Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, December 14, 2012
Dear Miss M
This week, you learned how to climb out of your crib. Actually, I'm surprised it took this long. You've been physically able to do it for awhile (throwing your leg over the rail and threatening to escape), but you have a healthy sense of caution that, I think, prevented you from taking the plunge sooner.
I'm thankful for your caution, as I hope it will save us trips to the emergency room as you get older. But I also hope that, as your mother, I can create a strong enough sense of safety and security so that you are not afraid to take risks in life.
Next month, I'm taking one of the biggest risks of my life to date. (Marrying your father and choosing to be your mother were probably the other two, but those are stories for another day.) In the new year, I will travel to Taiwan. I want to learn more about the people and the culture and the food, of course. But also, when I arrive, I will be meeting with a woman from the Child and Juvenile Adoption Center, who I hope may have more information about the circumstances of my adoption.
Choosing to search for information has been so scary, and yet, it is from you that I have gathered the strength to proceed. I've never felt connected to anyone the way I feel with you. Through you, I am learning to love myself. I see myself in you, and I am endeared to you. And I can't help wondering from whom we both inherited our eyes, our hands, our goofiness and our love of music.
I know as you grow up, you will become different from me, despite our shared genetics. It's a certainty not only because I see my strong-willed, independent nature in you, but also because I am determined for your childhood to be different from mine.
Of course, half of your genes are inherited from your father, who also couldn't be more different from me. We opposites attracted and, somehow, we were gifted with you. I hope you will inherit his ability to enjoy life in each moment. And I hope you inherit his ability to love because his unconditional, accepting love transformed my life and created yours.
In a few years, when you're old enough to understand, I hope that your dad and you and me can travel back to Taiwan as a family. I want you to be proud of me and where I came from. I want you to feel secure in your identity. I want you to have roots and, most important, wings.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
52 weeks
The past several weeks have flown by. I started writing this entry two weeks ago. And now Miss M's first birthday has already passed. I can't believe my baby girl is a year old.
Exactly one year ago, we were preparing to leave the hospital. It was the calm before chaos. Sleepless days and nights. Learning to breastfeed. Laying next to her, mesmerized by every breath, every jerky move, every blink of her bright eyes.
Fifty-two weeks later, Miss M is a cruising, babbling, silly little girl. If she's not pushing her V-Tech walker, she's dancing to its music. She likes cups and balls and chewing on her Robeez knock-offs (thank goodness I didn't splurge on the real thing!). Her favorite word is "dog." It's the first thing she says when I pick her up in the morning. "Dog?" It's also what she chants when we get home: "Dog? Dog? Dog?" as she high-tails it to his room.
In addition to dog, she regularly says "mama," "dada," "all done," "uh-oh," "ball" and "up." She has also been known to say "open," "hi," and "bye." She will high-five and clap when she feels like it. She signs for "milk" and "all done."
She takes after her mama in that she knows what she wants, and when she wants it (or doesn't). It is both endearing and frustrating. It's cute when she says, "All done," but exacerbating when she says this after only one bite ... of the fifth or sixth food you've tried feeding her for dinner.
It's hard for me to remember life without Miss M. I finally understand why so many women say motherhood makes them a better person, although I am still conflicted by this statement. I love her more than I have ever loved anything in my life. And I love myself since having her. I feel like a better person, and yet I know I'm not a better friend or wife or professional. How can I be? I have less time to devote to my friends, my husband, my job.
Miss M has filled a void I couldn't articulate prior to having her. For 30 years, I lived with an absence of a history, of roots, of a biological connection to any other human being. Realizing my daughter has my hands, for example, was a profound experience. Her palms, her knuckles, her fingernails ... they're just like mine. She scrunches her eyebrows like me. She is goofy and opinionated like me. I know she is different from me in at least as many ways as she is similar, and yet it amazes me to see myself in her -- traits I now realize I inherited, not learned. It is an amazing connection and awareness that may be hard to understand unless you have lived without it.
I didn't know I was incomplete until she made me whole.
Exactly one year ago, we were preparing to leave the hospital. It was the calm before chaos. Sleepless days and nights. Learning to breastfeed. Laying next to her, mesmerized by every breath, every jerky move, every blink of her bright eyes.
Fifty-two weeks later, Miss M is a cruising, babbling, silly little girl. If she's not pushing her V-Tech walker, she's dancing to its music. She likes cups and balls and chewing on her Robeez knock-offs (thank goodness I didn't splurge on the real thing!). Her favorite word is "dog." It's the first thing she says when I pick her up in the morning. "Dog?" It's also what she chants when we get home: "Dog? Dog? Dog?" as she high-tails it to his room.
In addition to dog, she regularly says "mama," "dada," "all done," "uh-oh," "ball" and "up." She has also been known to say "open," "hi," and "bye." She will high-five and clap when she feels like it. She signs for "milk" and "all done."
She takes after her mama in that she knows what she wants, and when she wants it (or doesn't). It is both endearing and frustrating. It's cute when she says, "All done," but exacerbating when she says this after only one bite ... of the fifth or sixth food you've tried feeding her for dinner.
It's hard for me to remember life without Miss M. I finally understand why so many women say motherhood makes them a better person, although I am still conflicted by this statement. I love her more than I have ever loved anything in my life. And I love myself since having her. I feel like a better person, and yet I know I'm not a better friend or wife or professional. How can I be? I have less time to devote to my friends, my husband, my job.
Miss M has filled a void I couldn't articulate prior to having her. For 30 years, I lived with an absence of a history, of roots, of a biological connection to any other human being. Realizing my daughter has my hands, for example, was a profound experience. Her palms, her knuckles, her fingernails ... they're just like mine. She scrunches her eyebrows like me. She is goofy and opinionated like me. I know she is different from me in at least as many ways as she is similar, and yet it amazes me to see myself in her -- traits I now realize I inherited, not learned. It is an amazing connection and awareness that may be hard to understand unless you have lived without it.
I didn't know I was incomplete until she made me whole.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The right man
A quick shout-out to a wonderful man who knows how to make a woman feel loved. On my birthday, breakfast and personally delivered flowers. And last night, a special dinner and card (signed, Miss M and Daddy) to celebrate my first mother's day. I love him more than I am able to show him right now.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Things that make my heart melt
Sweet, milky breath. Soft, fluffy hair. Delicate peeling fingernails. Dark, wide-open eyes. Tiny pursed lips.
The first month has flown by, and yet, it also feels like an eternity. The days and nights have blurred together. Time is measured in feedings that range from 90 minutes to 5 hours apart. It's hard to remember how rough the first week was. And the second. And third. It's still not easy. But we're figuring each other out, and each week is better than the last.
As we're emerging from the dazed and bewildered first month, we're all taking on new challenges. Miss M is experimenting with her voice -- soft coos for now. Today, for the first time, she grabbed my hair in both fists and managed to get her thumb in her mouth, although both of those actions may have been accidental. Last week, dad took baby on an errand while I stayed home (somewhat reluctantly) and got some much needed sleep. Tonight, I left the baby at home with her dad and ventured to Wal-Mart alone. It was my first solo outing since she was born.
It's funny how I can feel fine at home. Then I enter the real world, and exhaustion hits. Maybe it was the bright lights, but not ten minutes in the store and I hit the proverbial brick wall. I wandered around in a daze for another half hour or so, trying to remember what I was supposed to get. (Lotrimin for possible thrush/yeast, and pacifiers because we're getting tired of having to walk her to sleep every night.)
I was relieved to return to our little cocoon of a home. Just the three of us, together. I'm not ready for the real world.
The first month has flown by, and yet, it also feels like an eternity. The days and nights have blurred together. Time is measured in feedings that range from 90 minutes to 5 hours apart. It's hard to remember how rough the first week was. And the second. And third. It's still not easy. But we're figuring each other out, and each week is better than the last.
As we're emerging from the dazed and bewildered first month, we're all taking on new challenges. Miss M is experimenting with her voice -- soft coos for now. Today, for the first time, she grabbed my hair in both fists and managed to get her thumb in her mouth, although both of those actions may have been accidental. Last week, dad took baby on an errand while I stayed home (somewhat reluctantly) and got some much needed sleep. Tonight, I left the baby at home with her dad and ventured to Wal-Mart alone. It was my first solo outing since she was born.
It's funny how I can feel fine at home. Then I enter the real world, and exhaustion hits. Maybe it was the bright lights, but not ten minutes in the store and I hit the proverbial brick wall. I wandered around in a daze for another half hour or so, trying to remember what I was supposed to get. (Lotrimin for possible thrush/yeast, and pacifiers because we're getting tired of having to walk her to sleep every night.)
I was relieved to return to our little cocoon of a home. Just the three of us, together. I'm not ready for the real world.
Monday, September 27, 2010
"She's complete."
Already, everything about pregnancy, labor and delivery is blurring in my mind, so I figured I'd better record Miss M's birth story while I can still remember a few of the gory details.
My OB checked me internally for the first time at my 39-week appointment Sept. 9. It hurt so bad, I couldn't help crying out loud. (Sorry to whoever was in the next exam room!) Afterward, she told me I was 3 cm and 75% effaced. That was great news, but she was careful to caution me that it didn't mean anything as far as when the baby would arrive. She did say that it could mean my labor would go more quickly.
I left the appointment feeling encouraged that my body seemed to have a general idea of how to get a baby out. That afternoon, I went back to work and barely noticed any cramping. Walking to my car after work, I realized my lower back was kind of achy, in a PMS sort of way. But I thought it was due to the exam and figured a soak in the tub would feel good.
I'm not sure how long I was in the bathtub. Long enough for Chris to grill me two hotdogs, and for me to eat them in the tub. Also long enough for me to realize I was having contractions. After about three sharp, low cramps, I started timing them. At 15 minutes apart, they were regular enough for me to allow myself to acknowledge I could be in early labor. But I kept thinking about my best friend, who had contractions five minutes apart for two days before the hospital would admit her. So I prepared myself for the long haul.
By 9 p.m., the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart, and I was pretty uncomfortable. I called L&D to see what to do. The nurse wasn't encouraging. She said I could come in, and they could check me, but they hated to have to send me home. She recommended trying to get some sleep and seeing if the contractions slowed down. If my water broke, or the contractions sped up to 3-5 minutes apart, then she said I should come in.
All it took was the threat of another internal exam to make me determined to wait it out at home as long as possible. We went to bed, and I went to sleep ... in 6- to 8-minute increments. Waking up in the middle of a contraction is no fun. I remember trying to get on my hands and knees to rock through the contractions. The worst were the ones where I didn't wake up in time and was stuck on my side unable to move through the pain.
Around midnight I got up, and decided to try to walk the dog. I only made it one house down the road before doubling over again in pain. As soon as the contraction ended, I hightailed it back to the house. The next contraction had me in tears, and I told Chris we were going to the hospital immediately.
The ride to the hospital was awful. Every turn, every little bump in the road was excruciating, and I kept telling Chris to slow down. Then I'd want him to speed up so we could get there faster. Thank goodness it was the middle of the night, and no one was following us.
Checking in seemed to take forever, even though the only waiting was for me to be able to answer questions between contractions. You know how it is when the dental hygienist tries to make conversation while cleaning your teeth? Or when you take a big bite of food just as the waitress stops by to ask how you're doing? Check-in was like that, except instead of a mouth full of food or floss, I had a uterus full of pain. The best part was posing for a lovely headshot that was printed on one of the four wristbands I got to wear.
I lost track of time, but I know it was sometime around 1 a.m. when we checked in because when I asked what date it was, I was surprised to hear Sept. 10. At this point, all I could think was that they had better admit me. By the time a doctor came in, I told him if I wasn't in labor, I needed him to give me something to make the pain stop. Lucky for me, he said I was 4 cm, 100% effaced, and I'd be having a baby today.
By this time, every contraction had me writhing and moaning in pain. Getting admitted was Step 1. But I still had to get an IV and have bloodwork done before I could get my epidural. The doctor was kind enough to offer some morphine while I waited for the good drugs. It took the edge off, but not the pain. (Although I sure would have liked to had it before the nurse took three tries to insert my IV.)
The anesthesiologist -- I mean, the epidural he delivered -- was amazing. The relief was immediate. When they checked me after, I was 5 cm. The doctor broke my water and said he would wait a couple of hours to see how I progressed before deciding if I needed pitocin. He recommended getting some sleep, but I was too excited. Two hours later, about 6:30 a.m., I was 6 cm. He seemed pleasantly surprised; I was relieved and finally passed out.
About an hour later, I woke up when a new nurse came in. I asked her how long she thought my labor might be. She said if I continued to dilate a centimeter an hour, they'd consider that good progress. I did the math and hoped I'd have my baby before the end of the day so my doctor, who I adore, could deliver her.
Just then, my OB arrived. She checked me, turned to the nurse and said, "She's complete." I think we were all surprised. The nurse had just came on and was still getting her stuff in order. I was still waking up. My doctor was headed into a busy morning of clinic appointments. But just like that, it was time to push.
You have to know, at my first OB appointment, I expressed my two fears. One, that the epidural wouldn't work. (Thankfully, it did!) My second fear was that the baby would get stuck. It happened to a friend of mine -- she pushed for three hours before being rushed to the OR for an emergency c-section.
My baby was at zero station, and my OB said I had a ways to go. So I was prepared for the worst. Thankfully, I was in the hands of an experienced, calm, compassionate nurse. She was by far the best nurse I had during my entire stay. I owe my positive delivery experience to her.
Back when they broke my water, they learned the baby had already passed meconium. Both nurses and my OB talked to me about what this meant and prepared me for what would happen when she was born. I'm grateful they took the time to do that.
The atmosphere in the room was calm and quiet. With the exception of spotlights turned on my hoo-hah at some point, the only light was natural morning light through the windows. Pushing took all of my energy, and in between, I laid back with my eyes closed. I only spoke to answer direct questions; toward the end, I'm not sure if I even did that.
I pushed for an hour and 45 minutes, but I had no sense of time passing -- it seemed to fly by. The nurse adjusted the bed several times until I was at an angle she liked. She said my contractions were really long, and had me do four, 10-second pushes each time. At some point, she got a towel and had Chris stand between my legs holding the ends. She had me grab the middle and told me to try to pull him on top of me while I was pushing. It worked.
Everything happened so fast at the end, what sticks in my mind are a few random details. I remember my OB was already in the room when they were paging her for the delivery. I remember feeling something coming out so suddenly I sat up and yelled -- not from pain, but from the surprise of it. When I looked down, I saw a gray Gollum-looking thing slide out. They immediately whisked her away to a side room, where I later learned they intubated her twice to remove meconium. A few minutes (moments?) later, we heard strong cries, and they asked my husband to come over.
What happened next is documented in pictures I didn't see until a week after she was born -- Chris meeting the baby, Chris cutting what was left of the cord, Chris holding the baby for the first time. I remember a nurse relaying what she could see. "He looks so scared!" Then I remember him bringing her to me. In the pictures, I still have a washcloth on my forehead (pushing gave me a headache). I am holding her little hand. She is quiet, wide-eyed, looking at me. I remember saying I didn't want to let them take her, but they were anxious to get her to the nursery to check her thoroughly and make sure she was OK.
After they left, I remember the doctors were stitching me up. They said I had a second-degree tear, and they were using words like "rectal sphincter," which scared the bejeezus out of me. I was so afraid of feeling any pain, I kept trying to push the epidural button, but I couldn't get anymore drugs. Thankfully, I couldn't actually feel any pain. Just pressure. It was weird.
I must have catnapped after that. But the next thing I remember is Chris coming back with the baby. The nurse told me he was on his way, and I was sitting up in anticipation. I hope I never forget the feeling that came over me when he walked around the curtain into view with our baby. The most intense love, pride, joy, hope. We were complete. I was complete.
My OB checked me internally for the first time at my 39-week appointment Sept. 9. It hurt so bad, I couldn't help crying out loud. (Sorry to whoever was in the next exam room!) Afterward, she told me I was 3 cm and 75% effaced. That was great news, but she was careful to caution me that it didn't mean anything as far as when the baby would arrive. She did say that it could mean my labor would go more quickly.
I left the appointment feeling encouraged that my body seemed to have a general idea of how to get a baby out. That afternoon, I went back to work and barely noticed any cramping. Walking to my car after work, I realized my lower back was kind of achy, in a PMS sort of way. But I thought it was due to the exam and figured a soak in the tub would feel good.
I'm not sure how long I was in the bathtub. Long enough for Chris to grill me two hotdogs, and for me to eat them in the tub. Also long enough for me to realize I was having contractions. After about three sharp, low cramps, I started timing them. At 15 minutes apart, they were regular enough for me to allow myself to acknowledge I could be in early labor. But I kept thinking about my best friend, who had contractions five minutes apart for two days before the hospital would admit her. So I prepared myself for the long haul.
By 9 p.m., the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart, and I was pretty uncomfortable. I called L&D to see what to do. The nurse wasn't encouraging. She said I could come in, and they could check me, but they hated to have to send me home. She recommended trying to get some sleep and seeing if the contractions slowed down. If my water broke, or the contractions sped up to 3-5 minutes apart, then she said I should come in.
All it took was the threat of another internal exam to make me determined to wait it out at home as long as possible. We went to bed, and I went to sleep ... in 6- to 8-minute increments. Waking up in the middle of a contraction is no fun. I remember trying to get on my hands and knees to rock through the contractions. The worst were the ones where I didn't wake up in time and was stuck on my side unable to move through the pain.
Around midnight I got up, and decided to try to walk the dog. I only made it one house down the road before doubling over again in pain. As soon as the contraction ended, I hightailed it back to the house. The next contraction had me in tears, and I told Chris we were going to the hospital immediately.
The ride to the hospital was awful. Every turn, every little bump in the road was excruciating, and I kept telling Chris to slow down. Then I'd want him to speed up so we could get there faster. Thank goodness it was the middle of the night, and no one was following us.
Checking in seemed to take forever, even though the only waiting was for me to be able to answer questions between contractions. You know how it is when the dental hygienist tries to make conversation while cleaning your teeth? Or when you take a big bite of food just as the waitress stops by to ask how you're doing? Check-in was like that, except instead of a mouth full of food or floss, I had a uterus full of pain. The best part was posing for a lovely headshot that was printed on one of the four wristbands I got to wear.
I lost track of time, but I know it was sometime around 1 a.m. when we checked in because when I asked what date it was, I was surprised to hear Sept. 10. At this point, all I could think was that they had better admit me. By the time a doctor came in, I told him if I wasn't in labor, I needed him to give me something to make the pain stop. Lucky for me, he said I was 4 cm, 100% effaced, and I'd be having a baby today.
By this time, every contraction had me writhing and moaning in pain. Getting admitted was Step 1. But I still had to get an IV and have bloodwork done before I could get my epidural. The doctor was kind enough to offer some morphine while I waited for the good drugs. It took the edge off, but not the pain. (Although I sure would have liked to had it before the nurse took three tries to insert my IV.)
The anesthesiologist -- I mean, the epidural he delivered -- was amazing. The relief was immediate. When they checked me after, I was 5 cm. The doctor broke my water and said he would wait a couple of hours to see how I progressed before deciding if I needed pitocin. He recommended getting some sleep, but I was too excited. Two hours later, about 6:30 a.m., I was 6 cm. He seemed pleasantly surprised; I was relieved and finally passed out.
About an hour later, I woke up when a new nurse came in. I asked her how long she thought my labor might be. She said if I continued to dilate a centimeter an hour, they'd consider that good progress. I did the math and hoped I'd have my baby before the end of the day so my doctor, who I adore, could deliver her.
Just then, my OB arrived. She checked me, turned to the nurse and said, "She's complete." I think we were all surprised. The nurse had just came on and was still getting her stuff in order. I was still waking up. My doctor was headed into a busy morning of clinic appointments. But just like that, it was time to push.
You have to know, at my first OB appointment, I expressed my two fears. One, that the epidural wouldn't work. (Thankfully, it did!) My second fear was that the baby would get stuck. It happened to a friend of mine -- she pushed for three hours before being rushed to the OR for an emergency c-section.
My baby was at zero station, and my OB said I had a ways to go. So I was prepared for the worst. Thankfully, I was in the hands of an experienced, calm, compassionate nurse. She was by far the best nurse I had during my entire stay. I owe my positive delivery experience to her.
Back when they broke my water, they learned the baby had already passed meconium. Both nurses and my OB talked to me about what this meant and prepared me for what would happen when she was born. I'm grateful they took the time to do that.
The atmosphere in the room was calm and quiet. With the exception of spotlights turned on my hoo-hah at some point, the only light was natural morning light through the windows. Pushing took all of my energy, and in between, I laid back with my eyes closed. I only spoke to answer direct questions; toward the end, I'm not sure if I even did that.
I pushed for an hour and 45 minutes, but I had no sense of time passing -- it seemed to fly by. The nurse adjusted the bed several times until I was at an angle she liked. She said my contractions were really long, and had me do four, 10-second pushes each time. At some point, she got a towel and had Chris stand between my legs holding the ends. She had me grab the middle and told me to try to pull him on top of me while I was pushing. It worked.
Everything happened so fast at the end, what sticks in my mind are a few random details. I remember my OB was already in the room when they were paging her for the delivery. I remember feeling something coming out so suddenly I sat up and yelled -- not from pain, but from the surprise of it. When I looked down, I saw a gray Gollum-looking thing slide out. They immediately whisked her away to a side room, where I later learned they intubated her twice to remove meconium. A few minutes (moments?) later, we heard strong cries, and they asked my husband to come over.
What happened next is documented in pictures I didn't see until a week after she was born -- Chris meeting the baby, Chris cutting what was left of the cord, Chris holding the baby for the first time. I remember a nurse relaying what she could see. "He looks so scared!" Then I remember him bringing her to me. In the pictures, I still have a washcloth on my forehead (pushing gave me a headache). I am holding her little hand. She is quiet, wide-eyed, looking at me. I remember saying I didn't want to let them take her, but they were anxious to get her to the nursery to check her thoroughly and make sure she was OK.
After they left, I remember the doctors were stitching me up. They said I had a second-degree tear, and they were using words like "rectal sphincter," which scared the bejeezus out of me. I was so afraid of feeling any pain, I kept trying to push the epidural button, but I couldn't get anymore drugs. Thankfully, I couldn't actually feel any pain. Just pressure. It was weird.
I must have catnapped after that. But the next thing I remember is Chris coming back with the baby. The nurse told me he was on his way, and I was sitting up in anticipation. I hope I never forget the feeling that came over me when he walked around the curtain into view with our baby. The most intense love, pride, joy, hope. We were complete. I was complete.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
love
Miss M made her grand entrance Sept. 10, five days before her deadline, but not a day too soon for mom and dad.
I am in love. We are in love.
And yes, everything they say about forgetting the horrible parts of pregnancy and childbirth is true.
One look at her expressive eyes, her hungry mouth, her infant froggy legs already stretching out ... and I'm ready to do it again.
I am in love. We are in love.
And yes, everything they say about forgetting the horrible parts of pregnancy and childbirth is true.
One look at her expressive eyes, her hungry mouth, her infant froggy legs already stretching out ... and I'm ready to do it again.
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