THIS IS WHY YOU CALL ME MOM

There are some days that feel like every other day: the days I wake up, brush my teeth and shower, either fight the angry wave in my hair or let it be, experience the magic of an eyebrow pencil, slap on a coat of mascara, wake up my babe, get her dressed, head to daycare, head to work, come home, eat some meatless meal, fight over the remote (seriously), and head to bed to do it all again the next day.

Because I'm Sol's mother.  I am Sol's family.  I spend 50+ hours a week away from her so that I can provide a beautiful, comfortable life for her.  And in those 50+ hours each week, I lose track of time.  I get home from a long day at work and forget to look at her... to really look at her and see the beautiful girl that's growing far too much, far too quickly.  I forget to look in her eyes and see the swirl of colors... the eyes that were once blue, but now are changing to the most unique shade of brown/gray/blue.  I forget to look at the color of her hair and see how perfectly it matches mine.  I forget to hold her tiny hands in my palms and see just how tiny they really are compared to mine.  I forget to look in amazement at her tiny-but-oh-so-perfect fingernails. 

I forget all this, and within a few short weeks I realize she's different.  Her sideswept baby bangs are long enough now to tuck behind her ear.  I realize that her once-chunky legs are more slender and toned, because OHWAITSHECANWALK.  I realize that her feet aren't just luscious little lumps of baby fat anymore and all of a sudden shoes actually fit her; and not just that, but her feet are too big now for the red Toms shoes that I've been trying so desperately to fit around her feet.

It's no wonder the days fly by. 

It's easy to do the same thing every day, and not realize that today is 1 day more than yesterday, not realize that today I am 1 day older, that my daughter is 1 day further from the tiny human who greeted the world just a year ago, the tiny human who once fit *just ever so perfectly* in the crook of my left arm.  It's not until I rifle through old clothes and hold up a newborn outfit, then a 3m outfit, then a 6-9m outfit, then a 12m outfit, and I see that my baby (and I use that term loosely) doesn't fit into a-n-y of those things, that I realize how quickly my life is racing by.

Most days are the same.

But then there are days like this weekend.  Solchop was sick again.  Thursday she fell prey to a nasty double ear infection; Friday she was sent home from daycare with a fever.  Saturday went downhill really quickly: fever, vomiting, no eating/drinking, screaming, screaming, screaming.  So I took her into Bronson and spent the evening watching my little sweets, clad in a peach-hued hospital gown, being pumped with codeine. Sure, it was just an ear infection gone mad.  But she was in agony, and while we were sitting on that hospital bed I felt my heart crack open, spilling out lovelovelove for the child wailing on my lap.  The child who was in so much pain that she was making herself sick by sobbing.  As I wiped up the strings of green mucus that were erupting from her mouth, I couldn't imagine spending Mother's Day weekend any differently.  We sat there together amid the mechanical beeps, amid the chatter of the medical staff, and I vowed that I would give anything to somehow magically transfer her pain into my own body.  Tears rolling down my cheeks as we sat together in the hospital bed, I held my sick daughter and caressed her bare back beneath the hospital gown as she mellowed into a pharma-induced calm.

As I sat there, I wondered if she would ever realize just how much I loved her, just how much I have done for her.  Maybe she won't know right away, but I hope she'll understand someday...  Someday, as she's sitting up late at night with her own sick child, she'll understand just how much she means to me.  You will never know the love of a mother until you experience it yourself.

My dear Sol Haven, I love you so very much and I cherish every second I have with you.  You are the reason for everything I do, everything I dream, everything I am.  You are the reason I lay awake at night, thinking of what I can do better the next day to make a better life for you.  You are the reason I wake up in the morning with confidence and determination, hope and love in my heart, striving to help you grow into the most beautiful human ever to walk this earth.  I hope you realize someday just how blessed I feel to be your mother.  I live and breathe for you, and you are all I will ever need.

This is why you call me Mom. 

** Btw, Sol was sent home later that night, 

and although she wasn't feeling great the next morning, 

we enjoyed a nice Mother's Day pancake breakfast together.  

Ah, love. **

REVELATIONS OF MATERNITY LEAVE

I'm loving maternity leave.  While it's amazing to not have to go into work every day (for countless reasons), this transition period isn't exactly a piece of cake.  All of a sudden I've got a little roommate.  And she's a noisy roommate at that.  And MES-SY.  And I'm stuck in my apartment, unless I want to pack up half of my belongings just to tote my 10-lb roommate to the grocery store.  The mind wanders when one is sentenced to six-plus weeks of confinement with a new baby.  So I'm low on sleep, low on food (due to lack of opportunity, not due to lack of food supply, by the way), and unsure of what's keeping me chugging along.  But I'm still managing to learn a few things along the way. 

Below, 20 revelations of maternity leave:

1. Sleeping in?  Not a chance.  Sleeping for longer than 4 hours?  Unheard of.
2. It's perfectly acceptable to stay in my pajamas until 4pm or until someone knocks on the door, whichever comes first.
3. When I do get dressed (in my first outfit of the day), I try to make sure it's nothing special.  I WILL be forced to change my outfit as the day progresses.
4. It's absolutely paramount that some store (preferably Target) figure out a way to offer a "third arm for the new mom" on their baby registry. I would sign up. 
5. It's better to live in town, as opposed to in the boonies.  Because I live in town, I live close to stores.  I live close to Target.  It's easy to go to Target weekly... okay, a couple times a week... okay, every other day.  (Note: I neither work for Target, nor am I in any way affiliated with the company.)
6. The Trade Home store in the mall (also right around the corner) gets its weekly shipment on Wednesdays at 3pm.  The manager's name is Ryan.  And no, there's really no good reason for anyone to know that.
7. Watching Maury Povich for 5 minutes is entertaining.  Watching it for any longer than that makes me feel like I belong on the show.
8. The commercials on daytime network TV are very specifically targeted.  Targeted to people who sit at home all day long ("alternative" universities, social security attorneys, how to prevent slip-and-fall accidents, etc.).
9. Daytime TV sucks.
10. DVDs come in handy.
11. Michael Scott never gets old.  The Office is amazing.
12. I'm not sure which is worse: being alone all day, or being alone all day with a crying baby.  The jury's still out on that one.
13. 4pm: The Ellen DeGeneres show. Makes my day. Especially with contests like the "Dance Dare" (in the videos here and here).
14. I can never spend too much time writing emails to the Ellen show.
15. Regardless of how many times I tell myself at 3am that I WILL BE TAKING A NAP THE NEXT DAY, I almost never do.
16. Sisters are wonderful.  Neighbors are wonderful too :)
17. There is literally no time more precious than the time I spend cuddling with my baby.
18. I can't do everything that I want to do.  My apartment is a mess, and I don't care.  I'm a new single mom.  If you don't like it, you can leave.
19. Faith can take you places.  It's gotten me this far.
20. Regardless of how irritated/frustrated/etc I feel at 3am, I refuse to let it take over me.  I will never allow myself to forget that I chose this.  I chose the sometimes-screaming, oftentimes-crying, living, breathing bundle of sunshine in my arms.  I will never regret choosing her.  Not even at 3am.  Not last night, not tonight, not tomorrow night.  She will always be the best decision I ever made.

HERE COMES THE SUN (HUM ALONG IF YOU LIKE)

It's been almost a week since my last post. And it's been a whirlwind few days.  All last week was spent in long walks, jalapeno peppers and other spicy foods, five (yes, FIVE) jumping jacks, an encounter with castor oil, and even three frozen Tyson chicken strips (although I'm a devout vegetarian). After trying every trick in the "old wives' manual," it turned out that patience was the key.

It's a girl!  The wait is over :)  My baby was born on a Thursday. I went into the hospital at 10am, started pushing around 8pm, and we met Solaya ("Sol" for short) at 9:05pm.  I was actually lucky enough to be able to reach down as she entered the world and pull her up on my chest with my own two hands, "delivering" her myself.  It was the most wonderful experience in the world.  On February 2, 2012, my world was flipped around when Solaya entered it. 

Many have asked where the name came from.  Sol is Spanish for "sun" and Laya is Sanskrit for "peace of mind." I liked both so much that I squished the two together to create Solaya.  (And because I know you're probably wondering, Solaya is pronounced "so-lie-yah.") Haven has no special connection aside from the fact that it's just a beautiful word with a beautiful meaning: "a place of refuge or rest." And Hammond?  It's a family name.  Since sharing the news of my pregnancy, I've received overwhelming support from my family, and it seemed imperative that I integrate Hammond into Sol's name.

My little Sol is absolutely the best and most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me.  And as passionate as I am for writing, I can't seem to find sufficient words to describe just how amazing this little person is.  As cliche as it sounds, I literally can't imagine my life without my beautiful daughter.

It doesn't matter whether it's 2pm or 2am: every single time I look at her, I remind myself that I chose this.  I chose her.  It hasn't even been a week yet, and Sol is my entire world.  I think of the days where I felt sad and lonely, and it seems totally pointless.  I was worried about this?  For what reason?  No, it's not easy getting two hours of sleep at a time.  And no, it's not easy reversing the orbit of your entire world for a little human.  But she's totally worth it. 

From the very beginning, every single time I went to one of my OB appointments, it rained (even in December/January).  It was always cloudy and rainy, sometimes stormy, and once there was even a tornado while I was at the office.  It almost seemed like a sign: this pregnancy was supposed to be dreary. 
It seems too perfect, then, that my pregnancy ended with the arrival of my sunshine: my little Sol.  My sister Liz said, "All those rainy days, who knew there was sunshine underneath it all!" Yep, here comes the sun.  And my future with her looks spectacularly bright.

I WORRY

1. I worry about my car. Affectionately dubbed “The Starship,” my car is a rather new purchase, a dependable and compact Honda Civic that somewhat resembles something from the Ringling Brothers. In case a Civic weren’t small enough, consider the fact that it’s a coupe. I took it to the local baby superstore to try out various infant car seats in the back seat. Only one worked. Now, I’m not saying that the majority of car seats were snug, or that there wasn’t much room when I tried them; I’m saying that both front seats were impossible to lock in place when the car seat was installed properly. So even if Baby B. is buckled in safely, I’ll be sliding forward and backward as I man the Starship. Needless to say, my car seat options are mighty slim pickin’s.

2. I worry about my finances. Babies are expensive. And even though I hold a special place in my heart for Microsoft Excel and I adore creating spreadsheets, I detest my semi-weekly review of my current budget vs. après-baby budget.

3. I worry about the first night. I don’t think I know anyone else who’s raised a baby totally on her own, right from the very beginning. I’ve heard from people who have “had someone there, but he wasn’t much help,” etc. But even if their support persons weren’t much support, they still had someone else there. I’m absolutely terrified of the first night I’ll spend alone with this new little person.

4. I worry that I end too many phrases with “That’s what she said.”

5. I worry about baby-proofing my home. Example: At this very moment, I have a Nicaraguan machete leaning against the wall on the floor near my dining room table. What am I supposed to do with that?

6. I worry about how I’m going to get a tan. Skin cancer awareness groups, avert your eyes… I like the tanner. A) I may not be able to afford it anymore, and B) I can’t bring the baby to the tanning salon with me. Now what?

7. I worry about my wardrobe. Now that I’ll be spending all my time and money shopping for the little person in my life, how am I supposed to maintain my own fashion? Call me a materialistic bum if you want, but I won’t deny that I’m worried about it.

8. I worry about not having time to myself. I worry about no longer knowing peace and quiet.

9. I worry about being single. Like any other young woman, I want to find love. I want to find Mr. Right. I thought it was hard before. I think it just got a gazillion times harder.

10. I worry about being selfish. (see numbers 5-9)

11. I worry about fighting the urge to down the whole jar of baby food myself while feeding Baby B. My name is Melanie and I’m a huge sucker for baby food pears and plums.  I was born this way.

12. I worry about blaming Baby B. for the changes he/she will bring to my life. I worry that I’ll forget to remind myself that Baby B. is a human to be loved, not an inconvenience to be managed.

13. I worry about setting a good example for Baby B. How am I supposed to teach Baby B. all the right things when I’m far from perfect? Isn’t that hypocritical?

14. Above all, I worry about the day when my child asks me where Daddy is. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why every other kid in daycare sees his/her father, even if only part-time, and Baby B. has never met this “dad” person. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why he/she wasn’t good enough for Daddy to want to be a part of our life. I worry that Baby B. will resent me for making poor decisions, or for not choosing adoption so that Baby B. could have a mom AND a dad. I worry that Baby B. will grow up missing out on a huge part of childhood because we’ll be absent a parent. I worry that I won’t be enough. I can hide the machete and do without tanning sessions. I can fight the urge to eat the baby food pears, and I can go without a new pair of jeans. But I can’t be a dad. I guess I’ll just have to be the best mom I can be.