Double Digits!

Mary Beth will turn ten tomorrow.  Since the Loveliness of Babies Fair will be here tomorrow, I thought I'd post her birthday post today. Her brothers call her "Mini Mom" and though it irritates her, it is a fitting nickname.  She is nurturing and competent, quite the lovely big sister.  Still young enough to play with American Girl dolls and pretend to be living in a Little House, she is also showing a maturity that takes my breath away.  Ten years seems such a short time ago!  Mary Beth is a bigtime blogger and she absolutely adores her friends from the Cottage and the Glen.  I laugh with their moms as we watch the second generation of cyber-buddies take shape. My first girl, I do so enjoy her and I'm so thankful for the chance to be a mother to such a dear girl. Happy Birthday, big girl!

I Live For This

When I met him, my husband was a baseball player--not just a pick-up game kind of guy, but a serious ball player, the kind who looked ahead to college baseball and talked with Major League scouts. We watched a lot of baseball during our courtship, snuggled on a couch in his parents' basement, eating Haagen Das ice cream and rooting for the Baltimore Orioles back when both Cal Ripken and Mike Mussina were in Balitmore. My husband grew up, but he didn't leave sports behind. Now he's a "player" with ESPN and his real life job is still games. We watch a lot of television sports in this house.  We tell ourselves it pays the mortgage.

I guess it only makes sense that major sporting events stand out in my mind as benchmarks along the way in the history of our family.  We announced to the world that we were expecting our first baby at a Super Bowl party, 1988 (the Redskins won). Patrick was born on a Redskins-Dallas Sunday. Stephen was born hours after Super Bowl XXXIII; Mike barely made it to the hospital. And Mary Beth stayed awake her first night in the hospital for the second longest game on record at the time--an Orioles-Yankees postseason heartbreaker.  I have never been so tired in my life, but she was determined not to sleep until she knew the outcome.

Really, postseason baseball has permeated the homecomings of five of our babies.  It just seems that babies and baseball are what we do.  One night last week, I settled in with my little boys to watch grandma's team (Detroit) win a World Series berth.  I fell asleep to Tommy Lasorda exhorting us all to watch postseason baseball.  In a voice that sounded eerily like one of my uncles from Brooklyn, he intoned "I live for this.  You live for this.  We all live for this." And I was out like a light, baby Karoline snuggled on my chest.  I awoke two hours later to a squirmy baby and Tommy again: I live for this he insisted. I sure do, I thought as I bent to kiss a sweet-smelling downy head and then to settle my newborn at my breast.  I sure do.

I live for the way she makes a perfect "O" with her mouth, the way she shudders a bit and sighs contentedly when she has finished nursing. I live for the tiny hint of a smile I see when she sleeps and the promise of grins and giggles to come.

I live for the two little boys who stayed awake while I took my baseball nap and are eager to fill me in on the details, since it is now the eighth inning and I've missed almost the entire game.

I live for the chance to watch my four-year-old former "baby of the family" cuddle her new sister and croon, "I just love, love, love Karoline." I live for a twelve-year-old tough guy who acts like all he cares about is soccer, but tries to hide his tears when it's not his turn to hold the baby.  I live for the daughter who witnessed her little sister's birth and still reflects that unparalleled joy.

There was a time when  "I live for this" was not a television slogan; it was not hyperbole. There was a time when I left a tow-headed baby and went to the hospital again and again to be drugged with poison in order to save my life.  And every day, I'd wake up and face those challenges with a single vision: my baby. I live for this. I live for him. All I wanted was the privelige of watching the baby grow into a little boy and then a big boy and then a man.  All I wanted was to get him to eighteen.

And I did.  We did.  God did.  I was granted the great gift of being present for my child, the gift of mothering the baby.  The baby is eighteen now.  We made it!  And there is a new baby.  Her lifetime stretches before me like a story begging to be written.  I know now how foolish it is to think I just need to get to eighteen.Mothers are never finished mothering their babies. I also know that God has a plan and that there are no guarantees--we don't know how long we have to live for this.

I have a better understanding of vocation than I did way back then.  I know that these children are God's children and His plan is what I want to live.  I know that as important as I thought I was to that baby all those years ago, the children that God has entrusted to me are my path to salvation, not the other way around.  Sure, I will teach them diligently and I pray that they will know, love, and serve God, but it is me who will learn the most in these relationships.

I know the sweetness of a newborn.  I know the joy of seeing a child grow.  And I've seen all the stages between brand new and full grown. 

I also know the gift of every single day, each little tick in time.  Every moment, really, every breath.  It's all such a miracle--that I'm here, that she's here.  It's utterly lovely. I live for this.  I really do.

Fair Postponed

Due to, well, a baby, the Loveliness of Babies Fair has been postponed until next Monday, October 23rd.

Siblings at Birth

My ten-year-old daughter was there for the labor and delivery of Karoline. People have asked why we allowed her presence.  Mary Beth first proposed the idea. She wanted to be there.  It was that simple.  I talked with friends who had had siblings at birth and heard nothing but positive feedback.  I talked at length with my midwife.  I admit that I was a bit taken with the idea that I could show my daughter how to labor.  I've always had good labors and deliveries and I liked the idea of sharing that positive with her.  So often, young women hear the horror stories; I wanted her to know something else first. But, in the back of my mind was the creeping doubt.  What if something went wrong?  What if she witnessed something unthinkable? And so I wrestled all the way until the end.

I talked extensively with my friend Melanie who was Mary Beth's choice for her own support person.  I was the labor coach when Mel's teenage daughter delivered two years ago, so Mel and I were together as Emily labored to bring Gracie into the world.  We had a shared labor experience and Mel had an understanding of what we hoped. She also knew to whisk Mary Beth away if necessary.

We opted not to watch birth videos.  She wasn't interested.  We talked a lot about labor and delivery and looked through some books.  I walked her carefully through the emotional signposts described in Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way. 

When push came to shove;-), she did beautifully.  It turned out to be a hard labor (Karoline was posterior and transition was 21/2 hours long).  I worried that she would be so traumatized by watching me in pain that she'd be afraid of childbirth.  On the contrary.  When I hit the "self-doubt" signpost and began to declare rather emphatically that I couldn't do it, she told Mel, "She really can.  She just worries too much."  There's a girl who did her homework!

To see her face as this baby was born was a precious priceless gift.  A few days after the birth, when I asked if she were afraid, she said she's less afraid than before Karoline was born.  Later, she wrote:

I was there when Kari was born, there when they measured, there when they weighed, and there to cut the cord of sweet Karoline and much more. I am posting to tell you such a great experience I got out of this. I loved to see that head pop out into her shiny new world and spend her first seconds.  I watched her cry with my mom and I just got to see the beautiful moments and minutes and even hours she first spent in the world. I loved cutting the cord and I knew that I was blessed to have such a good friend (Mel) watch over me at this time.

It took a huge leap of faith for me to have her there.  I had to overcome my own fears and my  natural sense of protectiveness.  But I'm really, really glad I did.

First Bath

What great excitement met the news that Baby's cord had fallen off at last!  It was time for a bath.  We filled the tub with warm water, turned down the lights and lit a candle.  We bathed her quickly with castille soap and a soft washcloth.  Still, she didn't like it.  (Mommy would have loved such a bath.)

We dried her with a warm towel and then gave her a massage with almond and lavender oils.  Finally, we dressed her in warm pjs and a new cap and wrapped her up "burrito style." Hopefully, someone will sleep well tonight.