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Monday, January 30, 2012

Have you seen this?

I cannot believe how guilty I am!

Sunday, January 15, 2012

7 months.


I cannot even believe I am posting this. My Mila will be 7 MONTHS OLD on Tuesday. Unreal. Baffling. She is closer to 1 than 0. It feels like just yesterday I was blogging about her with a baby bump keeping me from getting too close to the keyboard.


She is so lovely, so sweet.

My letters to her were always address to "Baby Honey" since she didn't have an official name. How did I know that Honey would be so fitting? She is like sugar, smells like sweetness, her hair is the color of honey. I would eat her up if I could.


Size: She wears 9-12 clothing lately, although some 6-9 fits also. She is long, not sure exactly what her height is. She weighs around 17lbs. (I looked back, and this is what Olivia weighed at her 9-10 month check-up).

Milestones: She sits, grabs what she wants, rolls, vocalizes, lots of raspberries, smiles, laughing, coos, dinosaur noises. Still not even close to crawling. Recognizes those she sees daily, extraordinarily attached to me, thinks her sister is hilarious. Definite stranger anxiety. Mila is a mama's girl because mama has the goods.

Food: Still exclusively breastfed. Now that we have it down, without any shields or issues, I am enjoying it so much. There is nothing more relaxing than sitting to nurse, or laying to nurse. I guess there is just nothing more relaxing than her warm body pressed against mine as I provide her all the comfort and nutrition she could possibly wants. I've become one of those moms who says I LOVE BREASTFEEDING. And I do.

She hates solids. Practically gags. I have tried several things but I am in no huge rush. Honey's thriving on my milk and that is good enough for me.


Sleep: I have to say, but I am hesitant to jinx it. Okay, I will tell you anyway. She is SO EASY to put down at night. For 7 months, we have had seamless bedtimes. Yes, we cosleep and she still nurses throughout the night but I can put her down around 7pm and she just drifts off to sleepy land. We lay down, I nurse her, and that is it. What a blessing! No super long naps during the day, just sporadic cat naps.


People often comment on her extremely calm and easy demeanor. She is a bit shy, reserved. Analyzes and studies the world. Listens intently. In my opinion she is the poster child of an attached, breastfed baby that gets to be with her mom all day. Best thing ever: The giggle fits the girls have. Mila gets a kick out of Olivia, and Olivia gets a kick out of Mila giggling. It's contagious.

I love them so much I could burst.


Wednesday, January 11, 2012


Tonight I braided Olivia's hair. For the first time ever. She was distracted by cotton balls and nail polish but that is not the point. Tears grew warm at the corners of my eyes before I even noticed them.


Why would I get so emotional about two honey colored braids? Just strands of hair woven together. Her petite body sitting on my lap, on the closed toilet seat. It was far more significant than what it appeared to be. Just writing about it now brings back that same overwhelmed feeling. I remember my mom braiding my own freshly washed hair, my body so relaxed after the warm bath. I sort of just melted into her as we sat there. All I knew was what was apparent. Me, my mom, my wet hair between her fingers. I never considered all the things that surely ran through her mind. Life, work, money, bills, expectations.

I was so moved by tonight because it is a metaphor for this next stage of my mothering. I have realized that having a baby is relatively easy. It's the parenting a young human that gets challenging, it's rememering the person you are trying to create admist the world you trying to swim through. I have to consiously remind myself: I have two little women under my wings. I must teach them to fly, freely but with standards. Intelligent yet objective. Femenine but capable. Aware but always sympathetic.


There are moments where the sheer responsibility of creating two humans who are happy without psychological therapy and pharmaceuticals as adults is enough to make me pour a drink. Literally. The only survival mechanism I have perfected thus far is to live within the day, the moment. To take in the current warmth of her tiny legs against mine, the wet strands of her yellow hair in my palms as I weave two sweet yet imperfect braids.