sick

Everyone hates being sick.  It's awful.  All you want to do is lie in bed, moan a little for dramatic effect, and watch movies when you're not sleeping.

Then you have a baby and you get sick.  But no one else is going to keep that baby alive and cared for if you don't do it, so you adapt your standards of motherhood and just focus on keeping the two of you alive.

Then your baby gets sick, too.  And the two of you just lie in bed, day after endless day, trying to survive it.  And it feels like it will never end.

That's the kind of fog we were living in for almost three weeks over here.   I got sick towards the end of April and finally felt better just in time for Mother's Day.  Nell is still finishing out her round of (sadly quite necessary) antibiotics.  My first symptom was, oddly enough, almost completely losing my voice.  Then a low-grade fever, and a rash on my face, neck, and arms.  A cough that would not quit, that kept me up night after night when I just could not stop coughing.  The kind of cough that leaves you dizzy.  And finally, a sore throat bad enough to make me actually go to the doctor.  (Unheard of.)  The physician's assistant took a look at me, worn out from two weeks of coughing and sleepless nights caring for a fevered little one, and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics.  Said it was almost certain to be a sinus infection at that point.

(Those antibiotics were magical, by the way.  I literally felt better in a day.)

Poor Nell came down with a fever and spent four days vomiting while I was timing nursing sessions of fifteen to twenty seconds, seeing what she could keep down.  She was really so sad and pathetic, a limp, exhausted little baby that just wanted to sleep constantly, slumped against my chest.  Then she got a double ear infection.  And then broke out in a rash from head to toe.  And then got conjunctivitis in both eyes.  And somewhere along the way, her fever went down, leaving her with enough energy to properly complain about her circumstances, loudly and frequently.

I sat up many a night in bed, holding her upright so she could have some relief from the pain in her ears and sleep comfortably.

I felt like this picture aptly captured the misery of my sick baby - caught mid-cough, one eye crusted shut, a rash on her cheeks.

With all this going on, is it any wonder that my blog has been lying here in cyberspace rather neglected?

But I have things to blog about, oh, I do.  Things like an eleven-month-old Nell, a trip to Maryland and Virginia, sourdough bread, gardening, Mother's Day, making Nell a Waldorf blanket doll, and Nell's first birthday!  Stay tuned.

ten months

Seeing as Nell is already nearly a year old (how did that happen?), I thought I should finally get around to posting her ten month pictures.

At ten months old, Nell had three bottom teeth and no top teeth.  She loved clicking her tongue and making the sound "Tuh! Tuh! Tuh!" with great enthusiasm.  After a brief hiatus, she regained her ability to make the sounds "Mama mama."  Her babbles grew to drawn-out "sentences," and I even noticed her "talking" - and smiling - in her sleep.

Her understanding of cause and effect became increasingly clear.  If she did something that made us laugh, she'd immediately do it again, and again, and again.  And we began to see the first hints of a wave, a gesture she initially reserved particularly for my friend Melissa, who is an excellent baby-waver.

She loved riding in grocery carts, loved playing with her feet, loved taking baths (and hated getting out).  She thought dropping objects from heights was the best game ever.  She liked reading, but thought the best part about books was poking her finger into the binding.  The screws on her high chair held a similar fascination.

Everyone kept saying she was days, moments even, away from crawling, but she preferred to scoot around, one leg folded in front and the other one sticking out behind her.  Her method wasn't yet perfected, but she was beginning to get the hang of actually going places she wanted to go.

Just before turning ten months old, Nell began to give me some hope about the possibility of actually, you know, eating food.  She ate sweet potatoes!  And avocado!  And then pears!  She didn't gag!  She liked them!  I began to think that I wouldn't have to nurse this child until college, after all.

A typical progression of the faces of Nell are fairly well expressed in the following three photos.  First, she's happy:

Next, she's excited:

And finally, she's so excited that she has to cough.

Yes, cough.  Because the coughing game, which gave her so much joy, seemed to develop in this child the sense that when one is quite happy, one coughs.  We feel sort of bad for confusing her by playing this game with her so often, but not bad enough to stop, because let's face it, it's cute. 

Dear Ellen,

Your emotional state this month has had me a little mystified and more than a little curious.  Twice when your Uncle Andrew dropped by to visit, you took one look at him and promptly burst into heart-wrenching sobs.  It really got me wondering what goes on in your head.  Were you sad that he got his own place and moved out after living with us since before you were born?  Were you so happy to see him that you felt a little overwhelmed?  Do you just hate him?  (Just kidding about that last one, of course.)

It will be so much fun when you can tell me all the interesting things you're thinking and feeling, little one.

Lovelovelove,

Mom

Boston

Oh, Boston, my Boston.

What can one really say about all of this?

I live north of Boston, and we were fortunate to feel pretty safe on our suburban cul-de-sac.  I wish I could say the same for my friends who were in lockdown, not very far away at all, who had helicopters hovering over their houses, SWAT teams and police everywhere, controlled detonations on their streets.

The marathon bombing happened just a few blocks from the school where I did my master's degree.  I know those streets, those shops.  I know Boston and I know her people.  And while I wasn't born in Massachusetts, I've grown to love this place and her people.  Newbury Street, Boylston Street, Mass Ave.  The Boston Symphony concerts, the Public Garden with the duck statues, the runners along Storrow Drive.  Watching the people ice skate on Frog Pond in the winter.  The undying love Bostonians have for their sports teams.  Even the accents, the use of the word "wicked," the magnificently complicated one-way streets.  Okay, maybe not the driving.  And maybe not traffic on the Leverett Connector.  But still.  I love Boston.

How can one not be moved by the stories of the first responders, of the everyday people and law enforcement and medical workers alike springing into action to help the wounded?  The runners who finished a marathon and then kept running to donate blood?  The way the Yankees played Sweet Caroline and declared, "We stand united with Boston," all rivalry set aside as baseball fans all over the country cheered for our team alongside their own teams?  

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I keep thinking of the mothers of the three victims killed in the bombing.  One was a child, yes, but they were all someone's children.  I know they will forever ask themselves if they could have done something differently that day.  Stayed home, or stood somewhere different, or left a bit sooner.  It could have turned out differently.  Of course those are pointless things to think about, but I know they can't help but think about them, anyway.

I think of the mother of those boys, one now dead, one captured an lying in a hospital bed. Did she see this coming?  Did she know their lives had taken this turn?  When they were young, did they see enough beautiful art, hear enough good music, feel enough hugs?  Does she feel somehow responsible for what her sons have caused?

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Over the past few days, it felt a little surreal to see friends' facebook updates about regular life - the weather, or what they ate for breakfast.  Life in the greater Boston area had ground to a halt, but elsewhere, life went on as usual.  I wonder if that's how my day today seems to someone in Texas, though, or even more, to someone in Syria or Iran.

On Friday morning, I read some of the news updates, and then I carried my baby outside and set her on
a blanket to play in the sun while I worked in my front garden bed.

Maybe that seems trite, to go dig in the ground and laugh with my baby on a blanket on the grass while not far away, people are awakening to a new life without limbs.  Without daughters.  Without sons and brothers.

But around the world, tragic things are happening every day, and yet we go on living, don't we?  We go on hugging our babies and baking bread and working in the garden.  We do it because, in spite of the sadness and suffering, there's joy too, and there's hope.

One doesn't put brown bulbs and tiny seeds into the ground without hope for tomorrow.

This & That from Here & There

The days are becoming - for the most part - more and more spring-like.  Consequently, I am getting cheerier.  Not that I was overly gloomy, but I do notice that as the days get warmer, I enjoy my work more, I'm a little more patient and a little more fun in the violin lessons I'm teaching, and I have renewed energy for all the little things that need to be done.  Even 'eskimo kisses' and snuggles with my baby girl seem better when the sun is shining, if that's possible.

{Of course, come September, I'll be oh-so-ready for Autumn, and by December, the anticipation of snow and Christmas will have me nearly giddy... but I've said that before.}

Spring is notoriously a tease, however, so if you find yourself indoors on a chilly day sipping a cup of tea -- as I am this gray and dreary morning -- here are a few interesting reads:

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From Nell at Whole Parenting Family: Parenting Styles Vary. Get Over It.  She mentions pretty much all the major differences in parenting babies that I've already noticed (sleep training vs. co-sleeping, organic vs. conventional foods, mall shopping vs. thrift shopping, etc.) and offers the reminder that only moral issues are the ones worth worrying about.  In other words, don't dwell on the small differences between friends when it comes to child-rearing.  In my own case, I've felt the lure of comparisons awaiting me around every corner.  It's easy to either come up lacking in these comparisons, or perhaps to momentarily pat myself on the back and consider myself morally superior.  Oh, how foolish...!

I want to give my daughter the gift of not comparing her to other children.  I want to give my fellow mama friends that gift of non-comparison, too.  And you know who else?  Yes... myself.  To be able to live without comparisons is freeing!

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From Jenni at Story of my Life: Advice for Bloggers, Vol. 2: Blogging Your Life.  I was particularly struck by her discussion of the importance of including photos of oneself on one's personal blog.  It may come across to some as weird, or even egotistical, but I think Jenni is right -- what's a story without a main character?  While there are certainly a few blogs I can think of that remain excellent reads with only the rare photo making an appearance, the majority of the blogs I enjoy show me regular glimpses of the blogger's life, including the writer herself.  Recently I've found myself thinking, "Which posts will my daughter most enjoy reading someday?  Which will give her a full picture of what our life was like?  Which will Nathan and I enjoy browsing years from now?"

{If you've read my Why I Blog page, then you know that this is, in part, all about Nathan and me being able to remember our little life, such as it is.}

What do you think?  Are you more drawn to read blogs where the blogger is seen frequently in photos, or more 'behind-the-scenes'?

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I found myself surprisingly moved -- if not to tears, then to glassy eyes, shall we say -- by this post from Shaye at The Elliott Homestead: Uphill. All the way.  I suppose any blog post quoting a Christina Rossetti poem has to be a good one!

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If you weren't following along with Auntie Leila's series on Pope Pius XI's encyclical Casti Connubii (Chaste Marriage), it's not too late to go read all her posts now.  The last post (and possibly my favorite) in the series is up: What we do "in here."  From there, you can find links to the earlier posts, as well as the encyclical itself.  But even if you don't have time to read the encyclical, Leila's posts will edify and inspire you!

"If you can love the hidden and resist the lure of the oversized and loud and lucrative claim to fame, you will have the privilege to know how it can be that one woman, one family, one home -- yours -- can change and build and restore."

So quickly, go read all her posts in this wonderful series!

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Have a wonderful Friday, friends -- whether yours is sunny and warm or a bit overcast like ours is here in Massachusetts.