Violet's 1st Year in Photos

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Avoiding Affluenza

The (stupid) economy. It was only a matter of time until we Pierces felt it directly. I have enough friends who have lost work. My brother was laid off in December. Shawn's dad was one of the first casualties a year and a half ago. Now, we are preparing for a drop in income and I am wracking my brain for ways to save the money we do bring in.

Let me qualify this income cut we're taking by saying that, in many ways, I chose it and am looking forward to it. The non-profit I work for, School on Wheels, is trying to cut a significant chunk of change from our budget for the 2009-10 fiscal year and our Executive Director let us know she wanted to do this while avoiding laying off any staff. So, the whole staff was presented with a slew of money saving propositions for us to consider with the hope that enough of us would step up and do something thereby saving every one's jobs. One option was to go from working full-time to part-time. I have wanted to work part-time since Violet was born but was afraid I wouldn't have a job at School on Wheels as a part-time employee. Now that I am actually going to be working part-time, however, I am getting a little anxious about how we are going to make ends meet.

Shawn and I are not rich, not you thought a school teacher and a non-profit manager would be loaded, but important to clarify, nonetheless. So I am going to try to remember, as we go from "not rich" to "getting by" in the next few months, that the things Violet will remember as she gets older are not going to be labels on clothes or how fancy her birthday parties were. If she is like me, she's going to remember feelings and smells, things far less tangible, and, fortunately, things that are free.

My parents, like Shawn and me, were "not rich" for most of my childhood. My Dad worked in ball bearing sales (the glamour!) and my mom stayed at home. They put 3 kids through parochial school. We went on one driving vacation a year, sometimes to Texas to visit family, sometimes to the beach to stay in a condo. We never ate out--I mean, McDonald's was a luxury. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I remember going to a sit-down restaurant. If my Mom's side of the family was visiting we might hit up a casual dining restaurant and even then, we'd do places like The Ground Round. We shopped at the 80's version of Costco, called Cub Foods, and my mom clipped and filed coupons for each trip. I know we did get new clothes from time to time, but I don't really remember big shopping trips to get them.

The things I do remember from being a kid have little to do with what we didn't have and everything to do with all that we did get. I remember getting a nickel to ride the Atlas grocery mechanical horse. I remember Mom buying a candy that was wax tubes filled with colored sugary water and letting us spit the chewed up globs of wax out the windows of the van. What the F were those things, anyway? I remember knowing there had to be a Santa because my parents wouldn't ever buy me all of those toys. I remember the way Mom made banners for Jeff and Andy when their birthdays fell on school days and hung them in the breakfast room so they'd get to have a party before school. I remember Dad making homemade egg rolls. I remember eating cherry turnovers and watching Dallas with all 5 of us. I remember catching lightening bugs with my Dad in the front yard. Summer memories are full of days at the Rivi swimming pool eating sandwiches and Goldfish while Mom laid out on the deck.

Once I got to about junior high, my Mom had finished school and gone back to work and my Dad must have gotten a few promotions because we started to have more. I would ask for a certain pair of shoes and they'd get them for me. We took a vacation in the winter and the summer. We'd go out for Mexican food or order pizza more often. It was subtle enough of a change I didn't even notice it at the time. By the time I graduated from high school, I had grown accustomed to getting a new dress before every dance and a $20 a week allowance. How lucky was I?

But what I need to remember is that is was not always that way in my family and I was none the wiser. In fact, I am probably better off for not having had whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. So, while Shawn and I are going to have to watch every penny, we needn't worry that Violet will know that we're doing it. She is going to remember how we took her to see the chickens--maybe not this trip, but future trips. She'll remember helping me frost cupcakes or getting to stay up late on summer nights playing and sweating with her cousins while the grown ups talk. Violet will remember eating cereal and watching Sesame Street while Scout begs at her feet. I hope Violet will remember snuggling between her Mommy and Daddy, feeling so safe and comfy, and knowing no other way to be.

The Pact

They say that there are no qualifiers to become a parent. There are no exams, no Litmus tests, not even any blood tests required to spread a seed. The thing that is asked of us is that we sign a non-binding agreement with our baby, our child.

Our end, the Mommy and Daddy-end of the bargain is pretty involved. We will be awake on command. We will pick noses when they are crisped over with boogers. We will wipes asses, kiss foreheads, cancel dinner plans when fevers spike, and compromise parts of ourselves for the good of our offspring. We will gaze at baby photos, brag to unsuspecting cashiers, and squirt ibuprofen down a throat if it will cool her forehead. She'll stun us when she walks, propelling that body on her own when it was so grounded mere weeks ago. We'll love the wee thing ferociously, becoming the parent we couldn't imagine we could become before she was ours, and wake up eager to be Mommy and Daddy again today.

Her end of the pact is simply this: Outlive us. Outlive us.

The unspoken first rule for every baby is that she is to go on living long after her parents are gone. She is to be the harbinger of the customs, the sayings, the love of her family, well beyond the day that we die. No matter what else she does, what other joys or griefs she brings to her family, her end of the pact will be upheld so long as she goes on living.

When the pact is broken, hearts break. So when I read the story of this little girl, Madeline Alice Spohr, I wept for her parents. I called home to check on Violet.

I think of her parents during Violet's baths and during her dinner, when she is playing and especially when we go to sleep. I think of the incredible emptiness I felt for months after my Dad died and can only imagine that emptiness mutated and multiplied when a parent loses a child and not the other way around. The unspoken pact, the rule of nature, the DNA that was crafted with all intentions being sent on down the line; all gone in an instant. The ache of it all is too much and I only wish there were some way to give this Mommy and Daddy, and all Mommies and Daddies who have lost a baby, a shred of consolation.

All In The Family

Before I got pregnant, I remember my mother telling me that she would not be waiting around at any given time to have grand kids dumped with her. She had a life. Fast-forward to May 12, 2008. Her tune changed a bit. Grammy couldn't stand to have her only granddaughter in daycare--so she gave up the retired life and volunteered to stay with Violet 4 days a week.

The situation has really been perfect in almost every way. First, who could be better to care for my precious daughter than my own mother. If I had to drop off my tiny 12 week old at a daycare center back in August, I think I would have quit my job after my first day back. Second, the time and work that Grammy has put into Violet over the last 8 months has forged a very special relationship between the two of them. That bond is evident whenever Violet sees her Grammy and I think these formative months Vi has spent in my Mom's arms will keep them linked in a special way forever. Very cool for Violet, especially in this day and age when so many families are spread out across the country and the only time kids see their grandparents is the week between Christmas and New Year's.

It is also pretty cool for my Mom to have such a close tie to her only granddaughter. Our family has had so much loss in the last 2 years with my Granny's death following my Dad's passing by only a year; I think Mom needed a new itty-bitty to remind her of the wonder surrounding the beginning of a person. After holding her husband and mother's hands as they struggled out of this life, I'm sure holding Violet's hand as she huffs and puffs through her first steps as a toddler is a welcome change.

The only problem with relying on only my Mom to watch Violet is that when she's sick, Shawn and I are scrambling to find an alternative baby watcher so we can both make it to work. Barb was down with pneumonia for two weeks this month and Shawn and I were making phone calls to family and friends each evening, trying to patch together a plan for Violet's care for the next day.

Lucky for us, my sister-in-law Aly and my brother Jeff were both in a position to pinch hit and did so frequently during Grammy's illness. Aly has two little guys of her own, Jack age 3, and Charlie, age 9 months, and I suspect she felt some sympathy for Octomom when I repeatedly showed up to add my 11 month old to her already busy household. She grinned and bore it beautifully, however, and actually had me almost believing her when she said 3 babies aren't any more work than 2.

Uncle Jeff, Violet's godfather, also stepped up to the plate to do some babysitting in our time of need. Talk about a crash course in babies, Jeff learned the ins and outs of diapering, the importance of dicing food in chunks smaller than babies' windpipe, and how to socialize with other mommies at Kindermusik all in 2 weeks. Violet learned that ham and bacon together make a delicious meal.

Jen, my BFF, also spent her day off tending Violet. Her 2 and a half year old Avery helped out quite a bit, I understand! Because of the generosity of all these people, Shawn and I were both able to keep our jobs. And it is these people, relation of blood and marriage, people I've chosen to surround myself with and those who were chosen for me, who tie me to Indianapolis and the Midwest. They are the reasons Shawn and I want to bring Violet up here and no where else.

UltraViolet

I read a blog called Her Bad Mother and the author (years ago, it would seem, I am so behind blogolistically speaking) called for others to write about the physical nature of their love for their children. I read some, was enthralled, and couldn't wait to give it a whirl myself.

Before Violet, I always heard moms and grannies talk about how they wanted to "eat a baby up." What a horrible, Rosie O'Donnell-esque turn of phrase it was: "Eat a baby up." It was in the same vein as 'cutie-patootie' -- makes me want to puke. First off, ingesting a baby makes no sense. After carrying one for nine long months, going to all the trouble of getting it out, who would want to put her back in? I didn't understand why holding her, cuddling her, rocking her might not seem like enough. Who are these crazies who can't get enough baby via the typical routes? Who are the loons that want to devour poor little babies?

Turns out, I am a baby-eater. Or at least, I would be, if I could be. I suppose, figuratively, I am one. A baby-eater. I really only have an appetite for my baby, but, I think eating just one baby is all it takes to fall under the heading.

The delight of her skin under my fingers is the most soothing sensation I have ever felt. Now, in late winter, with temperatures still lingering below freezing most nights, I have a terrible urge to let her frolic in only her diaper, just so I can glimpse those wondrous new skin cells in all of their rosy, dimply, glory. But just seeing her skin isn't enough, I need to stroke it; with my fingers, with my lips, pressing my cheek to her round belly.

I feel thankful that we are still nursing; I don't know how I would ever get my fix of hands-on baby time if she didn't have to collapse in my lap and snuggle close to me 5 or 6 times a day. She is such a baby on the move these days: crawling, cruising, chasing her dog, I would never be able to justify pinning her down to squeeze her meaty thigh if she didn't need to nurse. And as basic as her need is for her sustenance, my milk; so basic- so primal really- is my need to hold the tiny girl in my arms. When I curl her to me, Violet's slender fingers will find their way to my mouth, inspecting my teeth, my tongue, gently nipping at my lips, as if she understands the urge I have to gobble her up. She's willing, if only for the moments we are connected, baby to bosom, to let me have a nibble; to enjoy again what is surely going to be a fleeting consumption.

Tentative Symbiosis

The Scout-Violet relationship is growing day by day but still uncertain at best. Violet is a dog enthusiast already, but her enthusiasm does little to quell Scout's baby loathing. Now that Violet is mobile (no, not crawling; but scooting, reversing, butt-pivoting, and toddling with help from a friendly finger), Scout has more to fear. When and if Violet does begin actual forward crawling, I have no doubt it will be the dog that motivates that movement. Her smelly fur is irresistible to the baby and Violet would like nothing more than to suck on her long, hairy tail, oblivious to the fact that it probably grazes every dump Scout takes.

The baby-dog attraction I definitely get. Scout is the best toy in the house; unpredictable and unattainable. What I don't get is why Scout doesn't get the hell out of Violet's way. The dog is way faster on the ground and able to jump up on any piece of furniture in the house. Yet, there she sits, a mere 10 inches from the baby, and then growls and bears her teeth when Violet yanks her furry rear end again and again. She yips but hasn't bitten; so far Shawn and I are always close at hand to scold her. I have even gone as far as to pick Scout up off of the floor where Violet is playing and put her on the sofa. She immediately jumps back down and goes back to laying within a foot of the baby. Go figure.

I would like to think Scout's constant proximity to Violet is related to some primal protective instincts, like that dog that suckled the tiger cubs. But knowing Scout, I think it has far more to do with Violet's burgeoning consumption of human food. Human food, any variety, is ambrosia to Scout. She is consumed by the desire to get her mustachioed under bite around even the smallest morsel of human food. Now that Violet is eating, and doing so messily, I might add, Scout is much more interested in her. Scout sits under her high chair during meals and is right there when we pick her up after eating, cleaning every grain of rice that falls from the baby to the floor within seconds. In many ways, this is nice and eases the burden of cleanup for us parents. But in other ways it is annoying, as Scout rears up and whimpers begging for the leftover baby vittles if we don't immediately wipe out the seat of the high chair.

Forget giving Violet a pretzel or some cheerios to nibble while she plays on the floor. Scout is there like a vulture, gently but persistently weaseling the food out of Vi's hand. And it doesn't help that Violet's eating patterns involve a lot of sucking followed by waving the food around for a while. As soon as she goes to wave her gooey pretzel in Scout's general direction, the dog politely removes it from her hand and devours it with minimal chewing.

I realize Cesar Milan would probably be having a heart attack if he read this. This certainly is not how a pack leader would behave, letting a lower order canine steal food from her pup. And I also realize that it is just a matter of time until Scout crosses the line with Violet and that is something I really don't want to deal with. So if anyone has any suggestions on how to deal with dog-baby relations in the Pierce household, I'm all ears...

Life on the Outside, More Violet than Felicia

Violet passed the 9 month marker this week and celebrated by going shopping at Carter's. Nothing but the finest sweatshop cotton for my little one!

Nine months old means that Vi has passed a milestone of her life and now has spent longer out of utero than in utero. What a host of changes her little life has already seen! For example, on the inside, she did not have to breathe. All that pesky inhaling and exhaling she does now was done for her by me. However, in my belly, she didn't get to eat Snyder's Homestyle Pretzels, her new fave.

But, the more things change, the more they stay the same. In utero, Violet frequently had the hiccups. That didn't change--several times a week she still sounds like an IU student after playing Sink the Bismark at Nick's. While she was in my womb under the pseudonym Felicia, she was covered in vernix, a white cheesy substance that protected her baby skin from the water she was afloat in. This morning she was covered in actual cheese; whipped cream cheese, to be specific, that was on the English muffin she and I shared. During gestation, especially during the last 2 months or so, Felicia did a great job of making me uncomfortable by resting her girth on my bladder. Violet, too, likes to make her mother uncomfortable, but prefers going the route of pinching any of my exposed skin whenever we are nursing testing my conviction never to spank my child.

The biggest thing that I've noticed as Violet turned 9 months this week, is what an unignorable symbol she is of the passage of time. Like marking big red Xs on a calendar, Violet is a human countdown--or, more aptly, a count-up. She changes quickly yet subtly making it hard to tell if she is actually acquiring a new skill or just stumbling along doing baby stuff. Then--POOF--baby stuff was a new skill and she is opening every cupboard door in the house looking through the treasures that lie within. I have always been both fascinated and saddened by the way we perceive time and having Vi around intensifies both of those feelings.