Seasons Change

Spring has fully arrived in Pennsylvania. I’m pretty sure we’ve seen the last snow for the season, for the temps don’t drop to freezing at night anymore although they get close.  And the days are warmer. Sometimes they’re bright and sunny. Other times they’re cloudy and rainy. And many times they are a little of both. Robins and finches of various sorts build nests and hunt for worms. Squirrels scamper about looking for their winter stores. The grass is green and needs to be cut. Daffodils and tulips bloom in full array. And the lilac bushes have buds waiting to bloom – my favorite!

Although not my favorite season (I think because it ushers in summer which I don’t enjoy), I do love the beauty, newness and color of spring. This year it has been a reminder of just how much seasons change things.

It’s funny to think of the newest season in our lives – namely, Emry. It would be nice to think our lives do not evolve around her, as if she is just an addition to life as we knew it. But that is completely untrue. For everything in life stops when it’s time for her to eat. I wash a lot more clothes more often. It takes me longer to get out the door to go anywhere, even on a short walk. And what exactly did we do before we had her to hold, and watch, and entertain us? It’s true that the firstborn gets more attention than any of the others. She distracts us from everything else.

I mean, there are many things in life that haven’t changed. Ed continues to work – he just hurries home with less distractions to keep him occupied. We still go grocery shopping, only with an added little body. The house still gets dirty and must be cleaned, but cleaning gets spaced out around feedings, and diaper changes, and naps.

Yes, life will never be the same.

At three weeks old, it is true that Emry isn’t doing a whole lot. She’s beginning to see at further distances, her big dark eyes crossing funnily as she tries to focus. She talks to herself a bit more and hums sometimes. She’s awake more. And I am enjoying this stage that will soon pass into more entertaining ones with her little laughs, and eating solids, and crawling, and splashing in her bathtub. For she will grow fast, as I often remind myself. And then what will I do when she’s walking about getting into things? Or it’s time to learn to read? Or she’s talking back? It’s all a little overwhelming…a reminder to just take each day as it comes.

More Pictures…Just Because

Napping – our favorite pastime.

 Our zebra outfit – Aunt Grace wishes she had one like it.

Bath time! Getting a bath is so much less traumatic now that our belly button has healed and we can use our duck cozy to keep us warm.

Little hands.

Being a Mommy

A friend recently asked me what my favorite part about being a mommy is so far. I realize I haven’t been a mommy for very long (two whole weeks!), but I already have a favorite part – and it’s not waking up at 2 AM to feed her, although I truly don’t mind.

My favorite part of being a mommy is just being with her. It doesn’t matter if I’m giving her a bath, or it’s feeding time, or she’s lying on the floor while I read her a story. I just like to spend time with her. I like to watch her, and cuddle with her, and talk to her as she makes noises or seems to sing in her own little way. And since I love that so much, early morning feedings are just an opportunity to be with her.

Already I can’t imagine our life without her. It’s hard to describe how she somehow completes us, how much she adds to our marriage, and how much I love and appreciate Ed even more.

I know I’m only starting this adventure of motherhood. And there are moments when I wonder how I’ll manage potty training, or teaching her to read, or what wise counsel I could possibly give her when she comes to me with her problems. I know I’m not wise enough to raise a little girl into a beautiful young woman. And every day I ask God to give me what I don’t have to be what He has called me to be.

But for now, she’s just a tiny little thing who wants to be fed, and bathed, and cuddled, and loved. All things Mommy is happy to do.  

What's in a Name

Several people have asked me since Emry was born, “Where did you get her name?” And, that’s quite a reasonable question. One I don’t mind explaining.

First of all, I realize we have given our daughter a name that could drive her crazy. When you first say it, many people reply, “Emily?” So, I spell it. And if she ever has to give her full name, we have burdened her with three names she will have to spell out very carefully (like I did at the doctor’s office). After that, we decided she should marry a very average Smith or Jones. Maybe that will even out any complexes we have given her.

In truth, I’m not 100% sure where “Emry” came from. I came upon it when I was about nine years old and in the fourth grade. I’m not sure if I read it in a book, or saw it somewhere, or what. That was about the time I became a voracious reader, although I had been reading every word that crossed my line of vision since I learned to put letters together in Kindergarten. Wherever I saw it, I liked it. And wanted to have a daughter by that name someday. And now I do.

For those interested, Emry means “industrious; hardworking”. I am hoping she will live up to it, although it’s hard to tell right now. She is a very contended, rather laid back baby.

Her middle name “Ogilvie” is very easy to explain. That is my mother’s maiden name. (Or, now, her middle name since she dropped her middle name and moved her maiden name when she married.) So, Emry is named after her Grandma Sturm. I wanted to use the name because my mom never got to. She wanted to use it as a middle name for one of her sons, but she only had two and so it never got used. And, in a way, it’s to honor the grandfather I never knew (my grandfather Ogilvie died six years before I was born) but have heard much about all my life.

Ogilvie is the name of a Scottish clan and means “high place”. Perhaps that is appropriate since she was born in Pittsburgh which is surrounded by hills. Plus, the city was named in honor of the Prime Minister of England William Pitt and the Scottish city of Edinburgh where General John Forbes, the man who named Pittsburgh in 1758, was from. (Hence the “H” at the end of its name, although it is not pronounced as Edinburgh is even though that is what was intended.)

To complete her name, Camus means “crooked nose”. I am the first to say she does not have a crooked nose. The name is French (or, more accurately, it is from Lorraine-Alsace – one of those countries in Europe that has disappeared after belonging to both France and Germany) and who knows why the family took that name. Perhaps the first Camus really did have a crooked nose. Or maybe he was a plastic surgeon who corrected crooked noses. (Likely not, but that’s better than the alternative – having received a crooked nose in a bar fright.)

So, there you have it. Emry Ogilvie Camus. My daughter.

What a Day!

All week long I had been thinking about how nice it would be to have this baby, even though she wasn’t due until the 21^st. I was just tired of feeling like a whale, and getting kicked from the inside, and being uncomfortable at night. Thinking I could have the baby before the week was out was also a great incentive at work. I told everyone their timesheets and travel logs had to be in by Wednesday morning so I could get the invoices out to our clients before that day was over. I’ve never had the invoices out that early in the month…

But Friday dawned and I saw no baby in view. I was exhausted and slept off and on all morning, perhaps because both Ed and I didn’t get much sleep the night before with the electricity out for 15 hours and me worried that the groceries I had just bought would spoil. But it was a normal day otherwise. I even did my usual pilates. And we had a doctor’s appointment at two.

At the doctor’s, there was nothing to indicate the baby would come early. I was measuring at one centimeter, maybe two at a stretch. We went home, I scrubbed our bathroom and then I stretched out on our bed with a book. I thought something might be trickling, but as the doctor had just poked that area I didn’t think much of it. Until…well, I made it to the bathroom before my water broke.

That was about 3:45. I called the doctor who told me to go to the hospital to see how things looked. We kind of took our time. Ed wasn’t packed at all. I had to toss a few things in my suitcase. I wasn’t in labor, so the only discomfort was feeling like a leaky faucet. We arrived at the hospital a little after four and the admitting nurse took her time as well. Although, once I was hooked up to the machine you could see I was actually having contractions. In fact, I realized once I saw the graph and how my body felt when the lines rose that I had likely been having contractions for well over a week. Who knew?

And while I was now measuring at three centimeters, I still wasn’t feeling anything and there was no indication this baby was coming early. I got to be unhooked from everything and allowed to walk the halls with my cup of ice for the next hour. A little after seven, they hooked me up to everything again, Ed flipped on the Pittsburgh Penguins game and we settled in for a long night, the doctor encouraging me to try to sleep because at two or three in the morning, I would need the energy.

Let’s just say that didn’t happen. The doctor gave me a little bit of something to try to encourage the contractions to a strength that actually made me uncomfortable because the baby was still so far up she needed some encouragement to come down. It didn’t take much. Within an hour, I was in hurting and measuring a good seven centimeters. A half hour after that, I looked at Ed and begged him to let me have an epidural. But it was too late. I was at nine centimeters, quickly approaching labor and the nurse informed me the baby had a head full of dark hair. I remember thinking, “Whose baby is this? No one in my family was born with a head full of hair.”

Nurses gathered. They put me in position. I tried to focus more on breathing than the awful pain. One nurse went to get the doctor, telling him he’d better hoof it or this baby would be born without him. He came and was prepped just in time. Because once I was told to start pushing, that baby came within 15 minutes. It was 11:25 PM on Friday night, not even eight hours since my water broke.

Giving birth to Emry is hard to describe. The gambit of emotions and sensations that one runs through is beyond words. Perhaps more so when it all happens so quickly. But even a week later, I look at her and marvel that she’s here. That I have a daughter. That after preparing for this for nearly nine months, she has come and I can hold her, and bathe her, and dress her, and feed her, and read to her, and take care of her.

And even when she doesn’t sleep as many hours as I would like at night, I feel so very, very blessed. I wouldn’t give her up for the world.

She's Arrived!!!!

All cleaned up and wide awake!

Our first full day at home.

 

Napping...our favorite pastime.

Emry Ogilvie Camus

born at 11:25 PM, Friday, April 10

6 pounds, 18 inches

Truly, a blessing from the Lord!