3 years...

3 years ago on this very day my water broke while I was taking a nap after demolishing some mac & cheese.  But to hear more about that, click here, because that's not what this letter is about.  No, on the eve of your 3rd birthday I thought I'd FINALLY update this blog for you.  A little bit, at least.

That picture above is you and I at Party City, where we've been twice in the last week getting prepared for your birthday party.  Which we just had to cancel.  Well, not cancel, postpone.  Your parents picked the coldest day in Southern California's recent history for a pool party: a high of 48 degrees with a 70% chance of rain.  I have lived here for almost 10 years and have never come across a day like that.  BLAST!  Good thing you can't quite grasp the concept of days/weeks yet because I keep telling you your party is in 3 more days weeks.  

You're still busy at Sports Class.  That's you on the right passing the ball to Coach Derek while the other Jackson in class watches.  Your cousin Rinnie is joining us for the next session of sports, and it will be nice to have a girl in the class, even if she does chase butterflies like I did in athletic situations.  

You got into preschool!  That's right, you "got in" because I applied back in May and just found out.  Because getting into preschool around here prepares parents for the college admissions process WAY, TOO, EARLY.  But we're very happy with the school you'll be attending full-time in the fall (well, from 9am-12:45am Monday-Friday).  What will mommy do with herself?!  If you say exercise I swear to God...

Well there you are, my two favorite guys.  I can't believe you're turning 3 tomorrow, and at the same time I can't believe you've only been in my life for three years.  I don't remember what it was like without you.  You are my little best friend, my teacher, and the coolest 3 year old I know : )

Your birth story... Part 2.

That was a very surreal night. I dragged my IV to the bathroom at least 5 times. I slept a little. Your dad slept a little. We silently stared at each other, the ceiling, all the while listening to your heart beating through the monitor. Thinking, this is the last night of our lives without you. Tomorrow is your birthday. Tomorrow changes everything.

They checked me in the morning but I wasn't having any contractions, and I was only slightly dilated. They checked me every hour or so after that. In the meantime, I had visitors. My sister, your Auntie Hannah, who brought your dad beef jerky so he wouldn't faint. Carson's sister, your Auntie Q, and her family... your Uncle Joel and your cousin Jaden. Your other cousin, Rinnie, was in Auntie Q's belly, due out the following month. They brought me that big blue bunny in the above picture (that I started eating when the contractions started). Carson's parents came, your Kiki and Pops. All of my girlfriends (your aunties) had gathered and were spending the day together with my Dad (your FarFar), waiting. Gigi was on a plane. I felt the love and excitement all the way down to my bones.

Around noon, there was still no action, so they gave me Pitocin to induce the labor. HELLO. HELLO LABOR. That drug is a quick SOB. I started contracting and they went from manageable to painful to HELL, fast. I don't really know how to describe it other than a cramp: a gut-wrenching, pain-shooting, evil-eyed cramp. I kept hearing our Birth Class Teacher in my head, don't get the epidural too soon but don't get it too late. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, I asked my head. SOMEONE JUST TELL ME WHEN TO GET IT! And that's exactly what your dad did. He could sense my angst and simply said this, "Don't be a hero." That was all it took. Check please! Epidural time!

That was around 2:30pm. But your dad also reminded me... when you call for the epidural, it doesn't magically appear in your bloodstream. They have to call for the dude, he might not be ready, blah blah, blah blah. He came up around 3pm, and sloooooooooowly got me prepped for the magic drug. There was some chit chat, some instructions, but all I could hear was my brain telling me it wouldn't be kind to spit in his face. And then, LET'S ALL SIGH AND IMAGINE...

I felt nothing. I felt calm, happy. Your dad kept watching the contractions on the monitor with his jaw dropped. He kept saying, "You really don't feel that?!? How about this one?!" I was in my happy place, eating lots and lots of jello. Your dad went across the street to IHop for a burger. Gigi's plane landed and she made it to the hospital early evening. Everyone had gathered in the waiting room. One big happy family on the Ides of March.

It must have been 7pm-ish when they checked me again and said, "you're ready." A surreal thing to hear. Nine months of preparing, a lifetime of wondering how women do it, and there I was... about to find out. Everything moved fast after that. I asked my mom to stay in the room, to take pictures when you arrived. Carson put on Kings of Leon, and muted Shark Week on the TV. Dr. Kessler appeared and I watched him put on his scrubs, talking about the dinner he had left. And then I thought about nothing other than this powerful need to push that was overwhelming my body. A nurse grabbed one foot, my mom the other. Your dad took my hand. This was probably 8:20pm.

At 8:41pm, on March 15th, 2009, you were born...


You weighed 7 pounds, 9 ounces and were 20 inches long. We told everyone your name was Jackson James Daly, "James" after Carson's daddy in heaven.

When they handed you to me, I remember being hysterical. No tears, just smiles and shaky laughter and I think I said, "So this is what you look like." Your eyes were wide open, your cry was soft. Your father kissed me, and when I looked at him I saw you. Everyone came to meet you. First the grandparents, then the aunts and uncles and finally my best friends. You were loved from your first minute of life.

So there you have it, our birth story. I feel lucky to have loved every minute of it, even the pain. (Now I'm just lying to all of your faces.) Giving birth is like winning this awesome, fuzzy, pink, Oscar. So here's my acceptance speech:

I would like to thank God. And my family and friends. I would like to thank those juice cocktails the hospital hands out in the giant cups. Oksana the Nurse. Your Dada. And you. The End.

Your birth story... Part 1.

Hello. It's been a very long time since I've written you a letter. I could go over a billion things right now - updates, silly stories, poo poo and pee pee anecdotes - but I thought for my first plunge back into this I would start from the beginning. Many of my friends have had babies in the last 6 months, their stories so fresh in my mind. It has caused me to reflect on your birth story, and it suddenly dawned on me that some of the details are blurring together. So before I forget any more of that fateful day, I wanted to write it down. After all, when you're a grown man, I know you'll want to recall everything that happened to my vagina on March 15, 2009.


You were due March 31st. People had bets on when you'd arrive, and most of them were post-due date. But I was all, hell to the NO! You see, I was experiencing horrible back pains that resulted in long, sleepless nights. Don't worry, it wasn't your fault! I'm just being nice, it was totally your fault. ("Tiny Bingo" is what we called you when you were in my belly, a nickname and a story for another day.)

The morning of March 14th, your dad and I were at our final "Birth Class" - you know, the kind where they teach you to do breathing techniques on a giant exercise ball that are completely useless. I started contracting, but I had no idea. I must have had a pained expression on my face, because our teacher looked at me and said in front of everyone, "Are you having a contraction?" I was like, "Um no? Yes? Maybe? What!?!" But it passed, the class ended and we went along with our day - which consisted of putting the car seat in the car, taking an infant CPR class, and eating huge sandwiches. We were very productive.


Early evening, I felt like taking a walk. I went by myself, and wandered to the exact same spot I sat, staring at the ocean, on the day I found out I was pregnant. I became emotional. I started talking to you, out loud, which, to a passer-byer, must have looked insane. I told you I was ready to meet you. I talked about all the people who were also anxious to meet you, who loved you already. I cried happy tears. And then I went pee in a port-a-potty.

When I got home, I made mac & cheese for your dad and I. We finished off the box, and settled down on the couch for a movie. 3:10 to Yuma. I fell asleep half-way through it. I dreamt your dad and I were a part of the movie...


This is when the party got started. Around 9pm, I was jolted awake by water, everywhere. I thought I had fallen into a toilet or peed my pants, and then I became sane. I said to your dad, "SOMETHING JUST HAPPENED." He gave me a funny look and then I said, "MY WATER BROKE!" We both jumped up and started talking to ourselves at the same time. My side went like this, "Ok, I'm going to go change. Maybe go to the bathroom? I don't think I have to go the bathroom. Ok. I feel fine? Oh dear, look at the couch." Your dad, "I should call someone, I should do something, I need a drink." When we finally started talking to each other, we came to the conclusion that we should get our "Go Bag" and head to the hospital.

We pulled up to Saint John's in Santa Monica and checked in. Once I was in bed, they checked to confirm my water had actually broken. I kept thinking, please don't let it be pee, please don't let it be pee. Because that would have been embarrassing and that would have been a record breaking amount of urine. It wasn't.

They gave us the option of going home, spending the night in our beds, and coming back in the morning. A lot of people probably would have preferred that option, but not your father and I. We like doctors and machines and drugs and people who know what they're doing. So we got settled in. I called my mom (your Gigi) who was still in Minnesota. She started looking into early morning flights. Carson called his parents in Palm Desert, and they got in the car. While I was getting all hospital robed and IV'ed up, your dad went home to get music and BEER. This shouldn't surprise you. Like I said, the party had begun...

To Be Continued.

Two years ago...

...you made me a mommy.


Best job on this Planet Earth. Happy Birthday my "Ides of March" baby boy. Thank you for making me, your daddy (and everyone who knows and loves you, as evident on the graffitied wall above) so incredibly happy!

Welcome Spring 2010...

I have been slacking on my letters to you. Bad Mommy. But there has been a lot going on lately... let me try and catch you up.

YOUR FIRST BIRTHDAY


You turned 1. I made a cake. You wanted nothing to do with it. For some reason, I'm still having a hard time coping with this. Which is stupid. As a mother, I should be thrilled that you're not into sugar yet. But I was so hoping for that picture of you, shirtless, pointy birthday hat strangling your neck, colorful cake and frosting in your eyeballs, ears, hair, etc. What's wrong with wanting that memory? Oh well. I guess I'll just take a picture of your father doing that stuff.

YOU GOT SICK, AND THEN YOU GOT SICK AGAIN


This experience truly brought out the "first time parents" in your father and I. We had books out, google up, our mom's on hold, and the drugstore in our house. And then we got sick. Cousins got sick, aunties got sick, grandmas got sick. AND, apparently, this will happen again, we've been told. Unless, of course, I try to keep you in one of these:


I TOURED A PRESCHOOL


Yes, that's right, a preschool that you won't even be attending for another 2.5 years. We have been told, however, that you are supposed to "develop a relationship" with the schools in your area around the time your child turns 1. Your father and I thought that was ridiculous, hilarious, stupid, and then we went along with it. I actually just got back from the tour, and I saw your whole life flash before my eyes. Stay little forever, please.

It's Your Party!

Tomorrow, you turn 1. What? Who, when, where, HOW?! When people tell you time flies, those people are not lying. On Saturday, we had a little birthday party for you. Your nickname, for now, is Choo Choo, hence the train theme. Here are some memories...

Balloons.


Gifts.


Cake.


Hats.


Monkeys.


Happiness.

(Majority of photos taken by iamchasingthirty.blogspot.com)

Birth Day

Each year on our birthdays, we're reminded by a certain someone of the day we were born. Our mothers go over the details we've heard a thousand times. We listen, sometimes with feigned interest because it's 2:27 in the morning, and we let them remember the experience like it was yesterday. I know mom, you kicked the anesthesiologist in the face, we say. The truth is, until we become a mother ourselves we can't fully understand why our own moms have done this year after year. It is because, while our birthday is important to us, it is equally if not MORE important to our mothers.


I write all of this as my son approaches his first birthday. For months, cakes and themes and invites and baby books have held my mind hostage. A train cake? A rainbow cake? Paper invites, or an E-vite? Do we invite everyone we know, or do we keep it small? Do we get a clown? A pony? Do we cater it? Or do I cook and lose my head?

Thankfully, in the midst of that madness I will have a moment of clarity and I will think... my son has been on this planet for almost one year. What?! How did that happen? I gave birth to him yesterday. If "yesterday" is equivalent to March 15th, 2009. Oh, what a day that was! I suppose my yearly tale to me son will go something like this...

It was beautiful out. Your father brought beer and music to the hospital room. It felt like a party, minus the contractions. Your grandparents were rushing to make it in time, from as near as Palm Desert and as far as Minnesota. Friends and family flooded the waiting room. Wonderful nurses... angels, saints, my best friends. Juice, jello, an epidural. You took your time at first and then came fast. It was a piece of cake. Ten fingers, ten toes. More beer. A celebration!!

Something like that. He will hear a version of that tale this year (although he may not understand me) and every year after that. Because I am his mother. I am the one responsible for his birthday! (Well, his dad shares this responsibility but this site is letters from me, right? Right.) It is a day for us to celebrate such an awesome accomplishment. It is a day for us to remember. It is not a day for us to stress about ponies and scary clowns.


Now that I am a mother, I understand all of this. I understand why parents (there you go, dads) feel such joy on their children's birthdays. Thus, on my own birthday this year (oops, already went by, next year), I will act like I've never heard the story of my mom arriving to the hospital in a limo. Tell me more, mom, tell me the whole story!! That's what I will say. I will not stress over my son's birthday cake. Much. I will not stress much. And I will always, ALWAYS recall the details of March 15th, 2009. To anyone willing to listen.

Ocean's 11

It is Day 3 of Waking Up Before You and so far, so good. You're still asleep. I almost fell down the stairs on my way to get coffee, but I was able to regain my balance quietly so again, so far so good.



HAPPY 11 MONTH BIRTHDAY! You know what this means. This means we're nearing that age where I stop counting your age in months. I swore to myself I would never say you're 19 months old. How about one and a half? Close to two? Just turned one. That sounds better.

(I will crumble under pressure... you just wait... you'll be 13 months before I can stop it from coming out of my mouth.)

Choo Choo!

I procrastinate. A lot. Avoid, avoid, pretend something's not happening, avoid. Not my best quality. HOWEVER, it is now almost less than a month before your first birthday and I will NOT procrastinate here, NO, SIR.


Since your nickname is "Choo Choo" I would like to make you a train cake for your birthday. I've been inspired by some images online, like the one above and this one:


Anyone have any good ideas? I bet you do!! If not thanks for NOTHING.

birth days

Last week I turned 29. For some reason, I feel like I should be older? I guess that's what being a mommy does to you. While I absolutely feel young at heart, I think I should be at least 32. I mean, how can I still be in the same decade that began with Bacardi Limon and Pita Pit at three in the morning? At that time of night NOW I'm either feeding you or I've been in bed sleeping for 8 hours already. Anyway, enough about me, here are some updates about YOU...

You're climbing up stairs. Well, with our help. But it's still an incredible and frightening step. Get it, step.

You only like it when I talk all squeaky like Mike Tyson.

You're eating pasta, scrambled eggs, quinoa, little steak bites and cardboard books.

You speak German and Italian. At least that's what it sounds like to me.

Thank you for making my 29th birthday maybe the best one yet. Your big ONE is next... LDAKJDSKEOWIJAF! (That's excitement.)

Top 10

Happy Birthday my favorite little buddy. You make life so sweet : )

A weekend in November...

What a weekend we just had, little buddy! Here's what happened, in no particular order of importance...

1. You turned 8 months old! Here are your monthly balloons from Kiki and Pops:



Every month these balloons get bigger and more exciting! Such a lucky little boy. I'm fully prepared for a hot air balloon to land in the backyard when you turn 1, with Kiki and Pops in it.

2. We took you to a playground! The swing might be your new favorite thing. Your face is that of pure joy as you fly through the air! It reminds me of the way I look when I'm in Sur La Table... only I'm not flying. Or am I? I'm fully convinced that I could leave you swinging in the swing while I run errands, and when I returned you'd be happy as a clam! Of course that's absolutely absurd and I would never do that.

3. My mom, your Gigi, came to visit! She'll be here for 2 full weeks to play with you, feed you your peaches and mango, change your poopy diapers, cheer you up when you cry, babysit, take you for walks, read you books, put you down for naps... wait a second, what am I supposed to do while she does all of that? Get a pedicure!

4. Finally, you took your first bottle of formula! A bittersweet step, for me at least. I have been nursing you for 8 full months, a feat I am EXTREMELY proud of. There were times when I thought I would give up... even as early as the 5th day of your life. But with your help, we pushed through those tough phases and suddenly it's 8 months later! One bottle of formula per day helps out in many ways and besides, you notice no difference. I am fully certain that you would drink a bottle of Jack and Coke and think it was milk.

Happy Birthday!

Today, you are 7 months old! Time is a funny thing... the last 7 months have been the fastest and slowest months of my life. How does that happen? I saw a newborn the other day, and I couldn't believe you were ever that little. I was afraid to hold her! She looked so fragile! And that was you, just 7 months ago. What should I make your dad for dinner tonight? On your 5th and 6th month birthdays I made Boeuf Bourguignon and Coq au Vin, both Julia Child recipes. I'm thinking hot dogs soaked in beer tonight. Mmmm...

I just read a little update I get every week from Baby Center about 7 month-olds. Apparently I'm supposed to be brushing your teeth. Oops. Now I'll have to listen to a lecture from my dentist AND your dentist. Why can't dentists just leave everyone alone? Oh son, I kid around, brushing and flossing your teeth on a daily basis is a very important thing and dentists are our friends.

One more thing about 7 months... once you turn 1 years old, I refuse to say you are 15, 19, 22 months old. MAYBE to your doctor. But that's it. When people ask, I will say you turned 1 in March. Or you're 1 and a half. Or you're close to 2. When people tell me their child is 21 months old, I feel like asking them how many days that is. It just seems silly billy. By the way, I'm 345 months old.

*Update: I am going to make you these tonight...

It's becoming physically impossible for me to watch the Food Network without immediately making whatever it is they're making. I saw these cupcakes last night. I'm making them today. STOP ME SOMEONE.