, and decided at five-months to get up on all fours and go crazy (also much earlier than I expected). I was emailing with my aunt about Emerson the day it all began, and my aunt was telling me how my cousin started pulling herself up and crawling at five-months-old. When I read that, I had a feeling in my gut this was about to happen to me. Sure enough, that afternoon, Emerson got up on all fours and started rocking back and forth. What the? And she started pulling herself up (still not a pro at this, but can do it). Not to mention her curiosity has multiplied enormously. Also, she’s started escaping from her bouncy seat (just turn to the side, push off with legs, and you are free from the harness….although, you will end up head first on the floor, but that’s okay).

All of which means our house is a disaster and mama is exhausted.

It’s amazing what an impact such a small person can have on a house. Every room she enters is left a little bit destroyed. For example, this is how the dinning room looked by the time we finished dinner last night:

• All napkins on the ground
• Place mats missing
• Table runner balled up and thrown to the side
• Nine toys littering the floor
• Hurricane vase centerpiece removed from the table after Emerson mistook it for a giant glass and tried to drink from it
• Three piles of tissue paper crumpled up and half-eaten after Emerson removed them from a box that came in the mail
• Baby shoes and sweatshirt discarded on table (by Emerson)
• You get the point, etc. etc.

Most frustrating to everyone in the household right now is the fact that Emerson can only take a few steps forward or backward crawling. Emerson yells and cries as she practices and will. not. sleep. Because she’s too obsessed with moving her body. Which means, mama isn’t sleeping. Yes, I am more sleep deprived now than I ever was when Em was a newborn. My baby was born a good sleeper, but oh, how things have changed! The past month has been one long fight to get Emerson to go to sleep, night and day.

I tried to reintroduce a little bit of coffee into my system (which means into my breast milk) to deal with the new state of affairs and girlfriend FLIPPED out. So, I’m apparently going to remain uncaffeinated for quite a while. And other than the ten months that I was pregnant, I have never been able to take naps during the day no matter how exhausted. I just lie there and never fall asleep, then end up more exhausted than before. It’s absolutely maddening. So, I’m surviving all of this with no crutches, just brut strength (and a lot of homemade baked goods).

But, I love you, dear Emerson Winter. Even when I am empty and depleted, I will find some scrap of something special to give to you. I will give until I can give no more….and then, I will take a twenty-minute break….and give some more. I have one pair of old corduroy pants and a pair of yoga pants with a hole on the left butt cheek, to my name. My two closets full of rows and rows, piles and piles, of expensive clothes from my former life, will never fit me again. Because I gave my body to you, as well. I birthed you through these hips. And while I may miss the wardrobe a tad, I do not miss those old hips, because they could not birth a baby. And so, I wear the same two pair of tattered pants, both of which always seem to be dirty because I cannot afford to put them in the wash and be without, over and over. Because, I want you to have clothes first. I want you to have everything I have to give even when I am dizzy with frustration because you won’t stop fussing and not sleeping and needing and and and. So, when you see me turn my back to you, stomp the floor and let out one loud, unintelligible noise, don’t worry. Because, I am going to turn back around, pick you up, and tell you that you’re doing a great job, that I am proud of you, that you should be patient with yourself, that you will crawl all the way across the room soon and it will be amazing.

You see, first I pick this block up…

and then I throw it on the floor with the others. And I stare at them all down there….for a while.