On losing confidence in medical professionals

So, when I first heard that Dorothy was going to need surgery to repair the cleft in her lip, I really wasn't worried at all. The cleft team at CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) would be taking care of her. She would be in the hands of the best Children's hospital in the country. What more could I ask for?

Last month, when I met with the surgeon, I was still pretty confident. She told me what the surgery would be like, and walked me through the process. It seemed fairly straightforward. Then she told me that I had to stop feeding Dorothy six hours before the surgery, and could give her clear liquids, like Pedialyte, until two hours before the surgery. I said, "Breastmilk is a clear liquid, right?" And she said it wasn't, and I had to stop breastfeeding six hours before. That didn't seem quite right, and sure enough, when my pre-op packet came in the mail, it said that I could breastfeed until three hours before the surgery (six hours was the standard for formula feeding). I was a little disappointed to have been given false information at a hospital touted as breastfeeding-friendly, but not entirely surprised, and since the correct information came in the packet, it didn't really shake my confidence too much.

Then the time came for the pre-op anesthesia consult. A few days beforehand, I received a call from the ENT (ear, nose, throat) department. They said I had to bring her in so they could take a quick look in her ears to make sure there was no fluid, which could cause complications with the anesthesia. My anesthesia appointment was at 2:15, so they scheduled me for 12:15. I wasn't sure why a quick look in her ears would take 2 hours, but I figured I could at least get lunch between the appointments.

I arrived at ENT at 12:15, then sat in the waiting room for almost an hour. When they finally called me back to a room, the nurse practitioner seemed to have no idea why I was there. I said we just needed someone to look in her ears to make sure there was no fluid before the surgery. The NP looked in Dorothy's ears, said they were fine, then fumbled to find the right words to put into the computer. It seemed to me like she had never heard of a healthy baby having her ears checked before surgery before. She left, and said the doctor would be right in.

Then I waited another hour. I called ahead to the anesthesia department at 2:15 to let them know I was here, but still waiting to see the ENT doctor. At about 2:30, I went back to the front desk to see if we had been forgotten. They said the doctor had our chart, so he knew we were there. I went back to the exam room and fell asleep in the chair while Dorothy slept in the Ergo.

The doctor finally came a little before 3:00. He seemed to have no idea what to do with a healthy baby. He looked in her ears, said there was no fluid, so she wouldn't need tubes, but maybe she would need tubes later. I was really confused as to why she would need tubes later, since there was nothing wrong, and I asked what I should look for to know if there was fluid in her ears, and he gave me a less than helpful answer about things getting worse. Which didn't make any sense, since there was NOTHING WRONG WITH HER EARS. I just chalked it up to a medical professional who only ever sees sick babies just assuming that all babies need tubes, and rushed upstairs to anesthesia.

I didn't have to wait quite as long there. I guess it pays to be 45 minutes late? They weighed and measured Dorothy, then I waited in another exam room for a while. A NP came in and she seemed to be very knowledgeable about anesthesia and the procedures for surgery. She seemed not to know much about babies, though. She took my pre-op hand-out to write in the date of surgery, and, reading off the sheet, told me I could breastfeed as much as I wanted until three hours before the surgery, then I could give clear fluids, like water, until two hours before. Water? Did a medical professional really just tell me I could give a three-month-old baby water? (Experts fairly universally recommend against giving water to babies under the age of six months.) She then got a thoughtful look on her face, and asked me whether I would be able to breastfeed after surgery, because it was on her lip, and I told her yes, they actually encourage it because it helps the mouth find its correct shape. She asked me if I needed my parking validated, and I said, "No, I took the train. But I know I'm supposed to drive on the day of surgery." She responded, "Oh? Did they tell you that?" Yes, it was in the pamphlet YOU GAVE ME!

At this point, it was 4:00, and I was tired, hungry, and fairly disillusioned. I finally got to change Dorothy's diaper-balloon, then we headed over to the lab for a blood draw. The lady who took her blood was really sweet, and she was about to become a Grandma, so she was very interested in the Ergo carrier. She told me that Dorothy was hungry, but I reassured her that she was just tired from a long day of interrupted naps. She insisted, and I said she had nursed five times in the four hours we had been there, so I was pretty sure she wasn't hungry. She then got this surprised look on her face and asked me how you can tell a breastfed baby was getting enough, and I found myself explaining the basics of breastfeeding to her. Ultimately, I guess it doesn't really matter if a phlebotomist knows anything about breastfeeding, but I was just surprised that someone who works at a "breastfeeding-friendly" children's hospital would ask me a question like that.

All in all, I was fairly unimpressed with my whole experience. Everyone was nice, and very knowledgeable about their specific aspect of the surgery, but no one seemed to know the whole picture. It seemed like the right hand didn't know what the left hand was doing, which is all well and good when you're giving to charity, but somewhat upsetting when my daughter's life is in your hands. Maybe I'm just not used to this hyper-specialized model of medical care. My dad was a nurse, and he always seemed to know something (usually a lot) about everything. I'm sure everyone coordinates better on the actual day of the surgery, but it's awfully easy to imagine something going wrong after an experience like this.

When I got home, I looked at the website again, and discovered that Dorothy's surgeon was appointed in 2010. I'm sure she's still an excellent surgeon, and I have nothing to worry about, but it does explain why she seemed to not be very familiar with certain aspects of the process.

And now that the surgery is two weeks away, it's become much more frighteningly real to me. I keep closing my eyes and picturing my sweet little baby with a red, puffy face and stitches and elbow restraints. I picture her whimpering because it hurts to nurse, and struggling in frustration to get her hands to her mouth to suck on her fingers. I feel terrible that I have to put her through this, but I know the sooner the better. I just want it to be over with now, but I worry about that little cough of hers, and that she won't be healthy enough for the surgery and we'll have to reschedule and wait that much longer. Or I worry that I'll think she is better, but then the cough will come back during surgery and cause the surgeon's knife to slip. I'm trying not to worry, and I was doing so successfully until my whole pre-op experience left a bad taste in my mouth. Which is awfully ironic because the point of the pre-op appointments was, at least in part, to make me feel more comfortable.

I know everything will be fine. I know all the information I need to know is in the pamphlets and on the website, so it doesn't really matter if I was told the wrong thing at the appointments. I know everything that happens the day of surgery will have to go on her chart, so coordination of care will be much more thorough than coordination of pre-op information delivery. I knew this time would come, when the surgery would go from being just "this thing that has to happen sometime" to being a Big Deal. I don't like to admit it, but I'm scared. I just want it to be over.

---

Two Months Old!

Dear Dorothy,

You are two months old, now! Well, to be honest, you have been two months old for almost three weeks, now, but I'm only just getting around to posting this today. I've had it pretty much written in my head the whole time, though.

I started your one month letter by saying I couldn't believe it had been a whole month. Now, I can't believe it's only been two months. It feels like you've been part of this family forever.

This month was relatively uneventful. I had a pretty nasty flu bug at the beginning of the month, and I think you caught a touch of it, too. Even with a gassy, grumbly tummy, though, you were still a sweet, happy girl. You've been smiling more and more, and you readily recognize your Mommy, Daddy, and sister, greeting us with wide grins.



You pretty much spent this entire month growing. At your two-month checkup, you were almost 12 pounds (75th %) and 24.5 inches long (>97th %). Some of your 3-6 month clothes were already tight on you by the time I dug them out of storage for you. Yeah, I'm pretty sure you'll be taller than me before you're 12.



You didn't reach a lot of milestones this month. You're not quite laughing yet, but you coo a lot, and you have this squawky little quack that is almost a laugh. It's absolutely adorable. I think the biggest milestone was that, after weeks of chewing on your hands, you finally managed to isolate your thumb. You still don't get it in there consistently, but I think you're going to be a thumb-sucker like your sister and your Mama.



You're a pretty good sleeper, usually giving me a 4-6 hour stretch of sleep at the beginning of each night. Once or twice, you've even slept for a mind-boggling 8 hours. Of course, if you're taking requests, I wouldn't mind getting more sleep, but I really can't complain. Being up in the middle of the night is tiring, but it's really the only one-on-one time we get together, and you take full advantage by smiling at me and cooing and grabbing my fingers or hair. It's nice to have that little bubble of quiet, baby-love time.

I love you very much, and even though the logistics of having two kids are sometimes complicated, I already can't imagine life without you. You really are a blessing.

Love,
Mama.

---

A Tale of Two Cities: The Poop Edition

So, sometime between birth and the Christmas holidays, Dorothy went from a happy, frequent pooper to an "I think I'll hold it in for three days even though it makes me uncomfortable" kind of kid. Takes after her mom, I suppose. Her MO is generally to poop several times on Pooping Day, with the last poop of the day being a massive poop volcano that just seems to keep going and going while you are attempting to change her. The day we left for Rochester was a Pooping Day, and just as we were about to load everybody into the car, the Poop Volcano came. I thought, "How convenient, no more pooping for the first few days of vacation!"

Then we got to Keith and Sharon's house, and someone else was holding Dorothy, and they told me they thought she had pooped. I said, "No, she pooped before we left, she probably won't poop for several days. It's probably just gas." It wasn't just gas. She pooped three more times that day, and continued to poop, and poop, and poop, for the rest of our visit. She had one last, big, farewell poop just as we were getting ready to leave. I almost thought, "Great, no pooping in the car!" but I remembered how dramatically she had proven me wrong the last time I thought something like that.

That was Sunday. Today is Friday. Would anyone care to guess how many times she has pooped since we got home? If you said zero, you win!

It can't be the weather, because it was cold and snowy in Philly when we left, and it got warm and all the snow melted while we were in Rochester. It can't be something she ate, since she has had nothing but breast milk the entire time. I wondered if it might have been something in my diet, but the change came on too instantaneously for that. And the only real difference in my diet was that I was eating a lot more Christmas cookies while I was there. Especially my aunt's peanut butter M&M bars. Hmmm... Maybe I SHOULD blame my diet. Obviously, peanut butter M&M bars are the key to infant regularity. I guess I'll have to make some myself. You know, for the baby. This is her health we're talking about, after all.

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'Tis the Season for the Santa Debate

A few years ago, when my siblings and I were starting to have kids, we were talking together about what we would tell our kids about Santa. We all had fond memories of the magic of Christmas morning, waking up to a bulging stocking and a tree littered with presents. We remembered outgrowing the myth, but still enjoying the traditions, first for the sake of our little brother who still believed, and later, just for the joy of it.

We discussed all of the major arguments that are put forward in defense of telling your kids Santa isn't real. Personally, I think, "If I'm going to spend all this money on gifts, I want to get the credit for it," is the weakest reason out there. You should never give gifts to get credit. You should give gifts for the benefit of the recipient, and if they will enjoy the gift more if it comes wrapped in magic, isn't that what matters most? The joy THEY derive from receiving the gift?

To me, the most compelling argument is, "We teach our children not to lie, so we shouldn't lie to them." It makes sense. How can we willingly deceive our kids? And, as a Christian, there is the added, "If we lie to them about Santa, they will think we lied to them about Jesus."

But all three of us grew up believing in Santa, and while we outgrew the Santa myth, all three of us are Christians today. I really don't think being "lied" to as a child shaped our adult belief in Jesus. Really, parents, do you want your kids to believe in Jesus just because you said so? That's a pretty weak basis for faith. Kids will, and should, scrutinize everything you told them as they grew up, and choose to accept or reject your faith on their own terms. The important thing to teach your kids is not facts, but critical thinking.

And then there's the problem of fiction. If we want our kids to grow up only believing true things, do we keep all fiction out of the house? I believed that TV characters were real, does that mean my parents lied to me by letting me watch Sesame Street? Shall we ban theater, like the puritans? There has to be room for fiction, even in the Christian life. Jesus told parables, and while they rang true and demonstrated truths, they probably weren't factually true. Jesus kept secrets, too. In the Bible, he often leaves things hanging, or answers with a question, or flat out says, "You won't understand. Ask me when you're older." (Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing a bit.)

Our dad "lied" to us all the time. He told wild stories that we knew contained only a seed of truth, but we enjoyed them anyway. And it never affected our ability to trust him with our lives. Part of the joy of fiction and fantasy is the suspension of disbelief. You have to believe that dragons exist and dogs can talk and horses can fly. Otherwise the stories are just dumb. With no fantasy in our lives, we end up like the little girl in Miracle on 34th Street, whose mother refused to "lie" to her, and she ended up having no wonderment, no belief in magic, no childhood, really. Even without the "Wow, he really was Santa," conclusion, I still feel bad for her. Shouldn't kids, I don't know, get to be kids?

Even my mom, the most honest person we know, so honest that if she accidentally told people that her newest grandchild weighed 8lbs5oz instead of 8lbs4oz, she would call everyone back and apologize profusely, even SHE lied to us about Santa growing up. That's when my mom jumped into the conversation from the other room. She had NEVER lied to us about Santa! NEVER! But what about the Santa presents? There were always presents from Mom and Dad, but there were also presents from Santa. Wasn't writing "From Santa" on the label lying? Nope, she never wrote anything on them, "Santa" presents were unlabeled, we just assumed they were from Santa. But what about that time I asked how Santa could get into our house without a chimney, and you gave that really great explanation about being able to shrink down small enough to fit into any crack, even a keyhole? Nope, all she did was ask me how I thought he did it, and I came up with that ridiculous explanation all on my own.

We all sat in stunned silence as we processed this. We thought back over our childhood, and all the subtle assumptions our mother had allowed us to believe, but that we really had made ourselves believe. That note from the tooth fairy that wasn't signed. The time I woke up and caught my mom hiding my Easter basket, and she said nothing, but I decided the Easter Bunny was running late that year, and just dropped the baskets off with parents. Honestly, I think our belief in the myths was stronger because we had been allowed to defend them to ourselves. It's easier to pick apart other people's arguments than your own.

The thing is, none of us cared if we had been lied to about Santa. We were mostly just surprised that we hadn't been lied to, since our belief was so strong.

Something I've come to realize about childhood fantasies, at least about mine, is that kids "know" on some level that they are participating in a fantasy. In the same way that kids can believe in their imaginary friends even though they "know" they aren't real because they made them up. It doesn't stop them from believing it with all their hearts, but when they outgrow the myth, when they are ready to stop believing, it usually is with a bit of a shrug and an "I kinda knew all along." Adults bending over backwards to try and convince them that Santa is real, or to protect them from finding out the devastating truth, is just confusing to kids. We don't need to make up midi-chlorians when the Force is enough. I think it's those kids who end up bitter and angry when they find out that they had been lied to about Santa. Adults being so passionately on board with the Santa myth makes them wonder if maybe it does belong in the realm of non-fantasy. But eventually, someone will slip up, and those kids will feel betrayed.

So, in the Great Santa Debate, I am advocating a middle ground: passive non-resistance. The Santa advocates want their kids to have magic in their lives, and the no-Santa advocates don't want to deceive their kids; this is the best of both worlds. When Valerie asks me general questions about Santa, like "Who pulls Santa's sleigh?" I will happily tell her everything I know about the myth, in the same way that I will happily answer questions about other works of fiction without having to explain, "You know, sweetie, Big Bird isn't real." But if she asks me practical application questions, like "How will Santa get into our house without a chimney?" I will defer to her much more vast imagination. (The in-between grey areas, like "How does Santa manage to visit every child in the world in one night?" I don't mind answering "Magic.") And if she asks me why we celebrate Christmas, I will tell her the story of God becoming man, and being born in a manger. As she grows up, she will separate the true stories from the fictional stories, and she will see reflected in my life which ones I believe.

Thanks, mom, for giving me the gift of fantasy, and the gift of a solid Christian role model. And thank you for teaching me the best trick in the parenting book, "That's a good question, what do you think?"

---

Favorite Lesser Known Christmas Songs

So, we've been listening to B101 for the past two weeks, because they play non-stop Christmas music from Thanksgiving until I get sick of it. I don't listen to it all that often, only in the car or in the shower. Maybe I listen to about 10 hours a week. And yet it seems like I hear some version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town every single time I turn the radio on. And Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer almost as often. I have nothing against these songs, but it would be nice to have a little more variety. From various free and legal download sites, I obtained 13+ hours of Christmas music this year. Sure, my collection includes 8 versions of "O Holy Night" but by and large, I feel like I have more variety on my computer than B101 has in their rotation.

So, if you're getting tired of the same Christmas music, like me, I'd like to recommend a few lesser known Christmas songs that are tucked away in my memory from such places as school choir concerts from my childhood.

This Little Babe


D'ou Viens-Tu Bergère?


Old Toy Trains


The Huron Carol ('Twas in the Moon of Wintertime)


Petit Papa Noel


Hmm, as I compile this list, I realize that I should probably have titled it, "Favorite Canadian Christmas Songs." I guess that explains why I don't hear them on American radio!

Do you have any favorites you'd like to share? I'd love to hear them!

Living Nativity

We took Valerie to a drive-through living nativity with real animals this weekend. The biggest hit was the camel, but she also caught on that Jesus was a pretty big part of it, too. The last two stations were an empty cross and an empty tomb, in order to complete the story and leave guests with a salvation message. As we were leaving, Valerie asked me where baby Jesus was. A much bigger question than she realized. I decided to review the story with her, from the beginning, thus delaying an attempt at the theological feat of explaining the resurrection in terms she could understand.

"Well, first he was in Mary's tummy, then he was born, and was in the manger, then he was a little boy, and the wise men brought him presents, then..."

"No, he was a little girl!"

I started laughing. Little-boy Jesus had, indeed been played by a little girl. Nothing escapes Valerie's keen eye. She's as literal as her mother ever was.

I gave up on the resurrection explanation for now.

---

Christmas Cookies

We made and decorated Christmas sugar cookies tonight.

This was a big event for me. One of the things I was most looking forward to about starting a family was doing activities together, and carrying on family traditions. And decorating sugar cookies is one of my fondest memories of a family activity from my childhood. I've been waiting three Christmases for this night.

I wasn't sure whether Valerie would get into it or not, but we've been reading a story about Christmas cookies every night before bed, and she loves it, so I thought we would give it a try. A friend and her daughter came over, and we let the girls stir the ingredients while I measured them into the bowl. Valerie helped roll out the dough, and she helped press down the cookie cutters. Then she got a little too enthusiastic and started overlapping with the cookie cutter, making all kinds of strange and interesting shapes. I baked the wonky shapes anyhow, because they were part of the fun.



Valerie put too many sprinkles on her cookies, and had a great time doing it. I just let her have her fun, and used a paper funnel to put the extra sprinkles back every time she emptied the shaker.



Babies are great and all, but it sure is fun having a kid.

---

Aunt Betty's Sugar Cookies

This is an inherited recipe from my mom's Aunt Betty. It is my all-time favorite sugar cookie recipe. The dough rolls out beautifully and, best of all, it doesn't require refrigeration.

Ingredients:

• 4 cups flour


• 1 tsp. baking powder


• 1/2 tsp. salt


• 1 cup shortening


• 1 cup (heaping) sugar


• 2 beaten eggs


• 1 tsp. baking soda


• 1/3 cup milk


• 1 tsp. vanilla

Directions:

1. Pre-heat oven to 375.


2. Sift together first 3 ingredients.


3. Cut shortening into dry ingredients (until mixture resembles small crumbs).


4. In a separate bowl, beat eggs. Add sugar to eggs and mix well. Stir last three ingredients into the egg mixture. Add to dry ingredients and mix well.


5. Roll the dough (half at a time) on a lightly floured surface, about 1/4 inch thick. Cut into shapes. Bake for 6-10 minutes until centre bounces back when gently touched (don't let them get brown!).


6. Allow to cool completely before decorating. Decorate with Icing Sugar Icing, candies and sprinkles.

Icing Sugar Icing

(This recipe is so simple that I don't even have it written down anywhere. I hope it makes sense.) Fill a bowl with icing sugar. Add water, a dribble at a time, stirring after each addition, until the icing is a spreadable consistency. It doesn't take much water (something like a teaspoon per cup of icing sugar), so don't add a lot at once. Add food coloring if desired. This icing will dry fairly hard if you leave the cookies out overnight.


Window-Pane Cookies



This is a surprisingly easy variation that works beautifully. Prepare the dough as directed above. Cut out fairly large cookies (I use a plastic cup or margarine container, or even just a knife, because I don't have any big cookie cutters). Now cut smaller holes out of the middle of the large cookies (4-5 cm diameter). Place the cookies on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and place a hard candy in the center of each. (I also used broken candy cane pieces, and they worked well, too.) Bake as directed above. The candies will melt and spread to fill the holes during the baking time. Allow the cookies to cool completely on the parchment paper before attempting to move them, so the candy has time to harden.

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It's so cut and dry when you're two years old

Valerie woke up an hour early this morning. That might not seem like a big deal to most people, but to a new mom who is just barely getting enough sleep to function until naptime, it's an eternity. I plopped Valerie on the couch in front of a movie, then curled up on the loveseat in a futile attempt to capture a few more minutes of rest.

She came right over and proceeded to poke me, pull me, climb on me, and otherwise completely prevent any further sleep. (Which, of course, she does anytime I have the audacity to try and sleep while she is awake, but I still try it occasionally when the tiredness is especially acute.)

Valerie: Come on, Mom, you're not sore. (After I had Dorothy, I explained my incapacity by saying I was "sore.")

Jule Ann: No, but I'm tired. You woke up too early. It wasn't really morning yet.

Valerie: I said, "Good morning!"

And that settled it. It's morning.

---

A little too young for the "Little Red Hen"

Valerie dumped out her crayons, then asked me for candy.

I told her she could have one piece of candy, but she had to clean up the crayons first. She started singing the "clean up" song, which gave me hope for a minute that she might actually do it, but she didn't even open the crayon tub. She just wandered back and forth across the floor, scattering crayons in every direction, happily singing the "clean up" song.

I spent about five minutes trying to explain to her that I wanted her to actually put the crayons in the tub, and that no, she couldn't have a candy until she did it. I finally offered to help her do it, and started cleaning up the crayons myself. I kept asking her to help, reminding her that she couldn't have a candy if she didn't help, only people who helped put away crayons could have candy. I cleaned up as slowly as I could, giving her ample opportunity to help.

Then all the crayons were put away, and I was faced with a dilemma. Consistency is key, right? Follow through with promises and threats? So, I got myself a piece of candy. I told her I was having a candy because I had put the crayons away. And I ate my candy, and I didn't give her any. And she started to cry.

I don't think she understood what was going on. So instead of teaching her a valuable lesson, I just ate candy in front of her and didn't share.

I hope one of us learned something today.

---

One Month Old!

Dear Dorothy,

You are one month old, now. It's hard to believe it's been a whole month. And yet, at the same time, it seems like ages ago that I was pregnant and waiting expectantly for your arrival. Time is funny like that.

When your sister was a baby, I wrote monthly letters to her. I wasn't sure whether I would find the time or energy to do the same for you, but I'll at least write this one and see where it goes. This is just the first of the many, many injustices that come with being the second-born. Believe me, I know, I'm the second-born, too. When you're seven, and going through the baby albums, and you're upset that your big sister has a whole album to herself, but there are pictures of HER in YOUR album, I'll remind you how awesome it will be to have a big sister to make you feel welcome when you start high school by putting up Wanted! posters for you for Initiation Week. (No, really, it was awesome. You'll get it when you're 14.)



I do feel like you get the short end of the stick in many ways, though. Valerie loves you and wants to hold you and kiss you and hug you all the time, but you also get poked and hit and squished and scratched a fair bit in the process. Up until right before you were born, I always sat in the back seat of the car with your sister, but you don't get that privilege, because the two of you take up too much space for me to squeeze in there with you. I held your sister practically 24/7 at your age, but I have to put you down fairly often in order to deal with her. I hardly ever give you tummy time, and I bathe you and change your diapers about half as often as I did with Valerie. Yup, second-borns really get the shaft.



Although there seem to be many upsides to being the second-born, too. Not only do you get the benefit of having an awesome older sister to be your friend and companion as you grow up, but you get the benefit of having that big sister break your parents in for you. I know a lot more about breastfeeding this time around, and as a result, I'm managing my supply better, so you are well-fed, less gassy, and get more sleep than your sister ever did. When Valerie was a newborn, pretty much all I did for months was sit around the house, but I don't have that luxury this time around because two-year-olds don't deal well with sitting around the house doing nothing. This means you get a lot more fresh air, and get to see a lot more interesting places and do more interesting things at a much younger age than she did.

I've also discovered that having to put you down can be a benefit to you, too. I remember one day, when you had been fed, burped, and changed, but were still fussing and I couldn't get you to calm down. Then I heard your sister getting into something in the kitchen, so I set you down so I could go check on her. Within seconds of being set down, you had calmed down completely, and within a minute, you were asleep. No one ever told me that a baby's cries could mean, "I'm overtired and you are overstimulating me, please put me down so I can go to sleep." Or if they did, I dismissed it as crazy-talk.



You hardly ever cry. You mostly just squeak and squirm, which eventually turns to squawking, and only turns to crying if I couldn't figure out what was wrong during stage one or two. The only two things that you seem to really cry over are being overtired and working on a poopy. Overtired, I can usually help with by swaddling you and either holding you or putting you down (it's a guessing game which). Pooping is a little more difficult. You seem to be moving towards being one of those babies that only poops once every few days. You pee plenty, and your poops look normal when they come, so I know there's nothing "wrong", but the impending poop seems to be such a struggle when it's so long coming. I never thought I would miss those first days when you effortlessly filled ten poopy diapers a day. Yeah, motherhood makes you reminisce about very strange things.



You are a very bright and happy girl. From your very first day on the outside, you were spending long stretches of time alert and looking around. You have big, bright eyes, and you love to look at people's faces. Your favorite position is being held straight out in front, slightly upright, with your back being patted whether you need to burp or not. I think the patting calms you, and this position gives you the benefit of being held while still being able to stare at the face of the one holding you. (Interestingly, this was Valerie's favorite position, too.)

You're also a big smiler. You were smiling at me the very first night in the hospital. I know they say it's just gas at that age, but I think you were really smiling. And it wasn't just a one-time thing, you've kept up the habit ever since. Your smile has gotten bigger, and as your cheeks fill out, I've started to notice that you have adorable little smile creases at the corners of your mouth. Your favorite thing to smile at is Mama. If someone else is holding you, and you start to get hungry, you will completely forget your hunger and smile widely at Mama as soon as you are in her arms. Sometimes, I'm not sure you were even hungry in the first place, but were just pretending to be hungry because you knew it would get you your Mama. Either way, that bright, beautiful smile captivates me, and melts away all the tiredness and frustration.



Not that there is too much tiredness and frustration. Not caused by you, anyhow. (Note to new moms: two-year-olds are more exhausting than newborns. Really.) You're an extremely easy baby most of the time. You let me sleep for at least one 4-5 hour stretch plus another 2-3 hour stretch most nights. It's amazing how much less insane I feel when I'm getting enough sleep.

Physically, you seem to be doing really well. I haven't brushed off my baby books, so I don't exactly recall which milestones you should be meeting right now, but I'm think you're pretty much on target, or maybe even a little ahead of the curve. You hold your head up really well, sometimes lifting it up off of my chest for minutes at a time to get a better look at my face. You've started stretching your legs out when you're being worn in a carrier, and I've already had to transition you from a newborn carry to an upright carry in the ring sling. You have discovered your hands, and you love trying to get them into your mouth. You also love exploring with your hands, and finding things to grab onto, like a finger or a fistful of Mama's hair. You're growing so fast, too. You already look so different than your newborn pictures.

Day 0:


Day 31:


I'm not sure exactly how much you weigh, but you were 8lbs4oz at birth, 7lbs11oz when we left the hospital (thanks to all that pooping you were doing), 8lbs8oz at 6 days, and 9lbs6oz at 15 days. I think it's fair to assume that you are well over 10 pounds by now (the Wii Fit just confirmed this). You're tall, too, but once again, I'm not sure how tall you are. You had outgrown all your newborn sleepers by the time you were 2 weeks old. According to the nurses' measurements, you were 20" long at birth, and 22.5" long at 15 days. (I'm pretty sure one of those measurements is not correct, though, probably the first one.)

Two weeks old, the last time you wore a newborn sleeper:


You were born with a small cleft in your lip. It's a minor cleft, and fortunately doesn't seem to have prevented you from getting a proper latch to breastfeed, as long as I keep you in the right position. I hardly notice it anymore, possibly because your lips are plumper now, or possibly because I'm just used to it now. I remember that it used to make me sad whenever I noticed it. It was hard to look at my perfect, new baby and think that there was anything imperfect about you. Now, I think it's cute, and I almost wish we didn't have to "fix" it. We took a trip to CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) last week to meet with the surgeon who will be repairing your cleft. Honestly, I think I'm still in denial about the whole thing, because I keep pretending that it's not a big deal. But you're going to have to go under general anesthesia and spend a night in the hospital when you're only three months old. That's a pretty big deal. I'm sure, when the time comes, I will be much more freaked out, but right now I have peace about it. It helps knowing that you will be in the care of one of the best children's hospitals in the country.

Thanks for a great first month, Dorothy. I love you very much, and I'm glad you're part of our family. I'm excited to see how you grow and change in the months to come!

Love,
Mama.

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