Little Steps

I love holidays. Always have.

That's part of what makes winter so bearable -- you go from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year's to Valentine's Day to St. Patrick's Day to Easter to Memorial Day. Each one gives you a theme to decorate with and most give you something joyous for which you can look forward.

This Christmas I'm behind. I'm behind on my decorating and I'm behind on my shopping. Usually I'm right on the decorations the day after Thanksgiving and by Thanksgiving weekend I've made a big dent in my shopping. This year I just put ornaments on the tree last night and put a few other decorations up, and I don't think I'm even halfway done with my shopping.

But, on the other hand, I feel more festive than ever before. I'm so excited about Christmas and it's because of Autumn. For the first time ever, I put up lights outside of my house and I helped a coworker decorate our department at work. At home, I placed certain nonbreakable ornaments on the tree in places where Autumn could see them and be excited. I know she loves Mickey, so it's within her reach. I love turning on the tree lights or the lights in the window for her and hear her say "lights!" At Halloween, she'd ask us to turn on the orange lights if we didn't have them on already.

I can't wait to fill her stocking (even if I haven't bought anything to fill it with yet) or bring her to the office kids' Christmas party. I want to see her on Christmas morning and I want to see her all the other days. I want to bake cookies and let her help me decorate them. And, although I must be insane, I want to sit down and eat those cookies with her, frosting and all, while sipping milk. I want to share Christmas carols with her. I want to watch her rip open wrapping paper that her grandmas carefully put on the presents. I want to take lots of pictures.

I just feel so much more into the holiday this year, even if there's not a whole lot, outwardly at least, that I'm doing different from any other year. But this year I have a different purpose: I'm doing it all for Autumn.

The snowsuit we bought for Autumn last year hangs in her closet with its tags still on. Last year's boots: same condition and location.

Last winter, we had grand plans for everyone to gather and go sledriding on a hill near our house. We'd all sip cocoa afterward. I even asked for snowpants for myself at Christmas and bought a sled thinking that in this region, there was no way we'd not use it.

I was wrong. It seemed that every time it snowed last year, it was a weekday. By the time the weekend came, the snow melted. On the rare weekends it stuck around, we had things going on.

So we never played in the snow last year. No snowmen. No sledrides. No snow angels.

But this year looks promising so far. We've got snow forecast for the next few days. Autumn wore her boots to school today and I took her snowpants in to school as well, just in case it gets above freezing and they go outside to play. And if it doesn't, maybe this weekend the snow will stick around long enough for us to build a snowman or ride a sled, even if it's just around the yard.

You might wonder why I'm rooting for some nice snow to cover the grass. With such a big chunk of the year around here being winter weather, we have to take the opportunity to get outside and enjoy it. And there's no fun in playing in slush or on cold, cold, wet grass. So I say let it snow!

Up until Saturday, I thought we might escape the big Santa fear this year. Autumn happily waved at a Santa outside the Chautauqua Mall after Thanksgiving. She seemed enthralled with Santa decorations at our house and in stores. And all morning on Saturday, before we came down to the kids' Christmas party at work, she seemed excited to meet the big guy.

But when it was actually time to go meet him, she stood 10 feet away and just stared. It took a lot of coaxing for her to sit on my lap on the floor next to Santa.

I recall my nephew -- at perhaps 2 years old and just learning his pronouns -- telling my sister, "No see Santa. She's too big."

And I can understand their trepidation. As a child, I never wanted to sit on Santa's lap. Santa at the mall looked intimidating because, even if he is Santa, he's still a strange man. I much preferred just to mail him a letter than to sit on his lap and tell him what I wanted. Especially if he was a substitute Santa with an obviously fake beard. So I'll never be forcing Autumn to sit on his lap if she's a little wary.

Even on Saturday night while we shopped at the Millcreek Mall, we looked at the Santa there. Well, Keith and I looked and asked Autumn if she wanted to wave, but she said "No Santa." And that Santa was fabulous -- he could have been the real deal, straight down from the North Pole.

So this year, Santa is good in concept, but bad in real life. We'll just have to wait to see what next year brings.

Yesterday was another drive to Pittsburgh for my Dad's leg. Things are looking good and he's improving, so that's a good sign!

As we drove, and waited for tests to be done, my Mom and I talked a bit about some holiday memories. You see, yesterday was St. Nicholas Day, and on Tuesday night Keith, Autumn and I laid our shoes in front of the fireplace for St. Nicholas. Yesterday morning we took Autumn to the shoes to show her St. Nicholas had left a present for each of us in our shoes (or behind them for her coloring book and my magazine).

I wasn't that familiar to this holiday until a few years ago, a coworker helped St. Nicholas come to our department, filling small-child shoes with treats. If you want to read more about St. Nicholas Day, you can check out the Kids Domain site here.

As Mom and I were talking about this, she mentioned growing up she and her siblings always received a gift on New Year's Day from the New Year Baby. Often, it was a special cup, bowl or dish that they'd each receive. She said it wasn't anything big and definitely not expensive, since she's one of 11 kids, but it was a special treat and something she still remembers fondly.

During the holiday season it's so easy to make memories. Now that Keith and I have a child, it's our turn to take over from our parents as the memory makers. We have the chance to do something now that our daughter will still be talking about when she's 70.

So you'll have to forgive me for the homemade advent calendar and for St. Nicholas Day. For hanging lights outside the house and putting her favorite ornaments on the tree, just at her height. I've hung the stockings on the mantel and soon I'll be baking Christmas cookies. And all through it, my little shadow's at my side, helping out and making memories.

As we're all quite aware, this is the time of year when we're in full gift-buying mode. I've been trying to make sure the gifts Autumn gives her grandparents at Christmas (and Mother's/Father's days) are gifts that are really from her.

The first Christmas, Autumn gave each set of grandparents a picture of her in a Santa outfit in a nice silver frame.

Last Christmas I took her to Claytopia, a place where you can paint your own pottery. They have the plain, white bisqueware. You paint it, they glaze and fire it. We put her handprints on white tiles, then drilled a hole in the tiles and put a ribbon through them so they could be hung on the tree.

For Mother's Day, Autumn gave her grandmas little scrapbooks full of pictures from her first year. For Father's Day, my Dad received a deck of cards with her picture on each card. Keith's Dad received a mug that had a picture of him walking with Keith and Autumn on it.

This Christmas, I have one little thing so far for each set. I'm not sure if that's going to be it or if some other great idea will pop into my head. It's tough to come up with ideas when your child is too young to really MAKE something herself. But we'll see.

I'm open for suggestions...

Many women can tell you they feel a little pull toward babies. Maybe men do too, but if they do they're more secretive about it. As women, though, we see babies and we want them. We want to cuddle them, hug them, care for them and, perhaps, even give birth to them.

All that work that comes with caring for a baby quickly flies out of our minds. All we think about is the little cooing noise they make, the way they always smell so good, how sweet and innocent their little faces are, especially in sleep, and how their tiny little smiles can brighten any room.

Over the weekend I uploaded all of our videos of Autumn to our computer so I can burn them onto DVDs. Autumn is absolutely fascinated with these videos and can happily sit on my lap and watch herself. We spent a lot of time watching an 8-month-old Autumn try to figure out how to crawl. We watched 8-month-old Autumn wave while playing with Daddy. And I felt that tug to hold a little, helpless baby again. Then I felt guilty, because I love 2-year-old Autumn so very much. And she's so much fun because she talks and she interacts so much. I can take her to things and watch her truly take notice of her surroundings. She's an absolute joy (although I could have done without yesterday's temper tantrum in the middle of the mall concourse).

Then yesterday morning I received an e-mail from my sister. Attached to the e-mail was a picture of a beautiful baby girl. Hopefully, after some more paperwork and a few Guatemalan legal procedures, this baby will be my new niece in a few months. And I'll have to go visit this adorable baby girl, and pick her up and cuddle with her. Of course, Autumn will want to be right there, touching the baby, too, and that's just as it should be.

And maybe it won't just be my urge that's satisfied. My Dad will have another little granddaughter and he can hold off on asking me when grandchild number 10 will arrive because he'll have her. Last night I told Keith my Dad would be happiest if all six of his kids had six kids. I hate to tell him, though, that even with all the baby urges, eventually some practicality will seep in, too.

It seems the time has come for Autumn to visit the salon. I don't want her little hair cut, per se, but she's starting to look a little ragged. And her bangs are starting to hang in her eyes. She needs a nice, little, neat trim.

So I asked around. One coworker recommended the place where she gets her hair done. She's taken her daughter there and all has worked pretty well. Another former coworker took his children to a place where they'd pop in a video for the child to watch while the stylist cut their hair. So we'll see.

I don't know how this will work. I can't get her to sit still to comb her hair or to put pigtails in, so I can't imagine how someone will be able to cut her hair evenly.

We'll see. But something needs done soon...

Children certainly have their ways of trying to get their own way. Sometimes it's crying or yelling. Or lying on the floor. Or even the occasional pick-something-up-and-throw-it moment. Autumn will try any of these, and also will sit down right where she is.

She's done this in stores or in the mall, which, although not ideal, doesn't bother me that much. I'm content to let her sit for a bit until she calms down and wants to cooperate. But yesterday was a different story.

We left a Giant Eagle after stopping to pick up Pediacare. After all, this is one of the few places I can still get Pediacare, even if I have to sign away my entire life for one little bottle. When we went to leave the store, she wanted to walk. But she didn't want to hold my hand. Needless to say, on a dark, cold evening with extra holiday shoppers and cars going this way and that in the parking lot, holding my hand was not negotiable.

So right in the middle of two lanes of traffic, immediately in front of the store, Autumn promptly sad down on the pavement. Thankfully, the snow has melted so she didn't sit in a wet pile, but, as I told her, this was not safe, there were lots of cars around and if she couldn't hold Mommy's hand, Mommy would have to carry her.

Most times she so very good, but when she doesn't want to do something, she lets her thoughts be known. It's at these times when I just need to be stronger. I'm sure this phrase will come out of my mouth more than once as she continues to grow, but it really is for her own good.

Back around Columbus Day, while shopping with my mother and Autumn, I ran into my midwife at Target. We were getting a jump on our shopping. My midwife said hers was all done and all wrapped. She's not the only one.

Despite spending nearly a week in Pittsburgh because of my father's surgery and going down there for another week's worth of appointments, my mother's pretty much done with her shopping. And she's wrapped.

My sister has been filling out adoption paperwork, gathering recommendations and driving all over the place getting fingerprinted. She's probably emotionally exhausted. But her Christmas shopping is all done. It's also all wrapped. I thought this was pretty amazing until she told me the other day that she was all done with her holiday baking, too. She made two of our family's favorite cookies, plus made cutouts and invited her goddaughters over to help decorate.

My mom's been baking, too. For all I know, my midwife has racks of gourmet-looking cookies boxed up, too.

As for me -- I used the very last of my time off yesterday and today. I'm 95 percent done with shopping, but I haven't wrapped a thing. And with two dozen people to buy for (plus a few things for stockings), I'm just glad I've got the shopping almost done.

Today my goal is to wrap. And to bake. Last night I made up some cookie dough for sugar cookies. Today I plan to roll it out and bake them. Tomorrow, Autumn and I can decorate together after we do Breakfast with Santa.

This is the grand plan, but knowing how things usually go, I doubt my plans will go as planned. I guess you'll have to wait and see!

It seems my outgoing little girl, who says hi and bye to everyone, turns into a shy one when there's a crowd. At least that's the way it appears to me.

We have evidence: At her birthday when everyone crowded around to sing to her, she cried. She did the same thing at her Grandma Liccardi's birthday. At our office kids' Christmas party she didn't care for the crafts in rooms crowded with kids.

And at Breakfast with Santa this weekend, all was good for quite some time. But after breakfast when all the kids gathered around for a puppet show and some dancing, our little dancing girl refused to leave my lap. When the crowd broke up into three different areas and no big group was around, she heard some Christmas music and started dancing in the middle of the floor.

This may be one way she takes after me... I'm not a fan of crowds full of strangers either. I like a big group of family or close friends, but the unknown makes me uncomfortable.

A while back in the paper, we printed an article on babymoons. Now I see them mentioned again in the January 2007 issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. Essentially, a babymoon is a trip you take as a last hurrah before the baby's born. I'm not sure if this is a phenom for new parents or if parents preparing for their second, third or more child take one, too.

We accidentally took a babymoon. We didn't plan on having a baby so soon after marriage, so we had simply been planning on a trip for our first wedding anniversary. Once I became pregnant, less than a year after our wedding, one of the first questions Keith asked our midwife was if we'd still be able to go to Hawaii for our anniversary. We had friends living there and wanted to go visit. She said if my pregnancy progressed normally, there shouldn't be a problem.

So, in my seventh month of my pregnancy with Autumn, Keith and I hopped on a plan and headed out. Granted, it was a LONG flight and I followed all the plans of pumping my ankles, drinking lots of water and walking to the bathroom so I wouldn't develop a blood clot. My midwife sent a copy of my medical records with me just in case. Once we got there, I drank lots of water. And this was good because the doctor friends we were staying with mentioned they saw many women thinking they were in early labor because of Braxton Hicks "contractions," which they said could be caused by dehydration.

We had a wonderful time and scheduled time to sit on the beach and relax. I always loaded up on sunscreen and took an umbrella to sit under. We had no problems, even when hiking up a dormant volcano. It was all about taking our time and not trying to push me (and by growing belly) too hard.

The most important thing to me, especially since we were having Autumn so soon, was that Keith and I had an extra chance to get away and enjoy one another's company and to help our relationship grow before our baby arrived.

We all know that once a baby is born, there's a lot of tired days and nights and a ton of work to be done. That's not to say it's not all worth it, but it's also worth taking some time to pamper yourself and your relationship with your spouse before that work begins.

It used to be I'd secretly curse at the people who left their carts in parking lots. They'd force me to abandon a perfectly good parking spot or get out of my car to move the cart before pulling in to park.

And I'm sure there were just some plain, lazy people out there. But maybe there were people like me -- parents shopping with their kids.

I must admit that earlier this week I left my Wal-Mart cart in the parking lot and not in a cart corral or walked back to the store. It was the first time so long that has happened with me. Usually I try to park quite close to the shopping corrals. At Wegmans, if I have to park far away from either the corrals or the store, or the weather's too nasty, I ask for the drive-up service.

For a parent who often stops at the store alone with her child, there is no better thing than drive-up service. I've often been burned by thinking I don't need it only to find myself pushing a full cart of groceries with one hand and trying to hold a wiggling toddler in the other arm. It's not fun. So I've learned that unless things are going super well, drive-up is the way to go.

They take your cart. You take your child and a ticket number. You get your car, pull up in front of the store and present your ticket. The Helping Hands people will put your groceries in your car for you. I often get out to assist, and often think they should be tipped, but Wegmans doesn't allow that.

As for why I left my Wal-Mart cart in the lot, I was at the opposite end of the parking lot from the store. The cart corrals were WAY up toward the store (and there's only one pair, not two, in an aisle), it was cold and my little girl was fussy. So she was put in the car first and there was no way I was leaving her alone in the car, even if it was locked, while I walked halfway across the parking lot to return my cart. It just wasn't that important.

So while I still curse the lazy people out there, I find I must now think that some of those carts probably just belonged to parents who wanted to make sure their child was warm and safe.

Yesterday I had to unexpectedly stay home from work. Autumn and I came in to the office and grabbed some files for me to work on at home, but still, it was not a good time for me to be off.

But such is the life of parenting.

And all of it because (and I apologize in advance, but if you spend much time around kids, you should be used to it) of her butt. She got sent home the day before for some nasty action down there and until she had a nice, normal poop again she couldn't go back to school. We waited all day yesterday and nothing happened -- until 5 p.m. when I'd normally be leaving work anyway.

As I've explained details of Autumn's diaper contents to family and to coworkers over the last 48 hours, I've realized this isn't the first time when there's been a great deal of talk about her poop and I'm sure it won't be the last.

Recently, we proudly told people she pooped in the potty for the first time. Then we told them when she did it for the second time. This was big news in our lives, sad as that may sound.

When Autumn was a newborn, the lactation nurse called from the hospital and asked me how many time she wet her diaper and how many BMs she had in a 24-hour period. Unfortunately for them, I was pretty tired and could barely remember what was in the most recent diaper, let alone what was in there for each diaper during the whole previous day. Apparently the diaper contents served as a good indicator for how well she was eating. Imagine that.

And now I realize that if I save these blog entries and show them to Autumn in the far-away future, she's going to be so embarrassed that I just blogged about her poop.

It only makes sense that abnormal things happen to a woman's body in the whole realm of pregnancy. After all, a normal uterus must expand to gigantic proportions. This causes everything inside the body, from the stomach to the bladder to the intestines, to be squished into pancake-shaped dimensions. More strain is put on the back. The hips widen. The relaxin causes all things down yonder to go slack, allowing the hips to widen. Our breasts enlarge, producing colostrum and then breastmilk. Hormones make you feel sick, sad, or, blessedly happy. Maybe all once. Then, if there’s labor, Mom’s vagina dilates to a 10-centimeter opening and effaces to 100 percent (which I must assume it very, very thin). If the child’s birth is vaginal, you must presume that the vaginal opening is then stretched even more. Then after birth, bunches of your hair falls out.

That’s a lot of change. No wonder it takes our bodies so long to return to “normal” shape. They say it takes at least six weeks for basic changes to occur, such as size of uterus and other odd factors. But, let’s face it, it really takes longer than that, especially if you gain a lot of weight during pregnancy. I was fortunate and only gained about 35 pounds. Since 9 pounds of that was baby and an extraordinary amount was fluid, I wasn’t in bad shape that way.

But still, my stomach is a little more jello-y than I’d like it to be and my pelvis is incredibly out of whack. And I had Autumn a little over 2 years ago. I suppose I should exercise, but, really, I’m a working mother of a toddler. It’s not happening.

In the meantime, I suppose I should embrace my body (even if I don’t fully embrace the stretch marks sitting just above my pantyline). After all, it did give me a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

For all you kids, from 1 to 92, Merry Christmas to you!

Last year while shopping at Old Navy, we spotted a shirt on clearance. It said: "Who needs Santa when you have Grandma?" We bought it and put it away for this year. She wore it on Saturday for Christmas caroling at Grandma and Grandpa Liccardi's house.

After this past weekend, we've found that shirt to be true, but it's not just Grandma at fault, even though she's a big cause of the excess. It started with Saturday's Christmas carols. That night, a friend of the family brought Autumn a gift. Then for Christmas Eve, during the big extended family gathering, Autumn came away with more toys and a book or two. And then yesterday happened. Grandma and Grandpa were unleashed. Let's just say we were lucky to get everything in the car.

Santa must have had an inkling that this would happen, because the gifts at our house were much more restrained... other than her stocking, Autumn had one little toy, one big toy, some clothes and a nice, big ducky bath towel.

But the thing is, this coming Friday we go to my parents' house to celebrate with that Grandma and Grandpa, plus my five siblings and their families.

I have a feeling we're going to need to do some major closet organizing next week...

Forget the 5-econd rule. For kids, it could be the 5-day rule or the 5-year rule. They just don't care.

You could stick a nice, juicy steak in front of my daughter and she wouldn't eat it right now. But let her find a day-old Cheerio in her carseat or a Teddy Graham the vacuum missed, and she'll happily pick it up and pop it in her mouth. I'm rarely fast enough to stop her.

And the thing is, she never was a big one for putting things in her mouth. She didn't chew on toys or gnaw her hands a lot. She didn't pick up anything sitting around and chew. But her food is a different story. She's been a good eater since we figured out how to breastfeed, and once she discovered rice cereal and other baby foods, she was quite happy to shove those in as well.

I'm happy to give her these cereals or crackers as snacks. I don't even flinch when she picks up food she threw on the floor and then eats it after we let her down from her highchair, before Daddy grabs the vacuum. I know what's been on MY floor. It's just pretty gross when you talk about eating a stale piece of cereal that's been hiding under a toddler's rear, in a carseat, for a day or two. Or, heaven forbid, in a parking lot or a store. Gross.

It's hard to find a good doctor. I hear so many gripes from people who haven't found a pediatrician or a good family doctor for either their kids or themselves. That's an awful position to be in...

For the most part, I've been lucky with physicians. Growing up, I had a wonderful doctor. She and her husband had been our whole family's physicians for years. Her husband delivered all of my siblings (They were on vacation when I was born). Then they retired. Fortunately, we found another wonderful man who still takes care of my Mom (and my Dad when he doesn't go to the VA).

Then I left home. Then I found myself on the wrong end of the physician search while working at my first "career" job out in Ohio. He was OK, but his office's lack of communication caused me some great difficulty with a very large bill. Then I came back here. I found a doctor, but she was affiliated with a different hospital than the one where Keith worked. Then she moved to another practice anyway.

So, as I was pregnant with Autumn, I found myself on the doctor search again. This time I needed a doctor for my unborn baby, too. We (fortunately) have a wonderful midwife, who I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. She also performs my regular exams and tests. But I still needed a doctor for after the baby was born.

I know so many people wouldn't do anything but have a pediatrician for their baby, but I found myself with a list of the hospital's family physicians. One of the offices is walking distance from my house. So we called and they were accepting new patients, including infants. And we lucked out again... Our doctor, who now treats all of us, is wonderful. I feel like he talks to me and he listens to me. He knows all three of us and he and his staff remember us between visits. Most importantly, I feel like a person there, not just a patient.

I understand why people want their child seen by a pediatrician. Many feel the pediatrician is going to be more attuned to their child's requirements since children are their only patients. But there's also something to be said for a doctor who can also follow your entire family and know you all as individuals as well as in your role as mother, father, spouse or child.

People talk all the time about how things change after children. Mostly they talk about a change in sleep pattern, change in priorities, change in body. I'm guilty, I've done it.

But what we often forget is the one thing that really, truly suffers after childbirth, especially in these cold, winter months: our hands.

I feel as though my hands are rapidly aging. They don't feel as soft or look as smooth. Instead, they are dry, cracking and have these lovely little red patches in the really dry areas. Of course, this happens when you end up washing your hands what seems like 50,000 times a day. Plus, Autumn has taken a liking to my gloves and she'll take them and wear them on her hands, leaving mine vulnerable to winter weather, even though she has her own mittens in her pockets.

When Autumn was quite small, it was worse. I'd wash my hands after every diaper. They'd be washed before nursing, while I prepared dinner and after I used the restroom myself. Then if I had to wash her bottles or my breastpump supplies after pumping three times each workday.

So you'll have to forgive me if my hands are more scaly than an iguana's backside.

I've tried to fix this by buying some wonderful "spa" lotion at Bath and Body Works. The lotions are great -- one with shea butter and one with paraffin. But the problem is shortly after I lather up, I find myself needing to wash my hands again, and I have to start over again.