Month 4

Dear Sophie,

Today you are four months old. This month has gone by in the blink of an eye. I packed away all of your 0-3 month clothes, and pulled out all of the bigger clothes. It's getting cold outside, so you are wearing sweaters and sweatshirts and sweatpants in the mornings and evenings. You look kind of funny all bundled up and squished into the baby carrier, but I get a lot of giggles at your expense.

You are very nosy, and need to know what is going on all the time. Whenever we go out, you watch other people, especially kids, to see what everyone is doing. Sometime it is hard to get you to eat because you are craning your neck to see something. You like to watch people, and you like to look at things that are red. Before, you would grab toys and things that were given to you, or put in front of you, but now you grab anything that is in grabbing distance. This includes hair, glasses, and of course, toys. You prefer the hard teething toys to soft stuffed animals, and everything goes in your mouth. You bat at your toys in the exersaucer and on your carseat to make them spin, and your coordination is getting better every day.

You found your thumb, and realized that while your fist may not fit in your mouth, by golly, that thumb is the perfect size! I think that you are a lefty, like me, because you reach with your left hand.

All of my bragging and boasting about your sleeping habits has come back to bite me in my sleep-deprived a... ear. This month we decided to put you in a Halo blanket instead of your Swaddle-me, and you decided that everyone needs to be awake at 12am. And at 4am.

You are still not sleeping in your crib, but we put you in there sometimes to play with your toys. And you use the slats of the crib to turn in circles, and you roll over (for real this time!) You like to roll over when nobody is watching, but we come back in the room and you are on your tummy when we left you on your back. Your father even set up a hidden video camera so that we could see you, but you must have known he was up to something because you wouldn't do it. We do, however, have about 30 minutes of exciting tape of you laying in your crib eating your bib.

Your Grandma came all the way from Illinois to spend last weekend with you. You were really good, smiling all the time and not spitting up on her once. You already know who buys the presents.

Your dad and I opened up a college account for you this month, and you're well on your way to that PhD from Yale. Or you know, wherever you decide to go. I think that part of being a parent is the desire for your children to do better, to have better than you, and to make all of their dreams come true and have them want for nothing. I know, now, that life consists of a general happiness or contentment, with bright and shining moments of pure, unadulterated joy. It is those moments of joy that make life worth living. You and your father and a lot of other people have brought so much joy into my life, and I can only hope that I do the same for you. That is, until you're a teenager, and it's all downhill from there, because you may not leave the house wearing that and get off the phone now, and then it's my job to make your life as horrible and embarrassing as I can. But for now, you are just my little baby, and you're always going to be my beautiful little baby, my precious little baby that I love so very much.

Love,

Mama

14 pounds, 14 ounces, 24 1/4 inches

One day you just wake up

And you realize your baby's eyes aren't blue anymore.

Today

Dear Sophie,
I know that you aren't another month old today. This one's a bonus. I felt I had to say something about Today. Today is September 11, 2008, and it is indeed a Today with a capital T. Today is the seventh anniversary of 9/11, the day that is forever a wound that will not heal.
On this day, seven years ago, a group of terrorists, a militant sect of a group of people called the Taliban, hijacked four airplanes. Two of those planes crashed into the beautiful twin towers in New York City, brutally murdering 2,684 people, not including the 147 people on board the airplanes, not including the hijackers. One plane was heroically taken back by the passengers, who crashed in the middle of a field in Pennsylvania, sacrificing their own lives to save countless others. One plane hit much closer to home.
My baby, we live in the DC metropolitan area. Seven years ago, your father and I lived in Arlington, a stone's throw from the Pentagon, where 125 people inside the Pentagon and 59 passengers of American flight 77 died.
Some say that every generation has a collective moment that everyone remembers exactly what they were doing, exactly where they were. Ask your grandparents what they were doing when they found out that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated, the day Martin Luther King, Jr. died, or when John Lennon was shot. For your father and I, we will always remember, with tears in our eyes, that we were out walking Janka, that we were home, and we were safe. That I had just graduated, and was still working in a restaurant and had the dinner shift that started at 3:45, and that your father had a job right across the 14th Street Bridge that he hated and had stayed home that day. That we could see the sickening smoke pouring out of the gaping hole in the side of the Pentagon for days. The smell of charred death. The frantic phone calls to friends from college that lived or worked in Manhattan to make sure everyone was okay, the frantic phone calls we received from my parents and other family and friends to make sure we were okay.
I sat in front of the TV in that little one-bedroom apartment on the first floor of the Windsor for hours during the following days. DC was all but shut down. National guardsmen stood with tanks and uzis on streetcorners. Life was surreal.
There was a woman, her husband worked in the Pentagon. He didn't work in the part that had been hit, but he never came home that day. They showed her on the news, sitting in the parking lot, waiting for him. People brought her things. A chair, food, water. She stayed, vigilant. Her husband was coming out. And I watched her, prayed for her, hoped for her. She stayed in that parking lot, not even going home at night to sleep. And one morning, two weeks after, I watched as she stood from that chair someone had brought her, weeping, as she turned to leave. And I wept with her. He never came out.

In the days and months after the attacks, we came together, despite all of our many differences. We nursed each other. We flew flags, we lit candles and we mourned together, as a nation. And we stood strong, triumphant, because We Are Americans. A year and some months after 9/11, your father and I stood at Ground Zero, in Manhattan, in the freezing cold, and hugged each other and cried.

When you are older, I pray that your life will never be touched by tragedy. That all of the hate and the war and the religious zealots in the world will be over. But, my baby, we brought you into the world during a time where all of these things exist.
Because if we stop living our lives, if we pause and let a little shimmer of fear enter our souls, we have let them win.
And we can never, never ever, never let them win.

Love,
Mama

Month 3

Dear Sophie,
Today you are three months old. We had several big events happen this month. First, I went back to work. It was really sad for me, I miss hanging out with you all day. But you stay with your Abuelita and she loves you very much, and I don't think you really noticed one way or the other.

Second, you rolled over! Well, kind of. I heard you half-rolled, onto your side, twice in the same day. So I rushed home, waiting to see rainbows and fireworks and... and... NOTHING. That was apparently the only day you wanted to roll.

Bubbles! You have become the Bubble-Blowing Master. The Queen of the Drool Bubbles, the gold-medalist in the Bubble Olympics. And you love it.

Every day after dinner, your Dad gives you a bath in your little bathtub, which sits inside my bigger bathtub. I get all of your things ready, the water in the tub, the soap, the shampoo, the towel, and set out your jammies. Then your Dad runs around the house holding you naked with his arms extended, babbling about 'This naked baby!' And you smile, and I know you're thinking about peeing on him, and that would be really funny. After your bath, he dries you and dresses you, puts on your baby lotion and cleans your ears and nose with special baby Q-Tips. And you cry. Then I put you into the Baby Bjorn, and we walk with both of the dogs around the neighborhood for about half an hour. Every day, your Dad and I argue over who gets to wear the baby carrier. I decided that we would take turns, but I have to hide the carrier to make sure that I get my turn.

The other day I was walking around Fairfax Corner with you in your carrier. There is this fountain there where water shoots out of the ground and the kids come to play in the water. They were screaming and laughing and having fun, and you watched them with wide eyes. And you waved your arms and your legs and squealed, because you understood that the kids were excited and you were excited too.

A year ago this weekend, give or take a couple days, was when I became pregnant with you. I was scared, and excited, and just hoped that you would be healthy and that I would be a good enough mom so that you wouldn't be in therapy before you started high school. I can't imagine my life without you, even though you've only really been in it for three months. It seems like you have always been with us, although I swear you were born a heartbeat ago. Until now, and for a little tiny while yet, you sleep in a Co-Sleeper bassinet that's attached to my side of our bed. You sleep right next to me, and at night I look over at you, all swaddled in your baby straightjacket, sleeping peacefully. And my chest just fills up and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. Your dad and I bought you a crib, and we put it together (well, okay, he put it together) in the extra bedroom that has both your dresser/changing table and our computer in it. It makes me very sad that soon you will be too big to sleep in your bassinet and will be sleeping in a room all your very own, in a bed all your very own. And instead of just turning my head to look at my baby girl, you are going to be a whole room away.

Love,

Mama

Month 2

Dear Sophie,



Yesterday you turned 2 months old. For reals! No more catching up. Today I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and you had your vaccines. We're really charming right now, let me tell you.


At about 5 weeks old, you started beaming one of the biggest smiles. Seriously. Huge.



That is, when you weren't crying. Here is a (small) list of things that make you cry. Being cold, being hot, taking a bath, sitting in a carseat. Having a poopy diaper. Being tired, being bored. Having to burp, having a tummy ache, having to fart. Unfortunately, those are most of the things that you do. Oh yeah, and getting shots.



Back to the poop. Your favorite place to poop is in your carseat. You are showing your disdain, I'm sure. The down side to that is that since you began only going once a day, you have some pretty massive poops, still watery 'cause you're a baby. Which means that they don't necessarily remain inside the diaper. Which means I've had disassemble, wash, and reassemble your carseat several times. Fun stuff. And there was this one time that shall forever be known as the On The Border Incident that I will torment you with even after you are grown.



Something that I'm going to have to catch on video is your gag. Whenever there's something in your mouth that you don't want there, a bottle, milk, even your passie, you act like you're choking on it. Drama queen. It's not possible for you to choke on a passie. You have learned how to blow bubbles with your drool, and you blow bubbles ALL THE TIME. Your daddy asks you all the time, 'What's up with the bubbles?' But you love them. And the drool. The drool. The buckets and buckets of drool, where we could water the houseplants and the potted plants on the balcony and the yard at the new house that we don't live in yet 'cause your daddy is still building it, and you would still have more drool.
Today at the doctor's, you were sitting in my lap in your blanket, and he came in, and you started smiling at him. This was the first time you had smiled at a stranger, and you smiled away, watching him, as he talked to us and listened to your heartbeat.

You have blue-ish brownish spots on your head above your right ear and another one more forward toward your forehead. The doctor said they are blue nevi. They are birthmarks that should go away on their own, but if they don't, they'll be covered by hair anyhow, and nobody will be able to see them if they don't. But for future reference, don't shave your head.




Speaking of hair, your hair is brown, except for this blond patch on the back of your head and the sides of your head, which are slightly reddish. You're my little calico baby.


Love,
Mama

12 pounds, 1 ounce, 24 1/4 inches long.

Month 1

Dear Sophie,




Today you are one month old. Well, not really. Still playing catch-up here. But we're pretending you're one month old today. Everyone has met you already. Your grandma and grandpa and aunt Ashley from IL just left, and you had two doctor's appointments this month. You weighed 10 pounds at your two-week appointment.




I'm not sure how people were parents before Google. Heck, I'm not sure how anyone survived without the internet. I'm always looking up different things, like 'mustard-colored poop' and 'how long can breastmilk be refridgerated' because nobody thinks to tell you that baby poop is normally the color of dijon mustard and has little oatmeal-looking flakes in it. Because, well, it just doesn't look normal to someone who's never had a baby before. Oh, and some people say 24 hours, others say 8 days, and there's a pretty big difference there, and I still don't know which one is right, so we're just going with 24-ish hours just to be safe. Well, safe-ish.




Several people have told me that all babies do this, but your dad and I are just fascinated by your hands. You have no control over your arms yet, so all of your movements are involuntary. And damn it all if you aren't conducting a little orchestra in your head. Sometimes you put your arm straight up next to your ear, and you look like you're raising your hand. Then we say, 'Sophie has a question' or 'Sophie knows the answer!' Sometimes you hold your arm straight out in front of you, palm out, and we start singing 'Stop! Collaborate and listen, Ice is down with a brand new invention...' which is a song that illustrated our childhoods by a guy named Vanilla Ice that I'm sure we'll humiliate you with when you're older. Sometimes you just put both your hands next to your ears, and then we either say that you're Hearing No Evil, or that Mama's music is too loud. Ah, good times.




Your first trip out in public, besides doctor's visits, was to dinner at Bob Evans. It was around 4:30 for an early dinner, so the only people there besides us were about 105. You were so excited, you slept the whole time.




You started sleeping through the night a week ago. That's really early, in case nobody told you that. The first time you did it, we weren't sure if we should wake you up or not. So, after some debate, we just shrugged our shoulders and let you sleep. And you've been doing it ever since (knock on wood).

Love,
Mama

Month 0

Dear Sophie,

This month, you were born. Well, not really, but I just got this idea that I should write you a letter every month to let you know how much I love you, yada yada, and just let you know in general what's been goin' on, and then publish it in a blog that I used to keep regularly but has been defunct for some time so that all of the internet world could peruse it. Yep, that's about it.

So anyway, this month you were born. Your birth was a pretty huge event, 'cause your Dad and I haven't ever had a baby before (duh). We waited and waited and waited and waited and finally the Dr. said 'Enough already, I'm gonna give you some drugs and we'll MAKE that baby come out!' So, that's what we did.

On Friday, May 30, Carlos and I got up really really early, and went to Bob Evans for a 6am breakfast. They said that after I got to the hospital, I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything, so I felt that a ginormous breakfast was necessary. Then we went to the Virginia Hospital Center in Arlington at 7am and awaited the making-the-baby-come Cytotec.

So anyway, I had this lovely idea in my head that I am strong, I am Woman, hear me roar! and that all the breathing and stuff would get me through labor. No epi for me, no way. Women have been doing this for years. Centuries even. Since the beginning of... well... we'll have the creation v. evolution talk later. Carlos was going to be a great supporter and labor coach and we were going to do this together.

That was, until the Dr. broke my water. Then, all bets were off.

Nearing 4am (the next day), the Dr. announced that what she had warned us of all along was now an actuality. You refused to turn over. See, babies are supposed to be facing the mother's spine when they begin to traverse the birth canal. You, however, were stubbornly facing right. And would not budge. Which meant that you were repeatedly banging your poor little head against my pelvis instead of going straight through. You were, in a word, stuck.

So we prepped for a C-Section. I was really really scared of a C-Section. But really, it wasn't as bad as I envisioned.

And at 4:20am on May 31, you finally came into the world.

Love,

Mama

(Sophie Gloria was 8lbs, 6oz, and 21 1/4 inches long.)

a day at the museum

feeding the birds
being fed to the mastadon
eeeew!

when the aliens invaded

king's dominion
middle of the mall
she's so tall... that she can touch the top of the monument!

the best pizza ever

now this is real chicago pizza - from gino's east.

watch out world!

sniffle. baby sis is all grown up.

she wouldn't look at us. not very cooperative for picture-taking.

with her friend.

with our aunt.

chi-town trip

the mini-vacation was good. of course, we couldn't do everything that we wanted in two days, and because of some very bad directions ended up walking about 10 miles to a restaurant (after that, we didn't feel like walking anymore, so didn't get to go to the aquarium. so sad.), which is a very long and probably boring story, so i won't waste your time.

from the signature room (bar and lounge, 96th floor) in the hancock building

being in chicago makes dc look so... short.

yes, the midwest has beaches! here are are looking at lake michigan, for as far as the eye can see.

this is why everyone loves rome...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070531/ap_on_fe_st/odd_italy_drugs_in_air;_ylt=As8oxLzPOFrwkjETvcO93F2hOrgF