One

It has been a week of celebrations and cake, but we couldn't let today go by without one more.

It was a small celebration, but she's a small girl. The cake was left over from earlier in the week, but I cut a fresh slice and lit a candle and we sang. Kathleen helped Elizabeth blow out the candle. Elizabeth helped herself to the cake.

They opened Elizabeth's present together, a copy of Jamberry to symbolize the blueberry bushes we will plant for her next summer (along with the ones we are overdue to plant for Kathleen). Kathleen pouted momentarily that she didn't get a present.

When Kathleen turned one, I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like her first birthday was more than a year in coming. The journey to that first birthday started in the fall of 2006 when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Robbed of Henry's first birthday, getting Kathleen to hers seemed like a momentous feat. While I don't take for granted that my children will live, I am able to believe again that they will. Elizabeth's birthday was much more a regular first birthday. It's still amazing though, isn't it?

My baby is one. One!

This week

This is the week.
December 11–17

I knew my joy-grief was packed tightly into this month, but the alignment of the calendar brings that so into focus this year. One week to mark birth birth death.

Sunday Kathleen turns three.
Thursday Elizabeth turns one.
And Saturday Henry will have been gone four years.

We have a busy, but low key week planned.
Tomorrow evening, if we can, a train ride through the park to see the lights. A cupcake she doesn't have to share. A gift. Monday birthday dinner with neighbors. Tuesday more cake with friends. Thursday. Oh, my. I haven't planned anything special for Elizabeth's actual birthday. More cake? Something to open (her real gift will be blueberry bushes, as was Kathleen's on her first birthday, though they have yet to be planted). Poor second/third child. I was okay with not giving her a big party, but perhaps, I should do something to mark that day.

And Saturday?

All I knew was I didn't want a birthday party that day, for my girls or anyone else. It was one thing I didn't think I could handle. But we got invited to two holiday parties. We could easily have bowed out of either, but we're going to both. Part of reclaiming this month. Part of reclaiming our lives. And right now, it feels okay, good even. I need to go to the cemetery in the morning, so that we we head out in the evening and drive by his grave, I'll have been there already.

The next day, the 18th we start the Christmas cycle.
But first, this jam-packed week.
And to start that week, a birthday.

Just last year?

Kathleen has been climbing on the plastic play structure in our backyard. She climbs up the ladder section and right up over the top. "Look at this!" she calls me. Eventually she goes down the slide and climbs back up again and again and again.

Last summer, she could not climb the play structure. She wanted me to pick her up so she could slide, again and again and again. My belly was big and my back ached and I would pick her up a few times and sigh enough. Often a neighbor would take pity on me and help her up more and more and more until I convinced her it was time to go in.

Just last year.

***
Yesterday I stopped at the outlets on my way home from my sisters to buy pajamas for Kathleen and see if there were any other good deals. Kathleen ran around hiding under racks of clothes and played at the Lego table; Elizabeth checked things out from the Baby Bjorn.

As I poked through wintery, Christmas sleepers, I remembered searching last year for matching winter-themed pajamas for a newborn and a 2-year old, something not too girly in case that newborn was a boy.

Just last year.

***
Elizabeth roams the house on hands and knees, pulls herself up to standing anywhere she can, and jerks around whenever she hears her sister's voice.

Last September, a baby kicked and rolled and squirmed about as Brian read The Hobbit to me.

Just last year.

***
Nine months in seemed to fly by and take forever.
Nine months out has simply flown by.

8 Months

She's 8 months today, and as if on cue, to mark the event, she started crawling.

Oh, she's been on the verge for a while now, up on hands and knees, rocking back and forth, moving one hand, flopping onto belly . . . back up onto hands and knees, experiment with hands and feed on the ground . . . nope, back onto belly. She had quite mastered a very purposeful slither to get to what she wanted. But tonight as I sat trying to edit a chapter on game design, while she refused to sleep, I caught her out of the corner of my eye. "Is she . . . " but, no, as I turned to watch, she dropped on her belly.

Two minutes later she was back at it though.

Then she cried because she got stuck under the swing in the corner by my chair.

Then I put her back in the middle of the room, where she sat and smiled at herself and at me, clearly proud of her accomplishment. Then she crawled some more.

And I sat and watched, because crawling is new and exciting, and she is not very fast yet, and soon I won't be able to sit at all trying to keep up with her.

8 months and on the move

Smiles

I never saw much of Henry in Kathleen. Sometimes other people would tell me they saw a similarity. I was gratified, somehow, that other people made that connection between my children, even if I didn't see it myself.

I see something of Henry's smile in Elizabeth, though, something around the eyes. It makes me happy.

I love her smile simply because it is so big and happy, but I love it too because it reminds me of Henry.

I love it because it links two of my babies together.

I love it because it brings a little Henry into my day when he was starting to seem faded and far, far away.

For Elizabeth at 2 Months

Two months ago today, I saw your head emerge from my belly where you fit so snugly, so perfectly, and when they finally let me hold you, warm against my chest, you fit there so snugly, so perfectly too.

You are growing, more quickly than I realize. Already the newborn sleepers are starting to have a little off the shoulder look, the 0-3 sleepers that you were swimming in look about right all of a sudden. Already you are beginning to uncurl from that impossible position you were in for nine months. Already at the end of the day my forearms are tired from too much one-handed while you nurse and I bustle about.

Someday you'll have to scrunch up a bit as you nestle in to nurse. Someday I'll find you are too long, too heavy to sleep on me for long. Someday you will sit on my lap, legs dangling like your sister's do now and I will wonder how you got so big, so long, so old. For now, you still fit neatly across my lap when you feed, head snug at my breast, feet tucked in on the other side. For now, you still fit snuggled on my chest afterward as I sleep with you, holding you upright just a bit so you don't spit up and choke. For now, I just notice you have gotten bigger but you still look so small. 

People see you and guess at your age. I stop to think before I answer their question, because always more time has passed than I expect. Two months today. Two months already.

More than a month

Elizabeth has been here for more than a month now. We're sorting out what she likes (the sling, being swaddled) and what makes her grumpy (gas, gas, and more gas).

I'm finding my way with her as I did with Henry, as I did with Kathleen. The differences between Henry and Kathleen were pronounced and expected. She did not start her life in the NICU, did not have his low muscle tone, did not have a plethora of medical appointments in her first months of life. She had a healthy heart and started life "cordless." The early days with Kathleen were more what I expected with Henry—except I was doing the sleepless nights, new mom thing as a second time mom and a grieving mom. So I'm experienced now. I've mothered two babies—one sick, one not. Here I am, third time around and it is different yet again.

Elizabeth is not the swing-loving baby (not yet anyway) that her brother and sister were. She adores the sling (which I couldn't use with Henry and used sporadically with Kathleen). She sleeps better at night, which may be her or it may be me. I could not breastfeed Henry. It was too much work for him and my supply was lacking. With Kathleen, I expected supply would be an issue again, but wanted to what I could to maximize it. Part of that was frequent feeds, which meant that anytime I heard a peep out of Kathleen I snatched her up and tried to feed her. If I woke up after three hours and she showed no signs of stirring, I'd unswaddle her to encourage her to wake up to eat. With Elizabeth, if she is sleeping, I let her sleep. If she makes stirring noises, I wait; if she resettles, so do I. As a result, I'm in less of a fog. I'm tired, yes, exhausted even some days, but not sleepless haze I remember with Kathleen.

That rest when your baby rests thing that I found so hard to do with Kathleen is rarely an option now. Elizabeth most often eats and has a bout of gas while Kathleen sleeps, and Kathleen is up and if Elizabeth has a nap that doesn't involve being held. Somedays feeding Elizabeth without Kathleen climbing on me feels like a nap, though.

We're settling into a routine of sorts (Elizabeth most always wakes up for a feeding minutes before Kathleen wakes up from her nap; I stay up too late at night thinking Elizabeth will be ready to eat again soon). I'm still figuring out meeting the needs of my two girls and managing to sleep and eat myself. It's a work in progress, but we are managing—quite well some days, getting by the rest.

The year in review

As I sit here with Elizabeth nestled on my chest, it is hard to believe this year began without even the tiniest presence of her, not even a glimmer. Yet here she is, solid and warm and snuggly.

In some ways it was a year of waiting—waiting for Brian to finish with school, waiting to be ready to try again, waiting out my pregnancy. All that waiting was worth it. Brian graduated in May and has been working as a nurse. He's still hoping for a full-time position in a hospital that will give him the experience he feels he needs, but for now he's working, gaining experience, feeling like he is doing his job again after two years of school. Since he's been out of school, we've had more family time for walks and hikes and visits and meals and play. And of course, Elizabeth is here and healthy and settling right in to our family.

Waiting for her had me looking ahead but also had me firmly planted in the present, watching, soaking in Kathleen and her rapid change. At the beginning of this year she was just starting to totter about. Now she runs and jumps (with both feet off the floor) and dances and climbs. She shouts, "Mine," and sometimes shares. She reads, cooks me water on her play stove, delights in her swing, and wants to hold her baby sister. She seems to have gotten bigger and sturdier in the past two weeks as we remembered just how little newborns, even those who start out over 8 lbs, are. I can hardly comprehend that two years ago she nestled on my chest like this. Two years ago, she was this small. Two years already—just two years.

As this year winds down, I am remembering how to be ambidextrous—how to cut my dinner, sign my name, and do most anything with my left hand if the baby is sleeping or nursing on the right. I've learned that football hold is good for avoiding pressure on an incision, but also for making more room in a lap. Along with Good Night, Moon and The Big Red Barn, I've now memorized The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Kathleen's current favorite (bunny book!). I'm finding time in my day for two little girls who need to eat and be held and changed and sung to. We are shuffling things around making room for baby gear and two sets of diapers and 0-3 clothes along with 2T clothes. We've made room in our house for two and room in our hearts for three.

I'm sure there are things I'm forgetting about 2010, but as I sit here with this snuggly girl breathing sleepily on my chest listening for my big girl to wake up from her nap, I know I remember what matters.

Here and healthy

Elizabeth Ann was born alive and well on Wednesday. They gave me a mirror so I could watch over the drape as she she came out. With only her head out, she started screaming. Once the rest of her was out she was screaming and squirming hard.

Her birth deserves a fuller story, but I'm not up to telling it right now. I just wanted those of you who don't know me elsewhere to know that she is here and well.

Today I'm straddling the line between my baby born just yesterday and my baby who died three years ago tomorrow. I'm tired, so there is more to say, but it will have to be said later.