OK, clearly nature designed motherhood to wipe out any memories of pregnancy so you would want to go through it again. The memories of my first trimester last time are blurry and fuzzy and all I can remember is the excitement of being pregnant and the constant 24/7 nausea.

The good news is that today I am 6 weeks pregnant, and while I have passing bouts of nausea, lasting only a few moments at most, generally I am OK. Last time, at exactly the 6 week mark, I stopped eating anything other than saltines and ginger ale, which lasted for six more weeks.

But I forgot about the fatigue. God, the fatigue! I am so damn tired, and even on the days I do manage 8 hours of sleep, once midday hits my eyelids suddenly gain 10 pounds each and I can barely keep them open. I feel like I could easily join Cordy on her sleep schedule – 12 hour nights, plus a 2 hour nap in the afternoon. Actually, that would be fantastic.

I understand I’m growing another human being, but that human being barely needs any extra calories (I disproved that whole “eating for two” myth last pregnancy), so why does it need every last ounce of my energy?

Most of my coworkers know I’m pregnant now. It’s hard not to tell them when they look at me and say, “You look like hell! Are you sick?” And I have received that comment from no less than 4 people, so officially I do look like hell and appear to be ill.

At my main office location (I’m located at a suburban campus most days of the week), I’ve been tempted more than once to shut the door to my office and take a short nap. We have few staff up here – surely no one would notice, right? Besides, my office manager is also pregnant with her second baby (3 weeks ahead of me), so we both understand this chronic exhaustion.

Along with the fatigue is short term memory loss. I called a student today, in response to a message she had left me. Turns out I had already called her last Wednesday, and she was puzzled as to why I was calling about it again.

Only 6 more weeks to go until the fog lifts, right?

…and today at her two year check-up, I was given more proof.

Height: 35″ (75th percentile – eh, she’s slipped a little there)

Weight: at least 32 lbs – she refused to hold still on the scale (95th percentile)

Head circumference: 20.75″ (even further off the charts than before – somewhere around 135th percentile, if there was such a thing)

So it would appear Cordy is continuing along her growth curve just fine. Oh sure, she has a head circumference larger than some adults (adult hats fit her), but the doctor said since she’s always been near or past the top of the charts, she’s not worried. We’re hoping her height will make a rally once more to catch up to her weight, otherwise she may not get as many stroller rides in the future as we encourage her to be more active.

We had a new doctor today. This is the third we’ve had in two years. The first quit the practice after her daughter fell seriously ill, and she needed to quit to help her recuperate. The second was OK, but I really thought he had no personality with children. He was a decent doctor, but a lousy pediatrician. He never took the time to warm up to Cordy, but would instead come right at her and examine her, and I think it was because of him that she is so terrified of the doctor’s office.

Today started out much the same as the other visits. She was happy in the waiting room, and didn’t complain as we walked to an exam room. Once we stepped foot in the exam room, however, the memories came flooding back to her, the tears started to flow, and the screaming began.

After the nurse left the room, Cordy calmed down a little, like normal. Then her new doctor came in – Dr. Luci. I was stunned by how young the new doctor was – she looked like she had graduated from med school…oh…yesterday. The whimpering and crying began again as Cordy buried her head in my chest.

But this doctor quietly sat down away from her and began talking with us about Cordy’s habits. Every now and then, Cordy would peek up, and Dr. Luci would give her a quick smile, then go back to talking to us. Slowly, ever so slowly, Cordy started to warm up to her doctor. Dr. Luci even offered Cordy a tongue depressor to play with to help her feel more comfortable.

Eventually Cordy was calmer and even smiled at the doctor a few times. When it came time for the exam, she still struggled and cried and fought (Dr. Luci even commented on how strong our giant child is), but after it was over, Cordy calmed down again and even tried to talk to the doctor. This, to me, was huge progress, and Dr. Luci handled herself wonderfully. This is how a doctor should handle young children.

Luckily, no shots were needed today. On the way out, Dr. Luci handed Cordelia Dora and Boots stickers, and she loved them. By the time we were checking out, Cordy was back to her normal self, even telling the receptionist “fanks!” as she handed us our receipt.

Cordelia,

Two short years ago you entered this world against your will. You were fairly happy hanging out in my belly, and to show your intent to not come out, you had positioned yourself in a complete breech position, your head still in my ribs and legs crossed as if in meditation, making your base as wide as possible. My doctor joked that you were probably going to hold onto my ribs to keep from coming out.

Because of this, you were a scheduled c-section. During the surgery, silent tears kept falling from my eyes. Your dad asked me what was wrong, and I said nothing was wrong – I was crying because I was so excited to meet you.

Those moments after the doctor pulled you out felt like forever. I waited to hear your cry as your dad peeked over the drape to see you. And then once you realized what had happened, you let out a frustrated cry. I saw your figure briefly as the nurse whisked you past me – your face scrunched up in an angry expression, your arms and legs flailing. After you were cleaned up, you were brought to me, and I got to kiss you once before you were taken to the nursery.

I had no idea what I was in for once you were here. While I had experience babysitting other people’s children, the experience of being a parent yourself is something I don’t think anyone can be prepared for. Your independent personality streak continued while in the hospital.

You fought me every step of the way with breastfeeding. When the nurse insisted we give you a bottle of formula on the second night due to your low blood sugar, I knew we would probably never fully succeed. You sucked the formula down with no problems – why work for your milk when you can get it so easily?

Our first few months together were beautiful and frustrating. I wanted so badly to meet your needs and make you happy, but sometimes it seemed like nothing would make you happy.

Luckily, by the end of the third month, your colic started to get better, and you began sleeping longer stretches. During those rare quiet awake periods, I was always mesmerized by your intense stare, as if you were trying to reconcile everything around you.

We also moved you into your own crib around four months. We thought you would like co-sleeping, but it turned out that you prefer to sleep on your own. While we missed having you in bed, it was a good solution for all of us, and we all slept better for it. It was at that point that I stopped reading all of those parenting help books, because clearly you were not going to follow the pattern of any of the children they had dealt with.

And now, at two years old, your personality has not wavered one bit, and you are becoming an independent and outspoken little girl. Your vocabulary, while slow to form at first, is now filled with all of your favorite things, like “cup”, “muk”, “Bwue”, and even “fwies”. After many months of begging you to give me a name – mom, mommy, anything – you now call me “mommy” and my heart nearly explodes to hear it each time.

You adore music. Any show that has good music is one of your favorites. You sing along with the Backyardigans all the time. You can now climb onto the piano bench yourself to play piano whenever you want, which is usually once or twice a day. You want to be surrounded by music at all times, which makes me so happy and hopeful that you will continue to be a musical child.

At a year old, you were a child who would eat anything, usually with seconds, please. You didn’t like peas, but that was about it. Now, you still love your food, but you’ve narrowed your palate to such items as chicken nuggets, pasta, Goldfish crackers, PB&J, and bananas. Trying new foods is the equivalent of trying to comb your curly hair – it is met with strong resistance.

As long as you continue to eat some healthy foods like bananas and applesauce, I guess I’ll be happy for what I have. At least you have no interest in soda, although we do now have to spell out c-o-o-k-i-e in your presence.

Sleep-wise, you continue to amaze us. Proving to once again not be like most toddlers, you appreciate sleep and can recognize when you’re tired. While you still refuse to fall asleep in public places (can’t miss the pony rides, right?), you never fight nap or bedtime at home. Sometimes you will even grab a toy, climb the stairs, and wait by the door of your room for me to let you in and put you in your crib. I can’t say enough how thankful I am for that, and I hope that’s a trait you always keep.

Your two year old check up is tomorrow, and we fully expect you to continue your growth curve at the top of the charts. Already an overachiever. And yet, for being so big, you are amazingly gentle with other children. You could easily push them down and take their toys, but instead generally prefer to leave other kids alone. When another child, even a smaller one, comes running towards you, you throw your hands up to your face to protect yourself. Someday you’ll learn you are bigger than them, and so unlikely to get hurt. But your peaceful nature with younger children gives me hope that you will be a good big sister.

Even though we have another baby on the way, you will always be my warrior princess. When I look at you I see so much of myself there – the me that was strong willing and independent, before I went to school and was told to be quiet and be like everyone else. Even though your strong will can be inconvenient at times, I hope I will be able to see past the temporary inconvenience and let you express your personality. Your strong will leads you to explore and learn, and I want you to always know that you are capable of doing most anything you put your mind to.
I love you so much, Cordy-bear. I had no idea that being a mother would be such an all-encompassing, passionate task, but having a child like you, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Happy birthday.

Love,
Mommy

Every now and then, a wave of embarrassment washes over me and I feel like I’m a bad mother. It could be when I drop my child off for babysitting, not realizing at first that I dressed her in shorts and a t-shirt for a day that will barely get above 70 degrees.

Or it could be when I’m in the car with a friend, with Cordy in the backseat, and as we drive past a McDonalds, she spots the Golden Arches and her little voice interrupts us with, “Nug-gets? Fwies?” (That is officially the name of McDonalds to her, by the way.)

Yes, I sometimes don’t dress her properly for the weather, and we do make way-too-frequent trips to McDonalds or other fast food establishments. At a day away from two years old, she still has no idea how to use a spoon or a fork, can’t dress herself, and she won’t drink from anything except a sippy cup.

In some circles, that might be enough to label me a bad mother.

And yet, anytime I need perspective, I turn to my mother. My mom works as a lab tech for a small hospital in my hometown. Since it is such a small hospital, anyone who works there tends to know what is going on with every patient that comes in. And sadly there is a high number of bad or abusive parents in that town, so they often see children brought into the hospital with varying signs of neglect or abuse.

Every now and then, during my daily talk with my mom, she’ll tell me about someone who was brought into the hospital that night or the night before. Sometimes she just tells me about running into people I went to school with, but other times she tells me horror stories of some of the children brought in to the emergency room. I think just talking about it helps her to cope with seeing these types of parents day in and day out so she doesn’t snap and yell at one of them.

The latest story floored me. A one year old boy was brought into the ER. His gums were extremely swollen, red, and bleeding. The baby teeth that had already come in were yellow or black, one was broken, and the others were falling out.

How did a one year old baby come to have such a diseased mouth? Because his parents filled his bottles with soda constantly. This kid didn’t drink milk, and he didn’t even drink juice. He drank nothing but soda, and was allowed to eat candy and suck on lollipops instead of pacifiers. His diet was nothing but junk food, fried food, and candy. His mom ate that way, so she didn’t see why he couldn’t just eat what she ate. Obviously, she didn’t brush his teeth, either. She fed her child whatever he liked, and he just happened to like the sweet taste of soda and candy.

That little boy is now in foster care, thank goodness. The foster dad is one of my mom’s coworkers, and he said it has been difficult to break this tiny child of his bad habits. You can’t leave a can of soda anywhere in a room, because he will find it, crawl to it, and drink it right from the can. The baby is addicted to sugar. He doesn’t like to eat solids because his mouth hurts too much.

The foster dad took the little boy to a dentist, and the dentist said that this child’s mouth is so injured and diseased, that he will probably have to face dental surgery in the future, and may have problems with his permanent teeth when they come in.

What parent could do this to their child? While I doubt few parents follow all the rules all the time, who could so blatantly hurt their child by giving them soda in a bottle? Even as a kid, I knew that, even though I liked soda a lot, it wasn’t healthy for me. Surely an adult can figure this out.

Malnutrition is a steady, silent problem in the US, not just because some families have trouble affording good foods, but also because some families choose to eat only junk, putting the health of their children in jeopardy. I can understand the appeal to some extent – junk food is sometimes cheaper, and generally easier to prepare or already prepared for you. It’s easier to go through the drive-thru at McDonalds for a $2.50 Happy Meal than it is to go home, prepare food, and cook a meal for a child. I admit I do it far too often, but certainly not for every meal, or every day.

While stories such as this little boy’s make me realize that I’m a pretty good mom, they also lead me to wonder how problems like this can be fixed. Children don’t learn about the food pyramid and what foods are good and bad for them until they’re in school – by that point habits are set and it is far too late for many.

When I was discharged from the hospital after my c-section, they gave me all kinds of information about breastfeeding and about keeping myself healthy, but nothing was said about making sure I transitioned my child from milk to healthy foods. At each pediatrician visit, they would ask what she was eating at that point, but nothing more was said. Maybe they would have said more if I had answered, “Oh, her favorite foods are pizza, chocolate cake and Mountain Dew,” but then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone who does feed that to their kid lies about it to the doctor. Truthfully, I’d bet many parents like this don’t even bother attending all of the recommended check-ups.

I wish I knew of a solution to make parents better educated about healthy eating for their children. Or for their entire family, for that matter. (Yeah, I know, pot calling kettle black here, but at least I’m trying.) There needs to be a way to reach parents and stress to them not only the importance of feeding their kids good foods, but also the possible consequences that could happen from eating junk food. The anti-abortionists have their giant signs with pictures of aborted fetuses (gross, by the way) – maybe we need giant billboards with pictures of that one year old’s mouth, or an obese 4 year old who can’t keep up with his peers, or a 7 year old checking her blood sugar levels due to Type II diabetes.

As far as I’m concerned, Cordelia will never know the taste of soda until she’s much older. Right now, she picks up soda cans, looks into them, and says, “Yuck.” I encourage her to keep saying yuck, too. She knows the word “cookie” and all of the sweet tastiness that comes from that word, but what she doesn’t know is that the cookies I give her as very occasional treats are actually Arrowroot cookies with added vitamins or whole wheat cookies. Right now, her only drink choices are milk (her favorite), juice (actually 1/3 100% juice with 2/3 water added), and water.

I hope that as she gets older, we can convince her to try new foods that are healthy, and avoid the junk food trap to give her the best start in life possible. I only wish some parents would want the same for their children.

I think I’ve told everyone about me pregnancy except those at work. I nearly slipped yesterday, when talkin’ about t’ local hospitals and which be t’ best for givin’ birth. Just as I was sayin’, “Well, I plan t’ use OSU again…,” I caught meself, and added, “…when we have our next child.” Whew.

Still no nausea – yay! Every day without feelin’ like me stomach be climbin’ up me throat be a successful day for me. T’ mornin’ sickness hit me at 6 weeks exactly last time, and I have told meself I’m goin’ t’ make it longer than that this time. Let’s hope positive thinkin’ be stronger than hormones.

Speakin’ o’ hormones, holy shit me boobs hurt! I forgot how smartly t’ hormones put them aft into standby mode. They’re already at least half a cup bigger, so me bras don’t fit, and bumpin’ them in any way sends sharp pains through them.

We’re now on illness watch for Cordelia. When I went t’ pick her up tonight, she was covered in sweat and coughin’. I gave her a dose o’ Motrin before bed, just in case she did have a fever. She hasn’t had a cold or other bug in a long time. I’m hopin’ she be not sick – feelin’ bad on your birthday be no fun.

In case you’re wonderin’ why this slightly random post be written so strangely today, I’ll let you in on t’ secret: today be t’ International Talk Like a Pirate Day. If you’d like t’ talk like a pirate, too, check out t’ English-to-Pirate translator here.

Arrr!