I'm going to miss these...

Yeah, I know he has to grow up and start talking normally. And I wouldn't want it any other way. But still, there are some words I'm going to miss hearing. He's learning so fast, they are here today and gone tomorrow. Some of them, in fact, were here yesterday and gone today.

Meep-mow=cement mixer. Kid knows his vehicles.

Ha-coc-coop=helicopter. Helicopters are Peregrine's current consuming obsession. I showed him one video--one--of a man in a helicopter. Now he wants, so badly, to ride in one. It's really the first time I've seen him want something he saw on a screen.

Hmeam=cream. Ice cream, whipped cream, diaper rash cream. All of which he loves. And, he learned how to say cream today. With a nice crisp cr sound. I will really miss hmeam.

Hmama=Peregrine. Because that totally makes sense. I always wondered how he would pronounce his difficult-to-say name. Got to admit, I didn't see hmama coming.

Dee=pacifier. But we all say dee now. Baby 2 will probably not know the real name.

Lello-dee=technically, it means yellow pacifier. Idiomatically, it means, "hey, I found a yellow object!"

Nioaw=said very fast, it means no, more, milk, and meow. Imagine how confusing it is when you ask him if he wants more milk. He's getting better, though.

Ooooo!=light. And he's totally started saying light now. But I'll miss hearing that sound every time a light comes on.

Hadee=thank you or dishwasher. (Actually, this makes sense, seeing as how we always tell him thank you when he hands us stuff from the dishwasher). I thought I heard an attempt at a genuine thank you tonight. And a tiny part of me died inside. I'll miss hadee. He says it so genuinely, too, even restaurant employees know exactly what he means.

Mee-mee=excuse me. Said very innocently and meekly.

Butt=buttons. Said very loudly. BUTT!!!

Beebee=seatbelt. Or carseat.

Boodeedee=Aunty Liz. It's pretty catchy. Even I call her that now. Probably because I answer questions about her whereabouts several (hundred) times a day.

Yaya=holding hands. It's a good word. I use it. I predict this one stays for awhile.

Haht-tahp=pasta. Kind of sounds like hot tub.

Mop=crawl. This one is entirely my invention, a relic from the days when Peregrine scooted everywhere on his belly, picking up dirt like a mop. But I taught it to him because it's so funny to hear him say it. And to know he thinks the concept of "mopping downstairs" is perfectly normal. Sorry, kid.

And boodey, I don't know what I'll do when he quits saying boodey. He's already saying water (or wa-la) more and more. But water bottles are still boodeys, fortunately. And hopefully will be for a long, long time.

Also, he's experimenting with putting two words together and says them all, no matter what combination, with the same inflection--up!down.

No!hat. Hi!Daddy. Yellow!Jeep. Like!cars. Find!Owls.

I'll miss that, too.

Where did my baby go?

A year and a half ago, I had this:

He was tiny and helpless. He still slept all the time. He ate all the rest of the time. I could swaddle him, thoroughly, in tiny receiving blankets. He howled like a baby wolf in his sleep.

A year ago, I had this:

He couldn't crawl or even scoot. He had to sit in the boppy. I still carried him constantly. He was still up every two hours (every two freaking hours) all night long, ravenously hungry each time. He could still barely tolerate being in the stroller because it didn't move fast enough. If I was very lucky, he might not scream bloody murder for the entire duration of every single car ride.

But this is the one that gets me.

Six months ago--six short, short months ago--I had this:

This was a baby. I still fed him every meal. He couldn't walk at all, and he had barely learned to crawl properly. He had a pretty vast vocabulary, but in all other ways, he was an infant. He functioned like an infant. He thought like an infant.

And now? Now I have this.

Suddenly, I find myself in possession of a little boy. Not an infant, a full-on child.

I was talking with my neighbor today, the whole they-grow-up-so-fast conversation. So very cliche, and so very true. But I told her, I thought this last six months seemed somehow faster than anything else. This startling, lightning-fast transition from my baby to little unique individual person who has less and less to do with me.

I don't feed him at all anymore. I cut up his food, and that's about it.

No more screaming in the car. No more cramps in my shoulder from holding his pacifier in his mouth or feeding him a bottle in the back seat. Now he faces the same way as I do, and we have honest-to-goodness conversations in the car. Granted, most of them are about buses on the road (or the disturbing lack of buses on the road), but still, we're talking together. My baby and me. Two-way conversations that include his original ideas.

He talks up a storm now, putting words together, throwing his thoughts and observations (some mind-bogglingly accurate, some hilariously not accurate) out into the world. If he wants something, he asks for it. No more crying and guessing (well, at least most of the time). He talks about everything. And I talk to him. And he understands, and gives me feedback.

He notices when the world doesn't go his way. And reacts to it in typical toddler fashion, throwing himself dramatically on the floor and wailing. And half the time, his tantrums are there to prove a point. To make us notice him. No more innocent instinctive baby-reactions, easily distracted.

He's developed an intensely aggressive streak, which is no surprise. He always had it, I think. He's just figured out he can use it. And he has so much energy. So much. Intense, passionate, little-boy energy that I don't think I ever had, even as a toddler myself. He slams into things, throws things, runs everywhere. Probably everything in my house will be broken by the time he's 10. And can I say, I am so grateful he has a father to play with him. I can read, I can snuggle, I can go on walks, I can play trucks and slides and basketball. But wrestling? Not my forte. My attempts at full-body contact just don't cut it for him. Daddy's wrestling is much, much more satisfying.

He's starting to get imaginary play, especially related to babies. He adores babies, which bodes well for the future, at least I hope. And while he's not particularly snuggly or gentle, he is incredibly unselfish and generous when it comes to taking care of little ones. He is always offering my belly a pacifier, a drink of his beloved "boodey," a story, a truck, a blanket. The other day, my neighbor was watching him, along with her 11-month-old. She left them alone together, playing independently, and came back to find a large collection of toys in her little one's lap, all lovingly collected by Peregrine. Any time he hears a baby crying, he starts worriedly suggesting all the things the baby might need--pacifier, bottle, nursing, a nap. And if it's in his power to fix, he will try. With great dedication and great joy.

It's so amazing, watching him grow up and grow into himself. I just can't believe how fast it's happened. Seriously. A few short months ago I called him Baby Mop because he scooted everywhere on his belly and picked up dirt like a mop. And now? He's not a mop anymore, and he's not a baby anymore either.

Except for the ubiquitous pacifier.

Family Centered

I participated in an online survey once where I was asked the question, "Would you consider your life (as a parent) to be parent-centered or child-centered?"

The survey was pretty open-ended and I don't remember what its purpose was. However, I remember thinking at the time that the "right" answer was probably supposed to be child-centered. Parent-centered sounds old-fashioned, controlling, cold. Selfish even. Maybe it's just the part of the world I live in. But I think most of us know that if parenting revolves around the parent, things tend to fall apart. We want to love our children well. We want to love them better than we love ourselves.

But while parenting shouldn't be about the parent, I don't think it should be about the child, either. The child doesn't exist in a vacuum. The child exists in a family.

I've always been irrationally annoyed when people other than my child call me mama. I know that most of the time, the intent is empathetic at best and innocent at worst. But here's the deal--I am a lot more than just a mama. To Peregrine, sure, that's what I am. That's how he knows me. But to other people, I'm a wife, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a teacher, a friend. I'm Rachel. Not just one aspect of Rachel, one specific relationship Rachel occupies. And this is coming from a very maternal person. My parents frequently called me "little mama" as a child, because of my constant mothering: dolls, stuffed animals, little sisters, pet ducks, imaginary children, even pine branches and wood blocks (true story--the pine branch's name was Heidi and the block's was Baby Jesus). I have always had a thriving maternal instinct, and I absolutely love being a mama. But it's not the only thing I am.

Somewhere there exists a picture of me nursing "Baby Jesus." Let's just go with documentation of me interacting with a real child.

When you add a new person, irreversibly, to your family, you don't lose what you were before. You don't start with a blank slate. When you get married, you don't erase everything that came before him. You change it and grow it and add to it, sure. But you don't throw the old away. And when you become a mother, things change and grow and morph again. Sometimes the change is magical and exhilarating, sometimes it's messy and complicated. But it's a change, an addition; not a completely new start. The baby isn't suddenly the only thing that matters. The baby becomes a member of something bigger than just parenting. The baby becomes part of your family.

There's a lot of pressure on moms, particularly stay-at-home moms, to completely immerse themselves in mom-ness. It's kind of impossible not to. I am mama twenty-four solid hours a day, seven solid days a week. I can't separate myself from that role. Every shower I can't lose myself in, every errand I have to postpone because hungry monster can't wait one second longer, every Saturday I can't sleep in, reminds me of that. It would be so easy to sink into that role and let it become me, simply because it is so all-consuming.

I think assuming there are two options in life as a parent--parent-centered and child-centered--misses the point. It's not about Peregrine. It's not about me, or even Andrew and me. It's about all of us--the unique little family created by Andrew, Peregrine, and me together. And in about six months, it will all change again. We'll add another person to that mix, and it will be about that family, which will be very much the same in some ways, and very much different in others. We'll change. Our parenting will change. But we'll still be us. We'll still be family.

Andrew and I have talked about this a lot as since we've been parents. We don't always make decisions based on what's best for Peregrine. Something in me feels awful admitting that, and I think it shows how guilty we can feel stepping outside the role of mama mama mama all the time. Of course, he's the little dependent one, and his needs, when they are genuine needs, come first. When I am sick and he is sick, I take care of him. When we're both hungry, he eats first. When we're both tired, I put him to bed before going to bed myself. Regardless of how I feel or what I want, he is the child and I am the adult and it is my sacred responsibility to care for him, always. But sometimes it isn't black and white. Sometimes needs and wants and preferences are all mixed up. Sometimes my needs are bigger than his, in the moment. Sometimes our wants conflict. Sometimes Andrew and I need something together, or Andrew and Peregrine, or Peregrine and me. Sometimes we have to compromise on things.

When I finally came up with an answer to the survey question, I said I hoped my life was neither parent-centered nor child-centered, but family-centered. And that is what I hope. It's who I want to be as a parent and a person. I won't be raising Peregrine forever. I won't be mama-all-the-time forever. But, by God's grace, our family will still be there. Changed, yes. Grown, yes. But still us.

Book Review: Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child

I don't read parenting books very often. I don't necessarily have anything against them; I just tend to learn more from other peoples' stories and experiences. But every now and then, I come upon a resource that proves itself invaluable.

I first borrowed Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, by Marc Weissbluth, from my sister-in-law, who had been singing its praises for months before Peregrine had any sleep issues. When I finally borrowed it from her, she warned me that I would be wanting my own copy before too long. She was right. I almost never buy books, because I almost never read the same book twice. But this one? I reference it constantly.

I recommend this book to so many of my friends, and not because I agree with everything in it. But it has helped me so much. I really wish I had read it before having a child (and that's something I rarely ever say!). Looking back, I'm not sure I would have done that much differently in terms of the way I handled Peregrine's sleep habits in his early infancy. But, had I read this book, I would have understood a lot more about baby sleep. There was just so much I didn't know. I truly thought Peregrine would just sleep when he was tired, and be awake when he wasn't. Little did I know my child. By simply understanding typical waking/sleeping cycles better, and tweaking my routines accordingly, I was able to help Peregrine sleep hours longer than he had been before. He is a much more peaceful child for being able to sleep well.

So here's my more-in-depth review of it. I'll focus less on my personal opinions/experiences with Weissbluth's methods and beliefs, and focus more and how it functions as a parenting tool on the whole.

What I love:

1.) Lots of information on typical baby sleep patterns, and how to use these natural patterns to guide a baby's routine. I'll admit, this book has a lot of words to plow through. Although there is plenty of practical advice, you have to wade through a fair amount of facts and information as well. Perhaps, as a more experienced parent, I would have found this frustrating. But, as a new parent, there was so much I didn't know. And I found half the information reassuring (it's normal for a young infant's nap patterns to be sporadic!), and the other half very eye-opening (you mean crying is a late sign of tiredness?) Just having this store of knowledge was immensely helpful to me. And putting a baby to sleep is so, so very much easier when you are following their natural patterns and know how to recognize signs of readiness for sleep.

2.) Emphasis on sleep cycles instead of rigid schedules. While Weissbluth does advocate scheduling babies' sleep, he gives general ideas and guidelines instead of specific clock-times. And he does a good job of outlining a parent-directed nap and bedtime schedule, while still taking babies' needs and day-to-day quirks into consideration. He will provide a general daytime-schedule idea for, say, a six-month-old, and then explain how you might adapt the schedule if the baby seems unusually tired, or refuses to sleep, or takes a catnap in the car at an odd time. He places a lot of emphasis on understanding a baby's natural rhythms and finding the right "window" in which to encourage sleep. The schedule examples he gives are not blueprints to be followed, but ideas of when most babies of a certain age have these "windows" open.

3.) Understanding that different families have different needs and preferences. For the most part, Weissbluth grasps extremely well the concept that families are very diverse. His suggestions often include adaptations for breast vs. bottle fed babies, or babies in a crib vs. babies in a family bed. Also, while Weissbluth definitely approves of (and advocates) "crying it out" as part of sleep training, he fully acknowledges that not all parents, and not all babies, are okay with that. He gives alternative approaches, and lists the advantages and disadvantages of each. And on the whole, he is immensely respectful of the variety of choices parents make surrounding baby sleep.

4.) A generally gentle, well-explained argument for actively promoting healthy sleep habits, while still understanding the needs and biology of infants. Weissbluth is pro-sleep-training, and there is no way to read this book and not read that. But, for the most part, it is very graciously presented. I've read a lot of baby-scheduling and sleep-training advice where I find the arguments caustic and just plain untrue (seriously? I'm setting my kid up to "run the house" someday because his nap times are flexible?), but Weissbluth's arguments make sense and are, on the whole, very compassionate and well-thought-out. He speaks to both extremes of the baby-sleep-philosophy continuum, reminding parents both that good sleep is a need and it's okay to actively manage our babies' sleep habits, and also that babies have unique needs and personalities and we can't expect them to simply adapt to a prearranged rigid schedule.

Cautions/what I didn't love:

1.) The obvious dogmatism of a parenting book, with some (I think) odd emphases. Any time you read a parenting book, you have to read it with a grain of salt. People write because they're passionate about topics. Although this book is less dogmatic than others I've read, it still has its moments. And although Weissbluth is quite good at adapting his general principles for different situations, there are a few he doesn't budge on, and I'm not sure why. Early bedtimes, for instance. I get that children need a lot of sleep. And that if your child will wake up at 6 every morning, no matter what, you should prioritize getting her to bed early. But he's adamantly against late bedtimes, even when they also correspond with late wakeup times. Even with his explanations, I still find it hard to believe that a child who sleeps 9-9 is sleeping far less healthily than a child who sleeps 7-7.

2.) A bit of a sarcastic/dismissive attitude toward attachment parenting. While Weissbluth generally handles most attachment-parenting-type concerns (i.e. will allowing my child to cry during the night cause him not to trust me?) with a lot of gentleness, he can seem a bit rude about the philosophy in general. I get it, he's writing a sleep training book, and attachment parenting philosophy is typically against sleep training. The debate is nothing new. But, I can imagine that some of his comments could be very off-putting to people who follow attachment parenting philosophy and are looking for sleep answers. However, for the record, my sister-in-law loves this book. And she is a pretty diehard attachment parent. You take what works for you, and leave the rest.

3.) An assumption that your life can, and should, revolve around your child's naps and bedtimes. Obviously, any parent's life does, to an extent. But I think Weissbluth carries it a bit far. Sleep is extremely important for anyone's well-being (child or adult!) and it is worth making it a priority. But I think he runs the risk of setting people up for unnecessary guilt because they have to get out of the house sometimes, or because they have older children who want to be involved in sports or other activities. Balance and health are always good things. (And what balance and health look like will of course be dependent on the family in question).

I would recommend this book to:

Pretty much every new parent I know. Or anyone whose baby, toddler, or older child is struggling with sleeping well. It's easy to read, it's immensely practical, and it has so many adaptations for so many different situations. There's not many books I give almost-blanket recommendation to. But this is one of them.

I would not recommend this book to: 

I had to think long and hard about this one. Basically, there are two categories of people I wouldn't recommend this to. If you already have a child who sleeps very well, I can see this book just causing unnecessary stress (my kid sleeps 9 to 9 and always has and all of a sudden this is a problem!). No need to read this book (or any sleep book, for that matter!) if your child sleeps well and you are happy with the sleep system your family has in place. Also, if you really can't stomach reading about cry-it-out at all (and some people can't, and that's totally fine) and are adamantly against the idea of sleep training, honestly, it probably isn't worth it. There are other books that address specific sleep issues (always needing to nurse to sleep, for instance) and advocate a never-let-cry approach. Probably better to read one of those.

Happy sleeping, everyone! Because, in any sleep arrangement, schedule, or lack thereof, the most important thing, as Weissbluth would say, is a well-rested family.

End of an Era

Peregrine weaned himself last week. And for the first time in seventeen months, I'm not nursing. Ever. I'm wearing normal bras again. And just rocking Peregrine to sleep.

It was the right time. He was ready, and I was ready, too. I know people who nurse all the way through pregnancy, and if I'd needed to, I think I could have. But there is so much strain on my body right now. Feeding a toddler who eats his weight in other food is just not its highest priority.

Breastfeeding Peregrine has had its stresses and challenges, and that deserves a post of its own someday. I think breastfeeding struggles are a lot more common than not. But honestly, the weaning process has felt very easy, and gentle, and natural to me. As much as Peregrine pretty much decided within days that he was done, it felt right. Sad, perhaps, but right.

I've never fed Peregrine entirely on demand. He went from not demanding enough in his first few days to demanding until he vomited in the days that followed. He's never been great about regulating his body, and even with solids, he doesn't do well with snacking all the time. If he doesn't eat substantial meals, he's perpetually hungry and grumpy, even if he's constantly eating. He does better with large meals, followed by periods of not eating. So nursing has been for him primarily a source of food. Comforting food, to be sure, but not just comfort. And as he's gotten older, he's become very used to being told nursing is all-done, or that he can nurse later. It's never fazed him. And who knows, I may do this very differently based on another baby's needs, but I think it has made weaning Peregrine fairly trauma-free.

He's been pretty set in his ways, though, for the last few months, nursing in the morning, at naps, and at night; and I'd wondered how I was going to help him transition out of those habits. I wasn't in a hurry until I got pregnant, and then it just started hurting so much. So one day, I tried giving him a pacifier at the beginning of his nap routine (I usually give him one after he nurses). He took it, didn't ask to nurse, and never asked again before naps. Then I got sick, and Andrew started getting up with him, so he quit the morning nursing as well. I'm sure my milk supply plummeted then, and I could tell he was no longer interested in the night nursing. Honestly, I kept that one up for myself. I couldn't help but remember all the days (and nights!) of nursing my sweet baby, staring at his face, holding him, letting my body feed his. I think it suddenly hit me that once I stopped, that was it. My baby would grow up, if only a bit more, and growing up is irreversible.

But he was ready, and if my soul clung to my baby, my body was ready to let him go. I have another little one to feed, and that little one needs it more. I gave him the pacifier at night, and he didn't look back. I offered to nurse him the next day, just to try to get rid of some of the milk my body still thought it should be producing, but he spurned me in a very toddler-like way. I never really thought my offer to nurse would ever be met with his little high-pitched "no!". The same "no!" he gives me when I give him food he doesn't want, or ask him if he needs his diaper changed, or, you know, suggest anything that might have been my idea first.

So there he goes. My baby just grew into a toddler. It happens, and it will happen again. My toddler will become a boy. My boy will become a man (terrifying, I know!). And I will always feel the tiny piece of heartache that goes with losing someone I knew, someone I desperately loved. But that's how it's meant to be. He'll grow his wings, one feather at a time. And that's good. It's very good.

But you know what? I don't think I have a single picture of me nursing him. I wish I had at least one. Just as a tangible piece of memory.

The Top Ten Things I Don't Like Doing While Fighting Morning Sickness

Because if I don't have a sense of humor about this, it's much harder to deal with. So here goes:

10. Taking Out The Trash
I avoid this one at all costs, actually. And it's an easy one to avoid. Because I have a fantastic husband. Trash smells disgusting.

9. Breastfeeding
It hurts. A lot. I really wanted to wait to get pregnant until I felt like weaning Peregrine was an option. But I've hated the thought of weaning him cold turkey. Fortunately, he's eased out of nursing really naturally. And now he's stopped completely, on his own. It's bittersweet, it really is. I was ready, he was ready, but still, I'll never nurse him again. And that makes me kind of sad. I've spent hours looking down at his sweet little nursing face.

8. Parenting
I know, this one is kind of non-negotiable. But sometimes I wish so badly I could just check out, not be on all the time. I remember, when I was pregnant with Peregrine, thinking how much worse the morning sickness would be if I had an older kid. It is worse. It's also better, because I know I've been through it before. But still, I would love to just check out sometimes. Here's to Peregrine's godparents' upcoming visit!

7. Tasting My Own Mouth
Tell me, why is so much saliva necessary for growing a baby? The tiredness, I get. The nausea, I get too. The excessive amounts of saliva, not so much. It's absolutely disgusting. And this time around, my mouth tastes like the powdered acidophilus my sister used to feed her rabbits (yes, I tried it, all my sisters did). It's this mild, sickly-sweet taste. I cannot kick it. And up until the day before yesterday, every single thing I put in my mouth made it worse. I tried everything. Then I discovered lemon juice in water. Thank you, lemon juice in water, for being my new best friend.

6. Eating And Staying Hydrated.
When I'm not pregnant, I eat three meals. And if I'm hungry, I wait for the next one. And I'm rarely ever hungry. When I'm pregnant, I have to eat, right when I'm hungry. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure my stomach starts eating itself. It's a terrible feeling. So I just eat, all the time. I hate spending that much time eating. Especially when my stomach decides it doesn't really like being full either.

5. Going To Work
With Peregrine, I would literally sit in the car and cry because I didn't want to go to work. Now, I just grit my teeth and tell myself I'll make it through the day. Maybe because my alternative isn't sitting at home and doing nothing. Actually, once I get to work, it's usually not as bad as I think it will be. But getting ready for work and anticipating it and thinking about all the days I still have to deal with both work and morning sickness...I proposed to Peregrine that we both just hibernate for the next few weeks. He wasn't on board.

4. Changing Poopy Diapers
Yeah, gross. And much, much grosser in cloth diapers, because then I have to wash them in the toilet. I've started using a lot more disposable diapers. But here's the thing. Murphy's Law, beast that it is, dictates that every time I put Peregrine in cloth, he will poop. Even if he's already pooped three blowouts earlier in the day. I'm not kidding. I've tested this theory time and time again. Enough that I think there's something to it. Like maybe, Peregrine actually finds cloth diapers more comfortable for pooping.

3. Getting Out Of Bed
I forget, when I'm sleeping, that I have morning sickness. Then I wake up and I remember. Making myself get up and start the day is really hard. Don't polar bears hibernate throughout their pregnancies?

2. Opening The Fridge
Yes, this is worse than getting out of bed, and usually, it's even worse than changing poopy diapers. I have no idea why. Smelling cooking food, I can handle. Even cooking is not that bad. But opening the fridge and smelling the hodge-podge of food, some of it not so fresh, gets me every time. I've taken to planning exactly what I want out of the fridge, then holding my breath and diving in for it. With Peregrine, I could smell the fridge even when it was closed. From the other room.

1. Getting The Flu
Takes the cake. I don't think I have ever felt so utterly sick in my life. Fortunately, we are all pretty much over it. Except my lingering cough. And honestly, it's put some perspective on what would otherwise be my worst few weeks of morning sickness. At least I don't have the flu anymore.

Unfortunate Events

I'm sick right now. Really, really sick. As in, I haven't felt this awful since possibly my freshman year of college. Plus, I have the grossness of morning sickness to deal with. And I have an also-sick poor little needy toddler who is absolutely done with mommy lying in bed and never doing anything fun.

Family plagues are my absolute least favorite part of parenting. I've said this for awhile, and when I'm well, I always think it can't be that bad. Then I get sick, and Peregrine gets sick, and if I'm horribly unlucky, Andrew gets sick, too, and then I remember--it really is that bad. Maybe I'll change my mind when I have to deal with epic tantrums or teenager problems, but right now, I'll hold my current stance. I hate family plagues.

I got this one in Colorado, where I flew last week with Peregrine (but not Andrew) to attend my grandpa's 90th birthday party. I'm glad I went, and the party was very special, but I could have done without the flu. It didn't help that my mom was sick, too, and we both lay around and gave Peregrine minimal attention. I literally fantasized about going to the hospital. I've never wanted to go to the hospital before, nor wanted to trade my own bed for anything, but the thought of lying there with nurses--lots of them--just taking care of me, and giving me IVs and things so I didn't have to worry about eating--it was wonderful to imagine.

I flew back to Seattle two days ago, and I seriously doubted whether I would make it. I considered postponing my flight, but I wanted my own bed so badly, and most of all, I wanted Andrew. My mom could do some things with Peregrine, but he was away from home, and cranky, and the crankier he got, the more he wanted me and only me. I just couldn't do it. So I flew home. I almost passed out going through security, from the effort it took to hoist my bag (all 5 pounds of it) onto the conveyor belt. Peregrine was squirmy and irritable on the plane, and kept asking to get down. He slept some, but not much, and I just didn't have the patience or the energy to keep him entertained. So I got out a giant bag of goldfish and gave it to him. He ate his weight in goldfish, between episodes of trying to dump the bag out and squish all the crackers for no other reason than to elicit a reaction from me. Then, about a half hour from the ground, he gave this violent heave and started throwing it all up. I saw it coming, and caught it all in his blanket, but it was so gross. My one thought, as mouthful after mouthful of half-digested goldfish came pouring into the blanket in lap, was, thank goodness I'm stopped up and can't smell anything anymore.

Fortunately, I was seated next to a really sweet mom and teenage daughter, who gave me wet wipes for Peregrine's face, helped me seal all his vomity clothes into barf bags, and then held and dressed Peregrine while I put all my stuff back together. I got off the plane without further incident, Andrew picked me up, and I went to bed and left him to deal with all the dirty clothes and blankets and Peregrine's continued vomiting throughout the day. I've been in bed ever since. My sister-in-law, saint that she is, has come and cared for Peregrine. I can't believe how weak and ill I am. I'm so ready to be done.

And I'm scared for the baby. I've spiked some pretty high fevers over the last few days. I've caught them early, and brought them down, but still, it's scary. I'm only 7 1/2 weeks along. That's a little, fragile being I've got inside me. I've been in touch with my Bellingham midwife--I don't have one yet in Seattle--and she didn't seem overly worried. Neither does Dr. Google (for once!). But I can't help but worry a bit. So if you think of me, pray for me and my tiny one. And the not-so-tiny one. And my wonderful husband, who has taken over sick-baby night duty, and is fighting this thing himself. We could all use some extra prayers.