30 June 2009

Bed of Babies

Lucia met her cousins, Aubrie (six months) and Autumn (two years), while we were on our venture East to West Virginia. (Is that some kind of play on words?) Something about this picture of these three little innocent babes rolling about on the bed makes me insanely happy.

28 June 2009

Dear Lucia

Today is a birthday of sorts. A birthday of change. Of desire. Of everything your dad and I have ever wanted and more. And it all happened with the appearance of one little word on a funny looking stick - (a stick which I've yet to throw way). This day last year, our lives changed forever.

Forever for the better.
Forever for the more fulfilled.
Forever filled with worrying that you are well, safe and happy.
Forever filled with buying you cute clothes before myself.
Forever filled with more love than ever thought possible.

I wrote down my own account of the evening last year - this birthday that I speak of - just a short time after our discovery:
***
Saturday, June 28, 2008

We picked up a pregnancy test on our way home from dinner with friends. I tried to have a beer at the party, I thought it would get rid of my massive headache that I had had for a week. No such luck. I dumped it out in the bathroom. My face felt hot and I felt weird. No beer or Tylenol (with its big promises) could cure this bad boy.

On the way home we stopped for dog food for Scarlett, but as we passed the RX section on the way to check-out, I thought to grab a good ol' tried-and-true-pee-stick. There were four-billion choices and Matt - your dad - had to go to the bathroom in a not-a-good-time-to-use-a-public-toilet-at-ghetto-Walmart-kind-of-way. So in a rushed moment of panic, I grabbed something that said "digital."

(By the time you have a baby, women won't be peeing on sticks anymore. There will be something more clever. Something less to do with urine.)

As we approached the cash-wrap your daddy said, "I thought you did one of those last week."

Right-o hubby, I did. I actually had already taken two, but they were pre-period due date and now I was three days late. (But who was counting, right?)

After we returned home I left the test on the kitchen counter, not wanting to see a negative result. I went about my business (which probably entailed surfing the net or reading a novel. Sorry, your to-be-mommy is a nerd. I love things like alliteration and repetition and the smell of old books. But these things you'll learn.)

Your daddy, however, was not satisfied with my disregard and grumbled that I "better take that test."

Begrudgingly, I put my device of distraction aside, snatched said test from the kitchen and muttered, "well I'm not pregnant, but I'll do it anyway."

Wrong.

Shock.

Pregnant.

I sat in the bathroom holding the test, waiting for the result. It did not take long. I remember yelling, "Oh my God. Oh my God."

Your dad came running down the hall.

We met in the middle, right by the built in phone shelf of our fifties house. (I'll take a picture of this place, in case we move before you can remember it.)

Panicked, he blurted, "you're lying to me. This is a trick. Don't trick me like this."

Crying I told him to "Just look, Oh My God."

He looked.

Overjoyed.

Both crying.

Holy shit.

Must stop it with the potty mouth immediately.

All night your dad kept smiling at me.

We've agreed not to tell anyone until later.

Baby!!!??? Is this real?

I took another test to be sure. It still says pregnant!

***

Our decision to keep quiet about the pregnancy lasted until the following Sunday morning when we both called everyone on the planet. We also took a trip to Ikea and bought up the baby section of the store. We used none of its primary colored craziness in your baby room. It is all tucked away in the hallway linen closet. I saved it for your future little brother, in case he ever exists.

I felt great and at least understood the unexplainable headaches. I was on top of the world. It would not be for about two more weeks that I got sick. (The kind of sick that you cry on the bathroom floor for your mommy, even though you are 27 years old, kind of sick.) Your dad would prove to take good care of me and your nana - the one I cried for - she helped too. The sickness lasted until I was a good 18 to 20 weeks pregnant. I only tell you this in case you are ever sick with child someday - and I hope you are (not the sick part, just with child) - so you can feel everything I've felt for you. If you are sick, I want you to know that you will survive. I want you to know that it is worth it and that I would go back and do it all over again. I would take the sickness times a million if it meant having you.

I wanted you to be a girl something terrible, but I dared not to utter a word of that wish to a single soul, for fear you would be a boy. If you had been a boy, I would have loved you just as hard.
But you were a girl.
You are a girl.
My little girl.
Our little girl.

This was me on the day I found out you were our Lovely Little Lucia:
(Someone should tell that girl to stand up straight and suck it in because she does not look pregnant.)

(Yet.)

We named you in the car after the ultrasound. I had been bothered about girl names for weeks upon weeks. There was no need to worry because you just so simply became Lucia. There was no question. You were our Lucia. Our Light.

Today you are three months, two weeks and five days old. My how time flies. My how precious time is. I feel old when I say that.

You have made me old.
You have made me grow up.
You have made me crave the suburbs.
You have made me love bath time as if I were a child.
You have made me care more for something than I ever thought I could.
You have made me a better version of myself.
You have made me realize that what my parents always said they felt for me was true.

Today on this birthday of ours we went to church. It took me a few minutes to get you and your daddy out of bed:
But finally you were dressed in your Sunday finest:
I fed you during communion and the offertory. We eventually went to the cry room because you kept cooing and talking during the sermon. Your dad and I thought it was entertaining, but we thought we should let others hear what the minister had to say.

He spoke all about waiting. How waiting is hoping and should fill our lives with happiness and contentment.

We had been waiting for you all of our lives.

You were our hope.

You were worth the hoping, the waiting.

After church your dad and I thought it would be a good idea to take your picture in the wild flowers that I planted in front of our house. We've waited weeks for them to bloom. All was well and cute until we both started to itch. Not wanting you to start itching, we gave up on our quest for the most perfect shot. Little did we know, we found it anyway:
Your first touch of nature.

Now it is evening and you and your dad are growling back and forth at each other. Yes, I said growling; it is your new thing. You need to take a nap, but just want to be held. The ice-cream truck is playing its song as it drives around the block. You are too young to know its sound, but someday you will. Your puppy Scarlett is watching you and your dad with eager eyes; she wants to play too.

Someday Scarlett, someday.

Just wait.

14 June 2009

Dear Great Aunt Gladys


Tomorrow morning, bright and early, is my Dedication. For our brunch celebration (and my very first party) we are feasting on your china - which you so generously bestowed upon my parents when they were married. We thought you would love that we brought out your dishes for such a special occasion. We are also using my mommy's pink and brown monogrammed napkins - the ones that my Nana Pam just had to have made for my parents' wedding reception.

My mommy still has lots of work to do and it is already 12:45 a.m. Our church service begins at 8.15 in the morn. When will she sleep? Thank goodness my Nana is here to help her right now.

We truly wish you could be here with us, but know that you will be watching us from above. We will also miss my Papa Joe who is in Paris. Boo. And all of our other family that is on the East coast. No matter what, we are still thankful for everyone who is able to come and share lots of Lucie Kisses.

Love, Lucia