I was wondering what I should blog about today. Then I remembered-- doh!-- Josie is turning 7 today at 9-something pm. I'd like to make this post into something better than it is but I'm tired and scatterbrained.
Josie. My miserable baby, my wonderful girl.
We tried the longest to conceive her: three months of exhausting TTC sex. Actively trying hard to conceive is not as much fun as you might think.
We were in Ontario for Christmas (first and last time we will ever fly out there for anything other than weddings or funerals and even that is iffy). I had taken so many pregnancy tests but they were all negative. Still, I just knew I was pregnant. The morning I woke up with a metallic taste in my mouth, I asked my uncle to pick up a pregnancy test for me. I was actually kind of shocked that it was positive! On the 47th day of my cycle. 47 is an Alias number. It must have been meant to be.
I knew she'd be a girl. Jude would put a stuffed teddy bear called "Josie Bear" between us in bed so that we could "get used to having a baby in bed with us again", even before she was conceived. I loved sleeping with my newborns in bed. It was the only way I could sleep for many months.
When I was worried about the co-ordination of Jude's vacation and Josie's birth, my doula and friend Johanna told me to pick the day I wanted her to be born. I focused on August 25th because it was a Saturday. That morning at around 5am contractions started. (Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into a long birth story.) She was our first home birth, born in our living room in a pool of water after 9 at night. Jude and Montana went to bed while I was left up exhausted with a baby who was making it clear from the get go that she was not like Montana. This was going to be miserable and it was going to be now. She cried for no reason that night many times. "Crap," I thought. "What did get myself into?"
Indeed, the first few months of her life, the only way for me to get her to sleep long enough that I could pee or make lunch for 20-month old Montana without her screaming (and I could not bear to let my babies scream) was to put her in a sling and walk around the house FAST for up to... SIX HOURS. It was so depressing. Hard on Montana and that's when I started letting my little kids watch tv. Someone needed to occupy Montana while I was caring for inconsolable Josie. Logically I knew she would grow up. But the days were so long.
I didn't love her at first.
Not in that crazy, passionate maternal way I did with Montana. It didn't help that she was kind of weird looking once she hit 4 weeks: a big head full of spiky, boyish black hair (never lost it, never went lighter) and baby acne. She was 7 weeks old before I loved her. I tried and tried up til that point but nothing happened. I remember I was holding her while looking out our front window. I closed my eyes and prayed to the Lord that I would feel that love for her that I needed. Even before my prayer was finished, I felt my heart flood with that maternal feeling. And it stayed.
She did not eat solid food until she was 15-months old, other than the rare morsel of chicken, turkey or avocado. Otherwise, it was breast milk all the time. Think on that the next time you're feeling tired!
Because she was born with so much hair, she had a thick, lovely little bob by the time she was 1. Her brother got a hold of some Crayola scissors and, plying her with cherry tomatoes which she bit and spit out everywhere, got Josie to sit still while he played barber shop. She was 14-months old. It was worse than the close-up depicts and I ended up giving her a buzz cut. I CRIED. Everyone thought she was a boy, even in pink clothes and flowers.
She went through a phase before age 2 when she sniffed out the location of any pair of scissors and cut any book in sight into hundreds of pieces. Drove me crazy.
She was talking 6-word sentences by age 16 months, reading at age 3. The squeakiest, cutest little voice. Her daddy's dimple in her cheek.
I remember at age 3 and 4 she was so whiny and difficult. I yelled too much. She needed too much. I could NOT imagine she'd ever get better.
Then just recently I realized she has turned into the loveliest girl. So sweet and kind and silly. She is happy to work all day if I work alongside her showing her how to do things. She wants to know how to sew (she calls it "suing" because she's read it that way so many times when reading her Baby-sitter Club books-- makes sense, right? Dew, new, sew.) and how to cook. She wants to have five children (do I make it look that fun?!).
She's argumentative, persuasive, determined. Jude says she'll grow up to be a defense lawyer. Her university 
philosophy professor will go grey that semester if he/she isn't already. I admire that about her and it reminds me of me. She will never let anyone abuse her.
Jude and I have always said that if we were forced to make a Sophie's Choice choice between Montana and Josie, we'd let Josie live in strife and horror because we know she'd survive. I believe in her ability to be a Victor Frankl. I believe in her ability to be an Oprah, a Mother Theresa, a general Relief Society president. She never causes me a moment's worry and for that I'm grateful. I'm honoured to raise her. But frankly, I'm not surprised she's mine. I always knew she belonged to me.
Daily Gratitudes
1. The grandparents are still alive and were able to visit today. Granny was able to walk upstairs to see the bedrooms and bathroom. Her emphysema made it too hard for her to check out the basement as well.
2. Jude spending so much time with Lulu, helping her make a puzzle.
3. Lulu is very good at puzzles!
4. The balloons for Josie's party on Saturday arrived. I pushed the party back a week just so we could get these mighty cool balloons. Also arrived today: Mabel's Labels for school, Hanna Andersson backpacks (a splurge for which I feel a bit guilty), child tax benefit check and universal child care cheque (thank you, federal government), my mom's musical birthday card with dimes taped all over the back. Timely mail day.
5. It's raining right now. I get away with not having to water our sod, again.
