Today we headed down to our house to do a walk through and make a list of all the things that needed fixing (oh, so many things need fixing). Sam hunted through the computer desk and procured an old notebook and pen and we set off. When we got in the car I opened the book, looking for a clean page to begin making notes. I was flicking past some of the first pages, filled with hastily written scribbles, when a word caught my eye and I turned back to read.

What I had happened upon today, almost two years after her birth, were the notes I made the day that Julianna was born. Time stopped for a moment as I quickly read through the words I had written that day, intended at the time to become the basis for a birth story not yet written. In an instant I was taken back to the day of her birth, remembering little things long since forgotten. What a gift those words are, especially since her chaotic birth wiped me of most detailed memories, and because the passage of time had blurred the edges of the memories I had held on to.

I didn’t intend for it to go this long. I always thought that eventually/very soon/maybe next week/month/year I’d get around to sitting down and really fleshing out the story, just like I did with Bella (a 19 page birth story is a lot to live up to). The poem I wrote for Jules IS the story of her birth, and is probably more meaningful to me than anything I have ever written - but it’s a poem, not a narrative, and there is so much left unsaid between the lines. I want so badly for Jules to have a record of her birth, but for some reason could never quite bring myself to the place I needed to be to write it. Over time it seemed less and less urgent, more and more difficult to begin - until here we are, approaching the end of her second year…no closer to a story than I was when she was born.

Finding these notes, notes I barely remember writing, was such a gift. I have a bad habit of thinking that if I can’t do things perfectly or completely then I just shouldn’t do them at all. In my mind, that means that everything I do I do well. What that means in reality is that a lot of worthwhile, necessary, wonderful things get left undone. I still don’t have the time I need to sit down and write it out completely or perfectly but I thought that for now, I’d just begin. I’ll begin by transcribing the notes I found today, writing them exactly as they were written, without changing format or structure, and interjecting my own thoughts (thoughts formed with two years of distance, insight and processing) here and there. These notes are choppy, often in shorthand, and give only the barest details. Still - it’s a start, and every story has to start somewhere.

[My current reflections in italics]

…
August Two
Contractions through the night - wake up, contract, pee, sleep. A different quality than the other night, harder.

[The weekend prior to her birth I had a night of contractions just like this, but as soon as the sun came up, everything stopped. ]

421am - in the bathroom again. Felt mucus when I wiped, turned on the light to see that it was tinged with blood. I shoot my head and thought “What do you know - August Two”.

[From my very first trimester Bella was absolutely sure that she was having a baby sister, who would be born on ‘August Two’. Nothing could dissuade her from that belief. Remind me to tell you what she said after the birth]

Contractions q8-12m, breathing through them now. “Inhale Peace, Exhale Tension”. Tried to get back to sleep, but my brain is awake now. “Slow, Gentle, Peaceful Birth”

[I used affirmations like the ones above often in my last few weeks of pregnancy, I had not remembered at all that I used them during labour. For those who don’t use medical shorthand q8-10m is just ‘every 8-10 minutes)]

5am - Sam woke from my breathing, at the end I said “Aug. Two” and he leaned in to kiss me.

[I never would have remembered that, and I smile now every time I think of it. What a delicious moment as we savoured this new beginning.]

Two ctx on toilet - did not like.

[So funny since I spent hours of Bella’s labour sitting on the toilet and would not budge even when the midwives tried their darndest to get me into different positions].

Facing fears…510am Things began spacing out q15-20 just as it became light. I know I would be crushed if this was not it, but have to admit this is out of my hands.

[For anyone who read my blog during this pregnancy, control was a big issue for me. Surrendering, and giving myself up to the experience was difficult. Having that night the week before where I was so sure things were beginning and then have everything totally stop was so hard for me. The idea that this could be happening again, five days after my due date was really hard for me to accept. Releasing this experience was a huge step for me, one I really needed to take.]

6am - downstairs to see what would happen

No ctx from 6-8. Cannot believe this is happening again. Feel like crying. Sam stays home from work so I can rest.

Ctx come back again, but sporadic. I get some sleep and Sam wakes up Bella around 9.

[That kid will sleep as late as you let her. She also does not like to go to bed at night. Her natural body clock does not fall in line with the one I’d like her to have - more control issues. Sigh.]

Between 10 and 11, ctx q15m.

[When I say every 15 minutes, that was such a rough estimate. They would come every 10 minutes, then twenty, then a half hour would go by without one. They would be short, then long, then short again. Always mild though, I remember talking to Marybeth on the phone at some point during the day, her holding a seven day old Sula Pearl, and hearing her tell me that I was in labour. I didn’t believe her, didn’t believe it was real, was afraid to believe it was real. I also remember taking a phone call from a mama who had been a part of the birth circles, and who was also awaiting the birth of her baby- I remember having a contraction while talking to her and thinking it was so bizarre that she couldn’t even tell].

11am - up to call birth team, both Marinah and Mani are so positive. Marinah says rest during day since this baby likes things to heat up at night. Ctx seem to keep coming as I am up and active, feel horrible on toilet, a little more pinkish mucous. Vampire baby, scared of light.

[I so clearly remember having that vampire thought. At that point I really didn’t think this was the real thing - it was so different than my experience with Bella - which was totally textbook in terms of timing and the stages of labour. I totally expected that it would be the same, maybe quicker, but still sensible. It was so odd how things would start a night and then grind to a total halt as soon as the sun was up. It was like the flip of a switch.]

1pm - Sam fills the tub

[That birth tub ROCKS, heated, soft sides, jets. Ahhhhhh….. It seems so cool to be to think that now; the very same tub is set up in Leigh’s bedroom, just awaiting the arrival of her Voodoo baby.]

Bella says “Is this labour for you?”

[I never would have remembered this, what a cute thing to have recorded. Such a small thing, but so meaningful. Having her involved in the birth preparations, and in the birth itself was an incredible experience]

I vacuum to kill time.

[Must have been in labour. Anyone who knows me will tell you that this is certainly not something I would normally do to kill time.]

4pm - ctx continued q10-15 getting stronger, 45-60sec. in shower, which helped. Last few ctx had been difficult, not breathing well, feeling light headed. Ctx changed to frequent but very short/mild. Checked cervix in shower - ?? effaced?? 2cm? Could feel bag of water. V. empowering. This morning I was still thick, slightly more than fingertip.

[Holy %$#2 it is hard to check your own cervix while lying in your bathtub at 40weeks 5 days pregnant. I cannot even begin to tell you the contortions necessary to accomplish this. I first learned to check my cervix when we were trying to conceive Bella - and I was learning the ins and outs of natural family planning. Not pregnant it’s fairly easy - not so much in early labour. This was huge for me though, having checked in the morning and then again in the afternoon, and being able to feel a difference (however small) was the first sign I had that maybe this was really happening after all. I wrote that it was very empowering, and it was. It was empowering when I first learned about NFP and gained that understanding of my body, and it was exponentially more so to be contracting, and to feel with my own hands what my body and baby were doing. Amazing.]

Had Sam make rice sock - heat on lower abdomen felt wonderful. On bed H&K leaning over pillows listening to music.

[I had a flash of memory about this, I remember trying to moan and playing with vocalizing during contractions. I remember the music in the background. I had made up a playlist of music on our computer, and listened to it constantly during the end of my pregnancy. Wonderful, relaxing music, filled with words and melodies that spoke directly to me. Someday maybe I’ll copy the list over here to share with you all. I also listened to these wonderful tapes every night before bed - but I don’t think I played them in labour, although I had ever intention of doing so. After the playlist ran through, we didn’t put on any more music. I wish I had been focused enough to ask for it, I had practiced relaxing to that music and those affirmations so often, I wonder if it would have helped me later on. H&K = hands and knees]

Sam’s handwriting - 5:23pm - entered pool

[I remember Bella floated with me in the pool somewhere around this time. There is a picture of us both smiling gently and leaning against the side of the pool. This was before my digital days and I have no idea where it is, but it was a lovely time for us to be together as mother and daughter one last time before Julianna was born. At this point, I still didn’t fully accept that this was the real deal. There was no rhyme or reason to things, they would space out, get closer together, get tough for a short period and then get mild again. The whole time I remember being so afraid to trust that it was really happening]

6pm - out of pool q5-8min 45-60.

…..
And that is the end of the notes.

Sometime between that last note at 6pm and 9:52 when Julianna was born, things got crazy. Fast. One minute I wasn’t sure I was really in labour and thought things could take forever, the next minute I was upside down with my eyes closed trying to figure out which way was up - at least that is how it seems in my memory. Now that I’ve at least got this started, I’m going to try to piece together the timeline of those last four hours and the time immediately following her birth.

Before she starts Kindergarten, I promise

Dear Julianna
Oops – missed a few months. So much for turning over a new leaf..

Oh my sweet, I grow ever more intoxicated with you. You, my little Banana, are simply divine. I’m mad about you, completely head over heels. I can’t get enough of your sweetness and light, the way you study things with such intensity, the way your laughter gurgles out of you, the way you get so mad when you don’t get your way. Everything about you is marvelous. I remember so loving this stage with your sister, and I love it just as much with you.

You are learning a mile a minute these days, new words, new skills, new interests every day. I couldn’t keep track even if I tried. You understand everything now, my smart cookie, absolutely everything. You are observing and testing and learning every second of the day – I can see on your face that you are processing things at breakneck speed, filing away all this new data for future reference, continually updating and expanding your understanding of your world. It is fascinating stuff, my sweet, fascinating stuff.

Your vocabulary is continuously expanding these days. Every hour seems bring a new word or two. You call for your sister from your first waking breath in the morning to your last breath before bed at night. It sounds something like “Blealah” and you say it with your tongue stuck between your lips. Need I say it? Yes – you’re adorable. You know that cats say “yow” and horses say “nea” and sheep say “baba”. You’ve even learned that Santa says “howowow”. Tonight you called your Daddy, “Aaam” for the first time, although you’ve not yet attempted my name! Most of the time though, we’re still Mom-mee and Dad-dee (the days of Mama and Dada seem to be gone already – a fact which makes me feel a twinge of nostalgia for the baby-self you are quickly leaving behind).

You are a squishy, giggly, silly little bug. You’ve got a great sense of humor, and already show signs of being a world class trickster. You know when you’re doing something silly or unexpected, and you get the most devilish glint in your eye, as you peek over to make sure that someone is watching you. You like an audience, Julie my girl. When we’re out and about you’ll smile and flirt and make goo goo eyes at people, even approaching strangers and touching them or taking to them to get their attention, then play all coy and shy once the focus is directed your way. You know that you’re cute, and you know exactly how to work it. You have this irresistible little grin that squishes up your entire face – I’m not exaggerating when I say that I could just about die from the cuteness. Seriously.

You are a happy, sunny, smiley girl the vast majority of the time – except when I take out my camera. I have been, despite my finest efforts, unable to capture a photograph of your happy face. When you’re happy, you’re in motion – and toddler motion is just not conducive to good photography. Thus, in my photographs you look like a rather melancholy and serious girl. One day soon I’ll catch you unaware, and snap before you can move away. I’m sure of it.

You only started walking a few months ago, and now you run. You like to go so fast that your feet can’t always keep up and down you go on your bottom, or your hands or your tummy. Lickety split you’re up again – not about to let a fall get in the way of getting where you were going. You’ve become quite the climber in recent weeks as well – and have figured out how to get yourself many high places that I rather wish you wouldn’t explore. There is much we grownups could learn from a determined toddler like yourself.

You continue to be an outdoor girl. We went camping up on the Mogollon Rim in September, and you were in heaven – a whole weekend in the open air with no walls around you. You spend your days exploring the forest around our campsite and exclaiming over the birds and chipmunks and squirrels. At home, you want outside from the first moment we come out of the bedroom in the morning. You were so happy when it finally got cool enough that we can leave the backdoor open for you to come and go with freedom, and you seem to love what passes for winter in Arizona. I think you’d live outside if you could.

All of a sudden, you’re quite occupied with big girl stuff, like pushing babies in strollers, wearing them in your sling and pulling up your shirt to give them Na-Na’s (Julie-speak for nursing). You love to sit at our little pink Ikea craft table and colour with your sister, play Little People with her or sit up with her at the kitchen counter and eat your lunch like a big girl. Don’t get me wrong though, you still make plenty of time to do baby stuff like sticking forks in electric sockets (yes, you did that this week),

You adore babies. All babies. You are absolutely fascinated with them. Toy babies are great, and you spend much time playing with the ones we have here at the house, but real babies just take the cake. You constantly want to look at them, to touch them, and to hold them. You get very angry and upset if you’re not allowed to sit holding the baby, and you don’t like to have help. I can tell that you see yourself as something totally different from the baby you are holding, even if said baby is only six months younger than you. I’d be willing to hazard a guess that in your head you imagine yourself to be the age/size of your big sister – I don’t think you have any concept of the fact that you’re not that far beyond those baby days yourself.

Aside from babies and your adored big sister, your next favoritest things are balloons. You’ve got eagle eyes out for them and spot them everywhere we go, long before the rest of us are able to see them. You’ve learned that if you keep a close watch out the car window you’re likely to spot one or two during the ride, and in a pinch, have decided that anything round a vaguely glow-y will suffice - round lampshades, old fashioned Christmas light (row upon row of brightly coloured baa-ooons. Heaven on earth for you).

You also love music. You, my sistah, have rhythm in your soul. I took Bella to see the movie ‘Happy Feet’ a few weeks ago – and you earned yourself a new nickname. When you are happy, or excited, or want to dance you stomp your little feet rapidly and wobble your little body around, looking for the world like the little dancin’ penguin in the movie. Now we can say “Happy Feet!” and you immediately break into your little routine. At the risk of having you roll your eyes at my repetitiveness – you simply cannot imagine how utterly cute this is. Also, since I’m all about showing you off, it makes for a good party trick.

We attended the local holiday light parade this past weekend with your friends Leigh-Leigh and Kaia – and you started rocking automatically to every tune from every float that passed in front of us. When it was quiet, you were still, but as soon as you could hear the faintest notes of music approaching, your body started to move. I don’t even think you were aware of it. The music is just inside you. You were bopping so steady at some points that you almost bopped yourself right off my lap a time or two.

Speaking of the parade, I think I’ll share a story that might one day make you laugh:

We were, as always, in a rush to get out the door. Running far behind, getting cranky with the dilly-dallying Isabella, feeling more frazzled than festive. I picked out your outfit, took off your soggy cloth diaper and got you dressed. Fast forward almost four hours – we’d arrived over an hour early for the parade, sat through the entire event with you on my lap, fought the crazy traffic home and I sat around chatting with Leigh while you, Kaia and Bella ran around and played. After a while you came over, and I decided to check and see if your diaper needed to be changed. I felt your little bottom and realized in an instant that that little bottom was, in fact, totally bare. Yup. Your Mama forgot to put on a diaper, and instead snapped you right into your denim overalls with nothing covering your chunky little heiny. If only they had been Calvin Klein’s, you’d have been able to deliver Brooke Shield’s famous line with absolute sincerity (that is, if you were speaking in sentences). I cannot believe that you didn’t pee that entire time (or worse). I’m quite grateful for that fact; the parade might not have been quite as enjoyable if I had to sit through it covered in baby urine!

You had your first haircut last month. I was loath to take scissors to your fine, light-brown-almost-blonde-in-some-lights baby hair – but when Mani informed me that your mullet was beginning to be so extreme as to look intentional, I knew the time had come. Truth be told, you look even cuter with your hair bobbed right across the back, and you’d have to look closely to see what a wack job your mama made of the trim.

In other appearance related news – you’ve got the most adorable (yes, yes, I know – I need a few new adjectives to use when describing you) set of gap teeth I think I’ve ever seen, and two crooked bottom teeth that give you the most impish grin. Your eyes are a deep, melted-chocolate brown, and your lips continue to be the most perfect full lips that have ever existed on any baby, anywhere and any point in history. Folks say you look just like your daddy, but the only person I can see when I look at you, sweet Jules, is you. To me, you just look like you – and a wonderful, perfect, marvelous you at that.

I finally took you to the doctor last month, since we were taking Bella in for her arm anyway. I cannot remember exactly what your measurements were (oh – such a poor, under-documented second child) but you were quite average for height and weight, but rather above average in head circumference. I could have told them that – you have a big ole noggin – the better to fit your obviously highly intelligent brain, I say!

You’re still not so big on sleep, or at least prolonged stretches of sleep. You’re not much of a napper. You went six days last week without a nap at all – this, in case you are wondering, is not okay. At night you go down between 7 and 8, and very, very, very occasionally sleep for two hours, maybe three hours straight once a month. Mostly though you wake every hour, or 45 minutes, or 30 minutes. Sometimes it seems that you wake up five or ten minutes after I leave the room for several hours at a time. I’m not gonna lie to you, my sweet, this is rough on your haggard old Mama.

But still, despite a few instances where I hit a wall, we push through, I surrender, you melt into me – and we just keep trucking. I hope that one day, perhaps, maybe, possibly you might sleep. I contemplate what I could do to help you along, but as of yet, have not come up with a solution that does not involve denying you the thing you want the most (me). I need to take care of me, and you, and us. Tall order – I hope when you’re grown you’ll think I did an okay job of it. At least, know that I tried.

Your devotion to the breast is unfailing. I hear your wee voice calling “na-na, na-na” all day and all night long. You are still rather ambivalent about food - sometimes you eat more than others, but overall – it is the nummies in your tummy that you crave. You’ve just started to lift my shirt when you feel I’m not reacting quickly enough to your requests, and will tell me which one you want to start out on, and when you want to switch (‘uddah, uddah’ you repeat until I oblige you by switching sides and offering the other breast. You even wake up from a deep sleep mumbling the word ‘uddah, uddah’ bringing me to consciousness so I can pull you close and nurse you back to dreamland. Uddah seems a rather apt word, as I suppose my breasts are serving a rather udder like function at the moment.

I’m so happy that I can offer you this – sustenance, nutrition, love, comfort, sleep aid, bonding, beverage, Band-Aid, chill-time, calming, closeness, breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, connection – all in one convenient package. It pleases me greatly to see you thriving and growing and becoming both so attached and so independent at the same time. I love that I am your safe haven in the world, and that in our nursing relationship we have formed a bond unlike any you will have for the remainder of your life. I have never been able to offer myself so completely to another human before – and although I’m still working on surrender (I’ll always be working on surrender)– I hope you know that my milk is my gift to you on so many more levels than it might seem. I don’t know how long you will nurse, but I hope that you maintain some cellular memory of this time in our lives – where we could create an entire universe just for us – simply by nursing.

You are still very much a mama’s girl. You love your daddy, you two share a special bond – and you like him just fine during daylight hours. At night though, you want your Mama, and nobody else. Beyond bedtime though, you seem to be (knock wood) moving beyond your stranger danger face, and being open to more and more people. You are quite brave, little seems to faze you, except you are afraid of the vacuum (some might say that this is because it is a sound you hear so infrequently. They might be right) and the hair dryer. You are also quite prone to dramatic tantrums when we tell you you can’t do/have/get something you want. We’re sorry that we laugh at you, but we can’t help it. You sure have a lot of pent up emotions for one so small.

It is late, Julie my dear, and I must go to bed. There is so much more I could write about who you are at this point in your life. I could fill volumes writing about you. But alas, the clock as just struck midnight, and I’m tired my darling. I know I will hear your call all too soon, so I will leave this letter now.

Wherever you go in life, whatever you do, whoever you become – you will always be a part of me, and I will always be a part of you.

Julianna-Banana,
I love you.

Your Mama

PS: Did I tell you that you’re cute? And adorable? And entirely marvelous. Well you are; all that and then some.

9.02.06
13 months

Well little girl, that month sure zoomed by, didn’t it?

I tell you, Julianna Banana, you just might kill me with cuteness one of these days. I’m serious, I could eat you right up, you are that scrumptious right now. I feel like I’m drowning in irresistible, irrepressible cuteness. You’re so sweet you make my teeth hurt. You are so adorable you make my head spin. You. Are. Cute.

You’ve gone from almost exclusively crawling and cruising to taking your first tentative steps, to venturing across a room Frankenstein style (with your arms straight in front of you) falling every few feet, to now toddling everywhere around the house with your arms dangling by your side, little body wobbling back and forth. You look rather like a cross between a penguin and a gorilla. Have I mentioned that you’re cute?

You’re also quite taken with climbing, and are getting adept at getting down from high places. You’ve gotten so good at this bipedalism thing that at times you forget that crawling is still an option. We were at a mall play place the other day (that necessary evil of Arizona summers) and you got so angry when you were too tall to walk through a tunnel. I had to come and remind you how to get down and crawl through – you had seriously forgotten that that was your only mode of independent motion just a few short weeks ago.

You’ve been so focused on physical endeavors this month that you’ve all but dropped the impressive vocabulary that I listed in your birthday letter. I think you’ve added a few new words, but you’ve been much less talkative overall (that is not so say that you’ve been quiet – as that is certainly not the case). Your Daddy thinks that is because you’ve left the constant stimulation of being with our family in Canada and you’re stuck with just the three of us. This whole nuclear family thing is for the birds I tell you, you thrived being surrounded by that much love and attention.

You’ve learned to say “NNNNNNOOOO!!” with so much sass that we can’t help but cracking up and encouraging it. You’ve got a serious diva attitude going on with that word – and it is so freaking funny. I hear an echo of your spunky sister in that saucy tone, which worries me a little bit. Speaking of Bella - as is quite appropriate for an older sister, she is teaching you things like how not to share, how to yell when someone comes near your favorite toy, and how to scream with anger when you don’t get your own way. You’ve got to love that kind of influence.

There are times, when we are alone together, that I don’t think I could ever get close enough to you. I want to encircle you and absorb you and cocoon you in my heart. You are divine.

I am convinced that there is nothing I could do, no words that exist that could ever truly make you understand just how much I love you. It’s just too huge, too all-encompassing, too much to comprehend. My love for you is this awesome, spiraling, ever-increasing magical force.

You are my heart.

Oh, and have I mentioned that you’re cute?

PS:
It never fails that I think of more I wanted to include after I’ve already posted the letter…

1. Your hair has morphed into this interesting Mohawk-mullet combo. I’m not sure you’ll be setting any toddler trends with this coif – but I do think it has a certain piazaaz.

2. You like to tickle us. You say “ticka-ticka-ticka-ticka” in a sneaky little voice as you wave your hands around and grin with delight.

3. You crave outside time. Now you stand at the door multiple times during the day and say “Ot-doh, Ot-doh” over and over again with increasing frustration. You love to play outside with your sister, climbing on and off your trike and pushing it around, and going in and out of the playhouse over and over and over again. You are going to be so happy when winter comes and you can be outside for hours at end.

4. Your fascination with all things Dora grows right along with your sister’s obsession. You already recognize the theme song and like to stand right next to the TV when Bella puts on her DVD. To think that your sister didn’t even see 5 seconds of TV until she was 2 ½. Ugh.

5. Um. You’re Cute. Yeah Baby.

This is Julianna’s birthday letter. It was written in fits and starts, bits and pieces in the weeks leading up to her birthday, and in the days immediately afterwards. It is long, even by my standards. I tried to remember every last possible detail I could about who she is right this moment, and every time I thought I was finished I would remember just one more thing I wanted to include – and so the letter grew (it grew and it grew and it grew). I don’t expect anyone to read the entire thing (at least not in one sitting) but I thought I should post it just the same. It is all rather unconnected stream-of-consiousness writing. Lots of run-on sentences (my speciality) and rather choppy transitions (or no transitions at all). I tried to let my words come from me without as much care as usual – so I could capture her in the most true and unfiltered way I could. This might not read like great writing – but it felt great to write it.
——
Dear Julianna

In the typical fashion of a mama who combines a bad habit of procrastination with a history marked by good intentions and little follow through, I’m about six months behind on writing updates on your life and development. This will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well (as you should by the time you are old enough to read this letter).

This particular letter began as a seven month update, did some time as eight, nine and ten month updates, got fleshed out into a nice little letter just as you turned ten months, and was ignored entirely when you passed the eleven month mark.

Now you approach your first birthday and I’ve written nothing about you in over half your life. I had lofty plans of writing about you at least once a month, but here we are playing six months of catch up. I beg your forgiveness dear one. You’ll likely hear this tired spiel over and over again – best you get used to it now. Since this has to cover so much time, it will be a long one – but I hope that one day you’ll look back on this letter and feel blessed that I took the time to write it (and generously forget about all the months that I put it off till it was too late).

12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days since you burst forth from my body and changed everything I thought I knew. Where has the time gone?

I’m not sure what it is about your babyhood (or babyhood in general) that makes me speak in cliché’s – but I cannot seem to stop. You are growing now at breakneck speed, changing from baby to toddler before my eyes. There have been a hundred million moments where I want to stop time and breathe you deep into my soul so that I can remember every single thing about right now. But yet, watching you grow and change and learn is far too exciting – and so forward we must go.

Your spirit, so quiet and intense, runs deep my wee one. It is clear - to me at least - that you are possessed with an uncommon wisdom. This is not your first time here. You have lived for aeons and this universe has been your friend for lifetimes upon lifetimes already, of this I am sure. You were born already knowing the Earth, aware of Her truths, sharing Her knowledge and keeping Her secrets.

There are people in your life - Mani is one, your baby friend Sula is another –you were born already knowing. Marybeth says that you and Sula came from the same star – and I think she might be right. Mani says she can see her beloved late Guru in your eyes, and I also believe this to be true. Some people might dismiss this idea – but as your mother I can only say that you have connections that were formed long before your birth as my daughter.

Would I be placing too much pressure on you if I tell you I feel you will do great things in your life? I do not know if they will be great on a grand scale, changing the lives of many, or great on an intimate scale – subtly changing things for the better in a way that only a few blessed people ever notice. I do not know how, or what or when – but my instincts (which you have played a great role in teaching me to trust) tell me that you have a purpose on this earth greater than any I could ever comprehend or predict. You are my gift to the world. You are the world’s gift to me. Everyone wins.

You have the deepest, most soulful brown eyes; they sparkle with your irrepressible spirit. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen eyes that capture so much light and life, and I could gaze into them for hours upon hours. You have a way of looking at people that makes me think you see more than most. I don’t think I could ever hide anything from you – you know me by heart.

You’ve got olive skin, so dark that strangers comment on your tan, even when you don’t have one. Right now - after weeks in the Nova Scotia sun and despite my applications of sunscreen – you are even darker than normal. I call you my little Nutbrown Baby, after the bunnies in ‘Guess How Much I Love You’.

Until quite recently your hair stuck straight up on your head in pale brown-almost-blonde spikes, refusing to be tamed for more than a moment. I loved every last fluffy, nose tickling strand of it. Your hair has a mind of its own, so much so that someone at the grocery store once compared you to a porcupine – although I preferred to refer to you as my little hedgehog. Your Great Grammie C says you look ‘like a dandelion gone to seed’. I am a little sad now that it has grown long enough that it is starting to lie flat and behave (although perhaps it is just the maritime humidity and it will return to life when we return to the desert). I fight the temptation to gel it up again – your funky ‘do fit your personality so well.

Your lips…oh your lips. Perfect rosebud lips – inherited from your Daddy’s family - so full and sensuous and pink. Those lips are going to make many a man (maybe some women) swoon, they are the sort of lips that inspire poetry and declarations of undying love. You’re going to have one hell of a pout when you get just a little bit older. I predict you’ll find many that will willingly move mountains to turn that pout into a smile.

You’ve got big, strong, peasant hands - the hands of a worker. I look at your hands and can almost imagine all that you will accomplish with them. They won’t be afraid to get dirty, to perform physical labour, to work hard. Your hands will serve you well.

You’ve got adorably chubby feet with very high arches (so hard to find shoes that fit), and you love it when I pretend to eat them, love it even more when I pretend to smell them and proclaim them the stinkiest feet I’ve ever smelled (I’m lying, that distinction definitely belongs to your sister).

Your Daddy still calls you “supa-chunk”, even though you’re not all that super chunky anymore. Your legs still have the most delicious rolls, and you are still soft and cuddly all over - but your body has already started to lengthen and change and I see hints of the girl you will become. I haven’t the slightest notion how much you weigh or how tall you are, as we’ve become the sort of negligent hippy parents who forgo the regular series of well-baby check-ups. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re just about the perfect size for a one-year-old girl.

You’ve got mischief in your soul. You like to play little tricks, like pretending to lean in for a kiss and then turning your head at the last minute. You’ve already got such a sense of humor, and your eyes sparkle with delight when you know you’ve done something funny.

You’ve got the most divine laugh; it starts deep in your belly, and gurgles up and out of you. You love to laugh, and you laugh long and hard and loud, until you are gasping for breath and your body is shaking. You laugh with your whole body and heart and soul and your laugh is the sound of life and joy and bliss. I could never grow tired of hearing it and go to great lengths to make sure you laugh as often as possible. If only I could figure out how to bottle that sound and carry it around with me, I would surely never have a sad moment again for the rest of my life.

You are as ticklish as your father, and love to be tickled, just about anywhere will work. There are a million ways to make you giggle, but nobody can make you laugh the way Bella can. She needs to do nothing more than make a face, or dance and run around and you are nearly hysterical with laughter.

You live for your sister, Julie dear. Your world revolves around her, and you come alive when she is around. You watch her, and learn from her (sometimes this is not so desirable) and she often needs to do nothing more than look in your direction and you are delighted and happy and content.

Her feelings about you are currently a little more mixed - I fear she liked you a great deal more before you became mobile. Now she spends her time protecting her precious possessions from you, and picks you up by your armpits and drags you away from whatever it is you are threatening to invade, bother, knockdown or otherwise (in her opinion) irrevocably ruin. It is all I can do not to intervene when I see you being dragged down the hall, legs dangling as she hauls you this way and that – but I try to sit tight as long as I can see you are not in mortal danger and let you both set the dynamics of your relationship together. I’ve seen hints of some of the sibling fights that are sure to happen when you get older – you’ve gotten a little more determined and more than a little bit more stubborn lately, and you’re not hesitant to let your big sister know that you have your own opinion about things.

She calls you Julianna Banana (or sometimes just Banana), quite proud of herself for having been the one to come up with your nickname. Her heart is full of love for you, and she smothers you with hugs and kisses and declarations of love (whenever you are not infringing on her time, belongings or personal space).

It is such a gift to watch your bond develop. I am so happy you have each other – sisterhood is such a gift and I hope that you have the good sense to always treasure it (even when you are tearing each others hair out).

You’ve developed a bit of a temper of your own as of late – you have definite opinions and you make sure they are known. When you don’t want something your little hands bat it away furiously, and when I don’t do what you want to do, you look at me and yell and cry as if your heart were going to break. When you cry, you cry with words (‘ah dah maaaa waaa ga’, instead of ‘waa waa waa’) – so I am sure that if I only understood your language I would hear a melodramatic tale of woe and desperation.

When you’re really mad or sad, you crawl a few feet and then throw your head down on the floor as if in total defeat. This works to good dramatic effect on carpeted surfaces, but has proven rather dangerous for you on hard floors. You are learning this, and now pause right before your head hits the ground when on an unyielding surface. Smart girl.

You crawl like a speed demon – and when you are heading somewhere you don’t belong (or have other less than acceptable motives) and you sense someone is coming, your legs and arms move into warp speed. You are a champion stair climber. You’ve recently learned to turn around and head down backwards – which brings me much relief, as you are dead set on climbing up every set you come across. You are an expert cruiser, and can use just about any piece of furniture, the wall, or various body parts of people in your vicinity to get where you want to go. You love to have us hold your hand and walk you around the room, in and outside, up and down stairs. You dig in your heels and turn on a dime – always quite sure of where you want to go next. You would prefer to do this all. day. long. We humor you until our backs ache from being hunched over, but the second we try to let go, you sink to the ground as if your legs suddenly turned to Jell-O and you protest mightily.

You’ve taken three or four steps at a time on a few occasions (only when the payoff looked really big – like when Bella had some candy jewelry you wanted to try), but beyond that show little desire or motivation to learn to walk. I’m convinced – given how steady you are on your feet – that you could have been standing and walking months ago if you had cared to. Apparently you don’t see the need yet, but I sense it will not be long.

You love to clap your hands, a fairly recent trick – you bring your hands together so gently and softly that you don’t make a sound, but are understandably delighted with your own brilliance just the same. You love to play ‘Pat-A-Cake’ and will point your finger when we get to ‘mark it with a B’ and throw your hands up in the air when I say “throw it in the oven for baby and me’. ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ is another favorite – and we all think you’re so clever when you attempt the hand motions. You seem to have very good motor skills, and enjoy games that involve putting things into holes or containers, or stacking one thing on top of another. You are an observer of life, a watch and learn kind of girl. You seem to wait until you’ve figured it all out in your head – and then you go for it. You rarely miss anything, and that is usually clear when you suddenly copy something you have seen us do – like stick car keys in doors, or turn on the television.

You’ve begun to communicate increasingly your needs increasingly well. You wave ‘hi’ and ‘bye’, shake your head ‘no’ and nod your head ‘yes. You can sign ‘ hat’, ‘all done’ ‘fan’, ‘more’, ‘nurse’, ‘touch’, dog’, ‘fish’, ‘flower’, ‘book’, ‘duck’, ‘bird’ and ‘eat’. You spoke your first words (‘baa-baa’ for ‘bye-bye’ and ‘haaa’ or ‘hiya’ for ‘hi’) a few months ago. I’m ashamed to say I have no idea exactly when, but I’ll guess and say somewhere between nine and ten months.

You can also say puppy (pup-pup), all done/gone, (ahhh da/gong), hat, mama, dada, touch (tut), ball (baa), door (dooah), cat (tat), duck (dut), quack-quack (taak, taak), out (ot), up, no-no-no-no (accompanied by empathic shaking of your head), uh oh (uh uh), down, doin (As in “whatcha doin?) apple (app-uh), tractor (tac-tuh), doll (dah), brrrmmmm (which you say whenever you push a toy vehicle around). Unfortunately, as your sister has recently succumbed to the commercial machine that is Dora The Explorer – you also say Dora (Doh-doh). I *think* I’ve heard you say Bella, but I could not say for sure. New words are appearing every day now, and I can only assume I’ll have to give up on keeping track rather soon.

Aside from the words that we grownups can understand – you seem to speak all day long in the complex sentence structure of a language only you comprehend. You have long conversations (with yourself and with others) in your own particular version of gibberish. Like everything about you, it is adorable. The other thing you like to say all the time is oodele-oodele-oodele-oodele, or multiple variations on the same theme. Do I have to tell you that you are irresistibly cute when you do that? I didn’t think so

Of all your words, you like to say Mama the most. You call for me when you want me, and will stand at the bottom of the stairs holding the gate calling “Ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma” with increasing desperation if I don’t quickly appear. Recently you’ve decided to be a big girl, and have started calling me ‘Mum’. Your sister took forever to say Mama – so I’m reveling in your affinity for the word.

Your other most favoritest thing to say is Na-Na. Na-Na alternately means banana (your favorite food), night-night, nummies (nursing), or anything at all you want, don’t want, need to tell me, or feel like expressing. For you Jules, Na-Na is a universal word (rather like Om, I think) and you use it whenever there is something the world needs to know. What exactly that is, I often have to guess. You are not always patient with me while I figure it out. After all, you know exactly what you mean – shouldn’t the rest of the world?

It has become clear to me that your desire to nurse and your ability to sleep are inversely proportionate to one another. I’ve spent most of your first year of life dealing with this. Surrender does not come easy to me, dear one. As always, you are the best teacher I could ask for, and we’re getting better and better at navigating this tough stuff together. Sleep is not all that important to you, and is very important to me – until recently this remained the most difficult part of our relationship. But you just keep plugging away at me until I learn the lesson I need to learn – and then things get better.

We sleep together now, and our shared sleep has become the cornerstone of our relationship (something I could never understand when I was adamant that I would not become a co-sleeper). Sleeping curled up with you - your skin next to mine, your breath on my cheek, your hearts beating together - this has healed me in a way I could never have anticipated. It took a connection as deep as the deepest depths of the ocean and somehow made it deeper. It opened my heart to so many things. This is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Most nights I don’t even have to move – you stir and crawl on top of me, draping yourself over my body and finding my breast without even opening your eyes. Now that is lazy nighttime parenting! There is much to write about this topic, far too much to include in a birthday letter, but I’ll just say that it amazes me that I always manage to make something simple into something so complex. If only I had gotten out of my own way and listened to you (and many friends much wiser than myself) earlier – perhaps we would both have avoided much stress and many sleepless nights. Live and learn.

You are a Mama’s girl – through and though. Much less shy that your big sister, you are usually happy to be with friends and relatives, as long as I am not in sight or earshot. As soon as you can hear or see me, all bets are off. There are times, of course, when this wears a bit thin for a tired Mama, but I have to admit that I love the fact that our connection is so strong. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Comfort for you comes from my breasts – you’ve even stopped sucking your thumb for the most part (which you did for a long time in the car, or when you’d finished nursing for the night). You nurse to sleep, you nurse when you are hurt, you nurse when you are cranky, you nurse just because.

You are a grand champion nursing yogi. You can attain some seriously complex positions without ever removing your mouth from my nipple. You spend a great deal of time in some variation of Downward Dog – but I’ve seen other more impressive poses as well. You love to rise up on your knees and launch yourself forward onto my breast – hurling yourself towards your target with great speed and surprising accuracy. When you are in a playful mood, you love to nurse a little, then pull off and blow a great big raspberry right on my nipple. You went through a less than enjoyable period where you decided to pinch various areas of my tender flesh while nursing as a complementary soothing technique – luckily you’ve dropped that in favour of fiddling with my belly button. Rather irritating after a while, but at least not painful.

Mama may be best, but you do love your Daddy just as much (only differently). When he comes home from work your face lights up and your entire body quivers with excitement. You can’t wait to be in his arms, and will lay your head against his shoulder, tighten your arms around him and give him big ‘loves’. When your father arrived in Canada after being away from us for a month you knew him right away – pointing at him and saying “Dad-dy” with perfect clarity – and a huge grin on your face.

Your devotion to the breast is absolute, but your interest in other food comes and goes. It is only in the last few months that the relentless spitting up finally began to subside (Do you know our vacuum will forever stink of baby puke because of you?) and with this you started to show your first real interest in solid food. It is only in the last month or so that you’ve really eaten any substantial amount – but you are quickly discovering that there is a world of interesting flavours and tastes out there to discover. You did not have a single tooth until the week before you turned eleven months old, when you got three all at once. You have another two now – and can manage to eat just about anything at all. The other day you ate a huge dinner of spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread, even came back for seconds – but days can go by where you do little more than nurse.

Fresh fruit is almost always a hit, as are most veggies. You appear to be a meat lover, just like your daddy – quite amusing as I have recently started to seriously contemplate vegetarianism. Right now nothing beats fresh berries that you pick yourself off the bushes in Grammie C’s back yard, smearing your face and clothing in bright berry juice until your belly is full. You’ve recently managed to get mouthfuls of ice cream, potato chips and other various and sundry junk food. You have expressed your clear approval each and every time you’ve tasted any of the contraband. I fear you have inherited my taste for all things unhealthy. Sigh.

You have some neat food talents, like the ability to eat the inside of a green pea, but spit out the outer shell every. single. time. Tonight you grabbed a French fry from my hands and immediately dipped it carefully in the ketchup on my plate. You enjoy feeding yourself, and will reject almost anything that requires adult assistance. You are quite determined to use a spoon and fork without our assistance – and do a much better job than I’d expect of a one-year old. Clever, clever girl.

I knew long before you were born that you would be a water baby, your spirit first came to me on the bow of a boat in Hawaii. I was riding the ten foot waves up and down long after the rest of the tourists had headed down into the cabin (except for your father, who spent the entire four hours at sea puking off the back of the boat, but that is another story for another day) and feeling the salt spray hit my face. I had not felt that alive in years. In an instant, and with great spiraling force – you were with me. You came to me that day with such power and grace, and you were just as real to me then as you are to me now.

Your connection to water is as strong, perhaps even stronger, than my own. You are a part of the sea, and the sea is a part of you. Your ancestors were ship builders, their hands formed some of the great tall ships that sailed around the world. Your ancestors were ships captains, and they lived their lives according to the times and tides and whims of the water. Your ancestors were fishermen, toiling hour after hour to bring in the catch. They all knew the strength and pull and danger and power and love of the ocean. You have salt water in your veins just as sure as you have blood. Water is life to you, sweet Jules.

It does not matter if it is a city water fountain, a country lake or the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean (all of which cradled your body within your first year of life). When you see water, you head for it with great determination and not the slightest bit of fear or hesitation.

When you are immersed in water, you move like you were born to be there – arms stretching out, legs kicking and body undulating like the cutest amphibious creature to ever feel the water glide over her skin. You dip your face in the water over and over and laugh and laugh with the greatest joy. Your Great Aunt Lois said that you just might learn to swim before you learn to walk. It is true – I think if I had the courage to let you go, you would show me just what a water baby you really are.

You don’t always want to be in the water (you have little interest in taking a bath), but you always want to be near it. On your first visit to the ocean, you fell asleep in your Daddy’s arms, listening to the pounding surf. You stayed asleep almost the entire time we were at the beach – the salt air and the sound of the waves and the feel of the sand on your skin bringing you the deepest and most peaceful slumber you had experienced in weeks. On this vacation you often crawl yourself down close to the water and sit and contemplate the universe, eat a few rocks, dig your feet into the shore and grin your happiest grin. You know where you belong.

__________

On the morning of your birthday you awoke with a fever, clearly feeling entirely miserable. All you wanted to do was cuddle into my chest, heat radiating from your body, eyes glassy, body limp. At one point your fever got high enough that your Daddy and I thought we might be spending the rest of your birthday at the emergency room – but just as we started to make calls to find out where to bring you, your fever broke and you started feeling a little bit better.

Just a little bit better though, and when the time came for your party (planned by your sister with great enthusiasm and a degree of seriousness perhaps greater than the occasion warranted) you were still far from your usual sweet and happy self. Your party had a duck theme (but Dora cups, napkins and plates – which Bella assured me you would like). Grammie D and Bella made you the cutest duck-shaped cake, but their efforts were wasted on you. You took one swipe of the icing with your finger and started to cry. It got on your face when you batted your hands furiously and you screamed even harder. I hate to say it, but this made us all laugh a great deal. Cruel, but true.

You were mildly more interested in the present opening – especially the many rubber ducks of various shapes and sizes, and the Little People Airplane (chosen by Bella after repeated trips up and down all the toy aisles and much discussion and debate). Still – you were rather unimpressed with the whole party scene. Perhaps next year you’ll prove yourself to be in more of a party mood.

I had hoped to spend some time alone with you on your birthday. I wanted to take you out into the fields of my childhood and show you the trees and paths and hiding places that form my happiest childhood memories. I wanted to talk to you about your birth, and about your life. I wanted to tell you about me and learn more about you. I wanted to celebrate your birth in private, to lie on the grass nose to nose and absorb the beauty of the moment into every cell of my body. Alas, with your father, Grand Maman, Pepere and Grampie having just arrived and the fact that we were preparing to leave the next morning – our time alone did not happen. I’ll take a raincheck – we’ve got a date for next year, and don’t you forget it.

Last night, one year from your birth, we fell asleep together in your Great Grandmother’s house. This house sheltered her in her labours and heard the first cries of three homeborn children. It is the house of my childhood summers, the house I slept in the night before I married your father. If a house could tell its own stories, this one would only tell tales of love. It seems fitting that we closed the circle of your first year in this house.

My sweet Julianna, My only true sadness for your first year of life is that we were separated in the hours following your birth. A necessary separation, yes, but no less agonizing for that fact. I had dreamed of lying in bed with you, nursing my newborn baby and lying awake and watching you sleep by my side. I have long mourned those lost irreplaceable hours, the magic of holding you fresh from my womb, of breathing in your smell and getting to know you while on a euphoric birth high. I can never recapture those particular hours, but last night we created a new birthday memory. We curled around each other, I gave you milk from my body, and love from my heart, and in return, you took that sadness from me, and told me that it was time to let go.

I meant to stay awake until the exact moment of your birth, to remember and honour your passage into the world. I didn’t, because your sweet breath and soft skin and the glug-glug of the frogs in the pond across the street and the sing-song of the crickets in the grass and late night air blowing in the window lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I woke up the world was just beginning to take on the magical quality that it only has right before the sun begins to rise. When it is still dark but the outer edges of night have just begun to sparkle with the faintest light. I’ve always thought of it as a rather enchanted time, ripe with possibility and tinged by mystery.

It was raining. Not the relentless thunderstorm of the night you were born, but a gentle summer shower, refreshing the air, sprinkling the earth, ushering in the dawn.

I had so hoped it would rain on your birthday. It seemed so right that your second year of life should begin with such a gentle summer rain. Gentle, soft, full of peace. Just like you my sweet Jules.

I smiled, curled myself around you once more, and went back to sleep.

My daughter, my heart.

I love you beyond.

Her hair is very light, so it doesn’t show up as well as it could - but this is how it always looks. It is actually getting cuter, as the sides are now getting long enough to stick out, while the middle section in the front is getting long enough to lie down flat. I think I’ll be dissapointed when her hair starts behaving.

She inherited this hair from Sam - who is so devoted to his VO5 hair cream that I tease him about being like George Clooney’s character in “O Brother Where Art Thou”…looks like Julianna will eventually need to find herself a tin of Dapper Dan Pomade.

Tis the oft lamented curse of the second child. Empty baby book. A handful of pictures. Hardly any video.

We all swear that our second child, equally loved and no less cherished, will never be subject to this unfortunate fate. Of course we’ll take just as many pictures. Of course we’ll still record hours of video of every spit bubble and pureed carrot smeared face. Of course we’ll faithfully note doctors appointments, first teeth, and developmental milestones in our neatest penmanship, filling the pages darling Beatrix Potter themed baby book that Great Aunt Myrtle sent for the baby shower.

Of course. Not.

Although nobody can say that Julianna has suffered in the photography department (I took 250 pictures today. Yes. 250) the record of her first year is lagging rather noticeably in other areas.

I found her baby book mixed in with the boxes of Bella’s books we had packed in the garage when the house was for sale. Have not even cracked it open. We took a bit of video in her first few weeks. Maybe shot a few minutes tape at Halloween, and I think we got a few moments at Christmas. Don’t even know where the darn thing is now. Although I’ve taken plenty of photos, I’ve not put a single one in a photo album since before our Hawaii trip last spring, and I haven’t printed a single photo since I got my digital before Christmas. She’s had professional photos taken twice, but I couldn’t for the life of me find them if you wanted to see them.

On the other hand, Bella’s baby book had almost every blank filled in. When our firstborn was three months old, we were able to fill an entire video tape with footage to send home to our families for Christmas. I took her to The Picture People every single month for her entire first year, and filed away at least one (and as many as five) 8x10’s in her baby book from each monthly visit.

The biggest difference however is in writing. My journal from Bella’s infancy covers her development in mind-numbing, excruciating, nauseating detail. I’m sure you could look back and find out what outfit I dressed her in, what she ate for breakfast and how long she napped when she was five months, three weeks and two days old. Page, after page after page I chronicled her every waking moment, and most of her sleeping ones as well.

Poor dear Jules. I haven’t even written an update since she was six months old – and the updates I have written have been brief bullet point catch ups, not at all like the lovingly detailed epics composed for her older sister.

Granted, I’ve got a bit more going on now than I did then. Aside from the not so minor fact that the first time around I had only one baby to concern myself with, I also only had a handful of real friends, no car, little money and not much of a life outside of family and home. I certainly wasn’t running a non-profit, working as a doula or trying to learn the complex art of photography, not to mention selling, moving and renovating. Heck – even when I do write now, I’m self-centered enough that it is rarely about my sweet Julie.

I feel bad about that. When grown and faced with the comparative shortage of information (and therefore time) devoted to tangible memories of their formative years, do second children feel the sting of the lack of attention and time devoted to them? Sam and I are both firstborns, with all the privileges generally thus afforded, so we have no idea.

I have these grand plans of one day printing these diaries up on archival paper and binding them in fine leather, gifting my daughters with my memories of their lives. Will Julianna notice that her volume is about half the size of her sister’s? Will she wonder if I might possibly have loved Bella more? Will she, on some level, feel the unintentional slight of a busy mama with a crazy life? A mama who didn’t have time to write page after page about the way my heart jumps with joy when I see mischief shine in her eyes, or how I feel peace at the core of my being when we lie together in bed and she gently caresses my arm as she falls asleep. Will I remember to tell her these things, even though I haven’t taken the time to write them?

This lack of documentation is but one symptom of a life split in a million different directions. Of trying to be enough (good enough, fast enough, awake enough) to do this job they way it should be done. Of taking love and passion and attention and channeling it inward and outward so that everyone (including myself) gets what they need. I fear this lack of focus is not good for my family, and know I need to take time to learn skills of re-centering, and calming – so that I can teach them to my kids. Maybe then I’ll find the time to sit still for 15 minutes and tell you all about my wee girlie, so that she’ll know her mama loved her too.

….I just realized I could have better spent this time by writing about Julianna, instead of writing about not writing about Julianna….Funny how hindsight works.