Plain. Simple. Beautiful Girl.

And that's a real smile, people. She really is that happy about 95% of the time.

A New Thing, That Is An Old Thing.

When Allison was first born, most of her naps were spent laying on me. For the first six weeks of her life, she did not settle down anywhere but in my arms, or safe in the baby sling around my body. It seemed as though she would never grow out of it, and I didn't know what to do but hold her. I told my mother about my predicament and all she could say was, "you'll spoil that baby"; and all I could say was, "nothing wrong with spoiling her with love."

After that point however, she happily was able to sleep nearly all day, and all the time, in her bassinet, then in her crib. Up until her eighteen months, she was taking two very long naps a day and sleeping about twelve hours in the night. Until.... she reverted. I find myself being beckoned exactly one hour after her only nap begins, and the only remedy to a nearly hysterical little girl is being laid on my chest, legs sprawled out over mine, just to fall asleep for another two hours. I am immobilized for the afternoon, and I love it.

I realize that I may never have this opportunity to be this close to her again in my life. Before I know it she'll be doing everything she can to get away from me. So, I'll take as much of this as I can get my hands on.

On the Chopping Block...

It's 4:17 in the morning and I've been up for an hour. The vivid dreams I'm having wake me up in the middle of the night and send my mind racing. Mostly about Allison. Mostly about all the things I could've done so much better with her already. I grind myself into the ground with each and every moment I've failed. There probably aren't even as many as I've conjured up in my head. But, this early in the morning, it's impossible to go back to sleep when you put yourself on the parenting chopping block.

I think of every time I begged the big man upstairs to forgive me for losing my cool, for stepping away, for not listening to my instincts, for not paying attention. I think of how my every action, my every inaction, impacts her history and her future. I wake up, think I just have to use the bathroom, and trying to fall back asleep is impossible. So I walk into her room, pick her up, and rock her. I put my head next to hers, and I silently tell her that I'm sorry for that spill off the couch when she was so tiny I didn't think she could roll over yet. For the moment that my frustrated cry out loud scared her. For every time her independent spirit conflicted with my hand keeping her arm; for a squeezed arm is far better than a breakaway into the street, or down a stairwell, or out a doorway.

A woman can and will drive herself crazy re-thinking every step she ever took in her life. And I don't know of anything that brings that about more than pregnancy. You want to do it different, do it better, do it right the first time. But like anything else in life, you don't really understand what the right way is until you sometimes do it wrong. It certainly doesn't help that at this point of my newest journey I'm experiencing those seat-of-your-pants emotions that make my guilt and worry feel like a ten pound lead weight in my gut.

So I make promises I hope I can keep - to do it right, better, different this second time around. Because the last thing I want is for the big guy upstairs thinking I'm not ready for this second chance to start again. I feel a little bit better knowing that tomorrow, my first chance will wake up just the way she always does - smiling and happy and ready to start the day. I'm sure I'll revisit the chopping block again a hundred, thousand times before my life is through. But the day is almost here. And I'm going to be ready for the new chance it's going to bring me.

Please :)

We, quite possibly, have won a battle of the wills this evening. It all began on the way home from California the Sunday after Thanksgiving, when we discovered in the car that Allison could say "please". Of course it sounded much more like "peeeeeahs", but her repeating me in such a sweet way made my heart melt. We have a polite child! She will say "peeeeahs" and "thex" (<--thanks, obviously) and she will curtsy and get up for little old ladies who are waiting for their tables at restaurants and be a shining example for her peers and....

Then the battle began. Clearly I overstepped her boundaries at some point, or did not follow the rules. Rule #1 about Polite Club is, you do not ask to be apart of Polite Club. So when our dearest lovely girl would point to something and say "I tyyyyyy dit" (I Try It, OBVIOUSLY), and we would respond with, "can you say please?" and she would rightfully respond with a throw-yourself-to-the-floor fit. It was like we were asking her for those teeth she just grew in her head. This went on for a month, until tonight.

Tonight, a light bulb went on for her. As I sat on the couch, watching her play, she decided it was time to play with her letters puzzle. She brought the box of letters to me and said, ever so sweetly, "peeeeahs". To which I promptly obliged her, praised her, and nearly cried when she followed up the performance with a quick "thex". After she tired of her puzzle, she climbed onto my shins - which any mom knows is a built in ride for an 18 month old - looked up to me with those big beautiful eyes and again said "peeeahs". I proceeded to ware my legs into limp noodles, lifting nearly 30 pounds up and down, up and down, just to get her to squeal and laugh, until my knees told me it was high time to get back to my walking routine.

I know that tomorrow, there's a real chance that she'll revert back to throwing those ever-so-special tantrums at the mere mention of saying that magical word. But tonight made me realize, that the real magic in that word lies in a person's willingness to say it on their own. So I'll stop asking her to say please and thank you. She knows what they are, and one day she'll know just how much they really mean to people.

Technology. Is. Rad.

I got to try out my brand new iPod nano the other night, which has within it a little camera that you can record precious little moments, like the one below. I love that even when we're old and grey and don't remember too much, we'll have these memories on film to remind us of when she was just a little girl....

Santa is borrowing my guest room.

Last night, after much delaying and substituting wine and television for it, I have completed my wrapping of gifts. I was not happy to do it, at all. It seems this task inevitably gets laid on my shoulders year after year. It looks like Christmas threw up in the guest bedroom. After nearly two and a half hours straight of standing upright, with tedious measuring of the paper, cutting it in perfectly straight lines, taping every open crevice, and labeling each package, it was complete. And I am in serious need of a professional back massage. I am happy to be able to say that I finished this before Christmas Eve, but nonetheless.... There's another little elf in the house and next year I'm pretty sure that all the shopping and wrapping will be left in his capable, albeit spoiled, hands.

And, I realize that this will be the last year that I'll be able to openly hold all the schwag in the guest room, in plain sight, so yep, I sure am cherishing it. Because if she's anything like me, she's gonna be really good at finding things. Which means we have to be very creative starting next year.

It Does A Body Good...

Someone's loving the milk. Maybe it's because she's finally handling the cup solo without spilling it all over herself that's bringing that big smile of accomplishment. Maybe it's just because she sees the camera pointed at her face. Either way, it's stinkin' cute.