tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91021649437816876992024-03-06T00:07:22.040-05:00Team Ewankirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comBlogger322125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-57598791870655017112013-04-04T08:37:00.001-04:002013-04-04T09:52:33.300-04:00Like the beginning.Sometimes I feel like I'm back at the beginning again.
Most days, I'm indistinguishable from any first-time mom winging her way through toddlerhood. I sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and make my fingers and thumbs dance up before the rain comes down to wassssshhhhh the spider out. I sidestep the food storage containers she's pulled out onto the kitchen floor, and put toys and books back kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-26939285309355515092013-01-23T20:44:00.000-05:002013-01-25T12:00:36.470-05:00It's like this.She is a year old now, and I can't quite believe it. It's strange since it is not as if turning one happened all of the sudden, like a rug yanked out from underneath my feet, newborn to toddler with scarcely a breath in between. One day, and then another, and then another after that, time passing in its usual way until the earth has made another full trip round the sun, the girl adding ounces andkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-5423674244658400972013-01-18T12:30:00.000-05:002013-01-18T12:30:15.112-05:00One.One year ago today ...
There will be more later. At the moment, we have some celebrating to do!kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-30029062375472665932012-12-03T21:23:00.002-05:002012-12-03T21:27:38.234-05:00Babywearing DaddyI love how he loves her.
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-80003224449143847452012-11-27T22:12:00.004-05:002012-11-27T22:18:47.422-05:00There is always, always, always something to be thankful for.The days here begin before I'm ready to be awake. The baby is crying or cooing or giggling or kicking, her noise and her motion a clear indication that it's time to get the day started. Sometimes I will set her on the floor with a few toys while I lie in bed for just a couple more minutes and force my eyes to remain open, willing away the sleepiness that will tug at my heels for the rest of kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-21961741601778610582012-11-11T21:04:00.000-05:002012-11-11T21:04:38.076-05:00Be here now.Every time I see how long it's been since I posted, I can't believe how long it's been. A month!? Geesh. It's a worn out but true cliche: time flies when you're having fun. There are a lot of reasons for once-monthly postings, most of them probably fairly self-explanatory (I'm tired, we're busy, she's crawling now like she's training for the Indy 500, etc.). There are others too -- privacy kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-24198698010332281762012-10-10T21:41:00.000-04:002012-10-11T10:22:33.552-04:00A study in contrastsIf you saw the previous post, I don't need to tell you: we spent some time in Washington recently. It was wonderful and perfect and all about rest and laughter and family.
James had not had any time off since Austen's birth, and I was anxious to be there for Ewan's second birthday. It surprised even me how much the geographical distance separating his physical body from mine pained me on his kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-58802249403346087852012-09-18T12:14:00.001-04:002012-09-18T12:14:53.413-04:00Happy birthday, baby boy
It is a mad, mad, mad world where you go to the cemetery to sing "Happy Birthday" to your son who would be 2 now. His little sister (now much older than he ever was) joins us, too young to take in the meaning of the gold letters etched in black stone, the dates below his name, the cross that represents the 16 days in between.
We are starting to tell her: "That's your brother, Ewan." We point kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-65883484472969799642012-09-01T13:37:00.002-04:002012-09-01T14:12:22.901-04:00Bracing myselfI think that even if I hadn't seen a calendar in God knows how long, I would know. Even without the advantage of moving my fingers past a few hundred squares, each one marking the passage of a day, something deep in my viscera would tell me it's coming.
It is telling me, and it has been telling me. A birthday, and the anniversary that follows ... oh, say ... 16 days later.
Once upon a time, I kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-18444035779330373662012-08-02T21:33:00.001-04:002012-08-03T08:06:40.064-04:00DifferentMy mind keeps going back to that night I was in labor with him.
Contractions were picking up and it wasn't long before I wasn't able to joke through them anymore. I closed my eyes, breathing through them hard, rocking my hips through the pain that mounted mounted mounted, and then dissolved. I went back and forth between lying down, sitting on the birthing ball, walking the halls. When I walked,kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-22268763244324947642012-07-30T16:16:00.000-04:002012-07-30T16:16:02.299-04:00The SuitcaseIt's the first time I've met her, my first time doing spiritual direction.
I sit across from her in a stiff padded chair. To my left is a small wooden coffee table with a lamp that could be from anywhere, and a box of tissues is on the bottom shelf.
I begin to tell her why I'm there, what the past three years have held. The words spew out of me like a geyser.
A religious conversion. A kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-47095923298402327362012-07-11T08:42:00.002-04:002012-07-11T08:44:46.465-04:00One Month?!I can't believe it's been a month since I last posted!
The truth is, over the course of that month, I've been trying to write one single blog post. I've had dozens of false starts. I've had nearly-completed drafts that I've discarded because while they may have said what I was trying to say, the words I chose didn't say it the way I wanted it said. At the end of the day, it's really not that bigkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-60489688798857200192012-06-11T16:05:00.000-04:002012-06-11T16:05:34.385-04:00Austen's BaptismGreetings from the land of the busy mama!
I just wanted to pop my head up, say hello, and share some happy news with you: Austen was baptized yesterday, welcomed into the community and life of the church on the Feast of Corpus Christi.
My heart was feeling particularly tender as we waited for this day. Ewan's baptism was so very different: James offering up an "Our Father" and blessing Ewan kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-40893337138260169282012-05-30T22:42:00.000-04:002012-05-30T22:42:43.221-04:00Rx for a rotten day
Instructions:
1. Look at this photo.
2. Repeat as often as necessary.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-62579077817394625252012-05-22T08:59:00.000-04:002012-05-22T11:11:41.705-04:00Where the time goes.I gave birth. I blinked. And then I had a four-month-old.
I will blink, and then I'll blink again and she will be driving.
I'm not sure where the time goes, but I'm fairly certain that it is hanging out with the lost socks somewhere.
Austen, like many babies -- and many grown-ups for that matter -- is a moving target. Just as soon as I have her patterns and preferences mostly figured out, theykirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-84213753308620423472012-05-10T08:17:00.001-04:002012-05-10T12:29:18.693-04:00The Postpartum Body
Austen is nearly 4 months old now.
After all the amazing things my body has done -- two pregnancies and natural births, feeding and sustaining this little one with my body -- I still get stuck in a rut of thinking negatively about what I see in the mirror. I pinch my arms, jiggle my thighs, and squeeze the jelly on my stomach, displeased with what I see.
My husband is incredibly kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-89561639588676772422012-05-06T08:28:00.000-04:002012-05-06T08:28:22.066-04:00Thoughts on a mother's dayI've been through her line at Costco a number of times. I moved here early in my second trimester of pregnancy with Austen, and Jennifer had seen my belly grow and always commented on how much she liked my hair. When she asked if this was my first, I told her truthfully it was my second child. Boy or girl? she asked.
Boy, I replied.
And that's as far as it ever went.
I went through her line kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-30303435163038143352012-05-01T12:56:00.000-04:002012-05-01T12:56:49.622-04:00It went by far too quickly.About four years ago, I wrote a poem called "The Art of Map Folding." In it, I describe how I wish that simply by folding a map, I could bring together in reality two points separated by too many miles.
I've never wanted to fold a map like that more, to bypass those 3,500 miles or so altogether so my family are neighbors. I hate that there are so many miles between us.
This week has been so kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-90964865640654828662012-04-27T08:59:00.000-04:002012-04-27T09:20:33.326-04:00I don't think I can let them go home now.I don't know that our time together with Nana and Auntie meeting Austen for the first time has been any more surreal than for any other family who hasn't experienced the loss of the child.
But "surreal" is a word we're using a lot.
Bliss.
Austen (normally a quite contented and happy baby) is as happy as I've ever seen her with all the attention she's getting: the arms willing to hold her,kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-21551763891455471122012-04-25T14:41:00.001-04:002012-04-25T16:58:22.593-04:00Worth the waitkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-89648928613276467602012-04-24T12:30:00.000-04:002012-04-24T12:30:05.826-04:00Someone ...... is getting cuter by the day.
... is getting ready to sit up.
... is so excited to see her Nana & Auntie for the FIRST time (arriving tonight)!!
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-53894990159268670222012-04-18T15:12:00.001-04:002012-04-18T15:12:33.854-04:00The 18thIt's the 18th.
I didn't realize until I was already holding Austen and my midwife was stitching me up: Ewan and Austen were both born on the 18th of the month. I was exhausted from labor and giddy with a newborn in my tired arms. At the time, the fact didn't strike me as bitter in the least.
A few neighborhood girls stopped by last night. They're in the fourth grade or so, and I invited them inkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-32776936973010650322012-04-12T12:17:00.005-04:002012-04-12T12:40:47.929-04:00The Best/Hardest/Most Important Job in the WorldI've often heard it said of motherhood that it is exactly that: "the best/hardest/most important job in the world." I heard it well before motherhood was a reality or even a possibility for me. I wanted to believe it, but oftentimes got the sneaking suspicion that the people saying it (and maybe even the people hearing it) were merely paying lip service to the idea, trying so hard to believe it kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-80254727680960492362012-04-09T12:23:00.002-04:002012-04-09T12:23:30.755-04:00The requisite "too cool in my baby shades" pic
This girl is too much!!
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9102164943781687699.post-3287820990325667982012-04-07T12:38:00.000-04:002012-04-07T12:38:57.244-04:00Austen & her mamaIt's been awhile, I know.
Nothing's wrong, and we haven't been particularly busy. Our days, for the most part, proceed with the same steady rhythm.
I've simply found that giving myself over to the care of this child is where I most want and need to be right now. It's not that I don't want naps, that I don't need to vacuum or clean my kitchen, and it's not that I don't want to blog. I do. It's kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com