Do I know you?

I decided before I ever got pregnant that I did not want to know the gender before birth. So we spent nine long months waiting to find out if we had a daughter or a son. We also spent nine long months fending off questions about what we thought we were having and what other people thought we were having.

Then of course there was that foggy, hazy moment when I heard a voice say "A girl" and felt a soft, small cheek pressed against mine. Finally, we knew.

But the interesting thing is after three months I feel like I've both known my daughter my whole life and have absolutely no idea who she is. We waited nine months to know the gender. Now we wait to know what color eyes she will have. What color hair. Curly or straight. Where on earth did that red color come from? We wait to find out if she'll be loud or quiet. Will she be happy or serious or determined. Will she be the kind of person that accepts the world or insists things bend to her?

Is she going to like the color pink as much as I do?

And of course there are the unhappy wonderings of whether she has inherited my demons or will she create her own? What will she struggle with? What will be easy for her? What questions will she ask that I won't be able to answer? And will she forgive me for not knowing? For making my own mistakes as a mother?

The other day a friend looked at her and asked who she looked like. I couldn't say. Sometimes she's the spitting image of her Dad. Sometimes it's like I'm looking in the mirror. But often it's like looking at someone who is terribly familiar - but who I've never seen before.

Dress Up

When I was a little girl I played with dolls. A lot. Dolls were my thing. I had three dollhouses and numerous types of dolls. Eventually I had to start making my own porcelain dolls just to feed the habit. I liked dolls.

Now as a mother I can't quite get over the fact that I treat Emily much like my favorite doll. She goes with me where ever I go. I carry her from room to room as I do other things. She fits right in the crook of my arm when it's time for bed. And of course I dress her up. For Halloween she had three different costumes. During normal days she is still subjected to pretty little dresses. Now that the holidays are here and I'm surrounded by frilly, shiny, party dresses. I feel the need to dress her up like a princess all the time. There is no denying she's a beautiful girl, I just feel she should dress pretty too.

Although I have to wonder if I am creating a girly-girl like me or if later in life Emily will wear nothing but baggy skater clothes and baseball caps just to spite me.

Year of the Military Family

I've noticed that most of my blog (and most of my IRL conversations) are about either my daughter or my breasts. These seem to be the two most pressing issues in my life right now. Ironically, in my daughters life the two most pressing issues are also her and my breasts.

It feels an awful lot like I haven't had a thought outside of my own home in a long time. The other day I told my husband I was going to cancel the subscription to the Sunday NYT because honestly I didn't need to bother with all that national news. Who cares.

Except I do care. One thing I really care about is the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" issue. Just this past week Marine commandant General James Amos said it was the wrong time to repeal this policy. His reason: unit cohesion and combat effectiveness would be diminished because "There is nothing more intimate than young men and young women — and when you talk of infantry, we’re talking our young men — laying out, sleeping alongside of one another and sharing death, fear, and loss of brothers."

Somewhere in that quote there seems to be the idea that a gay marine lying next to his battle buddy would somehow put the moves on. That in the midst of the stress, fear, and exhaustion of battle sex would be the only thing going on in a homosexual marines mind. Or a heterosexual marines mind. Seriously?

The fact is there are already gay soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines. They don't have sex in the field, or on the ship, or at work. They do the same thing heterosexual military members do. The only thing they don't do that heterosexual military members do is go home at the end of a long day and enjoy the company of their loved ones.

Because they can't have loved ones.

When it comes to morale, unit cohesion, and combat effectiveness family plays a big part. Knowing that there is someone out there who loves you, and who you love, plays a big part in being able to face the worst of the world. And that is what a lot of our military personnel have to do. Coming home to a wife or husband is a good thing. Having your significant other supporting you is a good thing. Being able to have a family while still serving your country is a good thing. Even the military admits this. 2010 is the year of the military family after all.

Unless you're gay. Don't Ask, Don't Tell means gay service members can't have a significant other. They can't fall in love with someone. They can't date. They can't raise a family with a partner. They don't have that one person to love and support them through thick and thin. When they move to a far away land they can't take their families with them. They don't get families. They have to do the same job, with the same stress, alone. Their support structure outside of the military is severely crippled. And since they have to worry about someone "finding them out" their support structure inside the military is limited too.

Honestly, it isn't about sex. It's about families. If this is really the year of the military family then Don't Ask, Don't Tell needs to go.

Teeth

The other day I woke up with what felt like a golf ball stuffed in my mouth. I was sore and bruised. I looked over to one side and saw my daughter sleeping soundly in the crook of my arm. I was certain that Emily had wonked her head onto my jaw sometime the night before and I was just too tired to notice.

Then the day wore on and I started to drool. Opening my mouth wide enough to eat yogurt hurt. Everything was metallic. My throat hurt. My stomach started to hurt. I was tired and feeling awful. It was awful. That's when I realized my wisdom tooth was pushing up through my gums and trying to make itself known.

Two days later I noticed my daughter chewing on her hands more than normal. Not just sucking, not just signaling for lunch, but chewing. Her shirts were soaked with drool. My shirts were soaked with drool. She was generally more fussy, her tummy aches were worse, and she was just miserable without recourse.

She was teething.

I was teething.

Not that I needed any help, but nature found a way to remind me how miserable and painful it is to get new teeth. I can totally sympathize with my girl when she whimpers. I sorta envy her teething rings. When she's feeling really bad and just needs to snuggle up close and cry I am right there with her. I get it. Teething sucks. I remember what I felt like as a kid. I know what it feels like now. If I needed any help feeling empathy with my growing girl I don't now.

Nature is amazing - and kind of a big meanie head.

Nap! Surprise!

Starting around 3am this morning Emily would not allow herself to be put down. She needed to be held at all times. If she fell asleep it was only for a few minutes before she started to fuss again - whether or not she was in my arms.

So we swept, vacuumed, and cooked together. I had one hand free, the other was being clenched tight by two little fists.

Ironically, when she nursed I was allowed two hands (normally unheard of) and I took the opportunity to try to finish knitting her a toy.

Finally, after 14 hours of almost non-stop cuddling (I did have to change her diaper a few times) I sat down at the computer and browsed as I bounced. She fussed. And fussed. And fussed. Then all of a sudden silence. She was slumped over my arm - fussed to sleep.

Surprise!

In the time it took me to type this one handed she has woken up and is getting ready for round two.

My Other Kid

I've lived with a few men (not all of whom I had an obligation to like) and they have some pretty strange habits and a lot of them are pretty gross. Over the years I've learned to pick my battles about changing them...gym socks on the kitchen table (gentle nudge), re-wearing dirty jeans (ignore), drinking straight from the jug (click of the tongue).

Recently, we had a bunch of house guests so my husband stopped drinking straight from the jug (because sharing germs with the Mother-in-law is pretty gross even to him). But now it's just the three of us so it's back to the old trick. But not when I'm looking. No clicks if I don't catch him.

So how do I know it's happening? The other day I was pouring milk from jug to cup when I noticed chocolate stains on the rim. It was a little like a little kid with chocolate stains on his mouth saying he didn't get into the cookies.

Click...click...click

Everyone is a Mother

Today I got my first unsolicited mothering advice from a stranger.

D has been talking that, since Emily showed up, people who would normally never talk to him have started conversations all about the new baby. It's strange to him. I however went through about six months where strangers would not only strike up conversations but would give me tons of advice on being pregnant. Or worse, they'd tell me their pregnancy or birth horror stories.

However, for six weeks I got through with people just telling me how sweet she is, or how fast time flies. Until today when I realized she was getting a little too fussy to let me stand in the pharmacy line. I took her, still whining and about to cry, to the front of the store to finish buying what was in the basket. I was bouncing the baby, singing silly songs, and trying to pay when a man came up behind me and said "You need to feed her! She's too hungry."

Yes, because a mother who is willing to make a fool of herself doing the chicken dance in the middle of Longs is also the kind of mother who would starve her child.