Two Weeks Later

I still am not convinced sometimes that Bailey is really mine. Mine to keep. To hold all that I want. She is so sweet. I wish I had more energy and didn't feel so disconnected from everything right now, but even when she's napping and I haven't held her for a few hours, I can't wait for her to wake up so that I can hold her again.

She is so responsive too! I can't wait to hear the things she'll say and watch the things she'll do, even though I'll miss her being a baby. She likes to be in the swing and she likes to be outside when it's not too bright for her to keep her eyes open. Naturally, she also loves to be up all night, despite my body language.

Today we had Bailey's first follow-up with her pediatrician and everything the doctor told me made me feel so proud. About what a good eater Bailey is and how healthy she seems to be growing, what good coloring her skin has and how alert she is. I can't take credit for these things, but it makes me feel proud.

Caiden clearly can't wait for her to grow up a little more. He is especially anxious to help feed her I think because he's persistent about asking why can't she use a sippy-cup yet and when can she? A few days in a row I explained that she doesn't have teeth yet, can only drink milk, my milk has all of her nutrients, etc. and that she can only suck. After a few days of that he came back with--"but can she drink milk out of a sippy-cup?" Yes, he's very persistent.

A Poem

I don't consider myself a big fan of poetry. The truth is I don't really know much poetry at all, but I get turned off by stuff that seems too sappy or too sugar-coated. Every once in a while I come across something that strikes me as truly honest, or raw in its approach. This one suits me perfectly right now.

New Mother
By Sharon Olds


A week after our child was born,
you cornered me in the spare room
and we sank down on the bed.
You kissed me and kissed me, my milk undid its
burning slip-knot through my nipples,
soaking my shirt. All week I had smelled of milk,
fresh milk, sour. I began to throb:
my sex had been torn easily as cloth by the
crown of her head, I'd been cut with a knife and
sewn, the stitches pulling at my skin--
and the first time you're broken, you don't know
you'll be healed again, better than before.
I lay in fear and blood and milk
while you kissed and kissed me, your lips hot and swollen
as a teen-age boy's, your sex dry and big,
all of you so tender, you hung over me,
over the nest of the stitches, over the
splitting and tearing, with the patience of someone who
finds a wounded animal in the woods
and stays with it, not leaving its side
until it is whole, until it can run again.

An Evil Walk

I was beginning to feel a bit like Boo Radley and decided Bailey and I would go for our first walk. We've been out every evening for Caiden's football practice and she really seems to enjoy it, but this time I wanted a little exercise. I really can't think of the last time it's been 7 whole days between some kind of exercise. On vacation I bring my jumprope or go running. I worked out the morning of my wedding and was last at the gym two days before Bailey was born. My guess would be that it has been about 8 or so years since I took a 7 day workout hiatus. Yes, I'm an addict.

I made Caiden come on the walk with us, and since he's not keen on sweating, and can be fairly over-dramatic, I thought all of his comments were laughable.

"Are you trying to hike across the whole valley?"
"Do you even know the way home?"
"I'm getting dehydrated."
"I need to turn around."
"Are you even sweating?"

When Caiden's friends came over to play later, he told them he'd been on a walk for "...like an hour and forty minutes."

I do feel kind of bad because it had to have been pretty boring for him, and it was hot, and we did sweat, and it was about 45 minutes. Still, I try to avoid being an evil stepmom. He wore his Heely's and glided a lot of the way so hopefully it wasn't complete torture for him.

Becoming Bailey's Mom

Bailey came on Tuesday morning. Just like her mom, she has to do things her own way, in her own time. And she likes to do things the hard way, she would never think of hitching a ride to the top and hiking down for fear of missing something on the way up. So she took her time.

She wanted to scrap all of the prepared methods: the playlist with Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work," the script for Daddy to read me about exploring Osaka on my own. She wanted to start in the middle of the night. She wanted her daddy to be a complete part of it too and I will never forget how wonderful it was to have him there for me.

Thank you Tyler for helping me prepare for this. Thank you for letting me collapse into your arms after each contraction and for stroking my hair. For wrapping me up in the middle of the night to walk me out to our hot tub and whispering encouragement in your every breath. For getting me to the hospital with all of my things and being my every support there still. Thank you for speaking for me, for knowing what I wanted. Thank you for practicing with me so that even though we didn't use everything we planned, I was able still to totally relax between contractions and have the birth I wanted for my baby.

I love being Bailey's mom. She is so beautiful and everyday is more beautiful than the last. I look forward to every future moment with her while I treasure each one I have now.

Half Court

This morning the HB and I are watching the Olympics basketball games. Maybe our baby girl will learn something in utero. She does plenty of athletics herself, usually around midnight. During a quick break they were showing how popular NBA stars are among the youth in China and I was reminded of playing basketball in Japan.

When I lived there I went to church at an LDS "branch" some 40 minutes from where I was living. The meetings were held in a rented building downtown where one floor became our church on Sundays. Occasionally, the church members would have a social get-together to play sports and socialize outside of church meetings. It was a very small group, and an even smaller group among us that would play sports when we did get together. There would be a handful of Japanese and then a few English teachers and a couple of missionaries. Apparently, Mormon missionaries have a rule that says they cannot play basketball full-court but can only play half-court games while on their missions. The LDS Branch President was very fond of basketball and would get very excited about these games. He didn't speak much English, but he would get a grand idea and say loudly, "okay okay, let's play, the Americans, versus the Japanese!" very dramatically as if that would make the game very very intense. The missionaries would always respond okay, but they can only play half-court. Finally the Branch President, tired of trying to fight the rules, suggested this: "You say half court like one half, two half" indicating a bisection in the court as it would normally be played. "But I say half court is one half, two half" and he demonstrated with his hands how "half-court" could mean playing only the middle portion of the entire length of court.

The missionaries were very faithful to their rules and we ended up playing the traditional half-court, but we laughed about the suggestion for weeks and how happy the idea of surreptitiously playing full court had made our Branch President.