The Zee is Three

Three years ago, I was seven hours from my water breaking, and just fifteen hours away from laying my eyes on my firstborn child. Birth story here.

Three years.

I remember so much about my pregnant, so many moments, so much anticipation. I nostalgically look back on her newborn days - six weeks of watching LOST with Tom and Jen, eating amazing food delivered by my fantastic community, staring at her for hours. I remember so much about her first year (first month!), every single first etched in my mind forever: first time she rolled over, waved, the sound she made when she sneezed, her funny pirate crawl, sitting up, walking, saying Dada. I remember the first flower she picked for me - a Don Juan rose from the bush that grows by my parent's mailbox in the house that I spent a good deal of my growing up life in.

And now, somehow, we're here. This past year flew by - between my pregnancy and David's arrival, house projects, travel - it feels like just yesterday was her second birthday. Here we are, and she's changed so much. She's potty-trained, takes swim lessons, hangs out in the YMCA daycare, goes to her little faith formation preschool.

Yet she's the same. Oh, she's the same. As one. As two.

From the day she was born, she was special. Doesn't every mother say that about each child? Oh, I don't care - I'll say it about her. She's different. She is bright, and sensitive, and funny. Her memory is stunning and her sense of comedic timing truly impressive - I'm thinking of her kicking back in her brother's baby bathtub and cheerily declaring, "I'm in a holiday mood!" As Grandma Jean said of her, "she dazzles me." She is still watchful, a bit guarded with newcomers, relentlessly affectionate with her intimate friends, and happiest relaxing near water with me, her mother. I remember being able to work in the garden with her from the time she was little - 14 months - and she'd stay right by me, listen when I told her to stay, ever watchful and careful and wise.

Although, it isn't that easy being her mother anymore. Toddlerhood hit her with a vengeance about two months before David was born, and it's been very hard on all of us to adjust to her growing pains, to learn anew how to care for her best. Even harder still, I feel my responsibilities keenly where she is concerned: to help her mold and train her talents into virtues, and to work to acquire that which doesn't come easily. I feel so much responsibility because I see her as so very amazing - I want to lay the foundations for virtue so that she will be ready to do whatever great work God asks of her. Some days I overly complicate this; on my best days, I realize this comes naturally when I love her deeply for just who she is and work to communicate that love in all we do day by day, side by side.

It's hard for me to say what I really think when I look her, which quite honestly is: you are my dream come true, you are what I've always wanted, my greatest work in this life is to care for you, and your siblings, until God calls me home. Susannah's entrance into the world ushered in the start of my great adventure, what I am doing to make the world more beautiful. I am humbled to be the recipient of such a gift; each day, I endeavor to deserve the honor of being a mother, and having so precious a child.

Happy birthday, Susannah Marshall. May this year bring you great joy, grand adventures, and lots of strawberry donuts with sprinkles (your favorite).

7 again, always 7

Seven Quick Taaakes. With Jen.
Dear Lord help me all I can manage to do is write link-ups...

One.
My mom comes TODAY. Paint me excited. (what color is that? red? or is that only whorehouses? just wondering - asking for a friend) Actually, we ARE painting - that's why she's coming. We are painting the living room! (finally...why oh why didn't I paint the house when we didn't have a baby, y'know, the first 16 months of our marriage? right cause I was d-d-dumb)
But moving all the furniture today has told me that 1) we are disgusting dirty people and 2) I still hate tile. With tile all the yucky stuff just goes to the farthest wall and stays there, fermenting into a yucky stuff ball of disgusting. Pretty gag worthy!

Two.
Am I the only one who finds purging stories so refreshing? It makes me want to throw out everything in my home - and then buy new things to complain about. This must be the definition of first world problems. "I have so much stuff! I have to clean it myself! I can't afford a maid because I keep buying so much stuff! Ugh!"

I found this today and had a moment of silence for my long hair. 

Three.
Went to Lowes to get paint (in pale orange - God help me) and grabbed some seriously awesome plants in the 50% off-almost-dying rack. Wooooo! 10 plants for $35? Don't mind if I do. Now I will nurse them back to health in my very own plant nursery.

We're going for this, but oddly enough, the paint came with none of these accessories...???

Four.
I like to get magazines on my nook so that I'm not cluttering up the house - but it also means that I'm always behind in my reading, because I forget to charge it - A LOT. So the other day I'm perusing a Women's Health from June 2011 or something like that, and find out that the magazine editors decided to write a letter to their readers telling them that in the upcoming election, politicians wanted to take away their birth control - or make the morning after pill illegal. Worse! Personhood amendments, the magazine warned, would protect fertilized eggs before they become a pregnancy.
Look, I'm not a scientist here, but if you've got a fertilized egg inside your body, you're either pregnant or...oops, nope, there are no other options, you're pregnant!
Why do the editors of women's magazines continually presume that all women are interested in is not getting pregnant, looking hot, and giving pleasure to whoever we're shacking up with? I can't believe they insist that THEY are the people who are all about women's rights and we're the oppressive ones...riiiight.

Five.
August - November is the birthday season run around here. We have two in August, four in September, three in October, and one in November. By the time we get to Christmas, we're all exhausted - and then we have a January and February. March is a slight reprieve, then April we've got two...but then the summer stretches out, lovely and birthday-less (except for you, Grammy in Heaven, we won't forget June 3rd don't worry).
What is everyone else's present policy? A friend of mine told me the other day that she and her husband don't even buy their kids ANY Christmas presents. At first I almost fell off the chair, but then I realized that they just communicate with grandparents about what they want for the kids and...that's that. Otherwise, she explains, the gifts would be so overwhelming that the holiday would lose all meaning. As Zuzu's first birthday comes up, I'm beginning to see her logic, but the idea of not buying anything makes me sad. Maybe I'll settle for making lots of projects for her instead - quilt a few blankets, etc.
Thoughts?

Could YOU say no to this face? I cannot. Even when it's not talking.

Six.
Another ask-the-readers edition: how do you deal with photos, momentos, etc? I'm afraid they'll take over our house if I let them. Pretty albums are all well and good, but that takes up valuable shelf space that could be used for, you guessed it, BOOKS. But I can't just get rid of everything sentimental. Tips?

Seven.
There are many reasons I love Mr. Oram, but one of them is conversations like this:

Me: Lets go cuddle. I'm sad.
Him: Oh, okay. Are you alright?
Me: YES I just NEED to cuddle
(we go cuddle)
Him: Tell me why your sad.
Me: no...
Him: Did you read something sad on the internet?
Me: YES there's this mom and she has breast cancer and it's horrible!
Him: I figured it was something like that. It'll be okay. We'll pray for her tonight....but right now, lets have a nap.

That man knows me too well.

Happy Four Months, Susannah

My Darling Girl -

It's been just four months!

Darling girl last week at the Papal audience (photo courtesy of Fr. John)

Four months of you being on this earth - and baby, they've been grand.

So long ago! One of your first baths, which you blissfully slept through. (photo courtesy of Mina Jen)

Sharing a sweet laugh with Madrina (Mina's instagram!)

You pulled out the big guns for month four, sweet child. In Assisi, you picked up a knife off the table - a heavy one! I panicked and gave you a fork. Daddy panicked and took it all away. You were not happy, but we were proud! 

Sweet Assisi, with all the olive trees (Father John)

That night at dinner, you picked up a little teaspoon and chewed on it. That's also the famous night that Mommy told the waiter she wanted "duo" of something, instead of "due." Our waiter was NOT impressed, but he was charmed by you. I'll post pics of that one later, when Auntie Jen comes back. 

Then you decided Firenze (Florence for us English-speaking folk) deserved some of your charms, and you rolled over in the pack n' play so sweetly set up by the hotel (and in which you slept all of 30 minutes total). Although this woke you up, we weren't even mad. We were so glad to see the Italian air agreeing with you! 

And then Rome. Oh, Rome. 

Shot of Saint Peter's, the best place on earth (Father John)

So many amazing sights and experiences in Rome, but for you, it was all about Daddy and the fact that while he was taking his usual 30 minutes to get you dressed (which I can do in about 7), you laughed for him. Laughed!! Clasped your hands and laughed at the peeka-boo game he played with your pants. Although green with envy, I loved watching you share that milestone to him. 

You 'met' the Pope this month. 

Father John catching Zuzu at her favorite activity - chewing on Daddy's thumb...during the Papal Audience, no less.

And you also met thousands of Italians and Poles and Germans and Franks who all wanted their picture with you because your little face begs people to stop and adore you. You gained new nicknames: 

Piccolina 

Bambolina 

Bella Bambolina

You were the toast of the town. You even nabbed yourself a boyfriend, Luca the Merciful. (so nicknamed our incredible wonderful magnificent tour guide, Liz Lev). I would post a pic of you two, but I do not yet have one. 

In short, it has been a blessed time with you. So often, I feel unworthy and far too young to be entrusted with you as my special gift. But I have to believe that God knew what he was doing when he sent you to us. He could have held back, but he didn't, and they say his timing is perfect. I hope that in some way, you are soaking up all the love and attention that is being poured into you right now. I want you to know that you have made our lives come alive in a way they never had before, and not just your dad and I, but so many others - Auntie Jen, Tia Jennine, Grand and Grandad, Gigi and Grampy, everyone who meets you is in some way refreshed. You are joy and beauty itself, you live up to your name perfectly: you make of our life a garden.