"It's My's"

This a frequently uttered refrain in our house. And at the public parks--which we can go to now since we don't sizzle in the sun. We only slightly roast now that it's almost November.

Stella has become possessive of all things. Not of all her things, just all things.

Just to clear up any confusion, following are a few things that are hers. That way if you're ever at our house, you'll know what not to touch:

This man. This Daddy. This is hers.


This baby. It's hers.


All these toys. At someone else's house. These are hers, too.


And all these toys at our house. Hers.


And just so we all got it straight. This baby. Hers. No one else can touch it except me. She allows me so I will take care of it so that she can attend to the rest of her dominion.

Don't Worry, Mrs. Miller!

I purchased one last night! Even though Gianna's going on four months I see no signs of her thrashing abating. I gambled and I think I will have won in the long run! And this morning when she was thrashing about I thought, "I can't wait for that Miracle Blanket to get here." I only wish they had them in toddler sizes for assuaging bad attitudes.

Mrs. Miller!

Can I try your Miracle Blanket?!!

Nap

You are laying beside me swaddled as tight as burrito. You have a pillow tucked over your legs to keep you from kicking yourself awake. It's against all the doctor rules, but it's the only way you settle down.

Such a Baby

This is evidence of why people are called babies when they're acting emotionally irrational.

Just woke up from her nap:


Threesecondslater:


Milk in the belly:

OK, Now, Really?

I now join the throngs of women who get excited over things such as this:



Seriously, though, I saw Jessica on Oprah (yes. shut up.) and she literally charmed the socks off of me. Which, I guess, is something she's quite adept at considering she met Jerry Seinfeld at the gym just after returning from a three week Italian honeymoon with her first husband. Long story short, now she's a Seinfeld.

Dem Boots

These were the boots recently acquired at Target for Stella's Halloween costume. Conveniently, we are going to a wedding for one of Jamie's old roommates in Texas two days after Halloween. Will the boots make the trip? What say you, Reader. Cast a vote.

Sibling Harmony

Obviously, when one child is so small that it can neither protest or steal your toys it's very easy to experience sibling harmony. There is a genuine affection on Stella's behalf for her sister. When Gianna cries, Stella wants to investigate and give her a kiss. She likes to greet Gianna with a full body hug in the morning. This usually consists of Stella climbing on our bed and laying her body across Gianna's. Stella tries to calm down a sad Gianna when we're in the car by saying, "Baby, shhh. Baby, shhh."

For now Gianna is very compliant. I put her in the dolly stroller and Stella proceeded in pushing her around, checking in on her well being and generally enjoying the presence of her sister. Stella is also very willing to share her stuffed animals with Gianna. Most likely this is because she can reclaim them according to her whim.

It is her whims, after all, that are sovereign. These days approaching two years old are filled with unintelligible complaints and outbursts about unequal ratios of cottage cheese to pasta at lunch time; or perhaps the discovery of a dog consuming an errant grape on the floor. Then there's always the very heartbreaking discovery of toys remaining on the window sill hours after she placed them there.

She Reads!

It's that time of night.

We come indoors from out. We have just finished composting our dinner and raking the rocks in our Zen garden. Although we are already relaxed and connected with each other and the universe, we try to squeeze in a little reading. Because that's what the public service announcement on the television recommends.


Stella suggests, "Let's read Richard Scarry. He teaches us all about the world called Busy Town where animals and small invertebrates happily co-exist. We should all be so, what's the word, Gianna? Tolerant, yes."


Gianna is distracted by the love song of J. Alfred Ceiling Fan. His fancy grooves have seduced infants for generations. Softly but sternly instructing, so as not to wound Gianna's Spirit of Learning Stella says, "Gianna, stay on task, I'm trying to share with you the beauty that is Reading."


"That's more like it."

Cue the Sexy Bond Girl

I will start to call the TV "Auntie" so Stella can talk about all the fun she has with her "Auntie." Before I had her I thought my children would never spend time with their "Auntie" and how all the kids I babysat for spent a horrible amount of time with their "Aunties." Oh how words/thoughts/deeds/judgments come back to haunt you once you have kids. I know that "Never Say Never" is already a James Bond movie, but I think it should rather be a movie chronicling the life of a self-righteous, know-it-all woman transitioning into new motherhood!

Only a Relative

The following video is around TWO MINUTES long. I realized this after the conclusion because I was so enraptured by the interaction between my two progeny that the world seemed to stop and I lost all track of time as they conducted themselves as the little sisters that they are. Proceed accordingly:

Grandparents will probably watch the entire thing. And return for seconds and even thirds.
Same with Auntie CJ.
Aunts and uncles (OK, the only other ones, Nate and Stasia) will perhaps make it through at least 3/4 of the video depending on how time permits--they're busy getting their own nursery ready.
All other loyal fans...surprise me.

Halloween at Mary Coyle's

We visited Mary Coyle's again. Last time I was there Stella had a meltdown about the ice cream. This time she couldn't really handle the decor in the entryway. It was a bit intense Halloween decorating for a family establishment. Stella was not ruffled by the ice cream, but rather by the rumblings and cackling coming from the entryway. She clung rather tightly to her father.

Jamie's not a big baby dad. He clicks with toddlers more. He's good with Stella. Takes her on outings, plays in the yard, reads, gives her baths and all that jazz. His mom can vouch for how well he handles Stella with TV and ice cream--real champ! But here he is with Gianna after having lulled her to sleep.

A First for Everything

This is the first time Stella elected to sit in her aunt's lap--and smile!

8 Days Old

Stella started sharing her toys! Already!

Morning Mug

Quite possible some of the best morning hair yet...





And then there's this morning hair, so cute because it's barely there.

Disappointment

Perhaps the most difficult part of this entire ordeal is the disappointment. Everyone grows up with expectations: for jobs, family, vacation, possessions, fun, education, etc. Everyone deals with disappointment. I'm not saying that I'm different or exceptional in my feelings. I'm only saying that this has turned out to be one of the hardest things for me to deal with.

A year ago I didn't know what my family would look like in ten years. Quite honestly, I'm not entirely sure right now, but I no longer have the luxury of just waiting to see. This is disappointing to me.

There's a sudden urgency to decide if we want any more children. Well, I feel an urgency. Jamie, he's pretty placid. And I mean that well. He's not disappointed. That's a good thing because then I'd have to deal with disappointing his desires for a large family, or just one that's a little bigger. Thankfully, though, I don't have to deal with that.

I'm dealing with my disappointment. The cost is paid for me, physically, with many tears and loss of sleep. My muscles ache. My heart aches. I hurt.

In addition to disappointment is other people's dismissive ways of dealing with things. I know people mean well when they say things like, "At least you have two beautiful daughters." Or, "Some women with ovarian cancer don't have any children. Be thankful." Or, "You can always adopt." Or, "At least you'll be done raising children when you're still young." I know people mean well. But, People, it's still a loss. For me it's a loss. I am grieving what childbearing whimsy I once had. I am grieving the idea of more children. I am grieving the idea of a possible son.

These things may still happen. But they could happen with much risk to my current family. And if they do happen they must happen quickly. And I am exhausted. I am exhausted and that's why I couldn't decide right now what to do. I needed some space. I needed some mental health. I needed to cry and mentally troubleshoot what I want to do. I had this luxury--again, with much controversy--because my cancer was found so soon. I will not squander this chance to make a clear-headed decision.

But I just had to write this all down. I had to write because I am tired of crying. I'm hot and bothered and overwhelmed with life right now. And this is how I work. I do things intensely and get on with life. I don't want years of grief and disappointment--I don't want any, who does. But if I must feel this to move on, I want to feel it and move on. I want to enjoy year three with Stella, because year two has been a bummer. I want to enjoy year one with Gianna because it might be the last year one I enjoy with any of my own.

I am more than grateful for Stella and Gianna. And I am lucky. I am blessed. I know all this to be true.

This says a lot. Because I don't enjoy pregnancy. I don't do pregnant well. But the end result is absolutely worth it. There's a new person to meet. A new person that's a little mixture of yourself and (hopefully) your favorite other person. And instead of looking at it as greedy, I want to look at it as generous. Generous to want to bring someone into this world because for all its disappointments, it's a very good world in which to be.

Drug-Addled Ass Kicking and Cancer Free

This is my abdomen one week after my latest ovarian cancer surgery. I've never written about it here before because it seemed like such a downer of a thing to write about. But these are my new abs, holding the baby whose eighteen week ultrasound led to the discovery of a very large tumor on my right ovary (may it rest in peace). I have only one left--a controversial decision. Most have both taken out ASAP. I was too out of my mind to make a proper decision. Since November 2006 I've had morning sickness, cancer, laparascopic surgery twice, and a Arizona summer pregnancy. It's been a brutal year. One where I haven't felt myself. I regret not having written more of my feelings--not necessarily blogged them, just written them. It's been a doozy.

Twee Toes

Intense Concentration

People say, "Their play is their work," and this picture, to me, exemplifies that sentiment. It is with such diligence that approaches all her "work."

Dancing With Uncle Rob Pregnant With Stella

Dancing With Uncle Rob Pregnant With Stella
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

I've recently uploaded a lot of photos of Stella's first year and beyond. Makes me cry with nostalgia: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alishiahanson/sets/72157600189154146/

Misery Loves Company & Advice for Aspiring Parents

Two out of three days this week I spent in the company of other mothers and their small children. Being a mother is not miserable. There are definite stages of misery. These stages usually correspond to some developmental occurrence: walking, talking, teething, eating, sleeping through the night, not shitting on the carpet (uh, no names). Spending time with other mothers eases these difficulties. You realize you are not alone and your child gets to play with someone all at the same time.

I told one friend, "Next week you guys can come to my house for screaming and fighting, OK?" That about sums it up sometimes.

Now. Some advice. If you ever speak of your child's sleeping habits--no matter how proud or disinterested-yet-appreciative you are--lie. Because the moment you say anything positive the sleeping fairies will tweak and poke your child all night. You will rue the day you ever thought of encouraging your friend in with their child's sleeping difficulties. You will arise the next day with aching muscles and tired lids and curse the fact that you said, "Yes. My child sleeps."

For the record: My children don't sleep. They are up all night. I'm always tired. And it sux.

Stella's First Veritas Graduation

Stella's First Veritas Graduation
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

This is one of my favorites.

Sunday Morning Chocolate Croissants

Sunday Morning Chocolate Croissants
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

Sunday mornings at our house means an early trip to AJ's for Jamie to pick up the big, fat NY Times and two chocolate croissants. Then we proceed to enjoy said purchases. And we don't comb our hair.

How We Are Coping With the Nights of Not-As-Much-Sleep-As-I-Am-Usually-Used-To (Ending this title in a Prepostion)

Ha Ha. Ah Ha!

I write that long, convoluted title to throw you off a bit. It's supposed to give the impression of a jumbled mind. But jumbled I am not! Triumphant? Somewhat!

Admission: Stella was a stellar nighttime baby. Great sleeper, good at Not Disturbing The Mother. Gianna is not as proficient--yet! I say that with great anticipation and the knowledge that comes from having had only one other baby. But having had only one other baby I know the most basic thing necessary: This, too, shall pass. And it is so true. It is for this reason that I have not lost hope. I am hopeful. And I am not too tired.

I will not diminish the difficulty of waking up between 1-3 am to help a small baby get fed and settled again, but in comparison to many other "jobs" I've had--no big woop. I have read many books these days. Of course, as I was telling Jamie this morning, I don't always remember what I read which leads to me doing the cursory pre-commencement of reading read to recollect (uh, did you follow that?), but I do get some reading done.

Anyway, there is so much that changes with the addition of another body and its temperament to your household. And I am not the kind of mother that holds her child in her arms for the first time and cries tears of joy and unconditional love. I am more the kind of mother who clutches her child in her arms in the middle of the night amidst feeding frustration and is overwhelmed with annoyance and love at the same time. Because I have suddenly realized that after all these months of the physical burden of pregnancy there is a new person here and no matter how annoyed she is making me, I have realized that my love for her surpasses that annoyance. It always feels better to pass through those moments and be able to lie down in peace and quiet knowing that I don't have to regret being severe with a little person.

For good measure: photos of that part of the day when things wind down.

Most Beautiful Couple Award

To paraphrase her anniversary entry:
Two years. Go Them!



To reflect my sentiments for their anniversary:
It's a shame they don't procreate. Keeping all that juicy DNA to Themselves.

Multi Task Master*

me: ok, i just changed a diaper WHILE breastfeeding
christa: haha
me: beat that
christa: that's hilariuls
hilarious
me: not so much hilarious as very demanding and awesome
christa: that's amazing
me: and then i put stella in her bed to sleep
christa: multi tasking on a new level
me: and she didn't cry
christa: while breasfeeding?!
that's amazing
me: yes,
i'm waiting for my review so i can get a raise


(I also just updated my blog while IMing.)



*Good puzzle for final round in Wheel of Fortune.

Six Days

By the time you read this post Gianna will be at least six days old. She's a treat. We all love her. Stella enjoys her but is definitely going through the adjustment phase. It's so sad to see your beloved child become the person at the party who acts out for attention. And really, I think it's harder on me than her. I love Gianna but I miss my Stella days and nights.

Dreamboat Dress Shipwreck Hair

While Stella has some cute clothes and a cute face, she knows not how to be patient with a hair brush. She does not want one near her head for an extended amount of time. And by extended I mean not at all.
For this reason Stella will not be a girl that has long hair until she reaches the Age of Reason. Wherein she masters the ability to wield a hairbrush to tame her mane--including the part underneath the top layer. I know all too well the consequences of poor hair management. When I was about ten my mother realized that I had somewhat of a rat's nest residing at the nape of my neck because I only ever brushed the top of my hair. I was given some choices:

a) Let my mom brush it out
b) Brush it myself and maintain outstanding tresses
c) Cut it off

I chose the second option.

I retain the vivid memory of an afternoon spent with The Knot--my head flipped over while I relentlessly stroked my hair to avoid having a bob at the age of ten. I did succeed but not without much wailing and bemoaning my plight.

So it makes sense that this is my child:

In Response

Over at another blog there is a thoughtful somewhat Op/Ed piece about car "flare" shall we call it. If you don't know what I'm talking about when I use the word flare in quotes think of Jennifer Aniston in Office Space working at TGIFriday's.

In response to the aforementioned blog, if I die, please do not memorialize me on the rear window of your vehicle. Please. Don't.

Because We Have So Much Free Time Before the Baby

Revealing Her Inner Sean Penn

Revealing Her Inner Old Testament Hebrew Self

Genesis 37:29-34 And Reuben returned unto the pit; and, behold, Joseph was not in the pit; and he rent his clothes. And he returned unto his brethren, and said, The child is not; and I, whither shall I go? And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a he-goat, and dipped the coat in the blood; and they sent the coat of many colors, and they brought it to their father, and said, This have we found: know now whether it is thy son's coat or not. And he knew it, and said, It is my son's coat: an evil beast hath devoured him; Joseph is without doubt torn in pieces. And Jacob rent his garments, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days.

36 Weeks and Andy Rooney

Me and Gianna. I'm totally sucking in my stomach.
Included in this pregnancy edition: one of my scars from my laparascopic surgery! Rad.



Did I say Andy Rooney? I meant Andy Warhol.