Days Gone By

As I sit on my living room floor, assembling toys by the fire, accompanied by nature's soundtrack of heavy rain falling on the back deck, I find myself reflecting upon days gone by. Catherine's first Christmas has come and gone and I am once again reminded of how fleeting time is; how it refuses to stand still for even a moment, how it is rushing by me, grabbing my daughter's hand, and teaching her to stand on her own. 

Somehow, a year has passed since my stocking donned a button that read "Future Mom" and my presents were wrapped in pink ribbons instead of red. A year has passed since I received the pink and green mobile that would set the tone for my baby girl's nursery. A year ago, she was an excuse to eat too much dressing and three desserts, a bump under my dress, a nameless daughter, granddaughter, niece, lovingly referred to as Baby Girl, Splash Mountain, and Lil' Sparkle. 

A year later, she sits in my lap in her Christmas pajamas, playing with a purple puppy who knows her name. She stands to play her new piano. She crawls after a dog that walks. She giggles among an avalanche of paper and bows. She grabs ornaments from the lowest branches of the tree and unwraps gifts that don't necessarily belong to her. She is a perfect blend of Husband and me, wide eyed, drinking in the magic of the holiday with a three-toothed smile.

To watch her is simply majestic. To see Christmas morning through her eyes is sublime. 


I know I'll never remember all the details of every day spent with her. I kick myself for not recording every second of our lives, making dvds and photo albums of each passing month, because I know I won't remember exactly how many walks we took or the words to the silly songs I made up at bath time. I know I won't remember the way she screeches and squeals in between "tst, tst, tst" and "da da da" sounds. I won't remember which presents she got each Christmas, but, it is impossible to forget the smile and the laugh that come from this tiny little girl. It is impossible to forget the weight of her in my lap or the sloppiness of her open mouth kiss on my cheek. It is impossible to forget the feeling of joy she brings just by being in the room. 


She is a constant reminder of life's simple pleasures. She is my life's simple pleasure.


This Christmas far surpassed any which preceded. It was better than the time I got a Barbie Dream House and even better than the year we got a puppy. This Christmas, my world revolved around an 18 pound girl in footed pajamas with an affinity for shiny wrapping paper.  And as I watched her soak up the energy of the day, I secretly wished I could wrap her up and keep her little, my perfect ten month old with the three toothed smile.

10 Months Old

Last Christmas, I was pregnant and basking in the glow of expectant motherhood. I couldn't have even imagined what it would be like just one year later... with a 10 month old!

C is crawling with great speed, pulling up on everything, including the dog (much to his dismay), cruising along the couch, and falling about 100 times daily. We're very busy over at the Ryan house. 

We're busy trying to eat dog food and computer cords and wrapping paper. We're busy unwinding toilet paper and spools of ribbon. We're busy eating puffs and Cheerios and bananas and avocados. We're busy standing up in and escaping from the bath tub. We're busy rolling over and crawling away sans diaper. We're busy climbing over and on top of and under things. We're busy babbling and talking and squealing and yelling. We're busy cutting a fourth tooth and drooling... a lot. We're just busy for the sake of being busy.

And we're loving it.

Happy ten months and first Christmas to our sweet baby girl. Let the fun begin!

Ho Ho Ho

I finally carted C to the post office to buy stamps and mail our Christmas cards.

Merry Christmas from the Ryans!

Tango with Me

When you have a baby, you spend your days trying to make them laugh. The thing that made them laugh once might not ever amuse them again. And some things are always funny. So every day, I try to get Catherine to laugh at least once. 

Banks is almost always helpful. She finds him funniest when he is just in from the yard, frisky from the cold air, and jumping around the room. 

Daddy is usually funny. He dances and sings and makes funny faces and funny noises.

Tickling does the trick most of the time. C is the most ticklish under her left arm and on her belly, but is also ticklish on the bottom of her feet. If you get her just right, she'll throw her head back and giggle, mouth open wide, showing off her three (almost four) teeth.

I can usually get a laugh when I make any high pitched noise. This is probably why she finds it so funny to pull my hair, the ow I squeal is all she needs. Sneezes are hilarious.

But, this past week at Kindermusik, we learned a new trick that is funny every time: the tango. With her arm stretched out in front of us, leading the way, we tango around the room repeating with the music, "slow, slow, quick, quick, quick" as we step to the beat. She's learning word associations, but she's also learning the joy of dance.

We practice at home, taking turns dancing around the living room with Mommy then Daddy, laughing and smiling the whole time. Such a simple step, a dance that has been danced for generations, gets a laugh every time.

Husband

Nine years ago, I joined a group of my college freshmen girlfriends for a night out at fraternity row, where I met a cute sophomore boy at the Sigma Chi house. It would take a year for that boy to ask me out and another year between our first and second date, but finally, finally, the stars would align and we would be together. Forever.

On the 10th, we celebrated a very special birthday. My husband, a man I have known for nearly nine years and loved for seven, celebrated his twenty ninth birthday. And, while I know it is selfish, I consider his birthday a gift to me as well. Twenty nine years ago, a baby boy was born who would one day become a man, a husband, a father, and I am infinitely grateful for that day of birth that occurred almost two years before my own.

He's THREE

Honestly, I find it difficult to even begin to express what this man means to me. Husband is smarter than he admits and stronger than he knows. He works tirelessly to provide for our family and allows me to spend my days at home with our sweet girl. He has so many wonderful traits that I hope our daughter will inherit.

I am constantly amazed at his ability to befriend absolutely anyone with his immediate likeability. On our honeymoon, I awoke from a poolside nap to the sound of him leading a group of complete strangers in a "Roll Tide" at the swim up bar. He will inconvenience himself simply to make your life easier and will literally give you the shirt off his back (or the hard drive full of programs from his pocket).  


He is the biggest Alabama fan ever and has somehow managed to sway me from my Auburn roots. Really, that just means I wear crimson on Saturdays instead of orange, but he convinced me nonetheless.


He makes special events special. My gifts pale in comparison to his. When he gives a gift, it is clear that he has put months of thought and effort into it. Our first Christmas together, he gave me custom made shoe racks that he built himself, after measuring my tallest heels to make sure they would fit. And when my 21st birthday celebration was derailed by Hurricane Katrina, he set up a party in my apartment and even made my birthday cake. 

He is an honest man and believes in the value of hard work, but also believes it is important to have what has become known as an "Andrew Saturday" every now and then. He has taught me how to put the check list down and to appreciate these Saturdays of non scheduled bliss, full of good food, good beer, and good company.


It is rare that one finds someone who balances them so completely. Someone who knows you better than you know yourself, and who isn't afraid to keep you in check. On good days and bad, he is exactly the man I need in my life and I am thankful every day for his.

I love this man. And so does his little girl.

Happy birthday (month), my love. I celebrate your birth every day.

Girls Night

The venue may have changed over the years, but the company is always the same.


Love my girls.

Happy Nine (and a half) Months!

I am super late with this post, but on the 23rd, our sweet girl turned nine months old! The holidays pushed her nine month check up to December 1st, so I was waiting to have stats. Anyway, here they are: 17 lbs, 9.5 oz (25th percentile); 28.5" long (80th percentile). We have a long and lean little girl!


She is so brave. She didn't cry at all when the nurse pricked her finger and took blood and only cried a little when she got two shots. She's such a big girl!


I am loving the ninth month! C is full of personality and it is visible more and more every day. She's so curious and she raises her eyebrows when she listens to you intently. She squeals and babbles constantly and has even started talking to herself while playing with her lovey in her crib in the morning before she cries for me to come get her. She's a champion eater and is loving the introduction of finger foods. She will eat bananas, avocados, puffs, and Mum Mum cookies all day long (and most of them make it to her mouth). Banks has also learned that he can usually score snacks whenever she's eating...

She's eating three meals a day and taking 7-8 oz. bottles of formula in between. She's wearing 9 month clothes in everything besides footed pajamas. Our long little girl needs the 12 month in those!


She crawls with great speed, but would much prefer to stand these days. She's pulling up and cruising along the couch, and every now and then, she will let go and stand all by herself for a brief moment. It's so much fun (and exhausting) being with her all day as she learns these new mobile skills. 

We started Kindermusik last month and she has discovered percussion. She loves shaking and beating on anything and everything (including the dog and us) and she loves music. She is mesmerized by her reflection.

She loves being outside for walks or going to the park to swing. Really, she just loves people watching and fights sleep so she won't miss a beat. She has changed from three naps a day to two most days and is sleeping from 7:30 - 6:30 or 7:00 each night (waking up at 10:30 for medicine and usually briefly around 4:00, but she has started to put herself back to sleep which is a welcomed change!

The ninth month is usually the month moms celebrate their little ones being out of the womb longer than they were in it; but for us, that was last month! It's hard to believe that my teeny little preemie is a healthy and thriving nine month old. Amazing.

Happy nine (and a half) months to my crawling, pulling up, cruising, babbling, giggling, smart, funny, sweet, and snuggly little girl. You are my world.

Parenting Fail

I am far from a perfect person, but I consider myself a pretty good mom. That being said, I make mistakes. I have accidentally pinched C's cute little thigh when putting her in the high chair. Sometimes her bath water is a little too hot or, in my attempt to remedy that, a little too cold. Sometimes I realize at 5:00 that I have forgotten to give C her 3:30 dose of medicine. But, the majority of the time, most days, all goes well. Everyone is happy and fed and bathed and dry and playing safely behind a baby corral, tucked away from the death trap that is the rest of our house.

Today was not one of those days.

Let me preface this by saying that she is totally fine. As I (slowly) type this, we are sitting on the rug, playing with toys, seeing which ones make the best noises when shaken. But this morning, I failed.

We're still not sleeping through the night completely. While, it's getting better, C more often than not, ends up snuggled next to me in our bed after her 6:30 bottle in an attempt for us both to get a little more sleep. She was nestled next to me, engulfed in my arms, sound asleep with her fuzzy little blanket clenched in her fist. So I closed my eyes to join her. I was awakened by a loud THUD followed by crying.

She had woken up, crawled out of my arms and across the entire width of our king sized bed, and fallen off the other side onto the hard wood floor.

I rushed to her, picked her up, and panicked. I tried to soothe her while crying myself. After only a minute, she was smiling, with a little red bump on her left temple. I knew what signs to look for from other moms telling me similar stories, but I called the doctor to make sure. Sure enough, if she wasn't overly lethargic, vomiting, or crying inconsolably, she was fine. I was relieved, but still so upset with myself. For weeks now, I had been worried about this happening. C is not only very mobile now, but also very curious. Needless to say, our days of morning snuggling in bed are over (at least while Mommy is sleeping).

I share this story because that's the point of this blog. If I only shared my triumphs, I'd be censoring myself and my readers from the truth that parenting is hard and not all days are perfect. I am so lucky that she is okay and that a tiny bump on her head is her only battle wound from this morning, but I'm not naive enough to think that this is the only time in her life that I will screw up. Luckily, my good parenting moments far outweigh the bad; but, for the record, the bad are absolutely heart breaking.

The In Between

Motherhood is full of big moments. There are the many firsts, the trips, the photographic memories that grace the walls of your home. But, the best moments are the in between. They are the silly faces made behind the camera to get that big smile. They are the giggles at bed time. They are the snuggles in bed after that first morning bottle. They are the car conversations full of babbles and clicks. They are the blips of everyday life not captured on film. 

Tonight, as I put Catherine to sleep, I nuzzled her nose as she closed her eyes and was met instead with a giggle. A few minutes of giggling later, my daughter had laughed herself to sleep and I had forgotten about the exhaustion of the day and the laundry and cleaning that awaited me. It's the simple things like an unexpected giggle at bed time that make my heart smile and remind me how wonderful it is to carry the title of Mommy.

Thankful

We are safe and sound following our typical trek across the state for the holiday and I find myself even more aware of just how thankful I am to be surrounded by family. Instead of dreading the four hour drive from one family to the other, I relish in the fact that we have so many loved ones to see. What a wonderful problem to have!

We spent Thanksgiving with Husband's family this year (we alternate each year to keep it fair) and then spent the weekend with my family. Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful as always, with more food than we could possibly eat followed by the coveted chocolate chess pie (a recipe I fear I will never acquire). But, my favorite part about this year was watching our family test the limits of the dining room, squeezing five couples, two children at a kids table, and a baby in a high chair into the room, hoping its walls may become pliable. 

By this summer, two more babies will join this side of the family. It's amazing, really to experience the joy that children add to the holidays, to life. Catherine is lucky to have two older cousins from whom she will learn valuable lessons like how to jump on the bed and how to create the perfect twirl in her dress; and she is lucky to have two more on the way, who will no doubt learn countless lessons from the three older girls. I simply can't wait to watch our family grow over the next few years and to see how each holiday changes to adapt to the expansion, to see how the walls will hold us all in so that we may enjoy the simple pleasure of a meal together to celebrate our gratitude.

Swinging with Aunt Sarah (and my new baby cousin on the way!)

Happy Thanksgiving!

I always miss my family on the off years, as splitting up holidays is without a doubt the most difficult adjustment to marriage. But, we are lucky enough to all live in the same state, separated only by an afternoon drive. Husband and I and a soundly sleeping Catherine made our way to Lake Martin Friday to spend the weekend with my side. Unfortunately, we missed my sister and brother-in-law since they were with his family, but we were able to enjoy relaxing while watching Catherine crawl all over the place. I love that we see them so often and that they have really been able to watch her grow up these last nine months. Seriously, so blessed.

My parents were even nice enough to keep Catherine for us all day Saturday so that Husband and I could go to the Iron Bowl. It was the first time I had left C for that long, but I was at ease knowing she was in good hands. I enjoyed my first game in Jordan Hare cheering for the other side. I know, I'm a traitor. But, I have to admit, sharing a win with Husband was so much fun, and I look cute in crimson...

So, what was I thankful for this Thanksgiving? There aren't enough words. I am thankful for my family, for my friends, and for the simple pleasure of tucking my daughter into bed every night and snuggling her every morning. Life is good. Happy Thanksgiving!

Confession

I eat A LOT of homemade baby food.

A Very Merry November

Each year, Christmas seems to creep closer and closer into November, infiltrating the cornucopia centerpieces with silver bells and gingerbread scented candles. While I love giving thanks for Squanto's farming lessons and stuffing my face with cornbread dressing until I no longer can (because I've eaten it all), I adore Christmas. It's shiny and magical and it's impossible not to smile while listening to Christmas carols by a twinkling tree, drinking hot chocolate, and watching George Bailey stumble through the snow until he realizes how precious finding petals in his pocket really is.

So, even though we have yet to celebrate the day of thanks, the family headed to Stone Mountain Park this weekend to walk among the twinkling lights, roast s'mores by the fire, and most importantly, watch C meet Santa for he very first time.

We waited in line for what seemed like hours (but was realistically somewhere around 45 minutes) for what I was sure would be a picture of C screaming in a strange man's lap. We made our way to the front of the line, stripped down C's layers to find her adorable Christmas dress (thanks, Aunt Ryan) and optimistically placed her in Santa's lap. She turned around slowly, touched his fuzzy sleeves, and smiled so big! What a fun surprise!

It really was such a fun night. Cheesy? Yes. But, so wonderful. After our visit with Santa, we grabbed some dinner, enjoyed some s'mores, and boarded the train where we sang Christmas carols and listened to the story of Christmas. C was wide eyed well past her bedtime, taking it all in. The night ended with fire works and C finally closed her little eyes as we walked to the car. This will definitely be a new family tradition.

Merry Christmas!

Copy Cat

C started mimicking me today. It is so adorable. It started with breakfast. She is never too thrilled with breakfast. It has nothing to do with the food itself. She's just a little distracted...by the dog... and her bib... and her toes... making it difficult to actually finish her meal. 

Today, I ate with her, mostly because I was starving, but also because I thought she might want to eat more if I was eating. Well, I was right! Every time I took a bite of my yogurt, she opened her mouth for a bite of her food. And she ate it all! We've even ventured into finger foods. She's eating teeny tiny bites of very ripe banana and we've introduced puffs. She's getting the hang of it...

The mimicking continued as C learned a new noise from Mommy. I was clucking like a chicken to try to make her laugh. She studied my mouth, concentrated, and made the same noise! I may regret this later as she has been making this noise all day long, but it's so cute.

I guess I'll have to be even more careful of what I say and do around my little copy cat now. It is so much fun watching her learn!

The 11:30 Dose

There is absolutely nothing I dread more than C's 11:30 dose of propranalol. When you have to space out doses every 8 hours, there is really no way to avoid at least one of the three doses falling during a time when she is completely asleep.

C goes to bed at 7:30. Mommy then cleans, does laundry and dishes, takes out the trash, makes baby food, catches up on the dvr and watches the time tick by until 11:30. Every. Single. Night.

I've tried going to sleep and setting an alarm, but I continually slept through it, only to wake up in a panic around 2:00 a.m., realizing I had missed her dose yet again. So instead, my nightly ritual revolves around 11:30.

When 11:30 finally hits, I quietly creep into my daughter's room, adjust the dimmed light just enough to see the lines on the medicine dropper, and wake my soundly sleeping child by shooting bitter medicine into her mouth and quickly chasing it with a bottle. Now she is mad. She is tired. She is awake.

Twenty minutes later, I have finally gotten her back to sleep, desperately hoping she will return to the peaceful state in which I found her but knowing she probably won't. I get in bed and watch her toss and turn in her pink sleep sack until she remains still, and I wonder what it will be like one day when her hemangioma is gone and we can end this dreaded ritual.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Turning 39 One More Time

I used to still think my dad was is the coolest. That's the thing about having such a great dad. The older I get, the cooler he becomes. Yesterday, my dad turned *ahem* fifty! If you ask him, he's still 39, but I'll let him tell that to whomever will believe it. It's the least I could do. It is his birthday, after all.

He's accomplished a lot in fifty years and I've been lucky enough to be a part of the last twenty seven. Growing up as an Army brat, his childhood stories were always my favorite. I still love to hear him recount his teenage years in Germany at Pirmasens American Junior High School. I was amazed how many broken bones resulted from silly boy bets (girls just don't do that!) and, even more, I loved the stories of he and my mom meeting in high school in Montgomery and working together on the yearbook. Thanks to facebook for these gems from PAJH:

 

It's amazing how quickly time passes sometimes. Just last week, he was teaching me to ride a bike; and a few days later, to drive a car, making me drive in circles in the same Jeff Davis High School parking lot where he learned to drive. Dad is the reason I love a lot of things. He introduced me to good coffee and foreign cuisine. He made sure my vocabulary was never lacking, enforcing use of the "word of the day" each day. Because of that, I use words like copious and perfunctory on a regular basis. He encourages patriotism with our homework assignment each Independence Day and encourages goofiness always, which I appreciate (sans the span of my tweens in which he was the most embarrassing dad in the whole world).


He's a talented writer and an even better speaker. I may have gotten my love of writing from him, but the talent of speech did not make it my way. I am in awe of how he commands a room, whether it were a PTA meeting at my elementary school, a program with Alabama's Junior Miss, or even his Sunday School class. He is well liked, appreciated, respected. 


He's the person people call when they need help (partly because he never sleeps, but mostly because they know he'll be there for them wholly). He's involved, invested, and dependable; but most importantly, he has a good time. It's no wonder why he's always surrounded by people. They just want to join in on the fun.

I've been racking my brain for something deeply moving and symbolic of his fifty years on this earth, an analogy that would sum up the weight of it all. But all I could think of is how glad I am that he was born fifty years ago, and that if I am half the person he's taught me to be when I'm fifty, I'll consider myself blessed.

Fifty looks good on you, Dad. You wear it well.

Happy Birthday, Dad (Poppa)! Thank you for being you. We love you so very much!