Tales of one woman stumbling her way through motherhood.
A cake, designed by the birthday girl:
Ice cream to go with the cake (with Phat Mommy ice cream scoop):
Baby bird mouth:
Sugar highs:
Cool gifts:
Hanging with friends:
Per the birthday girl’s request, we didn’t sing Happy Birthday, making it the perfect day for her. And with an entire day without a single shriek, cry or meltdown, it was the perfect day for me as well.
Four years ago on this day, I woke up at 6am after a fitful night of sleep. I quickly got up, showered and took a long look around our house. I was 38 weeks pregnant, and had to be at the hospital by 8am to have my daughter.
I planned to go into labor naturally, but Cordelia had other ideas. After weeks and weeks of feeling something hard in my ribs, making it extremely hard to breathe, my doctor confirmed via ultrasound that indeed it was my baby girl’s large skull pressing on my diaphragm. She remained stubborn and refused to turn head down, bringing up the question of what to do. My doctor gave me several options, including attempting a breech birth, but since she was my first child, I was too afraid of something going wrong and hurting her. I decided on the scheduled c-section.
Sitting in the pre-op area, I listened to Cordy’s heartbeat coming from the monitor, galloping steadily, completely unaware that she was being born that day. Aaron sat beside me, holding my hand and trying to keep my mind off the upcoming surgery. I was excited to finally meet our daughter, and scared of what lie ahead – not just the surgery, but the entire idea of being a mother.
My spinal anesthesia was done by a resident, and amazingly she got it on the first try. As soon as the anesthesia hit my system, I immediately vomited. (I’m sensitive to those drugs.) As they prepped me for surgery, my doctor walked me through the procedure one more time. I asked if the drape could be lowered when they pulled her out so I could see it, but they told me no, due to keeping a sterile field. I asked if I could have a mirror set up – I swore that the gore wouldn’t bother me – but my doctor again refused, saying that seeing someone else cut open and seeing yourself cut open can cause very different reactions. I was disappointed that everyone else in the room would see my daughter before I would.
The surgery seemed to take forever. I kept asking, “Is she out yet?” My doctor was getting close and asked how big this baby was estimated to be. I said around 6 lbs. and she quickly replied, “I’m looking at her butt right now, and I can tell you this isn’t a 6 lb. baby butt!” Finally they told Aaron to stand up and peer over the curtain. I again asked, “Is she out yet?” and Aaron said yes. I then waited to hear that first cry, the confirmation that she was breathing.
That cry finally came, and it was one of a royally pissed off baby. She was truly offended to have been pulled out so roughly, and as a nurse quickly walked past me, holding the baby up to see as she moved her to the warmer, I saw a pale, chubby baby with a face so angry that her eyes nearly disappeared into her scrunched-up, screaming face. Aaron followed her to the warmer to take pictures while I strained my neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of her again.
After she was quickly dried off and weighed (8 lbs, 4 oz!), they swaddled her into a baby burrito and Aaron brought her over to me. Cordy was quiet by this point, stunned by what had just happened to her, and looking around with confused, uneasy eyes. Our family moment was short-lived, and soon they insisted on taking her to the nursery for a full evaluation because of fluid in her lungs. I wouldn’t see her again for over three hours.
During that time, Aaron and his father watched Cordy through the nursery window, laying alone on a warmer. I was still downstairs in the recovery room, waiting to have feeling in my toes before they would move me upstairs. When we were finally reunited, I first vomited again (anesthesia) and then finally got to hold my daughter. I felt so disconnected from this child. She was crying and my first attempts to soothe her didn’t go so well. Could I really do this? Did she already hate me?
Our rough start was hard on all of us. Cordy was angry with the world, unwilling to breastfeed, shrill in her cries, and unable to eat without spitting part of it back up. I spent many nights during those first few weeks bouncing gently on an exercise ball while I held her, begging her to go to sleep while I softly cried and wondered if it would always be like this.
It did get better, of course. As we slowly got to know each other, and she accepted that she would never be able to go back to that warm, dark, wet place she liked so much before September 21, she began to enjoy the world around her, and I found myself completely in love with her. I can’t pinpoint when it happened – I know that when I left the hospital I worried about what kind of a mother I would be because I didn’t feel that instant bond with my daughter. But at some point we found that connection, and I ached to be away from her for even a moment.
Our rocky start was a learning curve for both of us – she is my first child, my trailblazer, and my only experience as a mother back then were my trials and errors with her. We’ve grown together, and my experience with her has been only a benefit for her sister, Mira.
Cordelia is no longer the angry baby. She purged years of anger from her in those early weeks, replacing it with a child who is full of love and happiness. On this day, her fourth birthday, she’s a beautiful girl who is smart, curious, and funny. She spins in circles until she falls down in giggles and will chase bubbles for as long as I can blow them. She insists on going to bed before 8pm, and always goes to her room with little complaint. (Although it guarantees she’ll be awake before 7am.)
She still challenges us every single day, but I now feel more comfortable handling those challenges.
Happy birthday, Cordelia. You’re still my Amazon warrior princess.
As we approach Cordelia’s fourth birthday, my mind often drifts back to when she was a baby. I can’t say she was the easiest baby, because she wasn’t. But slowly a lot of those hard times are being erased from my memory due to the effects of time. However, many of those good memories are slipping away, too, and I’m trying to hold tight to the ones I do still remember.
This weekend there is a virtual baby shower being held for Kristen and Rebecca to celebrate the upcoming births of their third and second child, respectively. (Amalah is also getting a virtual shower, too, with details here.) The hostesses asked for all those participating to share some of the good memories we have from those hazy infant days, and while they may be getting fuzzy, I do have one strong memory in mind.
Cordy co-slept until four months, at which point I was back to work and all attempts at breastfeeding had been completely abandoned. She woke generally one or two times a night, which wasn’t bad for a four month old. Being a first time mom, each night I jumped up at the first grumbles heard on the monitor and prepared her bottle.
I’d go into her room, dimly lit by her Beatrix Potter nightlight, and lift her out of her crib. We’d settle in together in my glider, and I’d give her a bottle while rocking her gently. Half of the time, she fell into a half-asleep state immediately (me too), only awake enough to eat and then fall into a deep slumber as soon as the bottle was finished.
But the other half of the time, she was still awake at the end of the bottle, looking up at me with wide eyes in the darkness. And it was on these occasions that I lifted her up to my shoulder, with her head nuzzled in the crook of my neck, and rock her to sleep.
Cordy was never a cuddly baby. She tolerated being held, but most attempts to snuggle her were met with protests. The only time I got to really cuddle my baby girl was when she needed a little help falling asleep after the bottle. This was our time together – in the stillness of the night, just the two of us rocking together to the sounds of the nighttime CD playing and her noisy breathing with the occasional contented sigh.
Sure, I wanted to get back to bed. I was still working full-time at that point, and knew I was facing a long day when the sun came up. That special moment of me holding her against me as we rocked, however, was worth more to me than the extra sleep. Even when I knew she was fully asleep, I’d often stay an extra ten minutes or more, just to enjoy the moment.
I specifically remember telling myself, “You must remember this. Of all the memories of her growing up, you must remember this moment when she is this small, asleep on your shoulder.” And I did. I burned the memory into my mind, making sure that time and age would not take it from me.
If you want to join in on the virtual baby shower, visit the shower post for the details. (Hint: there are prizes, too!) Good luck to Kristen, Rebecca and Amy – I wish you all easy births and babies who don’t have explosive poop or colic.
A rare moment (and yes, that’s Cordy!)
It seems some kids grasp the value of money very early. My mom tells the tale of me trying to trade a construction worker a dime in exchange for a quarter when I was only six years old. Apparently I understood the value but assumed that other people wouldn’t realize these pieces of metal were worth something. Oh, I thought I was soooo smart.
Other parents of preschoolers are already dealing with the “I want!” cries and the “Buy it for me!” wails. I’m lucky that, so far, my nearly-four year old has yet to be caught up in the tangle of consumerism. She loves TV characters, but rarely asks for any toys at all. I asked her today – if she could have anything at all for her birthday, what did she want the most? She answered a cake and balloons. I prodded her to think of something else, since those were part of the party anyway, and she finally answered, “A ball.” Nothing big, just a ball – perhaps a soccer ball.
Just because she’s my little anti-capitalist doesn’t mean that I should wait to teach her about money, though. I don’t want her to think that money grows on trees, or in our case, comes from little plastic cards.
Of course, it’s hard to teach a four year old about money. For now, our financial lessons are limited to the “money is how we buy stuff” quality. (We’ll save economic principles and the factors affecting inflation for next year.) I’ve explained that anytime we bring something new into the house, it’s because we used money to pay for it, and that we have a limited amount of money, so we have to choose what we buy carefully.
I wish I could say that it’s sinking in. She is the best coin hunter in the house, turning over couch cushions to find stray change and snatching pennies off the sidewalk. When her grandmother gives her a few coins, Cordy holds them as if they are made out of gold. So you’d think she has the concept of money figured out.
But the little bit of money she possesses will likely not see a storefront for a long time to come. Because all of her money goes into her ceramic piggy bank. This little piggy (a gift from Aunt Dot, of course) has been around since she was a baby, and once she learned that coins could go in the top to “feed the piggy” she began putting every coin she could find into it. Her ceramic porker apparently has quite an appetite, because she wants to feed it every day.
Cordy’s well-fed piggy on the left, Mira’s half-starved pig on the right
I once tried to open her piggy bank in front of her, thinking she would be proud to see all the money she’s saved. Instead, she gasped in horror, urging me to put all the coins back in as fast as possible: “Mommy, we have to feed the piggy! Hurry! He needs coins!” She’s actually filled her piggy bank up once already – I partially emptied it when she was asleep one night, adding the money to her savings account, but left some coins in it so she didn’t think that someone was trying to starve her pig.
So far, I’d call this a success in financial education. She saves more money than I do, and if she keeps this obsession going, she’ll be paying her own way through college. If she ever opens the pig, that is.
I think we’re going to need a bigger pig.
This post is part of what could possibly be one of the coolest Parent Bloggers Network blog blasts ever, sponsored by Capital One. Check out their Moneywi$e eLearning tool for tips on budgeting, saving money, and talking to your kids about money.
The prizes? Try one of three iPhones! Because Cordy will never share her money with me, I’ll need to win an iPhone if I ever hope to get one.
self-portrait, in crayon
You’ll note that the artist is keeping her signature style of focusing on faces, but I think you’ll agree she’s added some impressive new detail since her breakout masterpiece, Blob Face in Magna-Doodle, from January, 2008.
Tech geek, wife, mom of two, Disney fanatic, woman with ADD, and a complete domestic zero. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but that's not so bad when you get to keep trying new things, right?
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