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Ivy is 1. What follows is a reflection on the past year in two parts.

Part 1: (All  about Ivy)

Ivy and I are in Utah spending some time with my sister before she leaves on a mission. Stephen was here a weekdng, so we had a pre-birthday party with his family, mine, and some friends. Ivy started the night off right with dancing:

Clapping to the beat. Sort of.

 

Followed by more dancing:

 

Gettin' down

 





 Then some cake:

 

A group effort between my mom,  Hannah and I.



The world's smallest chocolate fan.

 

 And then presents:

The big hit of the night was this card from that meows Happy Birthday. Thanks, Phil and Mary.

 

Even though  she was exhausted from a long day of traveling, she seemed genuinely pleased to be partying the evening away with so many great people.

 

We spent her actual birthday, Saturday, in Disneyland.

 

 

She loved the carousel and rode it twice, as well as The Haunted Mansion, Jungle Cruise and Ariel's Adventure. She surprised me, yet again, by how much she responded to and enjoyed the whole experience.

 

Ivy is walking a few steps at a time, though she still crawls when she needs to get somewhere fast, which is more often than you would think. She's learning the art of the sippy cup and trying to feed herself with spoons, resulting in huge messes. She loves green beans, chocolate, Havarti cheese, grapes and pudding. She laughs when she hears anyone else laughing, claps when she hears applause, and immediately starts dancing anytime there's a catchy tune. All we have to do is sing one line of Mr. Roboto and her arms start flailing in the air. She yells "Mom" when she's mad or needs something, and speaks gibberish all day long. She knows most the motions to Patty-Cake and does an impressive Itsy Bitsy Spider.

 

She is constantly moving, and the only time she'll sit still is to watch Sesame Street. She yells at dogs, smiles at strangers (the scarier the stranger, the bigger the smile), and loves being chased. She puts objects in containers, stacks blocks, sits down when I tell her to, and responds to "come here" about fifty percent of the time.

 

She's an adorable, delightful, tiny little person.

 

 

Part 2 (About Being a Mom)

 

A year ago I held our baby in my arms for the first time. She was perfect I loved her  immediately.

 

 

I did not, however, love being a mother immediately. Other moms would ask, "Isn't it the best?" and I would wonder what I was doing wrong.  I cried a lot the first month (see: hormones, exhaustion). I loved Ivy more than I ever imagined possible, but I felt like I was coming up incredibly short as a mom. My daughter didn't seem to know or care who I was, I couldn't get her to stop crying, and we were burning through about twenty diapers a day. What I didn't know then that I do know now is that babies only get better,  as does being a baby's mom. When Ivy intentionally smiled for the first time, it was the happiest I have ever felt. The continuous crying went away. The smiles became frequent. Then there were giggles, cheesey faces, and full belly laughs. She sat up, she crawled, she walked. And I cried because she made me so happy.

 

I still have my moments. Moments when I pray she'll take a nap so I can get something done. Moments where I feel like being a mommy makes me irrelevant. Moments,  no hours, where PBS is in charge of entertaining my child.  Moments where I wonder if I'll ever do anything of significance. But what's more significant than raising a human being? What could possibly be more important?

 

I asked Stephen if he was happier now that he was a father. His answer was, to paraphrase, that he was absolutely a happier, more centered, more peaceful person with Ivy in his life. I couldn't agree more. So I'm ok with not getting things done. I'm ok with irrelevance. I'm  ok with days filled with nursery rhymes and apple sauce. I'll get to the other stuff later.  Maybe.

 



 

 



toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight

We can all  agree that Fun. is pretty ridiculous, right? The vocals sound whiny, the lyrics read like a high school poetry assignment, and the lead singer gave one of the worst interviews I've ever seen. But shoot if the We Are Young chorus doesn't get me every. single. time. I know better.  I really do. But by the end of song I'm freaking inspired. I am young. I can set the world on fire.  I can go higher. What does it mean? I don't know. I don't care. I'm 16 again, rife with teenage angst, chanting the anthem of youth, quieting the snooty cynic within.

Do I have any street cred left?

Dr. Ivy Answers

Meg in Colorado asks,
Dr. Ivy- Why did you poop in the bathtub this morning?

Dr. Ivy says,
"It is in the deepest of meditation that one is able to free one's mind and spirit of the burdens existence on this planet causes us to bear. As I relinquished my worries to the universe, my body gave way to complete relaxation. The gift I left in the tub was nothing more than a symbol of tranquility and peace."

Okay, but why did you then poop on the tile floor immediately afterward?

"My bad. Sorry."

Love,

Dr. Ivy

 

Dr. Ivy, The World's  Greatest Expert

Baby when the lights go out

This is a blog post about the night the power went out in the  Morley home. It is not a blog post about how we spent the next seven hours playing games and laughing and learning that we don't need electricity to be happy. It is a blog post about the agony of trying to use the bathroom in  the dark and the growing fear that we might freeze to death and the good fortune of a fully charged ipad. It's a blog post about how silly my family members look while wearing headlamps, and how I instagrammed lit candles and how moods soured with depleting phone batteries. So I guess it's a blog post about how I should have learned a lesson about love and togetherness but really I was super relieved when the power came back on.

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At eleven months old Ivy takes one or two steps before getting freaked out and switching to a crawl. She knows hot to unlock iphones and delete apps.
She says "Mom" and I think  she might actually know what it means.
She likes to turn book pages even if you haven't read the entirety of the text on said pages.
She loves chicken, cheese, clementines, avacadoes and bread.
She has two teeth on top and four on  bottom.
Her six month clothing finally fits and she'll keep her shoes on if tied tight enough.
She likes to giggle and squirm during diaper changes. If she hears adults laughing, she tries to join in with a big, fake "ha ha ha ha."
She insists on making this face at every person she sees:

I have no idea where she learned it.

She's getting friendlier toward new people but still cries if I leave the room.
Church with Ivy is a wrestling match and she always wins.
She only sitsstill if she's really tired or is playing with an electronic device.

 

Christmas with  Ivy was a blast. She didn't quite understand presents but she acted happy and excited all the same, playing with wrapping paper and ribbons, and every once in a while glancing at at her new (many) toys.

 

 



At one month shy of a year, she's more fun than  ever,and I honestly don't know what I did with out her.

No one cried this year

What's Christmas without a little vicious friendly competition. This year's gingerbread construction produced some of the  finest work from the Morleys (and two Walters) to date. And though we're  all extremely proud of our efforts, we want to know who is the the most talented and amazing family member. So if you would, take a minute and vote for your favorite Christmas Creation.



 

Entry: A

The real star of this Three Little Pigs artistic interpretation is the Big Bad Wolf

 

 

Entry B:

A Christmas Crossing

 

 

Entry C:

Let down your long licorice

 

 

Entry D:

Roving Mars

 

 

Entry E:

The only actual house this year

 

Entry F:

Plaaaaaaaaaay ball

Which candy creation conquers all?

 

Also, this:

 

 

I sent out 25 and then gave up, so I'm sorry if you didn't get an actual tangible copy. I realize now that I should have worn a more feminine shirt for this picture because I'm dangerously close to passing as a Man.

 

 

Also:

 

Have a Merry Christmas. 





Hurt

Friday we hustled around our apartment in preparation  for our drive to Utah. The plan was to let Ivy get as tired as possible so she'd sleep for hours in the car. It wasn't  long past nap time before the fatigue set  in and she sat on  the ground, extended her arms and cried "Mamamama." I rolled my eyes, picked her up and held her just long enough  for the crying to cease, then put her down,  handed her a pacifier and continued cleaning the kitchen.

A while later we were packed and loaded, Stephen and  I in  the front seats, Ivy and Ollie in the back. As the car started so did NPR and we heard the most devestating news of the elementary school  shooting in Connecticut. As the reports turned more horrific and less hopeful, all I  wanted to do was hold  and comfort my baby. And I cried  with horror and guilt thinking about those mothers who  no longer could.

I can't even begin to imagine their grief and it almost feels disrespectful to try. But I think  we need to grieve.  We need to remember how terrible this was and we need to stop forgetting about these incindents and do something. Aurora felt personal as a Coloradan, but as a mother this feels much much worse. I don't want to find out how much more personal it can get.