Month Two

Well it's been another great month of life. I grew and experienced so much in the last few weeks but we're going to have to keep this kind of short because Mom started her new job on Monday and doesn't have quite as much time to record my thoughts. But who are we kidding, Mom doesn't know how to keep things short, especially when she's got so many cute pictures of me.

First thing's first. I discovered my hands. 

And I LOVE my activity mat. Probably because I discovered my hands and how they can make my buddies hanging over my mat move. Here's Jenny showing me the wonders of my mat.

Second, I've put on some weight. 

I'm quite a different baby from what I once was.

Mom keeps squeezing my cheeks.

Bath time is still going swimmingly. 

I'm starting to take more regular naps.

He and I have a complicated relationship (as in me and the Orange One, Dad and I get along great).

We're working on it.

However, he and the Gray One have been in better moods lately because the window was opened for a day. It snowed again today, though. I don't know what Spring is, but I sure hope it comes soon.

Mom's dear friend Jenny came for a visit. I loved meeting her and the guy with the beard she brought along. He made me smile a lot. (Jenny's Mama made me that beautiful sweater I'm wearing. Jenny also made me a beautiful dress that will make its debut in Month 3)

They played a lot of this interesting game involving sheep and wheat and some other things I don't remember. Mom promised to teach me how to play one day. The bearded guy is already teaching me.

I hope I have a friend like Jenny one day.

My milk tasted DELICIOUS while Jenny and Nick were here. First it was laced with Capogiro gelato.

Then I sensed a hint of Shake Shack?

I also tried delicious homemade apple pie thanks to Jenny :)

It was a really fun visit and I miss my new friends already.

 

Earlier in the month I got my first set of vaccines. YIKES that was rough. Good thing I never have to go through that again. Wait, hold on a sec, what's that Mom? Oh. Right. Well, apparently I have to go through that many more times. Good thing Mom's there with me.

Later that day: Mama, I promise to wear this dress on Easter, just no more shots for now, please!

My snow suit is close to fitting but we're really hoping there is no more snow!

I hung out with Dad on a Saturday so Mama could attend a women's conference at Westminster. Here we are in front of a hall named after some guy Dad talks about a lot. It was bright.

I have cute feet.

One of Mama's friends gave me this amazing book. It's about cats. We're already starting to memorize it.

Mama took me to Penn so I could meet some more friends. They were all so friendly, I can see why they're nurses.

I went to church for the first time!

I slept through most of it, but it was really nice for Mom and Dad to be back in church.

And here is just a montage of photos Mama took of me around March 17th. She couldn't decide which was cutest so she included a lot.

Mama is so thankful for her new job, but it breaks her heart to be away from me for now. Fortunately I have a really great dad and she's got some really great friends that are taking care of me while she's at work. I've been helping her out by taking my bottle like a champ but still nursing a lot when she gets home so we can still bond. I heard her mention something to Dad about how this job has been a long time in the coming, something about a ship in Africa and a move across the country and lots of school? I'm not quite sure. But we all seem to agree this is a good thing for now and are thankful to God for taking care of each of us.

That's it for now. See you at month 3! 

The Language of Comfort

On Monday we took Normandie in for her first set of vaccines. We weren't sure if we'd be able to because we got hit with a Nor'easter on Sunday night. They had predicted 8-12 inches of snow, in which case her vaccines definitely would have been delayed. All government buildings were preemptively shut down on Sunday and most of the city's schools were closed, including Westminster. Each time I woke up Sunday night and early Monday morning, a softer blanket of snow had formed, but still not enough to completely shut down the city.

Just a side note: waking up in the middle of the night is obviously exhausting but there is something about being awake in the silent dark, when snow flakes are softly falling outside (as they have many of the nights Normandie has been alive), that I cherish. It feels like my babe and I are the only ones awake to watch the street fill up with snow. Nursing her in those hours is incredibly precious. I can't recall my eyes ever being red from lack of sleep, as they are now. During the day I feel like a fraction of myself is missing, the part of myself that is probably sleeping somewhere, thinking clear thoughts and capable of making coherent sentences. For now I am okay with feeling like less than myself because the part that I still have seems to be enough for my little family. We'll see if it is when work starts back up in a few weeks. But back to the vaccines.

Early Monday morning we strapped her into her carseat and bundled up. When we got to the clinic our pediatrician informed us that none of the staff had arrived yet due to the snow. She did our well-visit but then we would have to wait until someone arrived to give her the shots. 

At one point Ben had to leave to go down and check on the car. Normandie was getting really hungry. I was holding off on nursing her because I wanted to nurse her while she was getting her shots. We waited together in the little patient room. I swayed with her, sang her some songs. I began to whisper in her ear, explaining what was about to happen, that it would hurt but that Mama would be right there, holding her. I told her I wouldn't dream of letting her feel pain that I could prevent unless I believed it was best for her. Of course she couldn't understand and just kept trying to let me know how hungry she was. Eventually a medical assistant arrived. Fortunately she is my friend (from when I did my clinical rotation at this clinic) and I felt better about letting her prick my daughter. The way Normandie turned red and screamed with each shot broke my heart. Fortunately I think the nursing helped. When it was over we bundled her up again and went home. She slept for most of the day, only waking up to nurse. But no fever. I don't think she was very pleased with us though.

While I was waiting with her, trying to prepare her (and me) for the upcoming trauma, I couldn't help but wonder if my experience as her mother is at all similar to God's experience as my Father.

One of the only ways Normandie has to communicate with me is to cry. Sure, she sucks on her hand when she's hungry, and she's starting to reflexively smile back at us which is unbelievably adorable. But the crying is her conscious plea for help. And even though I have far more sophisticated means to communicate with her, the only language she really understands is comfort. She's comforted if I feed her when she's hungry, clean her bottom when it's dirty, snuggle her closer when she's cold, rock her when she's tired. It's the way she learns to trust me, which supposedly is her main task right now.

If she could have understood, I would have explained to her exactly what shots she was getting. I would have shown her pictures of what the diseases look like that the vaccines are protecting her against. I could have pulled up the CDC webpage and shown her all the data on vaccines and why they are effective. I would have told her that one day she'll go to school and have little friends and that these shots were protecting them too. Most importantly I could have just told her we love her very much and although this was about to hurt more than anything she's experienced so far, we knew it wasn't going to harm her, that it's in her best interest, that it would be a distant memory within a few days. But she wouldn't understand a word of it. So all I could do was hold her and speak to her in the language she understands. Comfort.

Her lack of understanding our reasons doesn't mean we don't have them. Her inability to comprehend the deeper purpose behind the pain she was experiencing doesn't prevent the purpose from running its course. But hopefully her natural ability to be comforted in the midst of her pain allows her to trust me a little more.

The times in my life I've learned to trust God most are usually characterized by pain or uncertainty. I'm sure that His purposes are higher and more sophisticated than my own, and even if He told me why things were happening, I still wouldn't understand. Fortunately, He is supremely eloquent in the language that I, like Normandie, do understand.