Last Wednesday, November 19, was a notable day for me. Two years ago, this was the official start date of my pregnancy with Rosalind. (It’s true that she wasn’t conceived for another two weeks, but it’s the symbolism that counts here.)
For nineteen years before that date–that’s nineteen years–I was a woman with a predictable cycle and a predictable body. And since that date, I haven’t been. First there was the 42 weeks of pregnancy, that was a roller coaster and a half. And then exclusive breastfeeding for 5 months or so, and continued breastfeeding since then. For two years, my body has not truly been my own; it’s been mine, but also Rosalind’s. When I eat or drink or breathe something questionable, I think of her, not me. These days I feel very normal, I’m no longer constantly prey to the vicissitudes of hormonal changes. But I don’t feel the way I did before pregnancy. Time is measured by Rosalind’s growth and development instead of anything happening in my own body. One day my cycle will come back, at least I assume so. But I think I will always inhabit my body a little differently. These two years of putting it in the service of someone else have made it more my own.
Rosalind and I took great pleasure in walking down to our polling place and voting last Tuesday. I *love* that the first major political event in her lifetime is Barack Obama winning the presidency. For me, it’s Nixon getting impeached, and I believe the debacle influenced the political discourse of my childhood and adolescence–heck, and adulthood too–towards cynicism and laziness. I’m not the only dreamer in this country who hopes that for the next 30 years we’ll all feel more hope for our government, and in return we’ll give it the sacrifice and sincerity it deserves.
Rosalind was only six or seven weeks old for her first Hallowe’en, and I wasn’t doing much of anything besides walking the neighborhood and nursing her in a chair. Still, I couldn’t let October 31st roll by without some attempt at a costume for her. So I went to the craft store and got some swaddling fabric and a bunch of felt, and in five minute increments on the day itself I put together this:
Sweet Rose
It was half held together with safety pins, but it was enough for the photo op and trick-or-treating at one house before she melted down.
This year I was a little more organized. Rosalind couldn’t choose her own costume yet of course, but I figured since we had spent so much time at the farm this summer, and she enjoyed it so much, a scarecrow would be appropriate. Also, that’s easy to put together even with my meager sewing skills.
Rosalind the Scarecrow
I bought the shirt and jeans at the thrift store, and sewed yarn all around the cuffs and neck. It wasn’t hard. The hat was a little more of a challenge; I took something that already fit her (she has gotten a *lot* of sun hats as hand-me-downs), cut it up, and sewed some other material onto it. I created the brim with some fleece inside to make it suitably floppy. I loved the Scarecrow aesthetic where the sloppy work seemed like it was on purpose.
At the last minute I got the idea of a theme costume for myself to wear while I was taking Rosalind out trick-or-treating: a crow, of course. I had a huge long-sleeve black T-shirt I got when I worked at Jobster (“The resume is dead”, anyone?) and a little scissor-work was all that was required for this:
I am not scared of my daughter
We trick-or-treated for twenty minutes or so, and it confused Rosalind to no end that we were outside at night and going to all the houses I usually call her away from when she veers off while we’re walking down the street. She was very shy. And of course she didn’t get to eat any of her candy. What will next year be like?
Rosalind has been saying “Mama” in some form for, I don’t know, since she was born. Or, OK, maybe we first started wondering if it was a word around 9 or 10 months. Anyway, my point is, it has been her only word for a looooong time. A few weeks ago she started experimenting with other verbalizations, starting with random song lyrics and progressing to animal sounds like “moooooo” and “peep peep” (that went along with her bird sign.) But now she is officially talking! And her first real word after “mama” is the same as her first sign after “milk”: “All done!” (Or, “aaaaaaaw-dah!”) I guess she’s a girl who knows her limits.
And now that she has one clear word I am hearing other things that’s she may have been saying for a while, like “up” and “ap” (for apple) and “op” (for help.) She is also doing a fine “da-da-da” along with the sign for daddy. And of course, “hieeeeeeee” and “byeeeeeee” with waving.
Here is some sample dialog from her bath tonight. She started randomly saying hi to me:
I am finally getting caught up with our pictures–at least, all the pictures through mid-September. *sigh* Anyway all the festivites associated with Rosalind’s first birthday are finally online. Here’s one from the big day itself:
The worst toy in the world and a joyful little girl
And here is from her big weekend party:
Bring on the sugar high
Here is a *long* (two minute) video that fully captures the Happy Birthday song, and the fate of that cupcake.
