Straddling Two (Worlds)

My baby, the little girl born in our school room, turns two tomorrow.  For those of you that don't know her, she is a walking contradiction in every way, which began from the moment I found out I was pregnant.

I was convinced she was a boy.  At my twenty week ultrasound, when the technician told me she was a girl, I asked him to please check again.

These pictures were taking at my 40 week ultrasound to make sure everything was okay. 

Hello CHEEKS!

This picture hurts.

   

But this one makes it all better.

Then I was convinced she was going to be born early, maybe even before Christmas, and had false labor on and off for weeks.  She arrived a week late, narrowly missing being born at home in that snowmaggedon we had two years ago.

Thank you for not being born in this!

Happy birth day Baby A!                

Within two minutes she can claim, "I can DO it!" about some task, such as screwing the lid on her cup, and then turn around and answer, "I can't DO it!" when you've asked her to pick up her toys.

She is a high need, high strung "mommy's girl" to the point of driving me crazy many days, and yet knows exactly how to turn on her charm and keep the family in stitches with her antics.

Half the time she hangs out on my hip with a frown that looks like a cross between a curmudgeonly old man and Strega Nona, but she has a smile that could light the world on fire.























She will pee AND poo on the potty, but only if I leave her completely naked from the bottom down.  The minute a diaper goes on, all potty training goes out the window.  Unless we're at mass.  Of course.

She will spend thirty minutes sobbing in the car on the way home from three hours of errands, asking for an "Elmo show" between sobs.  Yet when we get home, she crawls in my lap, asks for "side" (her word for nursing) and suddenly life is all better.

She is my big girl.  She is my baby.  She is straddling two worlds, and as ready as I thought I was to have her grow up, there is such a large part of me that is still clinging to her babyhood.

Meara enjoying first moments with her sister.

Ailin is that third child that I fought tooth and nail for, insisting that "something was missing" from our family.  Ken and I fought and talked, and then fought and talked some more about what another baby would mean for us.  Did we want to go back to diapers, sleepless nights, the loss of "freedom," the loss of our own bed, the demands of the nursing relationship?  Really, Christine, do you want that?  Yes, I would say, yes.  Something is just missing.

About eleven months later,  I was recovering in bed after the birth, full of those wonderful mommy hormones, gazing down at Ailin.  Ken sat down beside me, looked down at her and said, "You were right, something was missing."

So, to my baby, my big girl, the piece that completed this family puzzle---happy almost second birthday.  Our lives are so much better because we said yes to you.

Meara, Meara, on the Wall...

Meara will be six tomorrow.  I can't believe it!  She has grown up so much, especially since becoming a big sister herself.  I can't wait to shower her with love and attention tomorrow!  (How is it possible to love our children so much?)  

Baby Meara

My 1 year old pumpkin Meara

2 year old angel Meara (She smiled like this for a very long time!)

3 year old leafy Meara

4 year old witch-conducting-an-orchestra Meara 

5 year old kitty Meara

Last-day-of being-five Meara  

Jim Nantz, Phil Simms, and...

I consider it my duty as a parent, especially a Catholic one, to steer my girls toward their respective "callings."  So far, the older two haven't expressed a real interest in a particular career.  But today I was brushing Caeley's hair and she was reminiscing about the Ravens game on Sunday.  Here's our conversation:

C: (half to herself):  Man, 37 to 7.  That was a great game.

Me:  You remember the score?  You have such a great memory for details like that!  You'd make a great football commentator.

C:  Girls can't do that, like...

Me: (cutting her off) Oh sure they can!  There are women down on the field interviewing players for halftime shows and stuff!  There are women news anchors, too!

C:  Well, yeah, but it's not like it could be the Halftime Show with Jim Nantz, Phil Simms and Caeley (insert our last name here)!

Me:  Well, you never know!  I could totally see you doing that.

That's where our conversation ended, but it's kinda been on my mind a lot today.  Raising girls is so interesting.  Just the other day I saw her really looking at herself in the mirror.  I mean really.  Kinda giving her reflection the old once-over.  There may have been some Hollywood lips going on too, but I can't be sure.  She's becoming so aware of herself and her place in this world.  She's wondering where she fits.  She's trying to figure out what our society will "let her" become, while at the same time working through who she is.  It's a scary prospect, at least to me, for us to be moving into that new phase....the world beyond dolls and innocence.  The world where she already feels pigeon-holed into certain career choices.  The world where she already thinks that refection staring back at her should look a certain way.  Maybe even different from what she sees.  I'm really starting to feel that urge to hold on tighter.  To freeze time so she will stay my baby a little bit longer.  I'm not ready.

I don't know what Caeley will be called to, and I'm glad I don't have to worry too much about it right now.  But I do know that she has an amazing memory, a head for numbers, facts, and more importantly, names and faces.  She loves people.  She loves to talk.  She loves to be dramatic.  She loves to be in the action.  And she loves football.  Jim Nantz and Phil Simms, watch out.

On Parenthood, Grace, and Bettering

April has been such a full month for us.  Maybe at some point when I get a chance, I will post about some of the random goings-on, but today was such a special day---Caeley made her First Reconciliation.  I knew that she was going to be nervous, so I've debated for months about whether or not I should also receive the sacrament with her as a show of solidarity.  (I must confess, confessing is not one of my favorite things to do.  It has not been a lifelong habit instilled in me from the time I made my own First Confession.  It's something I have slowly and somewhat reluctantly gotten back into only in recent years....and only a handful of times at that!  I am getting much better, thanks to the example and encouragement of some awesome, faithful friends! BS, that's for you all.)

But swallowing any of my own misgivings, I decided we would go together and make a special "mommy-daughter afternoon" out of it.  We arrived early to find the door to the church locked, but stood outside with a very nice sister (nun) who entertained us with stories of her own childhood and how her mother raised her to be so faithful.  (Yes, I was taking mental notes on that conversation!)  Once we were inside, we spent a minute or two in the pew just praying.  We got in line, and Caeley seemed so nervous, but she did it!  She was in and out in a flash, and it was my turn.  (Not so speedy for me, but I blame the fact that I'm not 8 and have a little more to say!)

Afterwards we drove down to our favorite grocery store, talking the whole way in the car about how she was feeling, how wonderful and forgiving God is, and how confession is such a good thing.  How it isn't just about being forgiven of our sins, but also about giving us the grace we need to be better people.  We also talked about the joys and struggles she has been feeling lately.  It was our first true "heart to heart" conversation...one that will be recorded on my heart forever.  (It will also be memorable because our entire trip was taken in a horrible rain storm, complete with flooding, cars in ditches on the side of the road, and our own driveway almost impassable!)

On the car ride home, I couldn't help but but feel so truly blessed.  Seeing my oldest daughter waiting for me in the pew, and then having her praying next to me as we did our penance together, was like nothing I've felt as a mother yet.  This was the little girl I birthed into being 8 years ago.  I remember the moment she made me a mother, the moment I lifted her purple, wiggling body from the water and put her to my chest.  I remember thinking to myself on that day, so clearly, that there must be a God, because how else was her existence possible?  And today, there she was, on her knees next to me.  There she was, making me want to be better for God, but also for her.  Making me want to stand by her and be strong for her in that moment, and in all the tough, scary moments to come.  Making me want to walk toward Christ with her.  It made me realize how ironic parenting is---that it isn't always about me raising these girls and helping them to find their vocations and their way to Heaven.  It is also so much about them bringing me there too.