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| My dearest, precious child:
You are now over a year old. According to one friend, past immediate danger, but I still check your breathing occasionally in the middle of the night. Fear of losing you, of someone/thing hurting you, of not raising you the best way possible, etc. etc., permeates my every thought. A light anxiety underlines my life. It's separate from the love, from the overwhelming joy I feel when you smile, when you come toward me, when you sit and "read" a book, when I feel your sweet breath next to my cheek or nose. I can take it together and it doesn't cause me stress- the anxiety is the drive to take care of you, to protect you from the harm in this world.
This world is crazy. There's a recession right now, one that I hope will be over by the time you can read this. It brings out despair, loneliness, greed and emptiness. I find myself wanting to move to the countryside or an isolated village far far away and disconnect from everything, raise you on real cow's milk and homegrown veggies. But we are lucky and doing well. I have a steady job that I enjoy, your father is studying and teaching, we have a loving family, nutty dogs, a big house, wonderful care for you during the day (oh how I miss you then!), and only a small pinch in the wallet, nothing compared to most. We are trying to create a budget, I am trying to control my love for shoes, yet I can go to the Y and swim and next week I start a sewing class (first project: a dress for you, my sweet Clover girl). Things move forward endlessly, one way or another.
Your father and I have been together nearly ten years (3 weeks to go). Your arrival has changed us and our relationship, deepening our love and bond and also exposing more of our unbridled selves. We don't mince words, even when we should. We sometimes forget to kiss each other good night. I can't stand the way he chews with his mouth open and he hates my messy messy ways. But I am so happy to have picked him to be your father, to be the one to throw you in the air, and tuck you in bed, and calm your cries and put your tights on backwards. You are one lucky girl.
You are walking, nearly running, and climbing on everything. Your first word was "no," followed by "uh-oh" (as in, I dropped something) and now "hello." You've said "momma" and "mommy" and "mama" and "me," indiscriminately, just like the books say. Your favorite book seems to be I Love You Through and Through, which you got from Jennifer, your daytime surrogate mom. You sleep with a cheap bunny whose ears are all grungy already and you wake promptly at 5 am for a morning feeding before dozing off again. It's hard to get you up at 7:15. You are getting picky about food, but not insolent. Your smile is absolutely gorgeous, and you know it. Every stranger you come across knows it. You like Blazer more than Dunga and try to pet and hug him and pull his ears too hard. You hate your car seat. You've got a pot belly. Your hair is starting to curl oh-so-slightly in the back Your eyes are like the Caribbean sea - green or blue depending on the light, shining brightly, dazzlingly. You are the Clover of my dreams, entrenched so deep in my heart it hurts.
Happy Birthday, kid.
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| Clover is now crawling and trying to climb up on everything. She really wants to stand all the time. Another favorite is pulling all my disorderly, messy clothing into a big pile around her and then sucking on her favorite piece (usually the most valuable/least washable, like a silk shirt).
I cannot wait until the year is over, because 2009 will mean a 40-hr work-week for moi. That's right, no more 60 hours for me! I have four more classes to teach, plus two final exam sessions, tons of grading and then...hmmm...what will I do with myself then?
We're going to Brazil in a month or so. Clover has her passport and now she needs her visa. I can't wait to take her to the beach and watch her play with the water, pisces that she is.
I've been sick countless times since September and I'm blaming it on too much work. Hopefully it's not daycare in general or the office where I work.
I will end this droll lameness in two words.
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| thyroiditis and other newsSo it turns out my thyroid was off and not producing enough hormones to keep me running properly. Apparently this is common after pregnancy but often missed because, why yes, new moms are super tired for good reasons!
I'm on synthetic hormones now and feeling MUCH better. I can think straight again and have more mental energy in general. My body also responded by sending me my long lost friend (16 months no see), which was a complete surprise and a bit surreal. Like, I'm bleeding surreal.
Clover is amazing. She is beautiful, beautiful. I love watching her sit and play - she has a graceful posture, a strong back and a pretty nape. She utters the funniest sounds and is figuring things out. She makes raspberries especially when she has the yuckiest food in her mouth. She can move about a lot and will be crawling very soon. Her favorite toys are a tambourine, a small tiny bumble bee and pretty much anything that fits into her mouth. She loves taking baths and splashing around in the water and she smiles at everyone. Her birthmark is still there and it's quite charming. She often wants me specifically over anyone else (this feels selfishly good). She's a good nurser and an eager eater and shares her food with the dogs.
When I look at her my heart swells with love and pride and happiness.
I am still working way too much and don't have time to write more beautifully or with better details. Suffice to say that all is well and motherhood continues to be a huge source of joy and learning, including inner knowledge. I don't think I've ever felt stronger. | | |
| quick summarynew job is great. stressing about classes. arguing again over stupid things. found an awesome new yoga class. clover can sit up, produce real turds and eat fruit and veggie mush and her giggles make me feel all fuzzy inside. grandma jean misses clover terribly. dogs are even more psychotic (eating full and empty boxes of cereal, peeing on the carpet, taking seran wrap out of a drawer*). summer is over.
* I had yet another breastfeeding brain freeze and actually had to look up "drawer" in the dictionary because once I typed the word in it just didn't look right. It still doesn't. Somebody please take the crack away.
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