Today is your first birthday.
Can’t believe it has been a year since we first met you. The nine months we waited for you felt like forever and now your first year has gone by in what seems like an instant. It’s all a little fast for me. You have changed our thoughts on just about everything and these days the only “good times” we talk about are those that include you.
Thank you little one, for showing us a different kind of happy and a new kind of love.
Happy birthday sweet girl!
A few months ago I would have told you that I couldn’t wait until Reese was fully transitioned to milk and I could stop breastfeeding. Dragging my pump to and from work each day, leaking, engorgement, the anxiety of wondering if I would produce enough milk for Reese to have while I was at work, staying up late to pump, waking up early to pump, nursing pads, nursing bras, sterilizing, washing, forgetting my pump at home and having to leave work early (and in some cases making Andrew drive it in to me), clogged milk ducts, the list goes on. I was anxious to kiss all of these things goodbye, to wear a normal bra again and to be free of the reoccurring fear that someone would somehow open my locked office door while I was pumping and see me, shirt lifted, looking ridic.
Now that the time is here, these feelings have changed a little and I find myself experiencing the twinge of sadness that I have heard mothers can feel when baby stops nursing.
It turns out that it is the moments that nursing brought us that I will miss the most; stealing Reese away from a party to feed her in the quiet of an upstairs bedroom, or her first meal of the day in the early morning light of her nursery.
After eleven months of breastfeeding, Reese is taking to whole milk like a champ and doesn’t seem all that phased by the weaning process. I had anticipated a struggle from her; many tears, sleepless nights etc., but she has moved effortlessly into the next phase of babyhood while I am left wishing she would stay in this moment just a little longer.
But when I’m thinking wistfully of the moments I’ll miss with my girl, I remind myself that I’ll never again have to awkwardly leave someone’s office mid-sentence because my boob is leaking through my dress, or remove a nursing pad that staggering amounts of people failed to mention was stuck to my back all day long.
These moments I can do without.
A few weeks ago we had our first snow.
After I got home from work we skipped bath time, bundled Reese up in multiple sweaters (still no winter coat yet), and took her outside on our deck to “play” in her first snow.
It was a little, quick thing. Just a few minutes outside in the cold darkness, watching her explore something new and exciting. One of the many “firsts” we are making a big deal about these days.
I have learned a lot of things about myself since becoming a Mom.
They’re not all good. But I’m going to be real honest here.
I consider myself to be a nice person, and I really do believe that most people who know me well would describe me that way. However, motherhood has shown me that I have another side. The controlling biatch side.
Now that Reese is almost a year old, I like to think that I have gotten this side of myself in check, but in the beginning it wasn’t pretty. Just ask Andrew.
I was made painstakingly aware of this side of myself when I viewed a video we took while giving Reese one of her first baths. Aside from telling Andrew what to do every step of the way (I continued to say “This is how I do it….”), the killer was when Reese appeared to crack a smile and Andrew commented, “Look! She’s smiling!” In the background I heard my annoying self say “She never smiles in the bath.”
What a B.
I might as well have said “I know more than everyone about babies, and smiling in the bath is absurd.”
Whether it was hormones or maternal instincts in overdrive, I was probably a little out of control bossy those first few weeks home with Reese.
However, slowly but surely I have worked on letting go and have come to terms with the fact that I do not do everything right. I understand that Reese won’t be scarred for life if she goes outside without a hat on and more importantly that Andrew and I are in this together and are BOTH first time parents who are equally clueless.
So the next time I find myself about to say “Wasn’t she in that outfit BEFORE her bath?” or “That’s not where that goes”, I will remember the sound of my annoying voice in the bath video, and I will shut it.
I am lucky enough to have a job that is sensitive to the fact that I have a small child.
Most of the time, I am out of the office at 4 PM and able to be home by 5 or 5:30. I work from home on Fridays, and if Reese is sick, everyone is pretty understanding about me taking time off to stay home with her. Aside from my own illnesses, my sick time also covers times when Reese or her caregiver is sick, which is extremely helpful. I get lots of and personal and vacation time and my office closes each year between Christmas and New Years.
But like anything good in life my job also has downsides, and unfortunately for me these include a long and frustrating commute, and the fact that my position is not really aligned with the career goals I have (although these have changed a little since Ms. Reese arrived). Since Reese was born it has become clear that I am more in love with the people I work with, and the environment that I work in, than the work that I do.
I work with some pretty awesome people and enjoy flexibility that I know is uncommon in most workplaces, but I still struggle with the amount of time that I miss with Reese each day.
At the same time, I am happy to contribute financially to my family as well as to relieve some stress from Andrew, who works primarily on commission.
Leaving each morning never seems to get any easier, but I am more aware of the time that I do get to spend with Reese and I value literally every minute, since they always seem to be too few and far between.
Although the feeling of dread that comes on a Sunday evening seems much heavier these days, the excitement of a Friday afternoon now has a whole new sweetness.
Rollin on about 4.5 hours of sleep today and it’s not going great.
Our girl is going through some major changes and she has no love for her crib or for sleep in general.
Last night she went down at 7 and was up at 11:50 PM. She screamed in her crib for about ten minutes (my version of the Cry It Out method; right now 10 minutes is my max but that could all change very soon.) When I went in to her room and saw her standing up holding onto the rail of her crib, jumping up and down and screaming, her face beet-red and tear stained, I couldn’t stand it and I had to pick her up.
The instant I picked her up she started smiling and pointing at things around her room. She was ready to play and she would be damned if I tried to rock her back to sleep. The attempted rocking caused more screams. All she wanted to do was crawl around, get her toys, and pretend like it wasn’t midnight and she wasn’t a ten month old baby.
I gave in and read her a few books. Is this right? Should I be playing with her or is this going to make her even more confused and teach her that nighttime=playtime. Who needs to sleep? Not a baby that’s for sure. And definitely not a Ma that needs to be up for work at 6 AM.
All I know is that I wanted her to stop crying. So we read No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed 5 times. Most of the times were with my eyes closed but she didn’t seem to mind. We played with some teething rings, looked at a few other books, and I let her climb all over me as I sat slumped in the rocker. After about a half an hour I decided to try and nurse her to sleep. Another “no-no” I know, I know. She became groggy and I put her back in her crib about 1 AM. For some ridiculous reason I could not get myself down (ha) until 2ish. Ugh.
She awoke again at 4 AM, furious that she had been tricked back into her crib.
A little after 4 I brought her into our bed where she thrashed around for a bit and, after nursing again, drifted off to sleep until 6.
She has GOT to be exhausted today. Can a baby really outdo an adult in a game of who can stay awake the longest? Seeing that the routine I have just described has been going on for about a month now, the answer is yes. The baby always wins.
Letters To Reesie 
