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. **

LESSONS FROM THE SOL

Can you have an internal growth spurt?  Like a spiritual, mental, emotional growth spurt?  Like your mind and heart are growing a little too fast for a normal human being?  If so, then yes -- I had one of those in 2012.

Sol has been on this earth for almost 11 months exactly.  In her 11 short months of life, Sol has taught me more than I ever thought I could learn.  She is the reason that I grow every day, the reason that I strive to be a better person.  I am her role model, and her lot in life depends almost solely upon me.  She sees me, she watches me, and she will want to be just like me someday.  Those are mighty big boots to fill, yo.

In the past year, I've learned that I can use baby wipes to remove eye makeup and to clean the hairspray residue off the bathroom sink.  I've learned to hold my breath for about 92 seconds while I'm changing what has to be the most disturbingly gross diaper in the history of the world.  I've learned that babies can't have peanut butter, and I've learned what questions need to be asked before deciding on a daycare provider.  I've learned that the birth certificate people at the hospital are the most annoyingly in-your-face employees there.  I've learned the ins and outs of the legal system as it pertains to custody and child support.  I've learned the names of the people at the Friend of the Court, and I've learned that my neighbor's dad is a family law attorney.  I've learned that I need to look at the ingredients of butternut squash bisque before I feed it to my vegetarian baby because [oh yes] it contains ground chicken.  I've learned to put the carseat on the passenger side of the car so that I can reach back, if need be, and give her a bottle or pacifier.  I've learned to carry about 82 bags at once into the house.  I've learned that you can flip restaurant high chairs over and cradle your carseat/carrier in them.  I've learned that bar coasters make excellent chew toys for teething babies.  I've learned that the specially-packaged Gerber applesauce is just unsweetened applesauce [don't waste your money].  I've learned that mirrors can bring a whole new level of entertainment to a baby's eyes.  I've learned that anything "gender neutral" automatically leads strangers to believe your child is a boy -- regardless of how many pink accessories you have [black carseat = ohwhatasweetlittleboy!].  I've learned that you're supposed to pick a pediatrician before you go into labor.

Aside from all the practical everyday things, I've learned how to live a better life.

Sweet little Sol teaches me humility.  She teaches me to put the needs of others before myself.  She comes first -- in everything.  She eats, and then I eat.  She sleeps, and then I sleep.  She shows me the value in serving others, even when it costs me or inconveniences me.  She teaches me the worth of lifting others up, especially at their lowest points. 

My Sol teaches me to be flexible.  She teaches me the merit of putting the dishes off until tomorrow so that I can spend today playing on the floor with her.  She teaches me that it's perfectly acceptable to spend all day Saturday in your pajamas, as long as that pajama-clad Saturday is spent with someone you love.  She teaches me the importance of balancing things in life.  Sol teaches me the infectious nature of a good belly laugh.  Sol shows me that there is more to life than the daily grind; there is laughter and love and frivolity to be had.  She teaches me to find lighthearted joy in the little things, and wonder in the great things.  Watching Sol examine a leaf on the ground, or the frost on a window, or the grain in a hardwood floor -- this teaches me to open my eyes and realize the amazing beauty of the world around me.  

Sol encourages me to respect the decisions of others, even when I don't understand them.  She opens my eyes to see that everyone has his or her own story; and whether you can see it or not, every heart is breaking or has been broken, and at some point everyone needs a kind word to lift the spirit.  Sol teaches me to focus on the good and forget the bad, because each fleeting day goes by far too quickly to be spent in sorrow or anger.  She teaches me forgiveness, even when it's incredibly hard.  She teaches me patience -- she teaches me to breathe and count to 10 when I'm clenching my jaw and I just-don't-think-I-can-take-any-more.  

Sol teaches me to find peace and tranquility in the terrifying silence of dark, lonely nights.  She teaches me that loneliness is only temporary; those feelings are not permanent, nor will they ever be.  There is always a daughter, a friend, or a sister to pull you out of the depths of solitude.  Sol teaches me that there is no such thing as being unwanted.  There is always someone, somewhere, who loves and cares for you and wants you for who you are.  Sol teaches me hope and faith.  She teaches me that we all have a Grand Purpose, and she teaches me that prayers are always answered, even if it takes longer than we would like.  Sol teaches me that everything is okay in the end, and if it's not okay, it's not the end.  She teaches me that there is always sun over the horizon, regardless of whether I can see it or not.  Sol has taught me bravery and courage, and to stand up for things I believe in, even in the face of impossibility.  She has taught me that nothing is impossible.  

Above all else, Sol teaches me love.  She teaches me to fight through the doubt, the evil, the temptation to give up, and she teaches me to prove that love conquers all.  Love is ultimately the thing that brings each human to life, and love will always win.  Someone once told me that there is no such thing as unconditional love, but Sol has proven him wrong.  Sol is on this earth because I loved her, even before I knew her, and she will never know a life without love.  If my journey has been to find perfect love, I've arrived.  I've found it.  Sol is perfect love.  

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Happy New Year!  

Here's to a 2013 filled with peace, joy, and above all else, LOVE. 

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AND THINGS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.

This weekend was pretty fabulous.  Sol and I trekked on up to Frankenmuth on Friday evening to spend our weekend with family and good friends.  On Saturday my family exchanged gifts.  Read: Sol's first go at ripping open beautifully-wrapped packages.

We had such high expectations, too.  I'm a hopeless romantic, especially when it comes to things like Baby's First Christmas.  We were all watching, waiting for that perfect "Hallmark moment" when Sol would rip open the paper and shriek with excitement as the big ol' bright toy inside was revealed.  We were waiting for cousin Eloise to revel in the excitement of the occasion and squeal her own little wonderful squeal as Sol roared with omg-i-can't-believe-this-is-happening.  But alas, Sol was tired and Eloise was hungry.  And then Sol was hungry and Eloise was tired.  And then Sol was tired and Eloise was... you get the picture.  These two babes were so not into opening gifts, so "magical present time" turned into "you take Sol while I open her gifts and then I'll take her back and I guess that's just a big fat loss for Baby's First Christmas."  Oh well.  I think it meant more to me than it did to her anyway.

We drove home last night on snowy, blowy, icy roads.  That means a 2.5-hr trip morphed into an almost 4-hr trip, compliments of Mother Nature herself.  And given my precious cargo, I made a point of driving as s-l-o-w-l-y as possible.  (That's right, folks.  I'm gonna go 25mph the whole way.  You can either accept it or pass me.  Make your choice.)  We made it home, safe and sound, and Mama Mel unpacked the contents of her car while Sol (for once) sat quietly in her carseat.  And with each load of bags/boxes I toted up the sidewalk into the house, some bag would be knocking against my knee, creating a chorus of Sol's new toys going off: "Red! Rojo! Elephant! [elephant roar]!  Red! Rojo! Eleph--! [elephant roar]!"  Nothing like disturbing the Christmas peace in our quiet little neighborhood.

Sol and I spent a wonderful evening by the Christmas tree, complete with a visit from a good friend.  Sol wasn't awake for long; she snuggled in my arms with her little pink bunny, my heart nearly melting and pouring out of my chest as I kissed my Christmas baby goodnight and lay her down in her crib.  She buried her head in the mattress (as she always does), stuck her little behind up in the air, and before long she was out.

This morning I awoke bright and early, around 6am, and came downstairs to unpack some of the bags and boxes that remained from last night.  [That plan dissolved pretty quickly; hey... it's Christmas.]  Donning comfy clothes and slippers, I brewed some holiday blend coffee, popped in White Christmas, and perched myself on the couch next to the soft glow of the Christmas tree.  Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye are crooning to me about sisters sticking together under all kinds of weather, and I can hear Sol jabbering upstairs as she begins to wake up from her Christmas Eve slumber.  We have one present to open this morning (Aunt Leah, Sol will be opening your gift today!), and then we're going to enjoy our first Christmas as a little family.  I keep thinking back to last Christmas, the stillness, the quiet, and I know things will never be the same from here on out.

Sol's existence has changed things so much, and I almost can't believe that we've spent nearly 11 months together.  Someone this weekend reminded me what a tremendous decision it was to bring her into the world, and that I should be proud of it.  He reminded me that doing the right thing usually takes more time, costs more money, and is generally more difficult, but in the end it's worth it.  And he's so right.  Even though my little sunshine sucks the time, money, and energy right out of my life, I couldn't be happier to spend it with her.  There's a small part of me that wonders whether there's someone, somewhere, who's especially tormented this morning by wishing he had the stones to suck it up and see his daughter on her very first Christmas (Alex, I'll take Things That Make You Say, "She's Awesome and You Suck," for 400.)  But the more I think about it, the more I realize she's not his daughter.  She's mine.  She knows nothing more.  It was me who chose to bring her into the world, and it was me who chose to raise her, to love and protect her.  And this weekend I realized just how many other people adore her; countless family members and friends were fired up to love on this little ball of sunshine.  To see her roaring with laughter at Uncle Rafiki, or entertaining an entire living room of Bierleins at Aunt Joleen's house, to see her snuggling with Grandpa Ken in the rocking chair, or banging on the aluminum high chair tray as Grandma CC feeds her bananas... it makes my heart go *boom*.  The peace and love I feel this Christmas is the best gift I could have received.  Here's wishing you the same peace, good cheer, and abundant love this holiday season.  Merry Christmas!

** our Christmas card this year **

THINGS DESIRED

I bought this a long time ago.
It now hangs in my living room :)

When I was growing up, we had this great-big-long-poem;

it hung in a frame on our living room wall.  

I never read any further than the title, which didn't interest me at all.  

Too bad.  I could have learned a lot.

The framed poem was Max Ehrmann's "Desiderata."

And now?  I read this poem to Sol every single night.  

Its beauty never ceases to amaze me.

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I spent this past weekend with my mom, daughter, sisters, and niece, shopping in Ann Arbor. We arrived home Sunday evening.  I dropped all my bags off in the middle of the living room floor (where most of them still are, yet to be unpacked), got Sol ready for bed, grabbed a couple books, prepared her bottle, and continued on with our nightly routine.

She lied there in my arms, legs kicking around in her little sleep-sack for no reason than just to kick, her chubby little hands holding her own bottle to her mouth, her ever-chameleonic eyes gazing up at me.  I finished Goosey Goosey Gander, finished The Snowy Day, and went on to wrap up our evening with Desiderata.

Profound as it is, with its brilliantly raw, honest words, Desiderata is my daily reminder to focus on the beautiful and important things in life.  And tonight, between the lines of Ehrmann's life lessons, I hug Sol close and say a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle falling asleep in my arms.  And as I set her empty bottle down and give her a pacifier to keep her content through the night, I think about how greatly she's changed my life.  As I carry her up the stairs, carefully and quietly to avoid waking her up, I consider how peaceful our lives really are.  As I lay Sol down in her crib, with her silky little bunny that keeps her company every night, I wonder what grand adventures I might have someday with this little person.  And as I linger for a couple minutes, I watch her sleep under the soft glow of the lamp nearby, and realize just how perfectly this has turned out.  In our quiet little house, on a cold, quiet little November night, my quiet little daughter is fast asleep and dreaming the sweetest, most wonderful little dreams.  And my heart aches - a good ache - because it's attached directly to hers by some invisible cord, and her sweet little sleeping face makes me melt.

Everything is right in the world.  Everything is turning out exactly as it was meant to be.  It makes no difference whether I realize it, whether I understand it, whether it makes sense.  Loneliness won't last forever.  Tears are just tears, and bad days are just days.  Bad days don't make a bad life.  My life with Sol is exactly as it should be, regardless of whether this is what I had planned.  Whether or not it is clear to me,  no doubt my universe is unfolding as it should.  Yours is too.  Embrace it.

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Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy. © Max Ehrmann 1927

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE (AND MILK)

Today is February 14 - HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!  I hope you've been able to celebrate this Feb. 14th by showing your love to someone - even if it isn't a significant other.  If you're single (like me), there are still ways to celebrate today.  My unconventional date for the ENTIRE day is a little bundle of wonderfully squishy love.  Sol has quite simply stolen my heart.

I often feel like I was so worried about labor/delivery and all the "what ifs" of bringing a baby home that I didn't even think ahead to the happy parts - to how wonderful life would be once Baby was born.  True to her name, my little Sol is just a ray of sunshine for me.  And though I might sound like a broken record, I couldn't be happier that I chose this path.  Every single time I look at her, there's a very small part of me that winces as I think back to those few moments in which I was convinced another path would be easier or smarter. 

Don't get me wrong... life with a newborn is not all unicorns and rainbows.  I HATE the fact that I can't get more than 3 hours of sleep at a time.  I'm suffering from cabin fever but am slightly terrified to take Sol out in public.  I'm not a huge fan of dirty diapers, and I could do without the blood-curdling screams that inevitably resound when I give Sol a bath.

But it could be so much worse.  I'm glad that I'm able to wake up at 3am when my daughter is hungry.  I'm glad that I have a warm apartment where we can spend our days together.  I'm thankful that she eats enough to make the dirty diapers, and that we have clean, warm water to bathe her in. 

I try to remind myself of all these things every time she's been crying for 15 minutes (for no apparent reason).  I remind myself to thank God for giving me such a perfect little miracle.  I remind myself that Miss Solaya is just a little person who needs to be loved, fed, and changed every so often.  She's an innocent human who depends solely on me.  Her life is pretty simple.  All she needs is love (and milk).  I can handle that.  She has all my love, and then some.  And you know what?  That's all she needs.