Nuggets of Gold!

ONE YEAR

Dear Nora,

Perhaps to complement the obvious milestone of your birthday, you've also decided to cram this, your 12th month, full of firsts.

For starters, you went swimming for the first time. We weren't sure how that would go over, but you loved it. You smiled at all the strangers sharing your, uh, bathtub, which incidentally had gotten quite a bit larger than you remembered. You laughed when we swished you around in the water. Or were you laughing at your pasty mom and dad in their bathing suits? Lets say it was the swishing.

You've also learned to drink from a cup with a straw. You wanted nothing to do with the straw at first, but after much fussing and a few tentative sips, you're a regular water-holic.

Perhaps most devastatingly, you've learned how to blow kisses. You use this tactic, which is probably against all sorts of Geneva Conventions, to melt hearts of waiters, cashiers, random passers-by and, most effectively, your grandparents. Not that mom and dad are immune, either. Especially when you add a big "mwwwah!" to the hand motion for greater effect.

And finally, FINALLY -- this month you figured out crawling. You started out the month mastering the army crawl -- pulling yourself along on your belly using only your arms. But you started to experiment with putting your knees under you, particularly while sleeping:

Just in the last few days, you've been getting your knees under you and starting to understand that that means more speed and more height, both of which are key ingredients for your world domination plan. I expect future updates will involve lots of bumps and bruises, both to you and to your mom and dad as we rush around to keep up with you.

But this weekend it was our turn to wear you out. We threw a party for your first birthday, just a gathering of family (including both sets of grandparents!) and friends at your favorite park. There were a whole bunch of cupcakes and a whole bunch of other babies, and everyone had a great time. You enjoyed being the belle of the ball (whether you knew everyone was there for you or not) and didn't fuss at all, even though we were there for hours and blew right past naptime. You smiled at your adoring fans, blew copious kisses, and even waved and wished a departing friend "bye-bye," or at least it sure sounded like you did. You had your very first cupcake, too, but you didn't eat it so much as beat it soundly. Which, if you think about it, is probably just as much fun.

BEFORE:

 

DURING:

AFTER:

 

We also had fun today, your real birthday. We played with all your new toys, let you chase Murray around to your heart's content, and enjoyed a beautiful North Carolina spring day with some Sonic and a trip to the park. But we also did a lot of thinking about the day you were born one year ago, and how it was a day filled both with joy at your arrival and with the deepest, darkest fear at what you -- and we -- might have to face after things went horribly wrong. There were definitely some tears today, but none of them from you. They were tears of relief and happiness that sprang up whenever we thought of how we felt back then compared with how happy and healthy you are now. We are proud of you, sweetheart, and we love you so much sometimes it's hard to contain.

Your mom might be the one who makes her living with words, but your dad said it best today:

A year ago today, Stacy woke me up telling me our daughter was on the way.

Today, Nora woke me up giggling next to me.

A year ago today, Nora came into this world but we didn’t know if she was going to get to stay.

Today, she kissed me on the cheek. She growled. She stood up. She crawled across the room.

A year ago today, our family slept in different rooms in different hospitals.

Today, we’re home.

Happy birthday, Nora. I love you.

 

Love,
Mama and Daddy

ELEVEN MONTHS

Dear Nora,

In your eleventh month, you seem to have hit the accelerator on this whole growth thing. You are sprouting teeth faster than I can keep up with, and you've mastered the fine art of sitting up from lying down. You're such a pro that suddenly we've started to find you like this when we check in on you during naps:

There was a week or so when you'd gotten the hang of sitting up, but you weren't quite sure how to get back down, so you'd get stuck sitting. Which displeased you. A lot. But after some time and a bit of practice, you got the hang of it. So for all I know you sneak out your bedroom window, joyride in my car, and then come back and lie back down before I come check on you during naps now.

Valentine's Day was this month, and for that grand occasion you made your very first work of art -- fingerpainted hearts! We foolishly picked an evening when you were already grumpy (see teeth, above) to spring this new activity on you, so you weren't really into it. But we managed to get some lovely artwork to share with family and friends, and I'm pretty sure the marks you made were with red fingerpaint, not the blood of your enemies -- which on that night was us.

After several months of having crusty eyes, we took you to an eye doctor who told us you needed minor surgery to open up clogged tear ducts -- a condition many babies are born with and only some grow out of without a little help. It was outpatient surgery, one we were assured was "easy," "quick," "routine," etc., even though it required a general anesthetic. But ohhhh, Nora. Taking you back to a hospital was something we hoped never to have to do. You handled it like a champ. Mom and Dad? We were complete wrecks. When a kindly old hospital volunteer summoned us from the waiting room afterward so we could be reunited with you, we very nearly knocked him down because we wanted to run ahead and be with you. When he opened the doors to the recovery area for us, we were met with a blast of your screams. Apparently, you were NOT impressed by several nurses' attempts to calm you down when you woke up among strangers. But once you recovered from that fit of anger, you were back to normal instantly. Except "normal" no longer involves crusty eyes or matted eyelashes, so the surgery was a success. And if I never see the inside of that hospital (the one where you were born!) again, all the better.

You had lots of visitors this month, including some people your own size. Heidi and Evan flew down from NYC with Miss Eva, just two months older than you. And you gals hit it off. It wasn't long at all before you two were getting in trouble together. Exhibit A:

You got into the paper recycling bin. And the stack of unread magazines on the coffee table. And you decided things that were in the bin and on the table were much more fun spread on the floor. Wheeee!

You also got a visit from Aunt Liz and Uncle Josh, and your cousins John Dominic and Frances, the latter of whom you were meeting for the first time.

Here, too, I foresee trouble. Don't ask me why.

Love,
Mama and Daddy

TEN MONTHS

Dear Nora,

They say you learn something new every day, but this month I think you've been learning new tricks by the minute. Probably most notably, you learned how to spit ... and you thought it was hilarious. We thought so too, until you decided to do it while you're eating. So feeding you has become like a Gallagher show. Except instead of being covered with watermelon, we're constantly picking puree of green beans, carrots, apples + blueberries, etc. out of our hair and off of our clothes. Most importantly, we are NOT laughing at this. Because it is NOT funny. (Tee hee.) Not at all funny. (Hee.) 

Some other tricks you've picked up are much more fun for everyone involved, as well as less messy. You like to clap your hands together, especially when we prompt you by saying "clap clap hands!" and making ridiculous faces at you. You also like to gimme five, cool kid that you are. Generous, too -- we ask for five, but you generally give us 10, 20, 45 or 275.

As you've gotten more adept at feeding yourself puffs, you've also gotten more generous about sharing them. Murray is the main beneficiary, but sometimes you slip one to mom or dad, too. When you're playing, you like to pick imaginary puffs out of a block or cup (or sometimes, if we're really lucky, out of your diaper) and hold out your hand to us until we "eat" them.

All that puff-eating was probably made a bit easier by the arrival of your two top front teeth. One is in and ready to roll, but the other is sort of on deck, I guess -- through the gums but only just. But the asymmetry doesn't seem to be slowing you down, and it certainly does nothing to reduce the cute. We thought we would miss the toothless, gummy grins you gave us when you were five months old, but the jack-o-lantern grins we get now are pretty wonderful too, as it turns out. 

But can we talk about these puffs a little more? You always liked eating them, but for the longest time we had to put them in your mouth for you. If we handed them to you, you'd shake 'em around for a while and then throw them. Every time. After a while, you caught on that you could put them in your mouth, but you needed an invitation. First we guided your hand, with a puff in your fingers, to your mouth. After a while, all you needed was for us to tap your hand as if to say "OK, time to put that in your mouth!" and you'd do the job. Finally, you figured out that you're in control here. And instead of carefully grasping one puff at a time off your high chair tray, you scooped up as many as you could and shoved them all in your maw. So now we're back to handing you one at a time, but, finally, you know just what to do from there.

It's hard to know what the future will hold, you're changing so fast. But we did get a small glimpse of the next six weeks, weatherwise, thanks to your new friend, Mortimer. He's the groundhog who looked for his shadow at our favorite park on Groundhog Day, and you were there to witness the prognostication. Mortimer, bless his heart, predicted an early spring. And good thing -- you've still got a lot to learn, and a lot of the fun stuff is outside!

(Nora checks out Mortimer with her friend Claire, left, held by mama's friend, Amy.)

Love,
Mama and Daddy 

 

 

NINE MONTHS

Dear Nora,

I keep thinking about how now you've been on the outside, if you know what I mean, just about as long as you were on the inside ... of me. You still kick like crazy, and you still like it when I rub your butt, but, well, your world and ours are mighty different now.

For one thing, now you have teeth! I swear they came out of nowhere. One day you were all gummy grins, and then one morning while I was changing your first diaper of the day, I looked at you smiling and spotted a tooth. It was a bottom tooth, quickly to be followed by its neighbor. You complained a little when they were breaking through your gums (hey, who wouldn't?), but so far the new arrivals haven't derailed you too much. I guess you've been through worse, and we're adding this latest show of resilience to our portfolio of reasons to be proud of you.

You also ditched your reflux medication this month, as we noticed that you'd gone from spitting up about 200 times a day to ... nothing. So your new tally of daily medications has gone from three in your first months of life (in six doses spread throughout the day) to zero. We now use the dry-erase board in your room that used to keep track of your medication times for funny messages and quotes. Much, much better.

While the spit-up seems to have disappeared, we did have our first bout with honest-to-god barf. You were sleeping soundly one evening when I heard an awful choking noise through the baby monitor. I threw down the computer (a MacBook laptop, which I bet will sound antique and laughably underpowered by the time you're old enough to read this) I was working on, hurdled the couch and arrived in your room to find you writing face-down in a huge pool of your hurked-up dinner. I picked you up and started to clean off your face when you let loose again, hitting me and the carpet. You cried so piteously, puked one more time (on my shoulder, thanks) and then ... you were fine. We braced for what we figured was your first childhood illness, but it seems to have been an isolated incident. Maybe too much excitement from your newly acquired teeth? I don't know. But I do know I've spent way too much time talking about barf. Sigh.

On a much more palatable topic, you had your first Christmas this month! As expected, your favorite gifts were the bows and boxes your gifts were wrapped in. You also liked watching the lights twinkle on the tree. You had so many gifts from us and your doting grandparents that we had to do Christmas in installments. Breakfast, open gifts, nap, lunch, more gifts, nap, second lunch, continue crinkling wrapping paper. You had a blast, and so did we. They say Christmas is best experienced through a child's eyes, and, wow, it's totally true. You gave us some truly beautiful moments of pure delight as you examined a new toy or just widened your eyes to take everything in. You also slept in until 8 a.m. or so, which I realize is probably the last time we'll have that luxury on Christmas morning until you're a teenager.

Your first Christmas was also a rare white Christmas here in North Carolina, and what a beautiful one it was. You'd seen snow before, but only in smallish amounts immediately followed by freezing rain. This time the snow fell soft and deep, and we had a whole day to play in it. You watched Murray chase snowballs that poofed apart when they hit the ground, and you even held one yourself for a few seconds.

You worked on all sorts of new skills this month. You've been sitting by yourself for a while now, but you're much steadier now, even when you fold yourself almost in half reaching for something far away. You're also practicing your pincer grasp so you can pick up snack puffs and small objects. But one thing you've perfected: sock extraction. You can get a sock off in milliseconds, and you're damn sneaky about it, too. We've lost untold numbers of socks (only one at a time, of course) in malls, grocery stores, parking lots, etc. The upside of this habit is getting a reminder of the kindness of strangers when people come rushing after us to return a sock they saw you wriggle out of. The downside is an ever-growing stack of orphaned socks, and a penchant of yours for losing my favorites. I look forward to summer for plenty of reasons, but chief among them this year is the chance to let you go out sockless. Unless you're walking by then, in which case ... sighhhhhh.

Love,
Mama and Dada

 

EIGHT MONTHS

Dear Nora,

Your eighth month was a busy one. You grew in size, and you grew hair! Looks like you're going to be a blondie like your dad, though you've got more growing to do before we know whether you'll have curls like your mom.

We celebrated our first Thanksgiving with you -- there was no problem coming up with what to be thankful for this year! We thought Turkey Day would be as good a day as any to give you your first taste of meat -- in the form of pureed baby food, that is. You seemed pretty excited about your turkey and sweet potato mix. Though right around Thanksgiving, you became markedly less excited about your bottle. Or anything involving breastmilk or formula. Apparently this is just a thing that happens, particularly in babies who have had previous feeding problems. You're old enough now to decide what you do and don't like, and, well, you've decided. So we've had to get, um, creative to find ways to get enough calories and nutrition into you. Some days, it's not too hard. Other days, it looks like this:

 
We also celebrated our first Iron Bowl with you. Or, well, Mommy celebrated. Daddy pouted a lot when his team lost, but he was somewhat consoled when Mommy let him dress you in your Alabama pajamas that night. During game day, you had to wear your Auburn T-shirt with some Alabama accessories. One day, you must choose. But for now, you can root for both. Or neither. I think you were mostly just rooting for some quality time on the floor, rolling to your heart's content and playing with your very own cell phone that your Grandma and Grandpa brought you when they visited for Thanksgiving.

Also this month, we decided (probably way later than we should have) that you'd gotten too big for your first bathtub, which fit on top of the kitchen sink, so now you sit in a bigger bathtub that goes inside the real bathtub. You get to sit up during your bath, which makes it much easier for you to grab at the washcloths and splash around. So now bathtime is even more fun than you found it before, though a little more ... challenging ... for mom and dad.

It's been cold -- and I mean COLD -- this month, which has presented plenty of opportunities to break out your cute coats and hats. You even saw your first snow this month! We were in downtown Raleigh when the flakes started falling. You seemed unimpressed, but at least you looked cute!

 

Love, 
Mommy and Daddy 

SEVEN MONTHS

Dear Nora,

Fall in North Carolina isn't exactly harsh, but there were some chilly days during this, your seventh month. You wore a jacket out and about for the first time, which you took pretty well. And you wear socks regularly now. Or, I should say, I put socks on you regularly now. Just as regularly, you take them off, wave them around triumphantly, and, lately, whip them hard in unpredictable directions. You've got an arm on you, kiddo, and you're not afraid to use it.

Other firsts this month include your first overnight trip -- to Asheville, as discussed below -- and your first Halloween, which you totally rocked as Princess Leia. You even trick-or-treated. We took you next door to bum a Snickers bar from the neighbors. Which Mommy ate. What?

In a more unusual first, you were in your first music video this month! Mommy and Daddy submitted four photos for a video by a singer/songwriter we like, Kim Richey, who was making a video in which each word from her song "Wreck Your Wheels" was represented by a photo submitted by fans. You were in only one of the four photos we submitted ... and guess what got chosen? You, of course. Gotta upstage everyone with your killer baby cuteness. You're holding the word "graces" at 0:16.

 

This month you've continued to master the fine art of rolling, and I think crawling is in your near future. You seem to get the concept, but you can't quite figure out the moves. You stick your butt in the air when you want to move forward, but you haven't realized yet that you also need to lift up your head. But you'll get it one day, probably soon, and then ... wow. Nothing and no one will be safe.

Love, 
Mommy and Daddy 

 

ON THE ROAD

Taking our lives (or, at least, our sanity) in our hands, we set out for a long weekend in Asheville recently -- Nora's first overnight trip away from home.

I'm pleased to report it was a resounding success. I mean, sure, a trip that should have taken four hours took, oh ... eight. And the car, once packed, looked like we were moving across the state instead of just spending three days there. But we went into it mustering all the patience we could, and knowing that the trip would be all about maintaining peace and happiness, instead of seeing all the sights and cramming the days full of fun, as used to be our strategy. And with that new goal in mind, we managed to have a pretty great time, even if we didn't do a whole lot.

We had breakfast at Tupelo Honey, went on a hike at Craggy Gardens bookended by drives along the Blue Ridge Parkway, and enjoyed dinner with some local friends in the comfort of our gorgeous cabin (which, thankfully, went unvisited by bears that weekend). We saw glorious fall leaves, the mountains we love, and a rainbow around the moon on a perfectly clear, still night.

But best of all, we saw our baby tolerate a long car trip, sleep in an unfamiliar place without complaining, take in her first glimpse of mountains, and enjoy some time in the great outdoors. And that was well worth all the stopping and packing and worrying about bears.

 
 

SIX MONTHS

Dear Nora,

Last week you turned six months old, which, in case you don't want to do the math (which would definitely make you your mother's daughter), is half a year.

Half a year.

You haven't merely recovered from your rocky start. You've blossomed. Thrived. You've taken that rocky start, given it a wedgie, cussed it up and down and dropkicked it into some unknown dimension. That seems to be your style.

Lately, you've become the Jedi Master of rolling. For a long time you could flop from back to front ... aaaaand that was about it. You'd get tired of being on your belly and scream until someone came to your rescue. Now you can roll onto your belly, spot a toy nearby that you'd like to maul, roll back over to grab it, and return to your belly to commence the mauling. Psh, you don't even need us anymore.

You're also starting to experiment with movement in a different direction: forward. I don't know if you're officially scooting yet, but perhaps we can call it scootching. You roll onto your belly, then stick your tiny butt in the air and sometimes ... sometimes ... you get a knee or two under you and worm your way forward. Your favorite place to do this, evidently, is in your crib. We'll put you down for a nap in the middle of your mattress only to find you all the way at the top of it when we check back in two minutes later. You work fast. And sneakily. And you are making your dad go bald(er).

A few new noises have been added to your portfolio this week. The first really can't be called anything other than what it is: demonic growling. You babble, then grin at us, then go "Grrrrraaaaaaaaahhhh!" and we wait for your head to spin all the way around on your little neck. Then we wait for you to eat our brains. This is especially alarming when paired with your other new noise, which is considerably more awesome. Somewhere in your babbling, you frequently say "mama." I mean, sure, it's more like "BAAAA! Mmmm emmmm aaaaahhh gggga ba baa ma ma maaaaaaaaaa gga baaa." But "mama" is in there, and it melts my heart every time. Even when you follow it up with a fearsome growl. "Ma ma! GRRRRAAAAAHH!" I'm pretty sure it's Baby for "Imma eat ur brains." 

You've had quite the social life the past few weeks. You went to the state fair and didn't melt down from the crowds or the noise, even though your mom and dad wanted to a few times. You hung out at a Mazda dealership and cuted us into a good deal on a new car that fits all of your stuff. You had visits from all the grandparents, visits from your Uncle Nick and Aunt Ashley, and a nice phone call from your Aunt Liz, whom you hung up on. Twice. Perhaps you'll treat your brand new girl cousin, Frances, more kindly when she calls. Or maybe you two will just chat on the Twitters or whatever the hell it is kids do on teh Internets these days.

All the books, the wise old stranger ladies, and even normal people we actually listen to say six months is a major milestone in terms of when a lot of the suck subsides and some of the fun of having a baby begins. And, dangit, it might just be true. You're sleeping through the night now, you like to go places, and when you cry we can generally (as in, maybe slightly more than half the time) tell what's wrong and attempt to fix it and soothe you. Which, much to our surprise, often works these days. Your personality and sense of humor, evil as it is, are shining through and you're just generally a lot of fun to be with.

Thanks for hanging in there with us, little one, in ways big and small, and for being the most wonderful part of our lives. And thanks, also, for not eating our brains.

Love, 
Mama and Daddy

 

FIVE MONTHS

Dear Nora,

We celebrated this birthday of yours not with cupcakes or beers, as we've celebrated some of your earlier milestones on your behalf, but with ... squash! It was the first birthday meal actually given to the birthday girl.

This month we started you on solid foods. First rice cereal, then oatmeal cereal. Perhaps surprisingly, given your earlier issues with eating, things went smoothly. Sure, you ended up wearing more cereal than you ate, but that's to be expected. And you actually ate a decent bit. Today's new adventures in squash were a rousing success. You actually ate most of it, leaving very little to dribble on your bib, much to the disappointment of Murray, who was waiting patiently beneath your high chair.

 

This month also marked the beginning of football season, which means you get a little brain-rotting TV time each Saturday, and you get to hear mom and dad yell at the screen. Instead of finding that alarming, you seem to find it amusing. But not nearly as amusing as you suddenly find Murray. After four-and-a-half months of ignoring him, you suddenly watch him constantly, and smile when you see him enter the room. I think you're still trying to sort out how you feel about him licking your feet (and hands, and head, and mouth ...), but you definitely like when he plays nearby. I think there soon will come a day when you two are best friends. Especially now that you're eating actual food.

Lately you've been sleeping through the night, to your relief as much as ours. We'd been waking you for a middle-of-the-night feeding, on the pediatrician's advice, and you'd often look at me as if to say "Don't you read the books, woman? Don't you know you're not supposed to wake a sleeping baby?" Now you snooze straight through, which is great, except we're never quite sure when "straight through" ends. Sometimes you wake up at 9 a.m. Sometimes at 6 a.m. I can roll with that, but now naptimes are anyone's guess. I watch you closely for signs of tiredness, but you've become a master of disguise there. One minute you're happily playing, and the next you're whining and crying because you're overly tired. Which is a problem you attempt to address by ... refusing to sleep. So we've had some rough days, but I think we'll get it figured out eventually.

You've been expanding your repertoire of noises lately. You've got a fantastic, infectious laugh that's undoubtedly my favorite sound in the whole world now. But you've also learned to whine. Which you do when you're tired and angry about it. Which, I might have mentioned, is quite a lot lately. That noise, my dear, is ranked much lower on my list of favorite sounds. It drives me to contemplate new and different ways to crush my own eardrums. If, that is, they're not blasted out first by your other new noise -- the indignant shriek. Also not one of my favorites. It's hard to believe that something so loud and grating can come from something so small and cute, but there it is. My days are full of "mmm mmmm mmMMMMM mmmm Mmm AHHHHHHH! EEEEEEEEEEEEE! Mmmm mm MMM." It's enough to make me long for when you learn to talk, so at least I'll KNOW what you're upset about. But somehow I know when I get there I'll long in the other direction. Maybe I should just invest in earplugs.

Your five-month birthday fell on Sept. 11, a very sad day in our nation's history. And on top of being sad upon remembering the events of this day nine years ago, I'm also sad that you might never know a world without the fear of terrorism, and without the strange things that fear makes our society do. My best hope is that you'll study the attacks in history books but feel very far removed from them. Not that the attacks should be forgotten, of course, but if the concepts of terrorist attacks on innocent people and blind hatred of many because of the horrific acts of a few seem unfamiliar to you, that will mean we've moved on. That we, as a society, have taken something painful and wrong and made it into something positive and unifying. And that's a gift even better than squash.

Love, 
Mom and Dad

 

GROUPTHINK

It occurs to me that one way to smooth my transition into life as a stay-at-home mom might be to meet other moms in my situation. So we can bond over stuff like hurty boobs and projectile poop and swap advice about how not to stick your head in the oven (does that even work?).

So I've been searching the Internets for SAHM groups in the area. There are tons, but the problem is they all seem to suck. How do I know, without even attending a meeting or talking to group members? I'll tell you. They ALL use comic sans on their web pages. Which tells me all I need to know.

I'm not asking for much. People with pulses. A certain level of tolerance for bad words spoken in relation to baby matters. A lack of squeamishness about detailed descriptions of bodily fluids. And, OK, yes, a level of intelligence high enough to pick a font -- any font -- other than comic sans. Also? Don't tell me your group likes to have a good time, and then tell me that idea of a good time includes slumber parties and "mommy makeovers." I am not 12. I am well over 21, in fact, and I would like a goddamn margarita.