little black journal

Someone get my girl a cap and gown – she (and I) have made it through her second full month at daycare!  Though I miss being at home with Jules seven days a week, we have settled into our new normal, with its share of ups and downs.

The downs:

Holy germs, batman!  In her first month at daycare, Juliette came down with three colds, one stomach bug, and one nasty ear infection.  You know those commercials where cold and flu germs are played by the green blobby guys with scary bulbous eyes?  Those guys flash before my eyes every time I set Juliette down on her classroom floor in the morning.  It’s not that her classroom is unclean, per se, it’s just that she and her eight little buddies are all in that phase where they explore the world with their mouths, leaving a trail of saliva in their wake as they make their way from one pile of toys to the next.  One kid catches a cold, all kids catch a cold.  I’m clinging to the hope that exposing her to these bugs now will build up her immunity in the long term, so this snot isn’t all for naught.

Giving Juliette my undivided attention is harder than it used to be.  I work Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday and try to leave the office as close to 5:00 as possible on those days so that I can spend a couple of hours with Jules before bedtime.  These limited hours in the office limit the amount of stuff I can accomplish, which means I bring work home with me, firing up the laptop after Jules goes to bed or during her naps on my days “off”.  Boundary-setting is an ongoing battle – even on the weeks I manage to stick to the 30 hours of work I’ve committed to, I still feel like I’ve spent an additional 10-12 hours thinking about work as that nagging to-do list whirls through my head.  “Just put it away” has become my 5:00 mantra.

And dang it, I’m tired these days.  It feels like we’re go-go-going from 6 am on Monday till 8 pm on Wednesday – most Wednesday nights I crash out on the couch around 8:30, totally spent by the baby-work-baby-work cycle.

But it’s not all sickness and stress and fatigue – I promise, there are upsides!

Like, Juliette is rocking the commute.  We were a little nervous about how she’d handle being shuttled back and forth on Lightrail every day, but she’s a champ on the train.  Most days she just hangs out in her stroller and is content to watch people get on and off.  Some days I can’t resist the urge to hold her, so she sits on my lap and we read a book or have a good chat on the way in.  So proud of our urban baby!

The smile on her face when I go visit her at lunch or pick her up at the end of the day is enough to nearly make my heart explode.  I often head over to daycare around noon to hang out for a bit or take her out for a walk along the waterfront – I peek into her classroom and usually find her contentedly hanging out in the bouncer or passing a slobbery toy back and forth with one of her friends.  Then she looks up and sees me and starts excitedly flapping her arms until I scoop her up, at which point she buries her face in my chest, pulls her head back to flash me her best two-toothed grin, and nuzzles me once more.  In those moments, I feel so exceedingly special – I know she enjoys her teachers and the other kids and that bucket full of plastic cars, but I’m mama.  Those extra-bright smiles and extra-close cuddles are mine and mine alone.

Thursdays!  Ohhhh, I love Thursdays, when I get to cuddle with Jules for as long as she’ll let me in the morning, then take her to the bakery for yogurt (hers) and a latte (mine).  Time with her feels like such a treat after three days apart.  We go for long walks and hang out at the park and I try my damnedest not to think about my to-do list and live fully into my most important job.  My favorite job, loving this girl.

I still occasionally wonder if we’re doing the right thing, if our family would be better off if I had decided to stay home with Juliette.  It’s really, really hard, being the architect and the mom and the wife I want to be.  But I like the way all those hats look on me, even stacked a little precariously one on top of the other.  So we’ll just keep swimming.  And savoring those moments when we come up for air and pat ourselves on the back for making it work.

The Mr. and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary on the 20th.  Eight years ago we were honeymooning in Costa Rica, enjoying a chance to sun-soak and snorkel and recharge.  We were looking forward to making a home in our cozy Capitol Hill apartment, thrilled that from there on out, after several years of dating long-distance, there would be no more wishing each other good night over the phone.  It felt like such an enormous gift, getting to go to sleep with Shane by my side.

Eight years and one baby later, I’m dearly cherishing going to sleep, but I’m afraid the “with Shane by my side part” fell off my gratitude radar some time ago.  I get swept up in my roles as architect and mama and orchestrator of all things domestic, and I forget to remember how lucky I am that I get to be Shane’s wife, too.  We enjoyed a little marital reboot on Tuesday as we ventured out of the house sans baby for dinner and drinks at our new favorite Mexican joint.  Jack and La Verne hooked us up with their amazing baby sitter for the evening, and although we spent the short drive to Georgetown anxiously wondering if Juliette was still sleeping, and then wondering what she would do if she woke up crying and a stranger came into her room to soothe her, and then wondering how long the baby sitter would wait to call us if she couldn’t get Jules to stop crying, and then wondering how quickly we could get home from the restaurant if we got the dreaded mayday phone call, once we were seated at our table and sipping our first round of margaritas, we were asking each other why we don’t get out together more often.  We savored our chile verde and chorizo tacos and we focused fully on each other as we checked in and reminisced.  And we came home to find that Juliette had snoozed through the whole thing, crisis-free.  A complete date night success!

Happy anniversary, buhb.  You are a better husband, father, and friend than I could have ever dreamed of.

Happy Mother’s Day!  I spoke to my mom and my grandma on the phone today and longed to be with them so we could share coffee and memories and prayers – I’m blessed to come from a line of bold, faithful, nurturing women.  Virtual hugs were exchanged with Shane’s parents tonight via Facetime and I was reminded of my mother-in-law’s incredible warm-heartedness as she cooed and laughed with Juliette.  The moms in my life have given me so much to live up to.

This is the first year I’m part of the celebrated demographic, and as I read my Facebook well-wishes and ate my French toast and snuggled with Jules, my head reeled with the still-sinking-in reality that I’m a mom.  After all those childhood years I spent changing diapers on my Betsy Wetsy doll, after all those adolescent prayers for my future husband and children (no joke!), after our long and difficult period of infertility, I’m now mama.

I’ve wondered if I have the drive or the skill set to be an architect; I’ve questioned if I’m creative enough to be an artist; I’ve wandered down dimly lit paths of self-doubt as I asked myself what I could or should or want to be.  But from the moment Juliette was placed in my arms, motherhood felt so wonderfully right on me.  Even in the midst of utter exhaustion, heart-wrenching worry, complete vulnerability, I’ve found some of the deepest, truest joy I’ve ever known – loving and caring for that little girl is my best, most fulfilling work.  Even the small stuff buoys me with pride and satisfaction – a fridge well-stocked with freshly puréed baby food, a rocking session and perfect arms-to-crib transfer after an inexplicable fit of 3 am wailing, a blow-out of a diaper after three days of coaxing our constipated baby to please just push it out. Plus the chest nuzzles and the two-toothed smiles and the exciting moments when something new is learned or discovered – this gig is good. I could do without the mountains of sweet-potato-smeared laundry, but other than that, I’m livin’ the dream.

And today was extra-dreamy: a sleep-in and homemade breakfast courtesy of Shane; an afternoon filled with sun, swings, baseball and boba; post-bath giggles as I kissed Juliette’s squishy thighs…I don’t know that Happy Mother’s Day even captures it.

We’ve weathered another big change – week one of daycare is in the books and I am so, so glad to have that initial transition behind us.  Juliette was an absolute rock star and has wowed us with her adaptability.  Shane and I, on the other hand, haven’t exactly been a glowing example of cool, calm, and collected…

As I was working my way through Juliette’s daycare supply list last Sunday, labeling her bottles and packing her bag, Shane sighed a deep sigh of resignation and forlornly gazed at Jules as she happily chomped on her stuffed bunny.  You’d think we were about to send our little girl off to college on the east coast from the look on his face.  “I can’t believe we’re just going to hand her off to a bunch of strangers.  She’s going to freak out.”  Ever the shining optimist, that husband of mine.  But he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t already on my mind.  I mean, really, who were these daycare people?  We’d met them once and we were going to trust them with our daughter all day?  Our daughter, who cries when anyone unfamiliar even stands too close to her?  I faltered for a moment, wondering if I should just call in sick the next day and keep her at home with me.  But that would just be delaying the inevitable.  Ready or not, we had promised ourselves we would give this a go.

We were up extra-early on Monday morning to get ourselves out the door on time, and as I proudly zipped Juliette into her jacket at 7:15 on the dot, I looked up to find a teary-eyed Shane at our side.  Whoa.  I don’t know that I’ve seen him cry since the day we brought Juliette home from the hospital (I, on the other hand, feel like a faucet without an off knob these days).  He took a deep breath and pursed his lips, trying to keep it together but finally letting the tears flow as he murmured about how hard this was, how worried he was about her, how he wasn’t ready to let her go.  I hugged him and did my best to reassure him while spilling a few tears of my own, and then we quickly composed ourselves and headed out the door, stuffing our pockets with Kleenex on the way.  This could get ugly.

We walked into her classroom that morning as another couple was saying goodbye to their infant son.  The mom, who happened to be another architect that I’ve crossed paths with before, sensed our first-day apprehension and kindly assured us, “She’s in good hands here!  This place is the best!”  I looked at her son, who seemed relatively happy in the arms of his teacher.  No head wounds or contagious-looking rashes to speak of.  This might work out, after all.  We sat with Juliette on the floor for a few minutes, surrounding her with toys and making overly enthusiastic statements like “Look how cool this place is!” as our eyes watered and chins quivered.  Eventually, it was time to say our much-dreaded good-byes – I quickly kissed her on the head, ran my fingers through her soft brown hair, told her I loved her.  We barely made it out the door before dissolving into a couple of weeping wrecks.  It’s hard to even put into words how tightly that baby girl holds our vulnerable hearts in her sweet little hands.  And walking away that day, it felt like I was leaving a piece of myself in that classroom.  It was emotional amputation.  And the wound, though invisible, hurt like hell.  I spent the whole morning at work wondering about her, missing her, praying that she’d somehow understand that we hadn’t abandoned her.

I walked/ran the two blocks to daycare at lunchtime, my chest tight with anxiety and excitement as I peered into her classroom.  And wouldn’t you know it, she was fine.  Content, even, as she sat in the lap of one of the teachers.  She smiled when she saw me and it felt unbelievably good to scoop her up and feel her nuzzle into me.  I got the full report and she’d had an ok morning – some tears, but she’d taken a nap and spent plenty of time just sitting back and observing her new environment, eyeing the other babies with lots of curiosity.  She’d taken her bottles on schedule and seemed to be more comfortable with each passing hour.  Ahhhhh, sweet relief!  I played with Juliette for about 15 minutes and then headed back to the office, feeling my anxiety slowly melt away.  Shane picked her up that evening and said she seemed a bit dazed by all the activity and changes, but she was in great spirits when we got home and slept well that night.  We had survived day one!

Tuesday’s drop-off was much less emotional and by Wednesday we were really getting into the swing of things.  I took her out for lunch on Wednesday and we met up with Shane at our favorite Thai restaurant.  It was fun, having a mid-week family date.  Though it seems that Juliette is warming up to her teachers and classmates, it’s pretty clear that papa and I are her all-time favorite companions.

And then it was Thursday, which is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week, chock-full of snuggles and smiles and a trip to the swings.  This letting-go stuff is painful and scary and generally just…sad, but the hanging-on times?  They’re better than ever…

Whew – week one of my new life as architect/mother is in the bag!  And as with all things baby, it’s been a roller coaster.

I dipped pretty low last weekend as my start date drew near – I got super-nostalgic for time gone by, remembering what it felt like to cradle a newborn in my arms with the promise of six months of maternity leave stretched out in front of me.  I thought about all the mornings we woke up and snuggled on the couch together, Juliette looking up at me as I brightly (ok, sleepily) asked “what should we do today?”  All our trips to the mall, lunch dates with friends, long walks at Alki or Jefferson or Madison Park.  All those loooooong afternoons at home together.  My heart ached at the thought of being away from her for nine or ten straight hours.

And then the tears started flowing – a few glistening drops at dinner on Sunday as I watched Juliette happily bang on the table with her measuring cups, and a veritable waterfall when I put her to bed that night.  Tears morphed into stifled sobs as I kissed my sweet, oblivious baby goodbye on Monday morning and headed out the door with Shane’s arm around my shoulders.  I spent the ride on Lightrail drawing watery-eyed deep breaths, trying like heck to compose myself before facing all my coworkers.  And then I walked into the lobby, our office manager gave me a warm “welcome back”, and I dissolved into a blubbering mess.  I mumbled an apology and spent a few minutes in the bathroom, wiping the running mascara from under my eyes and trying to convince myself that my face wasn’t that splotchy, but the moment I stepped back into the office and was greeted by another kind face, gah!  Total waterworks.  I settled into my desk and pretended to look at my phone whenever anyone walked by, so as to avoid any more awkwardly emotional interactions, but damn it if I don’t have my favorite picture of Juliette on my phone’s home screen, and seeing her face threw me back over the edge.  We had an all-office meeting that morning and I hung out in the back of the conference room, cringing when my principal announced my return and everyone clapped and turned to look at me, all red-nosed and puffy-eyed.  Let’s hear it for the falling-apart new mom in the room!

But I eventually managed to pull myself together.  I organized my desk, got up to speed on my project, and poured myself a cup of coffee.  I sat down, opened up Revit for the first time in what felt like ages, and got to work.  Even amidst the hum of a busy office, I was struck with a strange feeling of stillness.  No looking at the clock, trying to guess how long I would have before Juliette’s nap would end.  No wondering when or how I would find the time to do something “productive” in the non-baby sense (because I still maintain that keeping an infant fed, safe, and smiling is some of the most meaningful work I’ve ever done).  This new space in my life for focus, for problem-solving, for adult communication felt good.  Surprisingly so.

That said, 5:00 couldn’t come soon enough.  I actually slipped out the door at 4:45 and nearly broke into a full-on sprint once I got off the train.  I was dying to get my girl in my arms.  And sweet Jesus, it felt good to see her smile when I walked in the door, to scoop her up, bury my nose in her lavender-scented hair, and squeeze her as tightly as her squishy-but fragile little body could handle.  I got the rundown from my mom and was thrilled to hear that they’d made out pretty well.  Juliette’s naps were a little off that day, but they’d enjoyed a nice jaunt to the neighborhood bakery, read some books, eaten well.  Seems Jules had handled day one better than mama!

Tuesday was tear-free (for me, at least – Juliette was a bit of a handful that day) and by Wednesday I was really starting to believe that we’d found our groove.  I burst through the door on Wednesday evening exclaiming, “Baby!  I’m home!  For the next four days!”  But where was her sheer joy?  Her extra-huge smile?  Her big cuddly hug?  Instead I got fussiness, squirminess, discontent  – three days of short naps and some tummy trouble had caught up with Miss Juliette, and she was one unhappy kiddo.  I put her to bed early and then cried into my salad at dinner, worried that this transition was taking a toll on the baby, despite grandma’s expert TLC.  And I was disappointed that our evening greeting hadn’t lived up to my lofty expectations, in which Juliette would be waiting for me with bated breath and reach for me with arms wide open upon seeing my face; I’d pick her up and twirl her in a field full of daffodils and we’d both laugh like we’d never laughed before.  Apparently she’d missed the memo.

But Thursday was a new day.  We took a good walk together, had a fun coffee date, and after a healthy dose of prune juice, Juliette’s bowels were back on track.  She fell asleep in my arms while nursing and I relished the cuddle time like never before.  All was well again.

Shane and I had an appointment on Friday morning to visit Juliette’s daycare so that we could meet her teachers and go through the daily drill.  We spent some time in her new classroom and she sat happily in Shane’s lap as we chatted with her super-friendly teacher.  Her gaggle of soon-to-be buddies crawled and rolled and cruised on by, and she watched them with interest, hardly batting an eyelash when one little boy reached out to tug on her pigtail.  When the director asked us if we wanted to leave Juliette in the classroom for 15 minutes while we went over some paperwork in his office next door, we figured it would be a great little trial run.  And it was great, for about five minutes – I poked my head in and saw her chomping on a new toy, sitting in a Bumbo while a couple of other babies scooted her way.  Making friends already!  And then we heard her start to cry.  And then we heard her wail.  We both pretended like we were listening to the director’s spiel about the center’s nurturing environment, but we were secretly hoping he would just put a sock in it so that we could go save our seriously distressed child.  The second he finished, Shane shot out the door like a rocket and hopped over the baby gate to scoop Jules into his arms.  Juliette’s teacher had certainly done her best to calm her down, but that girl was fired up.  We held her and shushed her and she quieted after a minute, but this did not bode well.  Come March 31st, we won’t be around to swoop in when she cries.  The thought of her wailing like that, looking for us not and knowing where we are, it’s horrible.  It was enough to send Shane into a desperate search on Friday afternoon for available nannies (though I’m not sure that would really make things any easier).  We’ve talked about it some more and are telling ourselves we need to give this daycare thing an honest shot.  It will most certainly be hard at first, but Juliette will eventually come to love her teachers and classmates, and she’ll learn that papa and I will always be there to pick her up at the end of the day.  I mean, she already has a cubby and a crib and a daily report clipboard with her very own name on it.  There’s no turning back now.

And here we are at Sunday night again, after a pretty perfect weekend together.  A very, very small piece of me is ready to get back to the office tomorrow; a bigger piece of me is dreading three straight days away from my little girl.  But Wednesday will be here before I know it, and then it’s all giggles and daffodils.  Right, Jules?

We’ve only made it to church a handful of times since Juliette was born.  The service occurs smack dab in the middle of nap time and it’s often hard to muster up the will to go, knowing that we’ll be late (we are always late getting out the door these days), and then we might end up spending half the sermon walking Juliette in circles around the foyer to keep our tired baby quiet.  But we made it out the door at 8:30 sharp this past Sunday morning, as it was an extra-extra-special day at church.  We gathered with family and friends to dedicate Juliette and five of her buddies into the hands of Christ.  We have had six babies born in our community group over the past 12 months.  More than half these babies were born to couples that walked a long, hard road of infertility.  If I ever catch myself questioning the goodness of God’s timing, I’ll pull up this photo:

There were a number of reasons why it was important to Shane and I that we dedicate Juliette. A big part of it was that we wanted to stand together and celebrate with these other families that have walked alongside us as we’ve dreamed about, cried for, and finally birthed our baby.

But even more deeply, it was important for us to remember and publicly declare that our daughter ultimately belongs to Christ and that we need His guidance, His word, His Church as we navigate our new role as parents.  We leaned on God so heavily throughout our struggle to become pregnant, pleading with Him to bless us with a child.  When I saw that first positive pregnancy test, I fell to my knees and asked Him to protect my fragile heart and grow our budding embryo.  As we walked down the hall toward our first ultrasound, I prayed desperately that we’d see a heartbeat on the monitor.  I lifted little Schnell up to Him at every subsequent appointment, eventually asking Him between contractions for a smooth, safe delivery as we headed to the hospital on September 13th.  And then Juliette was placed in our arms and we were asked to take charge of feeding her, soothing her cries, keeping her safe.  I grabbed the reins in my new role as mama and stopped praying with the same degree of intensity.  Shane and I felt so deep in the trenches, and God wasn’t going to swoop down to deal with a diaper blow-out or bounce her to sleep – those responsibilities fell on our shoulders.  And between the pooping and the crying, we were reveling in the immense joy of parenthood, patting ourselves on the back as we watched our beautiful little girl sleep so sweetly.  God had answered our prayers for a child, and the going was tough at times, but we were figuring it out.  “Thanks, God.  She’s perfect.  We’ll hit you up for a little more help when she starts dating.”

But the reality is that we need Christ in our home every single day.  His work in our family has only begun, and He is to be at the center of our hopes for Juliette, He shall be our guide as we strive to raise our daughter to become kind, compassionate, and brave.  We need Him, she needs Him.

And so we stood in front of our church family on Sunday and promised to give Juliette every opportunity to choose a life of faith; to teach and embody humility, mercy, and justice; to seek support from our church family when we’re feeling overwhelmed or lost.  We pledged to pray for her faithfully and fervently.  As Pastor Eugene laid his hand on her little pig-tailed head, I felt this simultaneous sensation of lightness and weight.  Lightness because we felt so supported, so overwhelmingly loved by our friends and family, so flooded with gratitude and adoration for our girl.  But there was heaviness, too, as I grasped both the responsibility we carry as parents and the fact that even our best efforts won’t yield any guarantees.  We can’t promise her health or safety or happiness.  No matter how tightly we hold her, she is ultimately in God’s hands.  Deep down, I know it’s better this way, but the fiercely protective mother in me wants to lay down a path for her free from pain or danger or sorrow.

I like to think Jules and O have been buds since before they were born…

I was a bit nervous when Eugene offered to hold Juliette, fearing her stranger danger syndrome would kick in, but after one little lip quiver she quietly settled into his arms (although she’s looking a little forlorn in this photo!).

Despite a busy morning and a missed nap, this girl was a rockstar.  That smile!  Still gets me every time.

I’m so glad my parents were there to celebrate with us.

Happy dedication day, Juliette.  You are loved.

In addition to my annual list of resolutions, I like to choose a word to dwell on throughout the year.  Last year I prayed that I would make myself vulnerable to a deep, fervent hope; this year I’m looking outward a little more, feeling called to be more fully present for the people in my life.  I’ve mentioned before how easily I can get sucked into my task list vortex, where the measure of a good day is based more on productivity than on quality time with friends or family.  The arrival of Juliette has clearly brought to light the necessity of recalibrating my priorities, putting my nearest and dearest above my to-do’s.  That baby of ours needs (and deserves) all kinds of attention.  And while she’s not shy about letting me know when she’s hungry or poopy or just wants to be held, what about those other times, when she’s sweetly content to just lay on the floor and suck on her fingers?  Is that my cue to rush downstairs to throw in a load of laundry, then hustle around the kitchen to get dinner ready?  Or is it my cue to pause, to throw a couple of pillows down and lay right next to her, to chat with her and tickle her toes while she coos and babbles?  Some mornings, when she’s especially easy-going, I find myself just shuffling her from room to room as I go about my own routine, propping her up in her chair in the bathroom while I blow-dry my hair, dropping her in her bouncer in the kitchen while I unload the dishwasher and make breakfast, putting her down on her playmat while I eat and check email.  Before I know it, it’s time for her first nap and I’ve entirely missed my morning window for snuggle sessions and playtime.

I threw out the sleep training guidelines the other day and let Juliette nap in my arms after she nursed.  As I laid my hand on her belly and gazed at her peaceful face, rosy-cheeked where she had been nuzzled in the crook of my arm, she grabbed my finger in her chubby little fist and gripped it tight as she slept.  It felt like she was asking me to stay awhile, reminding me that our quiet moments together are precious and so quickly fleeting.  And the time I spend with her, singing silly songs and smothering her with head-to-toe kisses, it matters.  It matters that I’m present for her.  It matters that she knows she’s more important than housework or blog posts or emails.  It matters that I daily speak words of affirmation and positivity over her.  And when she responds to my undivided attention with a happy giggle or an extra-close cuddle, it’s apparent how much those dirty dishes in the sink and those crumbs on the floor really don’t matter.

So I’m being more there for Juliette and she’s flashing me her winning smiles and I’m making good progress on this resolution, but I fear there’s another member of our family that’s a little short on lovin’.  Remember Shane, who used to stand front and center in my weekend updates and my travel posts, who used to by the object of all my gushing?  There was a time when I couldn’t wait to get home to him after a long day at work, to enjoy one of his extra-special bear hugs and dish on the day’s ups and downs.  Don’t get me wrong – I still can’t wait to see him in the evenings (my daily 5:00 “when r u coming home?” text message is evidence of that), but it’s usually so that I can toss the baby in his direction and enjoy a little space to myself, because I am beat.  I’ll take a breather and watch from the sidelines while the two of them play, then summon the last of my reserves for bathtime, bedtime, and dinnertime.  By 8:00, I am physically and emotionally zapped, wanting nothing more than to zone out in my own corner of the couch with my laptop or my knitting while Shane queues up House of Cards.  It’s hardly what you would call “quality time” for the two of us.  So I’m working on digging deeper, asking real questions rather than muttering an obligatory “How was your day?”.  I’m taking him up on his offer when he pushes himself against the back of the couch so that I can stretch out alongside him while we talk or read or watch Parenthood.  I’m reminding myself that although it takes effort, although it goes against my natural inclination to hole up and turn in, the restorative power of intimacy ultimately lands us in a much happier place.

These two have brought me such great, heaping boatloads of joy.  May I be a wife and mom that daily returns the favor.

Shane and I usually use Valentine’s Day as a great excuse to treat ourselves to a fancy dinner, a night out on the town with wine and ultra-rich food and maybe even a bouquet of roses.  Last year I had to pass on the wine, as I was ten weeks pregnant.  This year we had to pass on the fancy meal altogether, as Juliette hasn’t yet learned the art of fine dining.  And at first I told myself I really didn’t care, that Valentine’s Day has become a silly Hallmark holiday anyway, but the truth is that I felt a little pang of disappointment when I realized that we were facing another day of the same old, same old, that I wouldn’t be getting all dressed up or having creme brulee for dessert.  The days of lingering over a two and a half hour meal feel so long gone.  Then again, parenthood has not necessarily relegated us to complete hermit-dom, so we were able to get a little creative, to make the most of the fact that Shane had the day off and celebrate a family-friendly v-day.

We started the morning at Benaroya Hall for the Symphony for Tots program – we were joined by Juliette’s little buddies and loved watching their wide-eyed wonder as the women on stage led them on a “musical safari”.

We stayed close to home that afternoon, lounging about and playing a rousing round of 90’s “name that tune” via Spotify while Jules nestled comfortably into papa’s lap.  First the symphony, then Ace of Base – this kid made great strides in her musical education yesterday!

We were joined by the Rust crew for dinner at Tutta Bella.  It was a far cry from a four-course French meal, but I welcomed the chance to take a break from cooking and catch up with friends.  G and Z (who isn’t pictured below, as he would rather hop in puddles than pose for a photo!) made us a couple of very sweet valentines, and when G asked Shane if we had valentines for them, Shane responded with a very convincing, “Oh no!  We left them at home!”.  G took him at his word, so Shane and I are doing a little crafting this morning to make up for his fib and will be making a special delivery to the Rust boys later today.

After we tucked Jules into bed last night, Shane and I cuddled up on the couch to watch a bit of the Olympics and a movie.  I asked him if he missed the romance, if he thought we had lost that lovin’ feeling.  It had been a fun day, but I couldn’t shake this longing for times past.  Memories of our life before kids flitted through my head as I yawned, looked at the clock, and realized it was only 8 pm.

“Remember the days when we could stay up late on a Friday night, knowing that we could sleep in until 10 am on Saturday if we wanted to?”  

“Remember when we ordered our first bottle of wine at that nice restaurant in Morro Bay on Valentines Day of 2003?”  

“Remember when we used to travel???”

(pause)

“Remember that time earlier tonight when Juliette giggled like crazy as I wiggled and sang?”

Lord knows I’m a sucker for champagne and chocolate and sleep-ins, but damn it if that silly girl doesn’t win every single time.

I went into my office last week to start discussing the terms of my return to work in March.  Our preferred daycare has confirmed that they have an opening for Juliette, and our deposit is due on Friday.  Gaaaaahhhhh!  Where did my maternity leave go?  Is it really ending so soon? The past few months have flown by.  But in that funny trick that time often plays, it also feels like a lifetime ago that my days revolved around work rather than baby.

The question over when (or if) to return to my job has been a tough one.  When we decided last year that a March start date seemed right, Juliette was still just a fuzzy little blob on an ultrasound screen.  Now she’s here and she’s beautiful and fun and knocking-my-socks-off sweet. And she’s still so small, so reliant on me.  I know, many women don’t get anywhere close to six months of leave and I’m so, so thankful that our savings and Shane’s job have given me the opportunity to take this extended time off.  Yet…I want more.  More time with my baby girl.  More morning snuggles and afternoon walks.  More play dates with my mom friends and their little ones.  More goofy, toothless smiles.  Oh, that girl has some wickedly powerful smiles – those smiles had me wondering if it was time to put an indefinite hold on my career.

But damn, it’s complicated, because I’m fickle and non-committal and maybe a little greedy.  Because while I’m loving this time at home, I also want to keep my professional momentum going.  I want to utilize my skills as a designer and experience the sense of accomplishment that comes with a problem solved or a deadline met.  And I know this is pride talking, but I still want to call myself an architect and I still want to bring home a paycheck.

More than anything, I want to do what’s best for Juliette.  Initially I thought nothing could be better for her than unlimited access to mama; I love her like no one else can, I’m her sole source of nourishment, I know which books are her favorites and which songs she likes best before naptime.  But is there more out there for her?  What if she ends up loving the chance to spend some of her days with other babies at daycare, with other grown-ups who will surely come to adore her?  What if a little space from her dad and me allows her to be more confident, more secure, more adaptable?  And long-term, how can I best encourage and motivate her to pursue her dreams?  I received a magazine in the mail last week from a contractor I’ve worked with for several years, and as I flipped through it with Juliette on my lap, we came to a spread on a project I worked on recently.  I pointed to the glossy photos of the shiny new building and exclaimed, “Look, baby!  Look what Mommy made!”, as if I was expecting her to pat me on the back for a job well done.  Clearly, it will be awhile before she’s able to appreciate the merits of sustainable architecture, but someday I hope she’ll be inspired by the fact that her mom has worked very hard to create beautiful buildings in this city that we love.

Am I over-rationalizing, trying too hard to convince myself that my return to work is what’s best for our family?  Probably.  I’m an excellent rationalizer.  But I’m also a pretty good architect, so I’m going to be spending three days a week in the office while Juliette thrives (fingers crossed) in her new daycare environment.  We’ll ride the train in together in the mornings and I’ll go visit her at lunchtime, as she’ll be just a couple of blocks away from me.  And then I’ll go pick her up at the end of the day, and she’ll smile at me as I scoop her into my arms and my heart will just about break with how good it will feel to hold her.  Because I’ll still be mama to this little goofball above all else.

Here goes it – settin’ the bar for 2014:

Read to Juliette every day.  It’s my dream that one day Jules will be a reader like her dad and me, that she’ll appreciate the magic of a good story.  I hope that we’ll spend Sunday afternoons snuggled up on the couch together with our books, that eventually we’ll even share book recommendations and call each other to gab about the great novels we just finished (yeah, I’m flashing waaaay forward here, but it’s a fun thought).  So I’m planting the seed now, and our reading time has become one of the best parts of my day.  Juliette will snuggle into my lap and look at illustrations while I tell her about Clifford the Big Red Dog’s shenanigans, and she’ll help me flip the pages and maybe even smile a little at my exuberant animal sounds.  I am so looking forward to keeping this resolution for several years to come.

Limit all non-essential purchases to things that I truly love.  This applies to clothes, toys, home decor, pretty much anything not on my grocery or Target shopping lists.  Quell the voice inside of me that whispers things like “but it’s such a good deal” or “it will fit eventually” or “no one can have too many boots”.  I’m convinced that we already have an obscene amount of stuff crammed into our closets – there’s no sense in adding to the excess with items I don’t fully appreciate.  To keep myself honest, I’m keeping a log of all my want-but-don’t-need purchases.  It will be interesting to look back on it at the end of the year and evaluate the quality of the stuff I bought.

Limit my time on Facebook (check it no more than once a day).  Since I’ve been on maternity leave, and since I’ve had “idle” hours to pass each day while Juliette nurses, my iPhone has nearly melded into the palm of my hand.  I quickly fell into the following feeding-time routine: get the baby settled, grab my phone, check Facebook, check Instagram, check email, check Feedly, and then maybe check Facebook again, just in case someone posted something new in the past ten minutes.  Some days I caught myself reading the same status updates a dozen times.  That little “f” icon had become the ultimate time-sucking vortex.  I thought about going cold turkey and getting off Facebook completely, but dang, I really do love the little glimpses into the lives of those friends and family that I don’t otherwise hear from, so instead I’m cutting back, checking it only once a day for a quick rundown of the latest posts.  My hope is that I’ll fill my newfound free time with books, with real news stories, with quiet moments where I just shut my eyes and revel in the goodness of this special time with Juliette.

Get back into a regular exercise rhythm (walk/run at least 365 miles this year)*.  Now that Juliette is almost four months old, I don’t believe the “I just had a baby” excuse is legit anymore – it’s time for me to get my butt in gear (and back into those skinny jeans)!  My hope is that I’ll walk or jog at least three times a week, and I’ll be tracking my progress on Runkeeper.

*My new favorite exercise partner.  But is she cheering me on, or laughing at my huffing and puffing?

Let’s do this.