Run, Run, Mommy!

December 6, 2015. 8:27am.

On August 16, 2015, Jeff and I were sitting at home. It was a Sunday afternoon, and we'd just returned from our summer trip north the day before. Lily was napping, and I was stewing. I was anxious about the summer class I was about to start teaching; I was dreading returning to our grinding school-year schedule; I didn't feel good about my body or myself. I knew I needed some goal to work towards--something that didn't involve Lily or school--but I wasn't sure what.

Several women in my online community had recently been talking about the C25K (Couch to 5K) running program, and the conversations had caught my eye. They usually appeared in a weekly "Running Check-In" where I was a cautious observer but would never post. I'd run a few times in my life--first during the year of touring children's theatre after college, later in Baltimore with friends where I'd run a few 5Ks, and most recently in the months preceding getting pregnant with Lily. But I'd never been "a runner"--never fit in that elite club of people who liked to run, who ran for pleasure, who woke early on frosty Saturday mornings for a jog with friends. (For the record, I still don't.) Still, after investigating C25K, it seemed like a worthwhile program, so, on that hot August Sunday, I decided to lace up my sneakers, get off the sofa, and try doing a very small bit of running on the trails around our house.

Thankfully, C25K starts graciously slow, and I had the support of women in my online community who had been through it before. Around week 4, though, I nearly gave up. There was more running and less walking; my knees and ankles ached; I was having a hard time keeping up my commitment to run two mornings a week before school. Getting up at 5am just to face inevitable pain seemed pointless, and I hadn't even signed up for a 5K yet, so it wasn't like I was losing money. However, though I lacked real-life friends who had gone through the program, my online cheerleaders refused to give up on me. They suggested I get fitted for new shoes, repeat week 4 until I was ready to move on, and hand over that money for the December 5K on which I had my eye.

Weeks 5 and 6 weren't easy; the track was darker and darker when I hit it at 6:15am, and the new shoes weren't magical fixes. But I pushed through, and I couldn't be prouder of that. Yes, I'm a stubborn person who likes to accomplish her goals, but the process of achieving this goal wasn't seen by anyone but me; I needed to be my sole motivation. Or, at least, I thought I did--until I began picturing Lily at the finish line.

I want Lily to be proud of her mama, to see me as someone who sets her mind to something and achieves it. I want her to know that, while I struggle with my body and my perception of it, I fight to find things to be proud of it for. I want her to know that I run to be a better mama--because a morning run clears my head and physical activity gets out the frustration of being home with a toddler on long winter afternoons. I want Lily to know that I run so that she can run--or swim or dance or ride or kick or throw or bat--no matter how far-fetched that goal seems on a steamy August afternoon.

And so we arrived at race day. M, my best friend and Lily's godmother, had courageously agreed to be by my side on the 28-degree morning of the Run with Santa 5K. We pinned on our bibs at home, then headed to the race.

I hadn't done a 5K in over a decade, so I'd forgotten the nervous anticipation that buzzes around the start line. My friends were right--it gives you an energy that you don't have on your daily run, especially not if your daily runs are done alone around a track in the early hours pre-dawn. M and I weren't in this for the fast times, but the excitement of the other racers put an unexpected spring in my stride, and so the three miles passed quickly as M told stories of the dates she'd been on that week and I shared memories of my first 5K in 2000. We made the final turn and were down the home stretch before I expected.

Now, I wish I had some climactic story of the tears that streamed down my face as I saw Lily on her Daddy's shoulders at the finish line, clapping her little hands and yelling "Go Mommy Go!" But I don't. Jeff actually arrived a few minutes after we crossed the line (it's tough to get out of the house with a toddler alone!), and we ended up surprising them from behind.

But here's the thing: Lily's still at my finish line. She's still going to be the face that wakes me up at 5am tomorrow morning for my run, the smile that pushes me through the cold winter months, and the cheerful clapping that greets me when I conquer the next challenge.

I run for you, Peanut--to show you that you can do whatever makes you happy. I promise, it'll make your daddy and I pretty happy, too.

Conversations with a Toddler

Lily: "Mo?"

Me: "More what, lovebug?"

Lily: "Mo!"

Me: "I don't know what you want more of, sweetheart."

Lily: (punctuated with much gesticulating) "Mo!! Mo!! Mo!!"

Me: (snuggling her to me) "Hold on, bug. Remember what Daddy says? Use your words. What would you like more of?"

Lily: (after a deep breath) "Mo. Moo-zic."

Me: (with a sigh of relief) "Of course! Who ever wants to turn off Disney Toddler Radio?"

Conversations with Lily these days aren't always that easy to decipher, but I am so grateful for these tiny windows I get into understanding her desires and needs. There's nothing like the grin that spreads across her face when I finally grasp what she's saying and she realizes that she is understood. It might take a bit ("Ready... Go!" sounds an awful lot like "Daddy... Ball!"--especially when you're throwing a ball and watching the door for Daddy's arrival), but the success is all the more sweet thanks to the challenge it took to get there.

A few other recent gems (and some much-needed updated photos!):

Lily: "Sit."

Me: "That's right, honey, Bunny is sitting."

Lily: "Sit!"

Me: "Do you want to sit with Bunny?"

Lily: "MAMA! Sit!!"
Me: "Oh!"

Lily: "Shoes!!"

Me: "Can you kick your shoes?"

Lily: (delighted laughter)

Lily: "No."

Me: "But I love your taco costume, don't you?"

Lily: "No!"

Me: "Can we please wear it just for the parade?"

Lily: "Nawnawnawnawnaw!!!!" (Sound of masking tape unsticking.)

Lily: "Brella! Boots!"

Jeff: "Yes, Lily, it's a rainy day! Let's go find puddles!"

Lily: "Book!"

Granddaddy: "You'd like to read a book?"

Lily: "Yeah!" (Granddaddy sits on the sofa next to her.) No!"

Granddaddy: "No book?"

Lily "Yeah! Bankie! Ganny!"

Granny: "My pleasure!"

Lily: "Moony!"

Me: "Honey, there's no moon inside. Maybe there's one out--"

Lily: "Moony! Moony!"

Me: "There's definitely no moon in the fridge..."

Lily: "Moony!" (frustrated pause) "Mooth-ee!"

Me: "Oh! Smoothie! Yes! I got it!"

So, life is pretty joyful over here. Not all days, not all nights, not all meals, not all activities. But most of them are pretty amazing. We sit in awe of our little Peanut, daily wondering how in the world she's ours (and if she'll ever stop growing so fast!). I can't imagine what lies ahead...

Dear Lily: One day, you will hurt my heart.

Dear Lily,

This letter isn't meant to be accusatory or critical. It's not pessimistic or depressing. It's simply true: at some point, every daughter hurts her mama's heart. I know this because I have hurt my mama's heart--your Granny--in ways that now wound me to my core, in absent moments or missed hugs or calloused words that I hope never to repeat. But do you know what's remarkable? Your Granny still loves me just as much as she ever has; the wounds are there, but the love has sutured the bonds back together and perhaps made them stronger than ever before.

I say this to you now because--just today--my heart felt like it might just have to burst, unable to contain the love I feel for you. The moment was simple: we'd returned from running a number of boring morning errands and were in the somewhat tenuous minutes before your nap. You'd been a bit fussy all morning (likely thanks to your second front tooth coming in) and couldn't quite decide whether to whine or wiggle or just be your usual whimsical self.

And then you saw my red pot holder.

It was a simple enough choice: I was steaming your carrots while you ate a cold quesadilla from yesterday, and I needed to protect my hands from the hot lid of the pot. But I took a moment to note your curiosity in the large mitt on my hand, and, when "Yakkity-Yak" came on our Pandora Toddler Radio, I began to chase you around the butcher block. Your squeals of pure delight, your anticipatory giggles, your stomping feet and sparkling eyes were enough to keep me going, and so we sang and chased and tickled and peek-a-booed and finally collapsed in a hug on the kitchen floor.

And my heart felt ready to burst.

You are such a big girl now--you ask for our hands before stepping outside; you try to diaper your baby, Nee-Nee; you know when it's time to go upstairs for bedtime or nap and gladly lead the way; you stand beside me in your learning tower and mimic every action I do in the kitchen; you love to play house and grocery shop at the indoor playground. With each second that passes, you seem to grow more, and so I know that you will not forever be my carefree toddler, content to have your silly mama chase you around the kitchen with a pot holder. So these are the moments that I must remember when you are a teenager, when you're not sure you want to be seen with me at a movie or at the mall, when you ask if you can miss a family dinner to go out with your friends.

Because, my sweet love, when you hurt my heart, I will pick up a red pot holder to dry my tears, put "Yakkity-Yak" on the radio, and dance around the butcher block with your daddy until I laugh as loudly and joyfully and uninhibitedly as you did today. Most of all, though, I will want you to know that my heart will always overflow with my love for you, and nothing can change that.

With love that will never fail,
Your Mama

We're all good.

Whenever a long period passes on a friend's blog and I don't see an update, I worry. A thousand thoughts go through my head. So I thought I'd take a moment to say that we're all busy but all well in our corner of the world.

Here are some updates on the nearly 16-month-old (what?!?!) munchkin:

She's loving her furry siblings--she insists on hugging them constantly (which looks more like a WWE-style smackdown pinning of an opponent) and has just learned to call them "kit-TY!" with great delight.

Food comes and goes, but hits are always cheese, yogurt, and applesauce. We've discovered anything is better in a pouch, so thank goodness for the reusable ones I found on Amazon!

Jeff built Lily the absolute coolest learning tower--and Lily is in love. She particularly likes being perched in front of the sink where she can "wash" the produce that's soaking. 

After several weeks of stealing everyone else's doll strollers, Lily clearly required one of her own. She absolutely loves strolling Sug (her bear from Granddaddy) around the house and through the neighborhood.

There's nothing better than summer weekends outside. Thanks to gnats in our neck of the woods, Jeff has popped up our screened tent so we can spend long afternoons on the grass, chatting with the neighbors while Lily plays with the other kids.

So, that's us for the moment. Joyfully anticipating summer and happily being amazed by our daughter every day. Perhaps every toddler knows to clap along to "If You're Happy and You Know It" and hugs her pelican stuffed animal as she falls asleep and boogies anytime Zac Brown Band comes on the radio and gleefully shouts our best friends' daughter's name whenever she sees her, but Lily is our toddler, and so she is the only one who has ever done these things.

And that's okay, I think. :-)

Come visit me in Canada!

Just a quick note to let you know that I'm honored to be guest blogging over at The Canadian Housewife, my dear friend Jenn's blog, today. My post is in honor of National Infertility Awareness Week; this year's theme is "You Are Not Alone."

(Fair warning: if you're not already a reader of Jenn's blog, you just might get hooked!)

Dear Lily: Today, I felt like a mom.

Dear Lily,

We've had some really great days lately, my bugaboo. We modeled your new shades in sunny Florida:

And we tested out the open-air transportation available to us care of Granny and Granddaddy's golf cart on the island:

I loved spending two weeks with you and your Daddy, happily vacationing in the sunshine, soaking up time with your grandparents, testing out your newfound speed on two legs. Yet, in spite of those wonderful weeks, today was when I had a sudden burst of joy in feeling like the mama I always imagined I might be.

It was a simple enough decision: I picked you up after school under somewhat breezy but pleasantly sunny skies. I'd asked Daddy to dress you warmly enough to be outside; my original idea had been to take you to the town center and walk around a bit while I sipped a Starbucks. At the last minute, though, I decided to take a peek at a nearby playground I hadn't yet visited with you. To my happy surprise, I discovered a dozen exuberant children--many only a smidge bigger than you--and their assorted caregivers, all joyfully relishing in the early spring warmth.

And then came the moment. The moment I used to think about as I walked around the lake, the moment I used to daydream about as I made the commute to work, the moment that got me through the losses and the tests and the shots and the fear.

The moment I became just another mom on the playground, smiling at her daughter's antics.

You took the slide by storm, then tore off for the platform--the one specifically labeled as being for "5-12 year olds." It didn't stop you.

Finally, as your energy began to wane (in spite of numerous pit stops for Trader Joe's Cheddar Rockets), you found a safe spot, tucked beneath a platform.

Your head craned back, eyes wide, you studiously watched the bigger kids around you as they raced across the platform, hopped off one end, and rushed to climb to the top again. I imagine you were dreaming of being as big as them one day, but all I was doing was realizing my dream was sitting in front of me.

So, yes, as I type this, you're crying (again) in your crib. I haven't slept through the night in over three weeks, and the days aren't much easier, as you insist on being held or entertained nearly all the time. Today's experience on the playground didn't erase any of those facts (or make me feel any more rested!), but it did remind me of why this life is the one I've dreamed of for so long.

Of why you are the one I've dreamed of for so long.

With all the sleepy hugs I can muster,
Your Mama

Adventures in Lilylandia

Ever since Lily was an itty-bitty newborn a year ago, Jeff has referred to Lily's "Adventures in Lilylandia." They would take place with The Bub (Mama) and The Beard (Dada), and, apparently, they were going to be epic.

Fast forward to Lily's first birthday. In addition to "giving" Lily a year-long membership to Chibis, an indoor playground near us, we also wanted her to have something lasting. Enter the toy box.

I found this one at Bare Woods Furniture; since we Jeff didn't have time to build one, it was a good option that even included a slow-close latch. And Lily clearly approved! So, a few weeks later, we purchased it and started planning.

First, Jeff did some hard work with painting and "antiquing" it--he was worried it looked too much like it belonged at the beach, but I love it.

And then came Lily's birthday. We asked everyone who came over that weekend--and we will ask all those who we love who will be visiting in the weeks and months to come--to add a bit of themselves to a toy box that will take Lily to all the destinations she can possibly imagine.

Jeff started with "Lily's toy box," and it grew from there. On one side, came Lily's southern godfather's (which is really her godfamily's) hometown.

On the other side appeared Mommy and Daddy's hometowns.

The front got additional embellishment. From Lily's fairy godmother came Baltimore, FD (FairyLand), and, for some of our dearest friends across the pond, Jeff added London.

By the time we were done, Lily was more than ready to put our hard work to good use.

Now, for those of you lamenting, it's not finished. It's clearly missing Canada, her godmother's Virginia hometown, and several others. So, when next you visit, just remind us to hand you a brush and some paint, and it's all yours!

Dear Lily: You're (almost) 52 Weeks

Dear Lily,

I used to be so annoyed by parents who would say their child was "40 weeks" or "15 months." It seems like, past the point of 12 weeks, parents should start counting in months; past the point of 12 months, parents should start counting in half years; past the point of 3 years, parents should just count in years. And yet, as your first birthday looms on the horizon tomorrow, I find myself clinging to the hours, scarcely able to admit that you're no longer my tiny baby. Even throughout last week, as we'd encounter strangers at the grocery store or Virginia Kitchen and they'd ask your age, I was quick to reply, "Oh, she'll be a year next weekend." Because, just for today, you're still 11 months and change.

Today is your first birthday party--a small gathering of some of your favorite people, the people who have supported us and loved you since before you were born. In a few hours, there will be a flurry of activity as we get everything ready by putting finishing touches on your cake and dressing you in a very special first birthday dress from your granddaddy. But, right now, in this moment, you are sound asleep on my chest. It feels so much like those early days when I watched hours of Netflix on my phone while maintaining perpetual motion in the glider. Now, your body stretches beyond the length of my torso; your toes tap at my knees. But when I look at your face, lips slightly parted, eyes peacefully shut, breaths deep and steady--when I look just there, you are my tiny baby again.

This is the best present I could ask for, my love. Thank you for this morning of just us two, for these sweet snuggles with my baby Button. You can grow bigger tomorrow, but I'm so grateful you were willing to stay little today.

With love,

Your mama

Dear Lily: Do you need me anymore?

Dear Lily,

In just a few short weeks, you'll be turning one, and it seems like you sense the big moment in advance. And as exhausting as the last 20 months have been, the reality that our relationship is shifting, that you seem no longer to need me in the ways you have, is overwhelming to me.

Tonight, you nursed for a fraction of the time you used to; the hours have decreased into minutes, and now I begin to count the seconds. When you turned away to suck your thumb, indicating you were satiated, I placed you on my left shoulder, just as I always have. You babbled a bit, kicked your toes inside your sleep sack, then began to wiggle in frustration as you realized that you just couldn't get comfortable. I pulled you a little tighter to my chest, buried my nose in your soft, warm neck, and stood as carefully as I could. As I always do, I maneuvered my way to the crib, kissed your left temple gently, and laid you in your bed--where you swiftly settled for the night. And so, as I prayed over you (as your daddy and I do every night) and tiptoed out of the room, the tears began to prick my eyes. Gone are the nights when you nursed for 20 minutes, then required another 10 minutes of rocking to fall asleep; gone are the nights when you far preferred our arms over your crib. In the midst of those nights, a bedtime like the one we had tonight seemed like a dream that would never come true, but tonight I longed for those seemingly endless snuggles. (I do see the irony in all of this, of course, for the newborn snuggles don't come without the new-parent sleep deprivation, and the marathon nursing sessions brought prolonged pain and a lack of ability to accomplish anything on my to-do list. But hindsight is rather rosy on this occasion.)

I hope that, one day down the road, I'll reread this letter to you and laugh, for there will be new snuggles and new challenges, new bonds and new needs, new memories and new heartaches. Even tonight as I struggle with the idea that you're starting to wean yourself, as I wonder what you will need me for when it's not the comfort of nursing or nutrition of breast milk, I know have new things to look forward to each day. I love how, when you're finished nursing after you wake up, you now happily sit on my lap, first resting your head on my chest as you suck your thumb, then slowly waking up as you greet the day with giggles of glee and high-pitched squeals as your kitties join us in the nursery. I love how content you are to approach the morning from the safety of your mama's lap as I tell you what our day has in store. And I treasure your latest discovery. Much as Wendy convinced Peter Pan that a thimble was a kiss, you have deduced that attaching your open mouth to our noses for a moment or two is what we must expect when we ask you for a kiss. We cannot help but applaud you every time you lean into our noses, mouth open wide.

And so I know--I really do--that you will always need your mama, for I still need my mom even all these many years later. But tonight feels bittersweet, and I don't want to lose that reality, that knowledge that things which once brought me such much angst and frustration are accompanied by sad longing as they begin to come to an end.

I adore you, my bug. I will always be here to comfort you, to resolve your needs as best I can--because it is my privilege to be your mama.

With all my love and all my heart,
Your mommy

From Fear to Feasts: A journey in introducing solids

The first day we put Lily in her high chair, she was just six months old, and we were all smiles and excited anticipation. Yes, the chair straps were so huge that they couldn't even tighten on her shoulders (they still don't!), and her chin was nearly at the level of the tray, but this newest adventure sparkled on the horizon.

And then came the first round: Avocado.

Fairly certain we were poisoning her, Lily rejected each yummy chunk we proffered her. Without a pincer grip of her own, food got smashed everywhere, and I was in tears. All the stories I'd heard of introducing solids sounded so fun and delightful--babies giggling as they stuffed fistfuls of food into their mouths with glee, moms laughing delightedly as they swung their shiny hair back and forth, untouched by smashed peas. And so I was convinced I had failed.

Lily, however, had other ideas.

Within a few days, she'd started to find the fun in food (and we'd started to find that these awesome bibs were mandatory!). The process was slow--some foods were huge hits (butternut squash, sweet potatoes) while others were rather suspect (peas, carrots). A few weeks later, we started trying out purees and whole-grain hot cereals, which meant introducing a spoon. 

Not always a hit, and not always aimed the right way, we learned pretty fast to let Lily take the lead and just play. As we watched her interest grow, we started working on making our own purees for her. We'd simply steam some veggies or bake a squash or potatoes, then use the immersion blender (and a little water) to puree them. An ice cube tray turned out to be the perfect portion size, so we'd freeze cubes in batches, then pop them into ziploc bags. Suddenly, mealtime was becoming less of a production!

Of course, being away from home required a bit more creativity at this stage; hence, her hotel "breakfast in bed" (which she felt was questionable at best).

By the time Lily reached 7-8 months, her pincer grip was getting a lot better--happily so, as her stubborn desire to do things on her own was also growing. At this point, we began putting chunks of soft food on her tray. Many times, it was things she'd already had in puree form, but we also began introducing long toast fingers and chunks of chicken or ground hamburger.

With the blessing of our pediatrician, we also added in peanut butter on those toast fingers or stuffed into a pita pocket, which meant that the next necessary addition was a sippy cup to help the sticky goodness go down. Happily, Lily took to one of the first sippies we gave her--a Gerber graduates with a soft spout--quite well. (Jeff gets all the credit for finding it--he felt like it was important for her to have the two handles to grip so she could do it by herself.) Once again, we let her take the lead; the cup was always on the tray during meals, and she gradually learned to reach for it regularly as she ate.

As the months went on, Lily became more and more relaxed about her eating--so much so that she often makes us laugh with her poses!

No longer were meals a battle; Lily was just part of our family dinners--family dinners that no longer involved the TV or the coffee table. Instead, we made a concerted effort to have every meal at the table with Lily, whether we were together or alone with her. Some early days were fights; one particularly memorable one left me in tears when Jeff refused to let a whiny Lily out of her high chair after five minutes of whimpering. But Jeff was adamant: Lily needed to associate meals not just with eating but also with interacting as a family.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, 9-month-old Lily enjoyed several courses and nearly 45 minutes at the dinner table with the family!

Acclimating Lily to mealtimes--not just to eating--has also allowed us to enjoy meals out with friends and family, or simply a Saturday afternoon lunch with the three of us. What amuses us most now is that Lily often refuses carbs and dairy in favor of vegetables and fruit. In just the last month, she's turned down mashed potatoes in favor of salmon and asparagus, a cheese quesadilla in favor of carrots, and scrambled eggs in favor of a frittata made with mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, and spinach.

Her current favorite breakfast / snack has been affectionately nicknamed "crack muffins" in our house; they're these delicious fruit and veggie packed muffins that she shovels in by the fistful.

We've come a long way in 5 months, so I write this post as an encouragement to any mama who might be anticipating / starting / struggling with solids. As a friend often reminds me, "food before 1 is just for fun!" And you know what? It's finally starting to be a whole lot of fun!