A Little Christmas Cheer

I'm listening to you ring bells and sing on the front porch in Ocean Springs. The Christmas tree here has already been undecorated but there's still lots of family around to make the house festive and busy (sometimes very busy!). While our original plan was to head back to Atlanta today our car is currently busted up at the shop (this makes it's third trip to the shop in two months) and your dad and I are planning how to spend our extra day . I'm thinking we'll head out in a few minutes to take you to the seashore or some other exotic locale (like Hudsons...very exotic).

Your first Christmas was really wonderful and as predicted, the best presents were the bows, paper and Lemur's wooden spoons. You've knocked around at your drum set and bounced in the Exersaucer but nothing beats those wooden spoons. I won't get into all the details but it appears that Santa did track your movements carefully and was able to deliver the goods in time for Christmas morning.

It's time to move on right now, I'll follow up with a fuller Christmas report soon.

Santa's Lap

A few have asked if we're going to see Santa in the mall this year. Because of our buy-nothing-new-year commitments, I'm able to spend this holiday season mall-free. So, we arranged to have Santa sit on your lap (kind of). You seem alternately over and underwhelmed by all the glitz of the holiday season.

Something to Chew On

It's almost Christmas and you couldn't care less. You do love the sparkling trees that have, inexplicably, popped up in every house you visit and sometimes appear smack dab in the middle of the street. A well decorated tree (read: lots of hand-blown glass ornaments and those expensive Radko glitter encrusted ones) will keep you occupied for a good twenty to thirty minutes. Next year, we'll have to erect a security fence around the tree but this year your immobile and I'm really thankful.

The big news this Christmas will not be the gifts (although your dad and I are making you one pretty awesome set of drums out of thrift store pots and pans which we may regret when the decibel level starts to rise) or the big guy in the red suit. This year it's all about Christmas dinner; finally you'll get to join in the feast! Christmas falls just four days shy of your 6 month birthday and by all accounts you're ready for some culinary exploration. And of course, as I've quickly learned in this journey of parenting, every milestone reached wrenches the heart just a little.

For the past five months and few odd weeks you've foraged for food in just one place. Sometimes you've stopped by Ma's House of Delectable Dishes for a quick snack, sometimes for a prolonged linen-napkin and candle-lit affair. Basically, it's been a table for two for as long as you've been alive and I'm a little jealous of our time together. Obviously, the tap will remain open for as long as we both find it convenient but the table settings are about to change.

I love food so much that sharing this experience with you is also a little exciting. We're planning to skip the jars of mish-mashed stuff and move straight to the real stuff--sweet potatoes, carrots, avocado (if you can beat me to it), squash (no worries there, it's all yours), pears, bananas, apples. The idea behind this baby-led-weaning, is that you experience food in it's original form and start to make decisions about how much you eat and how you eat it. You get to mix the flavors together (there's no pureed "mixed vegetable" involved) and I won't have to make the sound of a choo-choo train to get you to open up. Less stress for me and more fun for you--what's not to love?

As your dad and I were eating at the Dekalb Farmers' Market last night I watched kids at a table next to us lap up a plate full of Indian spiced vegetables, leafy spinach and fried okra. I hope you learn to love that kind of variety of texture and taste. Then I bit into a heart of palm and was briefly reminded of the way your breath smells--a smell I would love to make a scratch 'n sniff sticker of if I could figure out how to capture it. There's something so unbelievably pure about that smell and I'll sure miss it when it's replaced by carrots and pears. I guess I'll be buying lots of hearts of palm. But for now, I've got a table for two reserved in about thirty minutes at your favorite little diner and I hear the dishes are always served up with a smile.

Stimulating the Brain

The other night I made the comment to a friend that I was finding the stay-at-home gig intellectually stimulating. It hasn't been something I've thought about a lot and I haven't had any deep conversations about it with your dad or anyone else. But somehow, suprising even myself, I'm finding that your brain is challenging mine.

It's a beautiful thing to track the developments of a five month old. Sometimes it's hard to keep up; you're consistently going to sleep doing things you weren't doing when you woke up that same morning. For intsance, we went to the zoo a few days ago and it was a whole new experience. The first time we went, with Chad and Molly, you slept through 99% of it, waking for a quick peek at the pandas. This last time you saw everything. When the zebras moved across the yard, you followed them and you were delighted by the Meerkats tumbling over one another. I swear, you even chuckled watching the baby gorilla play in the leaves. Wherever I pointed, your gaze followed.

I don't think you're brain will ever be quite as active as it is in this first year or two and watching it whirr is quite an experience. Granted, we're not solving global warming or discussing the pitfalls of the protestant work ethic, but we've got plenty of time for that. You've mastered connecting the word "Peanut" with the furry thing that loves to lick your face. That's a good place to start.

Fancified for Five

Yesterday was your five month birthday and we marked the occasion by getting all dressed up in your new, hand smocked dress and heading to the mall for a photo shoot. This dress was commissioned by Lemur (your grandmother) and designed by your Pa and me. There are thirteen primroses on the dress --a very auspicious number promising good luck -- and beautiful details all over. The hem lets down which means you'll be wearing this dress for a good number of years.

You were stingy with the smiles yesterday which was okay with me even though I did bark like a dog and shake my hips like Elvis to prompt you to give us one of your gummy ones. You weren't buying.

So here are some of the highlights. You'll notice we don't own these. They're officially copyrighted by the Portrait People so we're just borrowing a few...

This Time of the Year

Fall is my favorite season. I love the bursts of color where there was only green before and the reds and yellows against a bright blue fall sky can bring tears to my eyes. It's nice to bring those light sweaters and zip-up fleeces from the back of the closet and the jeans I've been wearing all summer suddenly seem seasonably appropriate. When you throw in the high-holidays like Thanksgiving and my birthday (you wore your cupcake outfit for me this year, which I considered very thoughtful), pecan pie, apple cider and butternut squash the season is just bursting forth with goodness.

There's simply no better way to celebrate the season than a walk in the woods. On November 10th you logged your first hike on the Appalachian Trail. As a way of marking one year of missing Poppa Joe the family decided to hike up to one of his favorite overlooks on Blood Mountain and sprinkle some of his ashes. Fall was Poppa Joe's favorite time of the year too and he usually marked the season with a week long hike the third week of October somewhere in the Smoky Mountains or the A.T. It was fitting to spend the one year anniversary of his death in the mountains. You absolutely loved the hike, I know Poppa Joe was smiling to see your engaged, giggling, curious face watching every tree and rock go by.

Nothing says fall like Thanksgiving at the cabin. You spent your first Thanksgiving charming the Ramke clan with your gummy smile, solid sitting skills and your obsession with drinking water from a glass. When your dad opted for tent sleeping, you and I curled up on the fold-out bed and cuddled ourselves to sleep by a dying fire. You slept like a log and woke with a big smile on your face every day. Perhaps next time we'll join your Pa in the tent.

On Saturday the three of us went on another extended hike through the Cherohala Forrest. Typically, we had a hard time finding the trail head and then started out walking exactly the wrong direction but our mistake paid off. We saw three wild turkeys take flight. You seemed unmoved by the turkeys but registered your displeasure at the sound of your mom and dad gobbling at the birds as they flew away. It was the first time we'd really heard you cry in fear; granted, we were making an unholy racket. But the rest of the hike you spent in a state of pure delight. You gabbed almost the whole three hours and did a little grass pruning in one of the two balds we came across (pictured above).

I love this season and I love sharing it with you. I love the sound of the leaves underfoot when we take our daily walk. I love bundling you up against the cold and finding (at least most of the time) that your fingers and toes are still toasty warm when we get home. I love the red in your nose and the smell of chimney smoke in the air. And to think, next Thanksgiving, you'll actually get to try some of that turkey feast you were so intent on banging your fist into this year.

What's in a Name

Marian--
It's a gorgeous fall afternoon and we're sitting on the sidewalk at the top of the street stealing wireless internet from a manicure/pedicure shop. You've been a tad fussier than usual after your four month check-up yesterday (two shots that you handled like a pro) and the only thing that seems to make you feel better is being naked or going outside for a walk. Imagine the joys of walking naked...

At any rate, I had some business to attend to and since we don't have a wireless connection at home I had to go hunting for one. Thank goodness for unsecured networks. Of course, the whole world will be wired by the time you're ready to get online and this hunting for wireless will be as passe as gathering nuts and berries for supper. Of course, if it was up to your dad, we would be out gathering nuts and berries for supper.

I haven't picked up on your birth story again; I read what I have written the other day and it already seemed like something that happened years ago. I was relieved that I could mentally pick up where I left off with the story. There are no major chunks of memory missing so I'll get around to it again soon. But while I was doing that I realized that we'd never explained the etymology of your name.

You are Marian Katherine Ard Waller

Your birth certificate is currently sporting a hyphen between Ard and Waller. We are getting that fixed as Ard-Waller sounds a bit like HogWallow and we are not mean enough to wish that on you.

Marian was the name of my great, grand aunt, Marian Hine (that's your great-grandmother's aunt) that lived in Atlanta until I went to college and she went to live with relatives in Alabama. Almost every week of my growing-up years she took our family out to eat on Friday night, and then when Friday started to interfere with my evolving social life, we switched to post-church brunch on Sundays. I can still remember the smell of her--a combination of hair spray and Listerene. Aunt Manie, that was our name for her, had a spirit of generosity that I've never found matched in another person. After living through the death of her daughter (also Marian) and her husband and a terrible accident that left her son who was in medical school with the cognitive abilities of a young child, she found her way to joy and peace. Instead of harboring animosity at a world that had most certainly dealt her a raw hand, she only seemed to grow in her capacity to love.

You and I share her name, my parents named me Amy Marian, probably with the hope that I would resemble her in some way. In naming you Marian I hope to honor her and to challenge myself to raise you well. Calling you Marian is a reminder that living at peace in this world, with grace and hope and abundant love, is a choice we make daily. Aunt Manie made the choice to live with a joyful spirit when it would have been easy to go the other way. I hope we can both take a page from her book.

You are ready to walk now. We'll continue the story of your name another day.

Booooo! Da Baby

Buddhalicious Baby...

When I lived on Zimmer Drive as a child we didn't have the rituals of Halloween they have these days. First there's Zimmerween, a party that falls on the weekend before Halloween, packed with fun for kids (costumes) and adults (wine and beer). We attended this year with our friends Chad and Molly in tow sans costume and sans a dish for the potluck or a bottle of wine. On the Zimmer Drive of yesteryear, this would have been just fine.

A lot has changed about Zimmer Drive in the fifteen years I've been gone. For starters, the house that hosted Zimmerween is a complete remodel of the duplex that used to be across the street. It's now one house (5,400 square feet, I believe) and boasts a pot-filler (a kitchen tool I'd never even heard of before last Saturday), a secret room for their young boy accessible by a swinging bookshelf in the closet, and a morning kitchen in the main bedroom. It's odd to come back to the same old house I grew up in and find I've "moved on up" by virtue of sharing a zipcode with the onslaught of wealthy folks who have moved on in.

But back to Halloween.

In addition to Zimmerween there is a street wide parade at 5:30 that officially kicks off the trick-or-treat hours. At 5:00 I was changing your diaper and commenting on your belly when the idea struck--you were the perfect size and shape to pull of Baby Buddha. So in thirty minutes we whipped together what I think is an absolutely stunning little number complete with real Sandalwood beads and a silk meditation cushion made in Cambodia. I couldn't find a Bodhi tree, so we just had rays of light emanating from your head.

Unfortunately, the costume required some explanation for the Zimmer crowd; you even got called Ms. Muffett sitting on your tuffett.

Alas, the mosquitoes are still biting and the temperature dropped so we didn't make it to the top of the street; even Buddha is susceptible to the elements. So we went back home where you changed into your pumpkin outfit and stood guard over the candy bowl. None of those pirates, ninjas or princesses got more than two pieces of candy on your watch.

Kinfolk

We can report that you've met just about all the relatives (minus some cousins that you'll see at Thanksgivings and other holidays just around the corner). The pictures above are from your initial visits with two of your three great-grandmothers. I think they are sufficiently charmed.

The Sound of Jello Thru a Straw

We woke up at 3am last night to the disturbing racket that was you struggling to breathe through your nose. Little bug, you have come down with your first cold. I can't say it comes a total surprise, you were already getting a little stuffed up before we hit the sheets last night but I was hoping it would be in and out with just a sneeze or two.

To your credit, you've been in a pretty good mood all day, even if you are feeling a little under the weather. To my credit, I've been training you since the day you were born not to fear the nasal aspirator. You've been very patient as your dad and I have stuck the plastic bulb up your nose and extracted stretchy, yellow strings of snot. I've been reciting the punchline to a card I gave your grandfather one year. I have no idea what the outside of the card said, but the inside said, "You may think it's funny, but it's snot." To be sure, no one on this end thinks your snot is funny.

Bruised

I took a good long look at my legs today I was getting ready for yoga--what a horror show.

For the 25th time this week, I ran into the sofa as I was walking out of the living room this morning on my way to get a cup of coffee. Never in my life have I walked into so many standing-still objects. The most offensive bruise, high on my left thigh, is a result of walking into the dresser right after I put you down for a nap.

I never look where I'm going anymore; I'm always looking at you. When I ran into the sofa I was moving forward but smiling at you squirming on the floor. When I nailed the dresser I was watching the soft rise and fall of your chest as you drifted into sleep. I've got my eyes on you, girl. I have the bruises to prove it.

Finding Your Voice

I think I was fully prepared for a loud baby. When we were still living in the condo I was worried that we would drive the nice man that lived downstairs to distraction with all the noise I was sure you would make at all hours of the night and day.

But the last three months have been pretty quiet (with the exception of that last road trip and a few episodes on the changing table). You coo quietly, your fussing is understated and it's only when you're really unhappy that the decibel levels rise.

But over the last three days you've turned into quite the conversationalist. Last Friday your grandmother's friend Barby was finding it hard to get a word in edgewise. We were all a little shocked that you had so much to say. Yesterday, as we toured potential wedding sites for Dana and Eric (my heavens, what fun you had staring at the lights at the Fox Theater) you really seemed to find your voice. The empty ballrooms resonated with your sweet, high, delighted little squeals, gurgles and blasts of vowels. You liked hearing it bounce back at you and the monologue kept me entertained all day long. This morning, pretty early, you picked up where you left off last night.

I love that the world is something you find worthy of exclamation. And as your cries of protest grow louder (they certainly were this morning) I hope your coos of wonder and shouts of joy will also multiply. Your voice is one I will always love hearing, even in the ungodly hours of the morning.

It's Fun to Play at the YMCA

Today, I took my first step toward triathlon training. We marched into the YMCA, the very one where I learned to swim 33 years ago, and started our trial period. To my great delight, your dad's job pays poorly enough that we qualify for membership assistance!

There I was, in my running pants and tank top staring at a weight room for the first time in way, way too long feeling just a little winded by the thought of a structured exercise routine. But what really had me breathing heavy was walking up to the "play room" and dropping you off. For the first time ever I handed you to complete strangers and walked away...for exactly 48 minutes.

You were screaming when I left and I half expected a page to ring out begging me to come retrieve you just about the time I figured out how to work the fancified stair-master. But no, when it was time to come pick you up, you were rocking peacefully in the arms of the very nice play room supervisor. I couldn't believe how good it felt to hold you again, and you didn't seem to mind the sweat and stink.

The brilliant thing about a YMCA membership, even on income assistance, is that they provide 8 hours of free daycare a week. I'm glad you seemed to settle in pretty easily, if I'm going to get ready for a triathlon, we're going to need every minute of that play room time.

PS: The picture on this post is unrelated to your day at the "Y" but it is evidence that you're getting ready for yoga.

New Doctor, New Weight Class

This morning we visited your new Atlanta doctor and we think we'll keep her. We'd been told by the DC doctor to go visit an Atlanta pediatrician at the three month mark to get your head circumference checked since your head grew so fast between your first and second month. We walked in the door this morning and the first thing the doctor said, looking up from her stack of files behind the front desk was, "that baby's head looks just fine to me." That's exactly what we thought.

We spent an hour or so getting to know the new pediatrician and talking about vitamin D supplements. I think if we went to 100 doctors we'd walk away with 100 different things we just "had to do" do prepare you for life. While the DC doc didn't think vitamin D is a big deal, this one is just sure it will keep you from getting cancer one day. So, we'll try the vitamin D drops.

I do have a bit of bad news. You no longer have an A+ in weight...you've slipped into the C+ to B- range. You're now merely in the 75% for weight. But the good news, you've moved up in height!

We've nearly worn out the playback button on the laughing video we posted but we've now discovered a way to get you to laugh almost on-demand. You love the sound of Peanut barking and could watch Bailey dance around your feet all day. As long as the dogs are animated (which usually involves feeding them copious amounts of treats while they spin and dance and bark and roll over) you are giggling. Before long we'll have two morbidly obese dogs but one very happy baby. So your two real loves right now seem to be dogs and baths.

You're in the other room right now jabbering away and making loud sucky noises. We're off on yet another road trip today to the lakehouse where you'll meet your great grandmother Ramke and some assorted aunts, uncles and cousins once-removed. I can't wait to dip your toes in the murky waters of East Tennessee.

SAHM

Yesterday was your first day with a stay-at-home-mom. I'm not sure you noticed the difference. For the first three months of your life I've been pulling in a paycheck, toting you along to the office when I needed to be there for a meeting and getting ready for the big move. You have been with me constantly, albeit sometimes staring at a computer screen for too long or being passed from hand to hand at Sojourners. But today I found myself employed only by you; the pay isn't great but the fringe benefits are pretty good.

We dropped your dad off at work for his first day as a staff attorney at Atlanta Legal Aid, he beat the other attorneys in (a good sign I think) and the three of us walked across the courtyard for coffee while we waited for the office to fill. Then we kissed him goodbye and drove back home to begin our adventure. You slept, read, took a bath (you kicked like an Olympic swimmer), walked around the neighborhood, ate a lot and were carted up and down the stairs in the laundry basket which you seemed to think was fun. Then we picked your dad up from MARTA and came home to celebrate his first day with champagne and a nice dinner at Food 101.

During the day I discussed with you the mixed feelings I have about being a stay-at-home-mom. I can think of no other place I'd rather be than laying with you on the living room floor doing push ups and reading the Squishy Turtle book that you love so much. But it's strange to have gone to work everyday for the past several years imagining that I was preparing for a career and just when it was beginning to fall into place, I left. I was raised to believe that as a girl/woman I could do any job I wanted to do if I worked hard enough. I will raise you to believe the same thing. Does this mean that you should work your way through school, find a job you love and then leave it to raise your daughter to believe she can do anything she wants? I don't know...

What I do know is that to be with you everyday, watching you smile and grunt and learn new things (sometimes it seems by the minute) feels like a tremendous gift. Can I change the world by loving you, teaching you and keeping your bum dry and free from rashes? Who knows? Maybe so.

PACHOW!

On your three month birthday you gave us all a great gift--your first belly laugh! I admit to being thrilled that it happened while splashing bare bellied in the bathtub. I love that you seem to love the water as much as I do. I'm not sure the video quality is fantastic but it's the audio that's really important.

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind. You've been on three major roadtrips and have a new address. We're still unpacking on Zimmer Drive but the process is made so much easier with three sets of hands. You love to sit on the back porch in the Guatemalan swing (you come by this rightly, Poppa Joe spent most of his time at home swinging there) or walk around the neighborhood staring up at the tree canopy. The fact that Mr. Reindeer, your favorite mobile character, made the trip too seems to please you greatly.

This past weekend you saw your Mississippi grandparents and met your first great-grandparent. You were quite a hit in the nursing home and had plenty of smiles to pass around. You cheered at your first high school football game and Ocean Springs beat the competition into the ground. Watch out, you could become a team mascot.

The weather has turned cool, my favorite season is settling in. We all slept under the covers together last night and I dreamt of babies giggling. It was the sweetest dream.

The Spaceship has Landed

Marian, you've made it home. We left Silver Spring, Maryland about two days later than expected, spent one night on the road and pulled into 1224 yesterday at about 7pm. The Penske truck was packed so tight that when your grandfather pulled out of the driveway and started down the interstate with the back door open, nothing fell out! Our station wagon looked like a lunar lander with your enormous stroller strapped to the roof rack and Mrs. Canela (one of our favorite plants that we really didn't think would make the cut) sandwiched between your car seat and the bellycast. Peanut spent the entire trip with her nose up the air conditioning vent and your pa's knees were up in his chin but you rode in the lap of luxury with your crinkly bee and your mirror (whose beautiful face did you look at for 16 hours?) for company. And here we are on the other end with boxes absolutely everywhere. But you're home. So am I. Weird.

Things You Should Not Agree to Do Before Moving

1. Continue to work for an organization that no longer pays you
2. Agree to pull together a curriculum for a weekend retreat for aforementioned organization.
3. Tell the organization you can deliver this curriculum at a meeting 4 days before moving.
4. Joyfully assent to preaching and planning a church service 6 days before moving
5. Write a magazine article with a deadline 3 days before moving

Marian, we have a lot of ground to cover. When I last wrote you were sore and sad, today you're just restless and tired of sitting inside looking at the computer screen. We haven't even reviewed you baptism weekend (which was a big deal, folks came from near and far to see you!).

But writing a blog is also something you should probably not do the week before moving.

Worst Day of Your Whole Life

It occurred to me yesterday, as you were screaming the kind of screams that we've so rarely heard, that this was the one day in your life that you could say "worst day ever" and it would most certainly be true. With just two months under your belt, you haven't had any day that hurt so bad. I'm glad you can't talk, because if I'd heard you say "worst day ever" (on top of the wounded screams) I would have just rolled over and died.

You had three shots yesterday and if the brief prick of the needles weren't bad enough you were sore and feverish most of the day and into the night. You displayed amazing stoicism about the shots, the nurses were still commenting about that when we left the office, but once you were safely out of the crowds and in the comfort of your own home, you let me know just how bad it felt. You cried, I cried and then we cuddled up for a long nap on the couch hoping to sleep off the pain and bad memories. When you woke up, feeling slightly better I think, we went for a long walk with Peanut and you enjoyed staring up at the leafy trees and drifted off into another nap. For the final feel-good treat of the evening, I filled up the bathtub and you and I splashed around for about 30 minutes. You decided to call it a night, all wrapped up in blankets, and you slept straight through to 5am. Your dad and I thought you were a little too warm and your temperature (taken the pansy way, under your armpit) was a little over 100. So we broke open the safety seal on the cherry flavored Infant Tylenol and you had your first non-breast milk "food" ever. We prefer to think your had cherry pie instead of medicine. A few more hours of sleep and you woke up ready to smile at Mr. Reindeer on your mobile. Much better day today, maybe not "best day ever" but moving in that direction.

PS. You made an "A" weight! You bent the scales at 13 pounds 1 ounce and that puts you in the 97 percentile. In my book, that's an A+! Good work my little chunker.

Marian, LIVE!

It's a brave new world. I just figured out how to download video. Watching instructions: tilt head to the left and smile.

Honk If You Love Roadtrips

There are some people who can't resist the lure of the open road. It struck me as we enjoyed our fourteenth hour on the highway between DC and Chicago this past weekend that we might have given birth to one such free spirit. You slept and you cooed and smiled at all your adoring fans in the truck stops. You only really fussed when we got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic just outside of Chicago, and really, who could blame you?

Before your 2nd month of life you have already visited six states and the District of Columbia. In just three more weeks we will get to add 3 more states. I'm betting that before you are four months old you will have seen a full 12 states by car, roughly 25 percent of all the states there are to see; not bad my little wanderlust.

Cheeky Little Miss

Here you are on July 29th, one month old and starting to fill out.Same outfit, three weeks later. I don't think your dad needs to worry about your "brain circumfrence" any longer. And what are you storing in those cheeks?

Packing Up

When I was born my mom and dad brought me home to a house that I lived in until the day I left for college. A house that I came back to after I graduated from college (for just a short one year visit, mind you) the very same house that Momma Gerri lives in today. We never moved, not across town, much less across the country. I always felt more than a little sorry for the kids who showed up on the first day of school fresh off a moving truck from some distant place where I'm sure they'd left best friends, winning soccer teams and a house they really loved. I was also a little jealous, however, of the adventures these kids must have had and the opportunity they had to reinvent themselves when they landed in a new place. There's a lot of social baggage that comes with growing up with the same set of kids since kindergarten.

So maybe it's the lure of a new adventure that's kept me moving every couple of years since I left college. In the seven years that your dad and I have been together I have moved four times and if my last count is correct, he's moved eight (sometimes just to a new house in the same city). And now, we're introducing you to our semi-nomadic lifestyle. At the age of two an a half months, all your stuff will be packed up in cardboard boxes and U-Hauled to your next home. Strangely enough, back to the house that I grew up in.

It's odd to think that you'll have no memories of your first home, or even the city that's listed on your birth certificate; I so closely identify with my first home and city. When we come back to Washington DC, it will probably always be as tourists. We'll drive through Silver Spring and point out the condo building that housed you for your first two and a half months life life and we'll drive by the DC Birth Center to see the place you took your first breath (let's hope real hard that it will always be there). When you fill out your passport application you will write Washington, DC as your city of birth, but it may not mean much to you at all. Or perhaps, you will be proud to have been born in ournationscapital.

But you'll probably do lots of things I've never done or didn't do quite so young. I hope that moving far away from home isn't one of those things you do for a very, very long time. And when you do, I'd advise you to use professional movers. I swore I would never pack myself again and here I sit in one of our two rooms completely surrounded by boxes on one side. After calling ten different moving companies and exploring every option from a full-service move to a packing pod, we've decided to go-it-alone once again.

A few months ago I was driving out of the condo and down by the trash bins there were a ton of moving boxes. The one furthest to the outside was a large wardrobe box. On the outside of the box, scrawled in black marker, were two words: Chandelier & Cat. I'm afraid that person should have paid the extra money for a professional mover. I can't promise that our move will be fun but I can promise that you and Peanut will not be packed away with the chandeliers.

Waltzing with Marian

After almost seven weeks of not taking long naps during the day, you've switched things up on us. Perhaps it's a growth spurt (lord, help us if it is) but yesterday you snoozed through most of the morning and afternoon. Waking just in time for a romp in the park with Peanut and our neighbors.

I'll admit, it was nice to get a few things done around the house yesterday. I could do laundry without trying to balance you on one hip, I sat down and ate a real lunch and spent most of the day working on your birth story. I've decided that no one, not even me, will be interested in reading this birth story at the current level of detail I've provided. It's almost five single spaced pages and I haven't even gotten to the action yet!

I've also decided it's fruitless to try and bring this blog up to speed before I start writing in the present. I'll post a shortened version of your birth story when it's ready; but for now I need to talk about this morning.

You are a morning person, you clearly get that from your dad. Your morning smiles can bring us to our knees--they are big and gummy, spreading across your whole face and it's impossible to see them and not fall head over heels in love. And while a smile will stop me dead in my tracks, I usually feel a lot of pressure to get things done in the morning. There's the pumping, the laundry, the dishes from yesterday and the coffee (very, very important to me these days). So sometimes I put you in your little rainforest bouncing chair while I rush around the place. You played nicely for a while this morning but were soon put-out by the fake jungle noises and the water-feature with no water.

The Birthing 101 soundtrack I'd put together for labor was playing on the ipod (jockeying for auditory prominence with the forest noises). I plucked you from your jungle prison and we started waltzing. The song changed and "Ashokan Farewell" started wafting out. This is the song that your dad and and I waltzed to at our wedding and the song that led me down the aisle. You and I waltzed around the condo, out onto the balcony where a soft rain was falling, and you were happy. I love dancing with you little girl.

And now you're snoozing and I'm sipping coffee. Sometimes the dishes can wait while we waltz.

Pregnancy Condensed IV, Belly Shots

You grew here.

Pregnancy Condensed III, My Little Activist

I had the kind of pregnancy that makes a lot of women jealous. No morning sickness--I threw up just twice--no weird food aversions, no scares, normal weight gain and plenty of energy throughout. There were just a few things I found to complain about, and these didn't turn up until pretty close to the end. First, my ankles and feet were swollen beyond all recognition and the only shoes I could wear were those big fat Crocs. Second, I developed pregnancy carpal tunnel which meant that for the last two months of pregnancy, and well into a month after you were born, I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers on my right hand. Lastly, I had a tremendous amount of pelvic floor pressure. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you were early, you'd been moving in that general direction for quite a while.

In March, just about three months before you arrived, I helped organize a massive demonstration against the war in Iraq. The day before the event it was 70 degrees and beautiful in DC; the day of the event it was sleeting and below freezing. Still, we managed to fill the National Cathedral with almost 4,000 people and then marched to the White House where over 200 people participated in acts of civil disobedience. Your dad and I decided it was enough for you to participate in your first march on Washington in the womb but going to jail in utero was not the best idea. I loved the idea that you were making the journey down the frozen streets of DC with me.

Your political activism didn't stop there. You turned up in a God's Politics blog post for Sojourners and it turned out to be one of the most commented-on blogs on the whole site. Some folks asked me if I felt bad about "using" you for political purposes. I did not.

And just three weeks before you were born you were on national (maybe international) television at a candidates forum on CNN focused on religion and poverty. Sojourners and CNN hosted the event and when 7 minutes before show time our VIP guests in the second row, aisle seats had not shown up I sat down. John Edwards, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton were about three feet away from us during the evening. Apparently the cameras liked focusing on the pregnant woman on the second row.

I think it is fitting that on the morning I found out you were coming I was heading to an advocacy meeting on the Hill. On the day you arrived I was supposed to be attending a meeting about mobilizing religious voters to prioritize poverty. You've got politics in your blood girl.

Pregnancy Condensed II, Missing Poppa Joe

Not every day was a happy one. Four days after I found out I was pregnant, I went home to Atlanta to visit your grandparents--Momma Gerri and Poppa Joe. It was supposed to be just a weekend visit but it turned into a much longer, much sadder stay. On the morning I was supposed to fly back to DC, Poppa Joe got really sick and I took him to the hospital. He never came back home again and died ten days later of a blood infection.

He knew about you. I told him you were on the way the morning that he died and I know that he heard me. Sweet girl, he loved you as much as he loved me (which is a considerable amount, trust me). And I am so very, very sad that you never got a chance to have him tickle you or call Dr. Finklestein for a consultation about what happens to little girls that don't eat all their spinach (not that this will be a problem, of course). Oh, the stories you will hear about Poppa Joe. I can't wait to start telling them.

I've added a picture of your grandfather holding one of my favorite babies (pre-you, of course). If he were here , he'd be spending a lot of time holding you just like this.

Pregnancy Condensed I, That Says "Pregnant"

You weren't the easiest baby to have. We had been actively thinking about having you for about a year and a half before you decided to come together. There was just something about a soft Mexican breeze across the balcony of a six story marble mansion overlooking a cliff into the ocean, cold margaritas and fresh guacamole every day that spelled "the-time-is-right."

So about two weeks after coming back to the US, when I was already late for a meeting on Capitol Hill concerning the right of all children to affordable health care, I decided to take a pregnancy test. There were a few hopeful signs: dark blue veins across my chest and a bit of spotting at a weird time that convinced me that testing five days early wasn't crazy.

And there it was...two lines. Peanut was the only one home to celebrate the moment with me. I cried, just a little, and called your dad but was glad when he didn't answer.

I sat through the long meeting, an extra pregnancy test burning a hole in my bag, and was thrilled to leave as soon as it was over. The gum I was chewing made me feel a little sick; gum would do that through the remainder of my pregnancy.

Your dad called just in time for me to get off the Metro downtown and I suggested we meet for lunch. We went to Pangaea Market and Cafe, a fair trade craft store down the street from his office. As soon as we got there I went into the bathroom and did another test. I hadn't had much to drink that morning and the results were less than stunning. I was pretty sure there was another line but it wasn't clear enough to go waving around the restaurant. I put it in the zipper pocket of my bag and walked back out.

Michael knew something was distracting me and asked what was going on. I told him I thought
I might be pregnant and explained the tests. I pulled the one out of my bag and he could definitely see the second line. He got a little teary eyed, I tried to urge caution, and we both sat there with little grins on our faces imagining the life that stretched out before us.

I walked around all day thinking--"if this pregnancy doesn't stick, at least I've had this one day. I've seen the double lines."

I spent $35 more dollars on pregnancy tests that day and they were glaringly positive. We were having you.

Making Marian

If I were the kind of mother I always imagined I would be, I'd have started this blog about 10 months ago, sometimes after this picture was taken of me and your dad in Mexico. Instead, here you sit on my lap squirming wildly (your feet keep hitting the space bar) smelling ever so faintly of spoiled milk. The dog is not walked, the car is not picked up from the shop, the heat index is rising, and it's a code orange air quality day. In a few minutes I will change you, strap you close to my chest (where I'm sure the heat index is even more unfavorable) and walk you and Peanut to the auto repair shop to pick up our newly aligned car.

See, love, I always imagined that I would write your birth story while I was sipping coffee on a porch somewhere, you sleeping calmly by my side. I would spend most of the day remembering every detail so that one day you could read the play-by-play of how you entered this place. Instead, it looks like it's going to happen after I walk to G&S Automotive and before I rush off to work for a meeting on how we might "Vote out Poverty."

Welcome to the world Marian Katherine Ard Waller. My first words of wisdom-- things don't always play out quite the way you imagined they would. And usually, that's okay.