SHE'S ONE!!!

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

We've been celebrating since yesterday when we had your friends Molly, Lisa, Robert, and Sarah Harper (almost 10mos) and the twins Clare and Erin (11 mos) and Uncle John and Kristen over for a birthday breakfast. You loved the coffee cake and laughed your way through your inaugural outside ride on your new tricycle (we've been riding inside for days...it's hard to keep something that fun a secret).

Last night you were awake with me at 12:41 (not necessarily my choice but it was sweet all the same). We slept on the couch (again, not necessarily my choice) and I woke up this morning to you clapping your hands together and asking to read a book. Since it was your birthday we read it over and over and over again, as you requested.

Birthday breakfast consisted of your dad's biscuits from yesterday which were just as good the second time around and the opening of presents. Momma G bought you a cow (farmers in Africa will take care of it for you) and a small wooden cow to commemorate the purchase. We love the Heifer Project and think that was a great gift. Nona and Grandaddy pitched in for the tricycle and we all feel better now that you have a seat belt and you love the loud bell. Books, new outfits and sweet cards from far and wide were the icing on top of the cake.

Now, we're off to the lakehouse for the week. Poppa will catch up with us on Thursday but GUT and GUB (two of your biggest fans from Silver Spring) are going to spend a night with us at the cabin before heading back to Maryland. Three and a half hours in the car might be a perfect place to take a long birthday nap, don't you agree?

What a great, great day. We love you.

On The Night You Were Born

Tomorrow is officially your big day. Your birth certificate clearly states that June 29th, 2007 is the day of your birth. But the date only tells a small portion of the story and the 28th will always be a very, very special day for me. The 29th may be your day but I think I'll claim the 28th as mine.

At 4:15 in the morning on the 28th I woke up and knew I was going to have you. I tried to go back to sleep like they tell you to in the birthing classes but I was too excited. Instead, I folded three loads of laundry (the full extent of my nesting instinct) and waited. Your Poppa and I went to a dentist appointment, we stopped by our doula Stephanie's house and she confirmed your impending arrival. We then went downtown to the law office, had lunch at the fair trade store and went back home to wait for 3:00 o'clock when the midwives were expecting me for my usual Thursday appointment. It was a long drive to the birth center with the contractions coming every four to five minutes on the pothole checkered streets of DC.

The midwives took one look at me (I was already five centimeters dilated) and told me to go ahead and choose my birthing room, I was going to have a baby. That's all I needed to hear; I shed my clothes, drew the tub and slipped under the warm water to wait and labor. For the next eight hours I joined you in the process of being born. The sun went down, a thunderstorm rolled through, Mama G arrived from Atlanta and the contractions came with increasing intensity and speed as we moved to our shared rhythm.

Then, at 12:41 am, with one final push and surrounded by Poppa, Mama G, Stephanie and four midwives, you moved from the inside to the outside. And there we were, the whole universe, in one room. You seemed to fly through the air (your Poppa swears that they literally threw you on top of me) and everything just fell into place. There you were naked and slippery and breathing (because of course, that's what every parent wants to know) and rooting around looking for something to drink. It was a perfect birth.

Thank you, Marian, for finding your way here to us. You may have been born at 12:41am on June 29th but yours wasn't the only "birth" that night. At that very moment, I became Momma, Poppa became Poppa and the world will never, ever be the same.

A Little Freedom Goes a Long Way

We returned to Atlanta this past Saturday from your first beach vacation and I've just unpacked my suitcase and started the first load of post-trip laundry. You are taking a hard earned nap and I fought the urge to pick up a trashy detective novel and whip up some frosty libation. But we're not on vacation anymore and I've reluctantly turned my attention to more domestic tasks like cleaning and blogging (you'll notice which of the two I started first).

I've heard folks complain about never managing to truly relax on vacation once you have kids; these people clearly don't have relatives like yours. Your Nona, Grandaddy, Aunt Katie, Aunt Christa and Uncle Kurt logged some serious hours with you and for one week I had chunks of time (hour after hour after hour) of free time. I didn't realize how much I yearned for some time alone until the morning I took off on a slow jog down the beach and realized that there wasn't another soul around. I talked aloud to myself, I stopped and watched the surf roll in and didn't once look around to see if you were sucking on something dangerous, opening a drawer with chemicals in it or headed towards the stairs.

And about the time I was sure I would die of heat stroke I realized I was anxious to see you. How sweet to walk into the beach house, feel the blast of cold air and see you sitting in your high chair eating your Nona's banana-in-an-ice-cream-cone invention. Being apart, even for just an hour or so, made seeing you that much sweeter.

Your dad and I are fairly devoted to the idea and practices associated with attachment parenting. I'm still breastfeeding, you sleep with us, you spent very little time in strollers and car seats when you were tiny, etc. We like to think that our choices will encourage you to explore the world as one who knows she is always securely attached at the base, the root, the beginning. Attachment theory, however, does not mean that the parents must be glued to the child, anticipating and meeting every whim and need. Perhaps what will encourage you to be brave and independent (and always safe) is watching your parents model that behavior.

One day last week your Poppa and I left you with Nona and hopped in our kayaks for a little paddle around the ocean and lagoon. I had not been in my kayak since before I was pregnant and--logically or no--I was really nervous. Paddling into the itty bitty waves I noticed the death grip on my paddle and the air in my lungs that I'd neglected to let out for too long. It only took a few minutes, however, for me to find the rhythm and sway of the ocean and I looked back to see you and Nona waving us goodbye. Is there any chance that the image of your parents out to sea will stick around in your memory somewhere? I'd like to think that the sight of kayaks on a wide ocean will remind you of me one day. I hope that the feeling of freedom I experienced that afternoon is one you experience throughout your life. Incidentally, on that trip your Poppa and I kayaked with two dolphins for over an hour in water that was so shallow they couldn't fully submerge. Again, I found myself unable to breathe quite right.

I think I've returned from vacation able to mother you better for the stretches of time I got to spend apart. By the look of things, you were having so much fun I doubt you even registered my absence. But like the tide, I may go out but I'll always come back in.

Hotter than the Tennessee Asphalt

It's a rare thing to find yourself at the lake house alone. Usually when the entire family descends on Lake Tellico there are no less than nine or ten people and often quite a few more, sharing space in the one bedroom/one bathroom cabin that grandaddy built.

Last Monday Momma G, Grandmother (that's great-grandmother to you) and you and I went to the lake for a few days and did a whole lot of nothing productive. It was great. You entertained us day and night (a little too much during the night) and even managed to sit still long enough for grandmother to read you a book or two.

On Wednesday, Momma G drove Grandmother back to Knoxville and I found myself alone with you at the cabin. It was a little surreal to have the place to ourselves and so very quiet! Also it was one hundred and fifty two degrees. Because I can't touch the bottom of the lake from where we jump in I decided it was no place to take a baby who can't swim. So, we brought the lake to us and the cool water was so refreshing and delightful; your face says it all.

Today we're packing our bags and getting ready for your first ever beach trip! So many bathing suits, so little time!