Birthday Bounty

Something was afoot last Sunday...


Dory's first birthday party!



Somehow she managed to contain her excitement.

I, however, had a harder time. It was her first birthday party- this was a day to be done up in style! I grew up having truly fantastic birthday parties, though, by what I hear about parties these days, with ponies and bounce houses and the entire Disney on Ice crew in attendance, my parties were still fairly casual events. That was our intention for Miss D's big day. Fun, but not overwhelming.

We invited family and a few close friends. Gram Mojo offered up her home as Party Central and Granny S took care of the party decor and together they created the perfect festive atmosphere.




(Granny S, my Step-Mama, in the blue shirt, and Gram, my Mama, in the black-in serious party planning mode. They are, honestly, the two coolest women on the planet.)

Friends and family came









and they brought quite the haul...



I remembered, from the kid's point-of-view, the benefit of being an only child.

While she did spend quite a bit of time on various laps, being cuddled...







she wasn't afraid to get out there and mix it up with guests.



The food was phenomenal. Again, I give credit to The Parents. Gram and Granny S provided an array of side dishes while Grandpa brought about one pig's worth of pulled pork, that he smoked and pulled himself. How we did not get a picture of that, I couldn't say. It was a glorious thing and people who came with no intention of eating could be spotted throwing away plates, a little BBQ sauce around their lips. Here at least is a shot of a prepared sandwich.



If pictures don't lie, I am one focused person when food is (pardon the pun) on the table.

Granny S found the best party hat, a cupcake hat, with a pretend candle on top. And Dory did wear it.



For about two seconds, while crawling, and then she was done. Still a really adorable hat.

Speaking of cupcakes, this was my big contribution (besides, you know, conceiving and birthing the child). Really loved making these treats, but the fact they were homemade (from scratch! no cake mix! my first time ever, from-scratch, home-made cupcakes!) might have gone to my head and I might have ended up mentioning Martha (as in Ms. Stewart) every fifteen point two seconds as in "well Martha says..." or "You should talk to Martha about butter..." followed by a wee bit of a pompous chuckle. My apologies to the party-goers.





But they were some damned-fine, home-made, from-scratch cupcakes.

Matthew ran the opening of presents and he was wonderful. He helped Dory, he did not rush her, he opened every box, he let her investigate all her toys- he was patience and love embodied. I kept track of who sent what for thank-you card purposes. We decided we each had the perfect job, as I might have rushed her through opening gifts and, had he been writing down who-sent-what, our thank-you cards would all say "thanks for the stuff."











Even after the party, while we adults resisted the urge to curl up around Gram's house and take naps, Dory had energy.





I think she enjoyed herself.


And when it was all over and done with and the floor of our family room could not be found through the presents...



Dory's favorite toys (so far) proved to be the cups, plates, napkins, and spoons leftover from the shindig.

To the First of Many...

Happy Birthday, Dory! Considering what a rich, intense day the 29th was last year, we had a lovely, low-key day today. Traditions were maintained. We cooked spaghetti for lunch, the same thing my mama made for Matthew and I when we all came home from the birth center last year. Matthew brought us both flowers. He gave us each a card. And Dory opened her presents right before bed, a crazy idea on our part, as she revved back up and wasn't ready for bed until almost 10:30 (hence the late post). As was the day, her gifts were simple.

A pop-up style book that makes noises and a small WonderPets stuffed animal from our friends Betsy, Randy and Andrew.


A bag of Mega Blocks, which will hopefully prove entertaining for us, as well as Dory.




And a bag of randomly selected balls from the big ball bin at Toys 'R Us.




The balls were definitely a hit.


We have a party for the family planned for this weekend and that's going to be fantastic. I'm glad today, though, on her very first birthday we had such a sweet, quiet day with the three of us.

I want to write more, but I am exhausted! For now, I'll just leave it at Happy Birthday Dory, our crawling, giggling, babbling, blue-eyed, pasta-eating miracle.

You Never Know...

This time last year...

Matthew and I were sitting in our den, after a home-cooked Mexican dinner, watching something action-packed on television, and he was giving me a great foot massage.  I was pregnant and big as all outdoors. Baby (as we called our Gender Unknown Little One) was due August 2nd and, being the confident, well-informed parents-to-be we were, we were both convinced this kid was not showing up before next week, at the earliest. We planned a natural birth, no medical induction, and by leaving our baby's birthday undecided (some said to chance, we said to God), being overdue was normal. Even expected. And I knew, with my new mama instinct, I was having an August baby...

Just that day, I made an appointment for us to meet our new pediatrician the following Friday. It was the first opportunity the doctor had to sit down with us and, as I pointed out to the receptionist, Baby wasn't due until that Saturday, we should be fine to come in on the first. "If Baby comes early, just bring him with you!" She quipped back and we both had a good chuckle...

All the little things we did, all those funny old wives' tales you hear about how to trigger labor, none of which we considered as we cooked our spicy dinner or Matthew rubbed my feet and ankles...

I didn't think about it on the great long walk I took earlier that day. Nor did I think much about the cleaning frenzy that struck me that afternoon. My good friend Emily stopped by, with her eight-week-old, and suggested all this cleaning of mine might be nesting instincts. "Come over tomorrow to knit," she suggested, "unless you're having a baby!" Oh, how we laughed and laughed over that one...

I think I went to bed around midnight or so, leaving Matthew downstairs working on his first-time parent plan. He wanted to prep for Baby and the Sleepless Nights we were told to expect, so each night he stayed up a little later to prepare himself for functioning with less sleep. Thank goodness he had Playstation 3's NCAA College Football '09 to help him along in this endeavor...

I remember getting in bed, reading a little, writing in my journal and watching a re-run of Sex and the City on TV when I couldn't sleep. Around twelve-thirty or quarter of one, I flipped off the light...

And to use that age-old writer's turn of phrase, little did I know...

The Proof Is in the Pasta

All sorts of good news in our house this week, the first of which is (and this is not to be treated lightly)- this is Miss D's birthday week! Our girl will be one on Wednesday and, I promise, crossed heart and all that, there will be lots of posting about that this week. Once I get my mind around the fact that she's been here for a year...

And the second bit of news- my computer is fixed and updated and working bee-yoo-tifully. Ah, thank you very much Mr. Matthew Mac-Genius.

Which means- pictures!

Tonight's quick updates are about that one perfect food- pasta.

Miss D is quite the noodle fan.







And if you've ever wondered if the rumors about pasta and sleepiness are true...

Going...


Going...


Gone...

Reunion

Last Wednesday we went to a reunion of our Bradley Method class and it was fantastic. Bradley Method is a natural approach to childbirth, rooted in the idea of "husband-coached childbirth." Did you know that? Me, I had no idea, until friends (who had recently birthed a child this way) told us about it. The only class on natural birth I knew was Lamaze, with its odd, but effective breathing techniques. But we didn't stay with friends who'd done a Lamaze birth. We went to visit these friends with their Bradley experience and after hearing the birth story of their second son I thought, yep, that's for me. Forget your drugs, forget your doctors, forget your hospital nursery. At that point, nine weeks in, I was ready for it. Bring on the home birth!

Matthew put the kibosh on that idea.

However, he did get on board with the natural childbirth idea. He particularly liked the Husband part and he really, really liked the Coach part. I think it fulfilled all sorts of dreams for him. I imagine visions of a delivery room with a grassy surface, him gigged up in a ball cap with a whistle around his neck and everyone else- doctors, visitors, myself- wearing some kind of Lycra uniform danced in his head.

We found a Bradley Method instructor in Knoxville. The course ran twelve weeks, every Wednesday night from 6:30 to 8:30 and was around the same cost as a plane ticket (much thanks to Dory's Grandpa and Granny Suzanney for assistance with that). The price made sense, I realized later, as we settled ourselves on the floor, shoes off, mildly pregnant women propped up against pillows with flustered, uncertain husbands settling down next to us. We were on a journey not many take.

Not having a baby, of course. Seems like everyone is doing that. But having a baby this way, intending as little medical intervention as possible, relying mostly on the strength of ourselves, individually and as a couple, to carry us through a truly stressful experiences. A wife saying, I'm going to be in the most vulnerable, moving, terrifying, exhilarating, intense experience of my life and you're the one I want in the room holding me up. A husband who answered, I'm your man.

Almost no one understood.

Only a few people I knew (specifically my parents, especially my mama, and some friends) supported us. Pretty much everyone else, when they heard we were going, as they thought of it, the no-drugs route balked. Some went farther than balking. There were lots of opinions about our decision, ranging from, "are you sure?" to "are you *#@$^!& crazy?" I had one family member who, every single time I spoke to her, approached the subject from the angle, "Are you still planning to..." followed up with "Take the drugs! You want the drugs, get the drugs, take them!"

It was trying. *#@$^!& annoying might be the other to say it. But I should be grateful. As with so many responses in life, the more people disagreed with us, the more it shored up our decision and firmed Matthew and I up as a team, the two of us planted strongly on the side of preparation, forethought, and intention and everyone else on the other.

Yet having our Bradley class, every week, for twelve weeks, was a cool, refreshing glass of water in a desert of people with too many opinions they couldn't keep to themselves. We started the class talking about that week's pregnancy changes, who was having what test, how far along, any thoughts, concerns, problems with the medical team? Then our teacher, the funny and fantastic Lisa Paul, guided us through our thick Bradley Method manuals, videos, and books, all generated toward convincing and reassuring women that birth the way God intended was a viable option.

I loved this class and the end of it was difficult for me. First, because I enjoyed the people in there with us and who knew when we would see them again? Second, because the end of the class meant I was almost thirty-seven weeks pregnant and at a to-be-determined, not-so-distant date, I'd have a baby. Odd how we spent so many weeks going towards this goal and I still felt like I'd been snuck up on by Fate and Fortune when the class actually ended.

Well, the second premise happened first. My labor did start, we had it pretty much as we intended, at a birth center, with no medication and the most wonderful midwives. Our baby arrived, we found out she was a girl and Life as we knew it changed irrevocably.

The first came back together about four months after that. One couple hosted, we all RSVPed Yes and we came bearing brand-new babies and potluck Italian dishes. It was a good time.

I wasn't surprised to see the dads (once known as husbands) as involved with their babies as they had been with their wives' pregnancy. You know you have five good men, when each in his turn, says, "You go ahead and eat. I've got Little One." We had great conversations about recovering from the birth, who did you call when you were in labor, who brought you food when they came to visit, was it good food, how completely changed is your life? You know, light chit-chat.

Over the period of the evening everyone relived snippets and pieces of their baby's birth. Of the five couples, two did have Cesarean deliveries due to unexpected medical complications. Regardless, both couple agreed what they learned in class went so far beyond only the birth. Watching each couple, I could see, regardless of Baby's preferred entrance, how much the class strengthened their bonds and belief in each other.

Whatever the intention going into your birth, a baby arrives at the end. And it is, to say simply and yet to understate it, a miracle. But what I found, the unexpected gem, hidden away in the mysterious due date, broken waters, sweat, contractions, deep breathing, blood, various medical strangers, encouragement, potential problems, the great gasp before a baby appears... what I discovered was my husband and I were exactly the right people for the jobs at hand. Maybe an obvious thing to realize, something many, many people could have told us. Yet it was a tremendous, joyful, silly delight to know as they placed our girl on my chest, when Matthew said I'm your man, he was right. And it was a point of pride, a glow in the deepest part of my heart, to realize I was, not just the only, but the best woman for it.

Now, fingers crossed, if we can just come close to being the parents this bright little girl deserves...

Great Expectations

While it might be my first rodeo, this isn't my first blog. That one can be found over here and it is, though I say it myself, a good blog, a solid blog, with chatter on knitting, football, Harry Potter, vacations, Dave Matthews Band and other such worldly, important pre-baby topics. That one, though, doesn't feel up to speed with the fast, amazing and often spit-up sodden changes occurring daily around here. Today is the ten-week celebration of our baby's voyage into this world. She was born 7 pounds, 12 oz, 20 and 1/2 inches long, with a full head of hair and, from the moment they placed her on my chest, my heart. How easy to say it, but how impossible to really describe it. I could feel this small, naked, slippery body on mine and all previous thoughts- new mama thoughts, "what if she's crying?" "won't I want a shower?" and "what if she's all gooey?"- flew right out of my head. I held this girl, glanced at Matthew, pressed up next to me, to see the exultation, amazement, and disbelief on his face perfectly expressing my own mush of emotions, and I felt more than thought: I am completely happy.
With that sentiment still so clear in my heart, ten weeks and many, many, many loads of laundry later (with far fewer showers to match) I thought this might be the perfect time to admit, life expanded beyond my crafty, lovely, little site of old. So with no trombones or big parade to kick this off, I enter a new time in life with a new online journal to match. We'll only hope this lovely, little, expanding site will prove to be the fitting platform for the antics of this lovely, little, expanding family.