Onederland

My baby is one.

The morning of her birthday, Ellie woke up crying at 1AM. We looked at her on the video monitor (which is the #1 most useful baby gadget we have, hands down) and noticed that her crib sheet seemed awfully wet. We usually give her a few minutes to cry if she wakes up at night to see if she’ll settle herself back down (nine times out of ten she puts herself back to sleep within a minute or two), but we thought maybe she had leaked out of her diaper or something so we went right in. As soon as we opened the door the vomit smell hit us like a ton of bricks. Poor baby had puked everywhere. In addition to her sheet being soaked, puke was smeared all over her PJs, all over her face, in her hair, in her ears.

Tammy and I changed her and wiped her down as best we could and then I rocked her and sang to her and told her I loved her. At first she was tense and straining against me, agitated and exhausted and confused. But soon her little body was relaxing and growing heavier and so I laid her down in her clean crib. I stroked her face and her fuzzy head and as I pulled my hand back to let her sleep, her little fingers reached up and grasped mine, and so I sat there, hand in hand with my girl, as she fell asleep.

hands-istock-infant-holding-mothers-hand-bw

Happy Birthday to my spirited, joyful, funny and beautiful not-so-baby girl. Thank you for making me a mother. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for holding my hand in the middle of the night. Welcome to onederland.

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