Adulthood

Well, it’s official. I can no longer put it off. The time to procrastinate and make excuses is at an end. Sadly, I am an adult.

You’re probably saying, “Okay…is turning 37 that big of a deal? Or is it having two kids? Maybe you’re having a mid-life crisis, Melissa…” Maybe I am.

It isn’t as if there’s a day in one’s life when adulthood officially starts. It’s certainly not when you turn 18. It’s not even when you turn 21. For most of us, it probably comes at least before we turn 30 for by then the majority of us have a job, or are married and possibly have kids, or have likely moved out from our parent’s home. But which of those achievements equals adulthood I’m not sure. And for some, “none of the above” applies.

For me, I probably entered adulthood rather young, even if I didn’t get married until I was 34. Sadly, I was one of those kids who couldn’t wait to grow up. Not because it meant I could eat out whenever I wished, or drink a Coke just because I felt like it, or eat ice cream for dinner. I wanted to be an adult so people would take me seriously and I could be considered responsible. I didn’t realize that being taken seriously depends upon whom you’re talking to or what “status” you are (single vs. married typically). Nor did I know that people considered me responsible from a very young age. Which is probably why I didn’t simply enjoy being a kid.

But all that aside, according to my former roommate in Texas, Haley Myers, adulthood is truly reached upon the purchase of a vacuum. This will likely explain why neither of us would spend the $50 or $60 for a decent vacuum when both the vacuums in the house broke. (Well, one no longer sucked anything and the other didn’t rotate – if we could have put them together, we would have had one working vacuum.) Instead, I “stole” the one from work (borrowed until we put wood floors in the office and then I simply took it up to our house where it stayed until I moved out). Neither of us wanted to be an adult…

Upon arrival in Minnesota, I simply borrowed the one at the office at work when I finally gave in to vacuuming my apartment. (With only me, it wasn’t like I made a mess.) And the landlord here in Pittsburgh left a vacuum in a closet. So…even upon getting married and having two kids, I have avoided adulthood.

Until Saturday. This past Saturday we purchased a vacuum. This coming Saturday, we’re moving and there is no vacuum left in a closet by the landlord at our new place. And with two kids…well, my floors are in frequent need of vacuuming these days. So, I bit the bullet and a vacuum was purchased.

Sigh. Adulthood is for the birds.

The Big Sister

 “A beek sister!”

Those were the first words Emry said when she walked into my room at the hospital after Ethan had been born. She and Papa had been practicing all morning. But while we know the words, we don’t quite understand what they mean for she points to Ethan and exclaims, “Beek sister!”

While she may not quite understand who the sister is, Emry is a good big sister. She likes to “help”. Changing a little boy’s diaper takes longer than changing a little girl’s as it is (keep this dry, get that wet…) but with Emry’s “help”, well… I’ve learned it’s easier just to change him on the floor so she isn’t always pulling at me and asking to look. She likes to help with the Vasoline, throw the diaper away and use the cloth to give him a bath. Thankfully, she is careful.

She loves to share her toys, piling them up on him as he sits in his chair. I told her the first morning he was home, I was putting him on the floor to stretch. Since she is quite familiar with stretching from my pilates videos, she gets down on the floor and stretches, arms in the air and legs out in front. One of her newest tricks (and we have quite a few as we’re getting braver, climbing, running and jumping) is “standing” on her head. She loves to show Ethan how she can do that. And if he falls asleep on the floor, she lies down next to him and wants to be covered with his blanket, too.

She brings him his little hat, and his burping cloth, and his pacifier if he’s fussy. Right now, she refers to him as “Baby” since Ethan has proved a difficult name for her to say. And she loves to give him hugs and kisses. It’s fun to watch our little big sister.

 Meeting the little brother for the first time.

Teaching Ethan how to stand on your head.

Sleeping with Ethan.

Melissa Michele Sturm – 3 years old

…now 37!

What's in a Name

When Emry was born, I posted a blog explaining her name. Emry is unusual and most people don’t know where her middle name is from (or even what I’m saying when I tell them). At least Ethan won’t have that problem.

I think names should mean something. That’s just me. Some people probably draw their kid’s name out of a hat. Others (in Hollywood) just try to out-bizarre the star down in the street. But this child will have their name the rest of their life. And, as Christians, we hope and pray our child’s name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. So a name is important.

Granted, Ethan is just a name I have always liked. It means “firm, steadfast, a rock”. All qualities I want my son to have. It is an “obscure” Bible name, with obscure meaning the name is listed two or three times in a genealogy or is the name of a Psalm writer. In other words, it’s not Daniel, David or Peter. However, it has become an extremely popular name in the United States, ranking in the top seven boys names since 2005. I’d just like to say, I wanted to give my son this name long before 2005.

His middle name was a moving target. For a long time (since I was first pregnant with Emry), the middle name of a boy was to be “Edward”. I didn’t mind. It’s Ed’s name and his father’s middle name. But early on in this pregnancy, Ed came home one day and asked how I liked Ethan Hunter. I’ve always thought Hunter a nice name, so I said that was fine. About a month later, I was talking about a friend of mine who has a son named Harrison when Ed suddenly said, “Ethan Harrison! What do you think of that? Like Harrison Ford.” And while I don’t mind the name Harrison, we had to have a little discussion about that. Number one, I’m not a huge Harrison Ford fan. Number two, I DO NOT name my children after Hollywood actors. So, as long as he wasn’t using the name because of that, I was fine with it. A month later, we were back to Ethan Hunter and it stuck.

Hunter has an obvious meaning: “one how hunts”. And even though I am sure there are girls with this name, it is very masculine, something I certainly want my son to be.

The Birth of my Son

It was a whirlwind. As one of my co-workers e-mailed, “Melissa, we already knew you were quick and efficient. You didn’t have to prove it.”

Friday (the 3^rd) was officially my last day at work, except for some consulting things I’ll do, and I was thinking all weekend I just wanted this baby to come. What in the world was I going to do with all my free time? Sit around and mope because I no longer had a job? Just about. Not the way anyone should spend their time.

On Sunday morning, I did wake up to a few contractions. Nothing serious, but enough to get my hopes up, encourage me to do about 15 minutes of cardio pilates in hopes of bringing them back on, and questioning whether I should go to church or not just in case. By then, though, they had disappeared and the day marched on with only a contraction at random times, not enough to bring a baby but certainly enough to make one tired, sore and fidgety.

It was around eleven when the contractions returned. Again, nothing serious. Just enough to ask a half-asleep Ed if he had his phone on him at work. “Yes,” he yawned, “but do you have the store number?” I replied I did. He went to sleep and I told myself to rest because I had a feeling I would need the sleep. By 1:30, I had moved to the couch so not to awaken Ed every ten minutes as I rode out the painful constrictions in my body. An hour later, I was starting to get a bit worried. They weren’t coming often enough to warrant a call to the doctor and yet I was getting the chills after every single one. Why? And I couldn’t stop thinking that Emry had come so quickly once the contractions had become regular… Fifteen minutes later, they were regular enough I woke Ed, told him to get ready and I was calling the doctor. Denise (a friend from church) arrived to watch Emry and off we went.

The hospital is a straight 10-minute shot from our house. By the time we got there, my contractions were a regular 2 or 3 minutes apart. I had one in the waiting area as Ed signed the papers, putting the time of our arrival at 3:27. The nurse came down to get me and told me to breathe evenly – I was hyperventilating a bit. We went straight up to the delivery room where I was walked into the bathroom and told to undress – a task that had never been harder. When I managed to get to the bed and sit down, I thought the pain wasn’t going to get any worse and decided an epidural would be nice, even though I had hoped to get on without it. A nurse came to ask Ed to go down and park the car. Meanwhile, the nurses managed to get me on the bed and that’s when I knew this baby was coming. All I wanted to do was push, but I was told not to. I had no IV, no doctor and now no husband. And a nurse asking rhetorical questions: “If you want an epidural, you’ll have to wait a half hour. But the doctor can break your water and this baby will come.” Really? Some questions do not need to be multiple choice. “Break the water.”

I still had to wait, though, for Ed was parking the car. The moment he stepped back into the room, the doctor sat down on his stool, my water broke, I pushed and there was my son. It was 3:55 – 28 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.

Ethan arrived hale and hearty, an ounce smaller than his sister but an inch and half longer. He, too, has a head full of dark hair, dark eyes that will probably be blue and looks like he ought to be Emry’s twin. He took to eating right away, seems as easy-going and content as Emry was as a baby and is a blessing to have. Indeed. We are truly blessed.

He's Arrived!!!!

Ethan Hunter Camus

Monday, February 6, 2017 at 3:55 AM
5 pounds, 15 ounces and 19 ½ inches

Happy 29^th Birthday, Sally!

Happy 4^th Birthday, Jay!

 Jay and "Aggie" – Thanksgiving 2016.