Somewhere, something, somehow

15 Mar

Hi Sweetness,

I am writing to you from an unfamiliar, hazy place that they call “Working Motherhood.” I don’t know exactly how I got here, where I’m heading or how many hours of sleep I’ll get tonight but here I am.

I started work full-time in January while your daddy went down to part-time and will be going back to school this fall. As much as I feel like Future Ophelia would be interested in hearing the particulars of my day-to-day (ok maybe not) I just can’t go there. I feel as if I have been dragged through everyday, like those kids have wiped the floor with me. There’s a strange new pounding in my right ear, something heavy yet invisible sits on my chest and I haven’t pooped normally for months. You’re welcome for the TMI. I look at my face in the morning and I wonder who the hell I’m looking at. I’ve never looked so tired.

I don’t know what to say to you that is encouraging of someday being a working mother yourself. This feels like hell; the stress, of course, but seeing so little of you too. It feels so unfair to have this astounding and luminous little person in my life that I am only allowed to see for a few short hours at night and on weekends. I thought I’d feel fulfilled, connected to the world, excited for each new day but none of that seems to be true so far. I’ve never felt more isolated and unsure of my path.

The bright spot in all of this is that somehow you are thriving despite all of the tumultuous change in our lives. Your sunny disposition shines bright as ever. Remember those stones I told you that the midwife gave us when you were born? Joy. Serenity. Flexibility. Your blessings continue to follow you. You say the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. You like to add “little bit” to just about everything you say. For instance ” Daddy is a little bit funny” or “I’m a little bit tired”. You have definite opinions on the music we listen to saying to one song “I wuv it!” or another “I don’t like this song” and demanding I change the station. You still think farting is the funniest thing on the face of the earth. You are clearly a Watts. No doubt about things there. The way you say “Hi Mama” can bring me to tears even when I just hear it in my head.

I love you beyond measure, Ophelia. If this time is difficult you don’t show it at all. Thank you for making it easy to do the hardest things I’ve ever done. All I have to do is remind myself that I wake up everyday and go to work for you and suddenly there are no more questions. I just know that I have to strive to be the person my daughter already sees me as.

Love love love,



Ophelia Bedelia

8 Mar

Hello my lovely daughter! While this blog is unlikely to be read by you for some years (unless you happen to be a baby genius. truthfully I wouldn’t be surprised) I am writing it about you, for you. But since all of your family members and a few non-family members would like frequent updates on you they will be able to read it too. I hope that’s ok with you 🙂

You are exactly one month old today. I caught a glimpse of the clock at 6:36pm, the exact time you were born. I looked out the window and thought about how the sky looked that night from the birth tub in our living room. It was the clearest winter day followed by the most beautiful twilight and the sweetest night. I remember every second of it. One of these days I will finally be able to right your birth story. You are a pretty easy going baby for the most part but you don’t like to be put down very often. That’s okay, I love holding you oh so much. But one of these days I’ll have both the space in mind and in hand to be able to recall that amazing day.

Here are a few highlights of the last few weeks:

Our first decent picture together. And when I say decent I mean clothed.

You were born on Wednesday, February 8, 2012 which coincidentally happens to be your “Aunt” Kalli’s birthday. Those few hours after you were born I remember lying together with you and your dad in our bed while everyone else bussled about outside our room. Your papa and I just beamed at you and he kept saying how he couldn’t believe how perfect you were and counting your fingers and toes. The midwives came in to ask if we had given you a name and when we told them we were naming you Ophelia they both smiled and agreed that it suited you perfectly.

Your dad has this way he looks at you, sort of a cross between pride and wonder. When he holds you you often just stare up at him. You don’t do this with anyone else, not even with me. My theory is that since he used to talk to my belly so often his voice is the one you recognize the most. Sometimes when you start crying all he has to do is come over and give you a few kisses on the head and you settle back down immediately. He certainly has the touch.

Ashlin and Matt came to visit

Lots of people came to visit you in the first few weeks after you were born. My cousin Ashlin who lives in San Diego was up visiting her boyfriend Matt in San Francisco so they came to see you! They brought us a delicious lunch and a special stuffed cold virus. I think I need to put a picture up for you to get the concept.

And of course Granny Mimi and Grandpa Phil.

I’m getting pretty tired and you’re finally asleep so I might actually be able to eat some dinner. I post much more tomorrow but before I go here are 5 things I never want to forget about you at this age:

1) The silly noises you make. Sometimes you sound just like a puppy. Sometimes you’re all squeeks. Other times I could swear you giggle.

2) Nursing you. I love stroking your hair and watching you eat. You’re so serious about it as if there are lives in the hanging. Nursing always puts you right you sleep. You’re not the cleanest eater. There’s usually a dribble of milk running down your chin after you’re done, passed out in my arms.

3) Your startle reflex. It always cracks me up seeing you throw your hands up in the “caught me red-handed” pose. I try not to think about how quickly something so minor like this that seems so permanent will be gone in a matter of months. You’re already growing up.

4) The way you look at me with complete trust. It always feels like you’re saying to me “I know you’ll always take care of me.” Of course I will, but damn that kind of trust is a lot of pressure.

5) How alert and crazy you are in the morning. When you wake up, boy, do you wake up! When your dad and I are trying to get a few more minutes of sleep you are always squawking and waving your arms around. It’s impossible to sleep but if I have to get up it’s surely the sweetest thing to awaken me 🙂

Love always,