What a difference a day makes

We are snowed in. 12 inches of snow!!!

Wordless Wednesday

not much going on here...

...just extreme cuteness. Every day. It's ridiculous, the cuteness. Morning, cuteness. Evening, cuteness. And sometimes fussiness. But even that's got hints of cuteness. Middle of the night, oh yes, still the cuteness. I mean seriously. Nobody told me that I was going to get socked in the head with the cuteness bug. For the love of God, the cuteness!

And can I just say that yes, I know what you're thinking. I listen to myself. I see the things that I take delight in now. I see the proud look on my face when she even takes a big poo poo. I've become one of those moms that is obsessed with their babies. I said it wouldn't happen and yet, it happened. Oh yes, it happened. I didn't mean for it to happen. But then I didn't know I was going to have such a cute baby, so you know, it was sort of inevitable. I'm guessing this obsession will one day die down. I know that I have lots of other things that interest me. And those are all still entertaining and all, but they can't hold their ground next to the craziest, most powerful force going on in this house...the CUTENESS. Poor visitors.

moo.

So my kid has green limeade colored poops. And has for a while now. And a mystery rash on her neck. We haven't given her solids in a week now so this all leads me to the conclusion that...da da da! Milk allergy.

so mama's just saying no to the moo.

I fully anticipate this dietary modification to be a full blown pain in the rear on the one hand. ON the other hand, a little forced dietary modification can sometimes be a good thing. Maybe it'll help me lose these last few oh so stubborn postpartum pounds. It will certainly make me more conscientious about what I'm putting into my mouth. Which won't be chocolate, and I assure you, there is a sad face attached to that statement.

But anyhoo, poop updates to come. I kickstarted this non dairy thing only today, after a slice of cheese pizza, and then I decided to push it back till after I put some cream in my coffee, and then pushed it back just a little bit more to have one, beautiful, goodbye fudgecicle. Goodbye fudgesicle. Goodbye chocolate. Goodbye cream in my coffee. Goodbye cheese. Cheese! I'll be back! Don't go changing or doing anything too crazy while I'm gone. I'll see you soon enough, just gotta take care of some things.

the view

I worked this weekend. I worked and it was glorious out. It was glorious out and I felt happy, really really happy. And I performed my hospice nurse duties, with this happiness, as I went into a lot of very sad homes. Homes where people that are loved are dying. And of course my happiness changed. (One must be ever so present in these situations.) But then I left. I drove away in my car and headed to my home, to my family. And as I drove, with the windows down, I started thinking about LIFE. What's the meaning? What are we accomplishing? What the hey is going on?

I like when I ask myself these questions because then I remember that yes, this is my LIFE. I am very much alive. I'm sculpting this here existence each and every day. I'm composing this symphony. I'm writing this ever changing novel.

I think that we, as humans are full of so many complexities, so much depth, so much DRAMA. So much that in fact it that it can all become quite dizzying. So dizzying in fact that it really just becomes...simple. The point that is. We're here, touching each other, experiencing each other. Having small interactions and taking away what we need or want from them. Filling up with whatever it is that fills us up. Singing with whatever voice we were given. Laughing. Crying. Loving. Sharing. Going home to people that we love. Receiving love. Opening up to possibilities. Feeling the wind on our faces. Trying to ignore the urges inside of us. Acting on the urges inside of us.

Sometimes I get very lost in my life's problems. I forget to look up at the view and take things way too seriously. But what if it was me in one of those sad, sad homes. It will be one day. So I ask myself: how serious will my life seem then, when I'm faced with the concept that it will soon end? Won't I want to look up from my small, tiny life and enjoy the big expanse....the big fat world of people touching each other and of a landscape that is so dynamic, so intricate, so darn beautiful? Yes, I should think the view, my view, what I choose to see will certainly change.

Point is, we're all going to live in a sad home. One day. But not this day. Not now.

This is it.

I didn't think, as a childless girl, that I would be so overcome with the "goos" and "gahs" of an infant. I surely didn't suspect that I could play for hours with a babe of only mere months, perfectly enthralled with each new finding, each smile, each twinkle. But here I am, completely in love, almost mystified that this sort of joy exists. It is a unique joy, one that I have never experienced before, and one that fills me to such extents that it brings tears to my eyes. I have such a beautiful daughter. This little bean, this little girl that I once called "cashew-y" when she was in my womb can do so many tricks. She can babble and laugh, she can roll over, she can grab at things, she puts everything in her mouth. She can see you, from across the room, and her whole countenance will change. She'll open up with the biggest grin and suddenly my heart feels like its too small for my body. And I realize that THIS is the joy of parenting. THIS is that sacred, sacred relationship between a child and their parent. And I feel honored, humbled and mostly... I feel ready. I am a mother, and nothing ever felt so right.

pumpkin girl

I got me a pumpkin girl.

Why I love the morning.

Each morning I awaken with my child at my side, nursing, eyes open. "Good morning. Good morning. It's time to get up" I say in sing song. She smiles. She always smiles. We start our day. I love holding her in the morning, so soft and mushy, so happy and rested. We go to our stations. Diaper, clothes, coffee. This child will certainly know about coffee. We play. Pattycakes, tickle time, laugh at each other. Then sleep comes quickly. She lays in her crib and then I'm gloriously alone. I light my oil burner, each morning, a new scent. A new start. A second cup of coffee. I pick up random things. I sit at my laptop. I look at my day, determine the weather, look at my plants, get some yogurt. And listen to silence.

boo!

God I wish Photoshop didn't practically paralyze my computer every time I used it. It's so fun! These little scarecrows stepped straight ouf of vintage land with the help of a little tweaking thanks to photoshop. I love me some vintage!

the ongoing balance

I get really used to seeing people die. It's my job. I know the signs that it's impending, I (usually) know what to do to manage symptoms. I am present with grieving families and I've allowed people to maintain hope even when I know that it's not going to save someone. Families need hope. And though I can tell them the clinical presentation of their loved one, who the hell am I, as their hospice nurse, to take hope away from someone?

I've lost lots of patients. Well, all of them really, except for the current ones. And every now and then one of those patients works their way up through my clinical boundary, shines through my clear lines of "not my life" and "my life". And they get in. I tell myself as a nurse that this is never a good idea, but as a human being sometimes, I realize, it is inevitable. My tuesdays and fridays for the past two months have been spent with a very special lady with lung cancer . She was a beautiful woman who made me sit at her dinner table and have lunch with her. Who made me jewelery. Who took my face in her hands when I left and told me she loves me. And yesterday she died. And though clinically I knew it was bound to happen, I had found myself doing the thing I almost never do in my job...have hope.

So this weekend I've been shaking this off. My friends and family may not notice it, there have been no tears, but there is a certain melancholy that I am working through. I hung a little necklace she gave me, with beads shaped like an angel, on my window so that the light shines through it. And I'd like that little angel, that necklace, that light, that memory, to continue to shine. To be there in the room where my child sleeps. Where life continues on. And its a reminder that death and birth are all an ongoing balance.