A Good Many Dramatic Situations Begin with Screaming.

I am on the verge of catastrophic hearing loss. I know you think I am exaggerating, but I am not! Years of loud, electronic bass enhanced music reverberating off the walls of my tiny vehicle; decibel bursting amplifications at incredibly small concert venues; and ungodly volumes seeping out of the headphones plugged directly into my ears are nothing compared to the ear piercing, shrill war cries of my small 13-month-old child!

The screaming began around the 12-month mark. It started out of joy and as a way to test his own vocal parameters. It also began, innocently enough, with just a cute little high-pitched yelp in the bathtub, or when he was thumping up the stairs.

The stairway is his favorite place to scream. That cavernous gateway echoes like the Grand Canyon, and I must admit that it seems really fun and natural to scream in that space. The first time he screamed in the stairway was when he had triumphantly climbed to the top of that mountain. It was as if he was Sir Edmond Hillary, gallantly braving the beast of Mt. Everest, in a quest for world domination. Upon reaching the summit, he tilted his little head back and let out the most blood curdling scream that little vocal box could let out. It was funny, and we laughed.

That initial laughter may have been our undoing, because his screaming has since morphed into his primary means of communication. He screams to express happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, and fear. He screams when he is playing all by himself. I can only imagine that in his head, he is pretending that he is William Wallace, on the battlefields of Scotland, preparing to take on the British troops. I can picture him, half blue and half white, yelling “Go back to England and tell them there that Scotland's daughters and her sons are yours no more. Tell them Scotland is free,”while he bangs two toys together and screams. 

I am told that it is just a phase. That it will pass. I hope it does. I hope he learns to champion that inner Braveheart and only lets it out on special occasions, and when it is appropriate. I hope he learns to speak actual words, instead of throwing shrieking loud commands our way. I hope that he stops screaming before his mommy and daddy actually do experience catastrophic hearing loss. Although, the silence might be just what this duo needs!

The many faces of Max screaming:

 

It's Only Words...

Most 13 month-olds have very few words, mine is no different. However, my 13 month-old does have some great words:


1. Daddy
2. Mama (my favorite)
3. Fishy
4. Doggie
5. Kitty (his favorite)
6. Hi
7. Yeah
8. Nigh-nigh


That is it for now. He gestures and speaks in jibberish most of the time. If you ask him where his daddy is, he points to his daddy. If you ask him where his mama is, he points to his mama. He can identify fish, turtles, milk, cups, books, toys, and silverware. He signs for milk, more, and all done. But for the most part, he screams in order to get most of his needs met. Oh the joy of toddler parenting.

One Week Later…

Eight days have passed by. Eight days of relearning our places in the world. Eight days of coming together anew. Eight days of intense bonding, all three of us. Where there used to be only two, now there are three. Where there used to just be one that could soothe, now there are two. In the midst of my sorrow, a new bond was forged. In the midst of my darkness, a new light was found. It has been eight days.

Three of those days were immensely painful. I sat in my office, alone. I wrote, alone. I cried, alone. While my husband was upstairs, cradling our freshly weaned child, I sat alone. While my husband comforted our crying baby, I cried alone. On day two, I cried like I have never cried before. Sad, empty, alone, I wept for the broken bond that I would never experience with our son again. On day three, I felt a little more at ease, but I was still unsure of my presence in this new routine.

On day four, I joined them upstairs. I watched as my husband rocked our baby into quite bliss. I watched as my husband sang lullabies to Max and rubbed his head, cheeks, arms, and feet. I watched as my little boy contently fell into silent slumber. I watched in amazement. I watched with joy, pride, and a little sorrow.

On day five, I sat closer to my boys. I rubbed my child’s head, cheeks, arms, and feet. I sang the lullabies that we listened to together. I got to lay my blissfully sleepy child down in his crib. On day six, I held him while my husband sat close to us.

We have started a new routine. A routine where mommy and daddy are equally important. A routine that requires both of us to be complete. In losing one relationship, we have gained so much more than I ever though possible. We have become a closer family.

Eight days have passed by, and where there used to be only two, now there are three. I could not be happier! 

Just before being put down for bed.

Weaning My Heart!….

He wails from upstairs, as if he is being caused the greatest pain he has ever known. I weep here, downstairs. I, too, am experiencing a pain that I have never felt. It is the second day, and both he and I are trapped in this hell. Together, yet separate.

I have provided this child with the only nourishment he has ever known. It is a nourishment not only of food, but also of safety, comfort, and joy. There is a comfort that lies inextricably within the warmth of my bosom. A comfort that cannot be duplicated by any bottle, any pacifier, any stuffed animal, or any toy. It is unparalleled in its capacity to comfort and calm him. It is the only method he knows of soothing. And yet, it was time. Time for this all to come to an end.

I had long since dried up. The elimination of both the midday and morning feedings had taken a toll on my once over-abundant supply. Within the final weeks, days, I noticed that letdown was taking more and more time, until finally, it wasn’t occurring at all. Frustration had started setting in for both he and I. I had become simply a pacifier.

Once this realization had struck me, I set a date. The final date. It loomed over me like an ominous black cloud, yet I had no concept of exactly how hard and fast that storm would rage. I had no idea how much the simple act of feeding my child, from my own breast, comforted and soothed me. For the last 13 months, I had ended the day in the warm comfort of nursing my child to sleep. My nights would now have to be filled with something else. What could possibly compare to the peaceful tranquility of a warm, freshly bathed infant? How would I ever learn to unwind without that little boy centering me back to the earth?

Everyone always expresses how wonderful breastfeeding is for the baby, but no one really ever describes how beautiful it is for the mother. Breastfeeding did not come easily to me, but it is something that has forever changed me. It made me a better mother. It centered me. It became a part of my life that I have come to cherish. I needed the comfort of breastfeeding as much as my tiny infant did.

And so I mourn the loss of a piece of motherhood. I am preparing myself for the long journey that lies in front of me. As he continues to grow; big and strong, smart and worldly, cautious and steady, confident and brave, I prepare myself for him no longer needing his mother to show him the way. For I have already prepared him for what he will face. With each end of a chapter, I am preparing him for the eventual manhood that lies in front of him. With each turn of the page, I am helping to guide him to be the best person he can be. This is that first step. I take it proudly, but I also take it with big round tears in my eyes.

My baby is growing up, and he is taking a piece of my heart as he goes. As he wails upstairs, I cry downstairs. Alone. I know that tomorrow will be easier. But tonight is hard.

A Day for Me! :)…..

Two years ago, this day was just an eventuality. It was something that I had longed for all my life, but not something I had actually been a part of. I had dreamt of being part of a group of people so important that it sparked a holiday just for them. That group that I so desperately wanted to be a part of – Mothers – was all that I could think about. It was my ultimate goal.

Last year was my very first Mother’s Day. I am sure that it was special and amazing. I am sure that my wonderful husband pulled out all the stops for me. I am sure that I reveled in the attention, and basked in the glory of finally being and a achieving my one dream in life. I am sure I had a great day. But I don’t remember it at all.

Why, you ask? Because I had a not yet one-month-old newborn baby. Because I was still laid up from the emergency c-section that I had to have to get my perfect little man. Because – let’s be honest here – I was on painkillers, living in my own little world, and just trying to survive the day on little to no sleep.

So fast forward to last Sunday. It was a magnificently beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was awakened by the wonderful aroma of my favorite coffee beverage – a Starbucks’ White Chocolate Mocha.

I was handed a present that I had been longing for for ages – The Pioneer Woman Cooks cookbook.

And, I was greeted by two of the most handsome men in the world – Nate and babe.

We spent the morning with my mother and father, eating pastries and enjoying the boy squeal with delight as he shoved each piece of cinnamon roll into his mouth. After a breakfast of wonderful Panera pastries, we got dressed and loaded everyone in the car, everyone being Nate, Max, and I. We headed over to the in-laws for some backyard BBQ and family fun.

It was such a great day. So wonderful in fact that I am always going to remember this as my first Mother’s Day, because it is the first one I remember!

Pictures from the day:

 

A Case of the Mondays…

Being AWESOME. This picture is currently my absolute favorite. Here’s Max, inside one of the coffee table baskets that he pulled out, surrounded by all of his favorite toys, reading his favorite book with a look of pure wonder and delight on his face.

LOVE

And for good measure, a few more…

Zoo Fun!

I am crazy for the zoo. I am more crazy for the zoo than baseball. It’s funny, I love caged animals, or animals that you can pet and then leave, but I don’t really want to be responsible for any pets of my own. I would rather just visit the pets. That is one of the many things that makes me a strange individual, or so I’ve been told.

Because I am so deeply in love with the zoo, we decided to get Max a family membership for his birthday present. We bought it on the Monday after his birthday, April 12th, and have used it twice. We went as a family of three on the 12th and then went with Auntie Becca and Sterling boy the following Monday.

The zoo is one of the best places in the world to take children. There are so many exhibits to see and so much to do, that you can’t have the same experience twice.

On our trip as a family, we saw a lot of the African Safari animals (hippos are Max’s favorite), the Asian animals, and the Northwest Trail animals. On our trip with Auntie Becca and Sterling, we saw the Aviary, the Family Farm animals, and hung out in the Zoomasium for most of the day.

We are going on Thursday with my friend J. and her daughter. I am so excited to use this pass as much as possible. It has already paid for itself.

Photos: