One
Dear Mira,
Today marks one year on this planet for you. I’ve tried to write this a billion times and erased every start except for that one sentence. You’d think I could get nostalgic on command – I’m a writer, after all – but at this moment it’s difficult for some reason.
I think part of the problem is that I’m still a little numb to the realization that an entire year has passed. I remember your birth clearly, I remember those early days, then three months, four months, and suddenly you’re a toddler, staggering between pieces of furniture to maneuver your way around the room. How did that happen?
I remember that birth so clearly because it was not only your big day, but it was also my victory. Circumstances prevented me from having the birth I wanted with your older sister, and I was determined to not be separated from you like I was with her. Thankfully, I got to have the birth experience I wanted. I remember you gave a quick cry at the shock of emerging into the bright, cold world. But the moment you were placed on my belly, I remember how you immediately quieted. You peered up at my face, squinting in the bright light, and gave a big, contented sigh. Your father leaned in and said, “Welcome to the world, baby girl,” and your eyes widened and your head turned towards his voice, as if you already knew him. At only seconds old, you seemed to know your place in this world.
Your big sister wasn’t quite so convinced. You were ignored for the first 4-5 months by Cordelia. I’m not sure if this was her way of dealing with this intrusion into her time with mommy and daddy or if she really thought that if she simply didn’t acknowledge your presence you would disappear into the ether. Either way, you didn’t seem to mind at first. But slowly we noticed that it affected you. Cordy would run towards you, and I’d see your face light up with joy as your big sis came towards you. But then she would run right past you, and that joy would turn to confusion and then a gloomy look as you realized she wasn’t interested in you. Repeat 100x. It was heartbreaking.
But slowly Cordy took an interest in you and watched you as you held your head up, rolled over, sat up. And then that one day where she came to you and, without prompting, hugged you. I thought your little heart, and mine, would burst. From that point on, the love-hate relationship between you began. Sometimes you genuinely want to play with each other. Other times I am convinced you’re trying to kill each other. Your new hair-pulling trick is not endearing, although when Cordy trips you as you try to walk I can see why you might want a handful of her hair.
I have spent much of this first year comparing you to Cordy. You breastfed for eight months, while she gave up practically at the start. You both suffered through colic. You lagged behind her in weight (she was a big baby!), but kept up in height. She is blonde, you’re a brunette. You met physical development milestones faster than she did. She was the world’s happiest baby, while you are the baby who is Not Amused.
But at one year old, you’re so different from your sister – in both good and not-so-good ways – that I don’t think I can keep making those comparisons much anymore. You’re clearly a different person, with a different agenda, and each day you make it known that you are not your sister in any way. You are the yin to Cordy’s yang (or maybe the other way around, depending on the day).
You are the child who will always test my limits, too. You push me to the edge each day, checking to see just how far you can go before I break, and then turning on the charm and the snuggles with a mischievous smile. You delight in picking up carpet fuzz and holding it out for me to see – knowing you fully intend to put it in your mouth – and then crawl/stagger away as fast as possible (always giggling) when I move to take it from you. You really do have a glint in your eye when you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing. I can’t imagine what you have in store for me in the years to come.
While I never had to deal with it, I know it must be hard to be a second child. You’ve never had me all to yourself, other than those few short hours each week when Cordy is at preschool. Add in all of my nursing school responsibilities, and it’s amazing you haven’t been forgotten at some point. You handle the lack of attention well at times. However, lately we have taken up a new hobby: bird watching out the back window together in the morning, after taking Cordy to school. I never would have guessed that a backyard bird feeder could provide so much entertainment, but your fascination with our winged friends can’t be denied.
I wasn’t sure I could handle two children. I wanted a second, but worried that it would be too much. Even while pregnant, when there was no turning back, I still felt some hesitation when I tried to imagine us as the perfect two-child family. In the early days after your birth, I continued to feel overwhelmed. But slowly I adjusted to the new responsibility, and thankfully you and your sister rarely need me at the same time. It also helped that you started sleeping through the night far sooner than you sister. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do to help a mom feel on top of a situation.
Today? I can’t remember what it was like without you, and I never want to go back to that time. Even if your dad and I joke about selling you off to gypsies (or your sister – we’re equal opportunity) the truth is we adore you and our family isn’t complete without you. I never realized how much I needed you. And though I’m happy to see you reach this first milestone, I’m sad to leave behind these infant days. I want you to stay this age forever: sweet, snuggly, fascinated with everything in the world, and still needing me. But you must keep growing, learning, and finding your own way. I can still wish, though.
Now how about you work on learning a few words during your second year on this planet, OK? Because your current method of pointing, grunting and shrieking can’t keep working forever.
Happy birthday to my baby girl. You may be second born, but you’re certainly not second in my heart.
Love,
Mommy
A Birthday Party Quandary
In a perfect world, we would be celebrating Mira’s first birthday today, the 21st. But the little diva decided that she wasn’t going to comply with some arbitrary due date, and instead waited another six days to make her appearance.
And while her actual birthday is next Tuesday, we’re having her party this Saturday, because adult schedules don’t always match up with baby birthdays. This will be the first party where Cordy is not a focus or THE focus of the celebration.
We’ve been dealing with some jealousy again from Cordy. Cordy’s recent hugs look more like take downs. Mira is practicing standing and taking her first tentative steps, but any cheer to encourage her ends with Cordy doing something to get the focus on her. Like pretending to fall down and “hurt” herself. Or just tripping Mira and laughing wildly.
And while I understand that she wants attention too, that doesn’t mean I’m going to completely ignore my younger daughter. I think she expects us to be all oh, Cordy, you’re the only one we care about! This other kid? Eh, just kick her if she gets in the way. She’s a big bore to be around anyway – can’t even walk yet! Don’t worry, we’ll only cheer YOUR accomplishments!
It’s getting old.
So when planning this party, my mother suggested, “I’m going to bring a gift for Cordy. You might consider getting her some gifts, too.”
“But it’s not her birthday, mom. She’ll get lots of attention when it’s her birthday. Isn’t Mira allowed to have her own day?”
“Cordy needs to know that she’s special, too.”
I can see her position, sort of. I mean, Cordy got presents when Mira was born. Sort of a peace offering of here, this little screaming being is about to usurp your power and guarantee you’re not the center of attention 100% of the time from here on out, but here’s a cute little stuffed animal and t-shirt to make it all better, so go give your new sister a kiss. She’s had to deal with a lot of change since then, and seeing everyone spend a day lavishing attention and gifts on Mira could cause some hurt feelings, or a rebellion that I really don’t want to deal with.
But at the same time, I want Mira to have her own special time, too. I’ve heard the stories of younger siblings who felt like they never got enough attention because they always had another sibling to deal with. Cordy had nearly three years all by herself – two birthdays and three sets of Christmas, Hanukkah, and Easter to be the solo golden child. Mira will never have that. Shouldn’t her birthday be that one day where it’s all about her?
I was an only child, so I never had to deal with this issue. Well, I did, but not in the same way. My birthday and my mom’s birthday are a day apart on the calendar, so I never had a family birthday party that wasn’t a joint party. I never even had my own cake – it was always a shared cake.
So I need your help, oh friends in my little electronic box: do we give Cordy a present? Should we help ease her sibling jealousy and show her that even though the party is for Mira, she gets cake, presents, and attention too? Or do we tell her to suck it up and get over herself, because life’s not fair and occasionally you have to step into the shadow and let someone else have their moment?
What do I do? Should I find some way to recognize Cordy at Mira’s birthday party? Or do we put the focus on Mira alone?
Complicated Workout Equipment Isn’t For Me
CityMama is giving away a Wii Fit (and a Wii), but the condition is you have to tell your most embarrassing fitness story to win. Despite my best attempts, I wasn’t able to get in on the pre-sale of the Wii Fit, and I want one baaaaad, so if I must share my shame with you to have a chance at one, I will.
OK, Spring, 1995. The second half of my freshman year in college. My university had just opened a state-of-the-art rec center. It was the only workout facility for the entire campus population. It was enormous. The cardio workout room alone took up the entire second floor of the east wing, with 75+ machines and workout stations available for use.
What you need to know ahead of time was that this was a very image conscious university. Lots of perfect people, filling the rec center all hours of the day and night, working out obsessively to maintain that beautiful image. (And the women in this group always cleared out the salad bar at every dining hall. Try a burger, ladies!)
And then there was me. Not perfect. Not even close, really. I’ll admit to being intimidated by all of those pretty people. But a friend of mine was also a fitness nut, and knowing that I wanted to fit in, convinced me to join her three days a week at the rec center. It also helped that a guy we were friends with would be there, too, and I had a serious thing for him.
So there we were, 7pm on a weeknight, and as usual the place was packed. Elliptical machines were all the rage at the time, and the sign-up sheet to use one of them was filled for the night. The treadmills were also taken, and when I suggested the bikes my friend rolled her eyes and told me that stationary bikes would never give me the real workout I needed.
Our guy friend found us at this point. I was ready to suggest walking the indoor track – you know, a nice low-impact, lazy, scaredy-cat easy workout, but he surveyed the room (he practically lived at the rec center, and knew every machine in this place) and said, “If you want an awesome workout, you should try the NordicTrack.”
For those who aren’t aware, this is the NordicTrack:
Only the one at the rec looked bigger and more complicated. The woman, however, looks NOTHING like me.
I should also add that not only was I overweight at this point in my life, I wasn’t exactly known for my coordination, either. I had sprained my foot earlier in the school year by falling down one step. But at the urging of my two friends – one of which I was trying to impress – I examined the machine. It looked a little scary. Treadmills I had figured out in high school, and I had been on an elliptical once without any injury. But this looked like some medieval torture device. I wasn’t even sure what body part went where, other than my feet.
My guy friend jumped on one of the NordicTrack machines (which, in a room full of occupied machines, these were conspicuously empty of able-bodied fitness nuts) and in a few swooshing motions, showed me how to use it. I tried to play it cool, saying, “Oh yeah, I remember now! I used one of these back in high school. Piece of cake!”
He jumped off the machine in one graceful movement, wandering off to say hi to one of his buddies staffing the towel desk nearby. My female friend turned to me: “Well, let’s get going. We should get in some kind of a workout before this place closes for the night.”
“It closes at midnight, Jen. I think we have time.”
“Yeah, I know. I was planning on being here for a few hours. No pain, no gain, right?” she said with a smile. I wondered at that point how I missed the sadistic streak in her earlier.
I hesitated, looking at the NordicTrack ski machine, realizing I really had no idea how to use it. But I watched my guy friend use it – he made it look effortless. I glanced around at all of the beautiful people around me, happily gliding through the motions of their particular machines, all as graceful as figure skaters. I can do this, I thought, I’ll just get on and glide. This might be so easy that I won’t even feel like I’m getting a workout!
Taking a deep breath for confidence, I climbed onto the machine. I carefully put my feet into the toe holds, maintaining my balance so I didn’t move either ski. My friend took the machine next to me.
I shuffled my feet back and forth slowly, not more than a few inches each way, to test the skiing motion. It seemed pretty easy. Eh, this is easy, I thought. Oh, how cocky and unknowing I was in that moment.
The next events were only a few seconds and play in slow motion in my mind. I reached for the hand grip for my right hand (refer to picture for what I’m talking about), and when I did that, my weight shifted and my right foot suddenly shot out behind me on the right ski. That, of course, forced the left one forward and my upper half pitched forward onto the belly rest to keep my balance.
At that point I aborted grabbing for the right hand grip and tried to regain my balance by bringing my legs back together, but I didn’t anticipate just how easily those skis moved. As I summoned the strength to pull my legs back together, I overcompensated and in one swift motion they shot the other direction – the right going forward, the left going back. Only this time, I had been holding my upper body upright, and now it was moving backwards too.
The force of this sudden, uncontrolled motion sent me flying backwards off the machine. I remember looking briefly over at my friend and saw the confused expression on her face as I fell. I don’t remember the rest of the fall, although I heard a yelp. I was so outside of my own body at that point that I didn’t realize the screech was mine. Before I knew it I was staring at the lights hanging from the ceiling, followed by my two friends and one of the rec center workers standing over me. My guy friend looked horrified, but Jen could barely contain her laughter.
“What the hell?” she asked, trying to stifle her giggles. “Are you OK?”
“I…yeah, I think I’m fine. Can we please leave? I don’t want everyone to stare at me.” I started to sit up, realizing one foot was still on the instrument of my flight. I gently extracted my foot from the machine.
She couldn’t help but laugh at that point. “It’s a little late for that!”
I looked up, and saw several of those beautiful faces staring at me. Everyone on that end of the workout room heard me yell and saw my subsequent tumble from the NordicTrack, and now their eyes were all fixed on me. (Although I should point out that very few of them stopped their workout – most were still going, just with their heads turned in my direction. Priorities, people.) Some looked concerned, but most looked at me like I was a puppy chasing my tail – amusing and pathetic at the same time.
My guy friend helped me up. “Maybe you should try something a little…safer…like walking the track.” He was trying to be helpful, but I felt humiliated.
“Yeah, I’ll do that…” I mumbled.
The guys at the towel desk were still smirking, and applauded me as I walked past. “Nice dismount,” one laughed. “You totally made tonight more interesting.” My already red face burned hot as I hurried towards the locker room.
I didn’t go back to the rec center until the next school year, and even then I stuck to the track for the first several months. I had never made such a fool of myself in front of 100+ people before, and the bruises healed far faster than my embarrassment.
See? This is why I need a Wii Fit. The balance board is less complicated, and if I do fall off it, at least there’s no one around to stare and laugh.
Family Time
Thanks to gas prices and a three year old who had spent the week suffering behavior regressions and tantrums, we found ourselves without plans for the entire weekend. Realizing this was a rare opportunity, Aaron and I both (mostly) avoided our computers and spent the entire weekend focused on the girls.
It was relaxing. And fun. And sorely needed. I think Cordy’s behavior last week was a combination of eating something that she had a reaction to, and having her schedule thrown off because Aaron is busy directing a play and hasn’t been home for bedtime most evenings. Whatever the reason, she had a short fuse and while I shouldn’t need to clarify that I love my daughter, I didn’t want to be around her much last week. Everyone was tired, frustrated, and in need of a lot of attention.
So Saturday, Aaron decided to make up for the missed bedtimes by having a daddy-Cordy day. After lunch, they went to a playground for awhile, and then he took her out for ice cream. Just the two of them – no attention-seeking little sister to get in the way.
When they came home, Cordy wanted to play in the backyard, so we gladly took the suggestion, and spent the remainder of the day digging in the sand table, kicking a soccer ball around, and having fun as a family.
Sunday was spent indoors, and not only did we have more family time, we also managed to get some cleaning done. You know I hate cleaning, and I’ll tell you that Aaron might just hate it even more than me. Cordy and Mira also think of toys strewn over the floor as an interior decorating choice, rarely helping to put them away. As a result, you can clearly see the clutter in many of our pictures, doing the equivalent of the drunk guy in the background of a news report waving and making faces.
But now? Did you know we have a floor under all of that clutter?
Next project – finding new rugs to replace the fugly ones my mom insisted we use.
Amazing, isn’t it? A lot of toys were culled from the herd, and the large plastic monstrosities (Jumperoo, etc.) were shipped off to a resale shop, never to be seen in our living room again. We did far more cleaning after that picture, too. We’re not exactly ready for a real-estate showing or anything like that, but it looks good.
After the girls were in bed last night, we found our way back to our internet lives and our multiple jobs. Aaron and I looked at our clean floor, reflecting on the generally positive weekend, and made a vow that we need to do this more often.
Oh, you said put things away? Sorry, uhm, where would you like this water bottle?
