enJOY it by Elise Blaha Cripe

dear ellerie / week one.

Dear Ellerie,

You're a week old today. I could write a ten thousand page novel about you and what I have learned so far in these seven days as your mama. There would be a chapter dedicated to your left ear. Four or five chapters would chronicle the way you move your hands. Twenty-five to thirty chapters would discuss in detail your facial expressions. The introduction would be long, maybe a book itself, in which I would thank many people. Your dad, Grandma and the fabulous team of doctors, midwives and nurses who ensured your safe passage at the top of the list. Yes, a novel, the longest book ever, I could write about what it feels like to have you in my life.

But instead, we're going to stick to a letter. Someday you'll read this and many others like it and I hope that you will see a mama who loved you beyond measure and also a woman who was more than just a mama. You'll learn about your life through my eyes and that may help you understand me. Writing these letters will help me make sense of both of us.

So first things first - you're beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. I knew you'd be cute. Babies are cute! But you came out pretty. Dad and I spent the first few days just staring at you and remarking on your tiny exquisite-ness. I know that focusing on looks with little girls is considered bad business, but Ellerie, it's true. And don't worry, you are also ferociously strong and your personality is equally gorgeous, if not more so. You're almost regal in your actions and emotions. You cry a substantial and solid cry when you're hungry, but aside from that you're just calm. And mighty. And have this hilarious air about you that somehow portrays wisdom.

I call you The Conductor. When you are quiet and alert (which is often, sweet one!), you wave your arms with grace and flair. You have skinny little arms and long long fingers and they sway around like you're asking for just a tad more violin. And now you'd appreciate just a bit more from the horn section. Sometimes your eyes are open but often you'll close them as you wave about, like you're really straining to hear this music only you can direct. It's fascinating to watch. But then again, you are fascinating to watch.

I am able to appreciate all of this because you're eating. You're a champion eater which makes you a champion sleeper which makes you a relatively easy baby at week one. This makes me want to fall on my knees and thank God. I think when they wheeled me out of that OR and placed you on my belly - God took one look at your drugged and exhausted mama and thought, "Let's throw her a bone." I was numb from the upper waist down and I begged the nurse beside me to help me get undressed and get you on my chest for some skin to skin time. You were making sucking faces so I offered you my breast. You latched immediately and your little chin bobbed up and down. It was amazing, sweet girl. Simply amazing. Truly the bright spot in a long and hard day for mama.

It took a few days for my milk to come in. And at the hospital you lost weight which they, of course, considered a Real Problem. I, however, considered the fact that you were crying and hungry and I didn't have enough food for you in my body yet a Real Problem. I realized (after a quick cry in the hospital shower) that the fact that I wanted you to only have breastmilk was a Pretend Problem. So mama quickly learned how to pump and dad quickly learned how to feed you a mix of formula and my pumped colostrum with a little tube and syringe at the breast. You kept doing what you were born to do and suckled like a champ. As a three person team, we got through those first few days and nights. Now you can't quite keep up with all the milk I'm making. But that's okay. We'll figure it out. As long as we keep the focus on the Real Problems and release the Pretend Problems it will all even out.

Ellerie, I have so many wishes for your great big life. First, of course, is that you stay healthy and safe. Thoughts about your health and safety take up such a huge part of my brain now, I can't figure out what they must have displaced. Maybe math skills? Maybe the desire to ever straighten my hair again? Maybe any interest over what celebrity wore it better? But after health, sweet girl, I hope and pray and wish that you find love. You will always know love. Dad and I and all your extended family will make sure of that. But I hope you find a partner to share in your special life. In this past week, my heart expanded 1000 times to take you in, but it also exploded with love for your dad. I want you to know this sort of love. This romantic, wonderful, deep and unconditional love for the person you choose to be your partner. You don't have to get married. Please know, you don't have to do anything. I just hope you will be blessed with this sort of magic someday. And with your dad as an example, I think we're set.

Whew, that is a lot to take in on week one, Ellerie. Mama is bursting at the seams with thoughts (and literally bursting in the chest with milk). "It's a haze!" everyone says, but after all those drugs at the hospital, being home feels like the opposite of a haze. Right now, the picture is clear and you're front and center. I am so inspired by you.

I love you. Keep growing.

yours forever, Mama.

i want to remember : from the hospital.

There were bright spots in my hospital stay in the moments after Ellerie was born late in the afternoon on Thursday until we left Saturday evening. Much of the stay was just awful. But the tender moments were so wonderful. These are the small things I want to remember.

I want to remember her first cry as she was pulled out from my open belly. I was relieved she was out and alive and more than anything I was relieved it was over. I had tried. I had surrendered. I had offered up her safety to the doctors and they were able to get her out. The relief was instant and immeasurable. I sobbed.

I want to remember that after she'd been cleaned up a bit and wrapped they brought her to my head. My little girl was here. My oxygen mask was removed and I wished her a happy birthday. I love you, Ellerie. I said over and over as I sobbed and shook uncontrollably from the medicine that was keeping me numb.

I want to remember seeing Paul holding her as I was wheeled into recovery. I think one of the first things he said was that she was 21 inches long. How is that possible?! I thought. We're short people and our little one is tall. I want to remember Paul holding out my phone and showing me all the love and encouragement that had been pouring through via text messages while I was stitched up.

I want to remember that moment where I really felt like she was born. The moment she was handed to me and I finally became a mother. My face shows it all. I was so shattered. So overwhelmed. So relieved she was healthy. So honored to have the responsibility of this tiny one and really just so thankful it was over. I had my prize and she was perfect.

I want to remember her latching onto my left breast immediately and the feeling that God knew I needed this small but mighty win.

I want to remember holding her and feeling her move in her tightly wrapped swaddle. Her kicks and motions were exactly like what I had felt in my belly for so many weeks. This baby that I had dreamed about was here. She was and is my dream baby.

I want to remember that rough Friday night when none of us - Paul, me or Ellerie - slept. It was awful, but there were good parts. I want to remember hearing Paul whisper into her ear. Tiny instructions that I could hardly hear but seemed to calm her down. I want to remember Paul standing over my bed as I tried to nurse although there was not enough milk yet for her to drink. We were all so frustrated. I told Paul, "it's okay babe. This part is supposed to be frustrating."

I want to remember when she fussed while being held and passed from person to person before finally being handed to me. My voice calmed her instantly and in that moment another birth occurred. I felt like a real mama for the second time.

I want to remember sliding her gray and white striped pants on her wiggly body and seeing her in real clothes for the first time. Such a simple act but something I had thought about doing before she was born. So few things transpired like I imagined they would so the little things were huge victories.

I want to remember pumping and our concern for capturing every single drop of colostrum to pass on to Ellerie. "It's hilarious that we are so worried about these drops," Paul said. "Soon we'll be drowning in milk." It was exactly what I needed to hear.

I want to remember on Saturday when I belly laughed over something Paul said and felt like my insides were going to fall out. The laughing hurt my swelled mid-section so much. I realized in that moment I hadn't laughed in days. I had smiled, of course, and felt happy, of course, but I hadn't laughed. It felt good to feel pain that was caused by laughter.

I want to remember the first time I was alone with her and picked her out of her plastic bassinet. We stood in the middle of the room and I swayed back and forth. I made up and sang the first song she ever heard. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Mama loves you. Mama loves you. Mama loves you and Papa does too." I sang it on repeat over and over and still sing it to calm her. This is remarkable because I cannot sing.

I want to remember that those first few days were so hard. They often felt impossible as I dealt with the incision pain, major swelling, poor reactions to pain medicine (my body HATES pain medicine) plus the hormonal release that comes from growing and expelling a human being. But I also want to remember that every few hours it got better. My range of motion increased. The fog lifted. The room came into focus. My heart grew.

I want to remember.

on her name.

Ellerie Eve.

pronounced : el-er-ree. think hillary (hill-er-ree).

I have known for years that if I was blessed with a baby girl I wanted an "e" name for her to match mine. For a long time, Eleanor was the front runner for us (we both liked that it was the name of the President's daughter on West Wing and P liked that it was the Sam from Lord of the Rings daughter's name).

But then I started hearing it more and more often and though I think popularity is not an issue to even consider if you LOVE a name, I was open to other options.

In October 2011, while Paul was on deployment the first time, a friend of mine told me about her family friend who had named their daughter Ellerie. "How do you spell that?!?" I almost shouted. I loved it. I had never heard it before and it was perfect. I emailed Paul the next day that I had heard a brand new "e" name and it was my new baby girl front-runner. (We were no where near pregnant, but this odd behavior is common for me.) Paul responded that he really liked it and was curious about pronunciation. For the next year it stayed the front runner and then in late October 2012, we found out I was pregnant.

So Ellerie was her name before she was conceived, before she was confirmed to be a girl and before she entered the world.

Yes, we considered other names. I read on baby name forums that "Ellerie" was a lame name that sounded made up, that sounded masculine, etc. etc. etc. I fretted about spelling (the "Ellery" version is more common and many people think "Ellorie" when they hear it). But then I realized two things - one, I LOVED it. Paul loved it. It was unique without being bizarre. And two - spelling errors happen when people are lazy, not when names are different. I read somewhere that Anne Hathaway's name was spelled wrong on her Golden Globe. I mean COME ON. The name is Anne and she's super famous. If that can be spelled wrong, any name can.

We struggled with a middle name. Eve was finalized about a week or so out from birth. I worried that the double E was lame. But then realized it sounded wonderful and honored a very special women from my childhood. She was not a grandma, but she may as well have been. I know she would love Ellerie so much and is for sure smiling down on us from heaven.

And now my Ellerie girl is here. In the flesh. The name fits her like a dream and everytime I say it or hear it, I know we picked right. It will grow with her well, I think.

paul & ellerie.

before we left the hospital & before her first sponge bath on the kitchen table.

family of three.

On my list for June, I mentioned wanting to get a Perfect* Family Photo. Spoiler alert - we didn't. Instead we go this one.

It was taken this morning before Paul headed to the airport to finish off deployment. It's blown out. I'm basically crying. Ellerie is not even facing the camera. The background is not awesome - those are for sure a pair of blue underware on the couch arm. But that's us. The three of us today. We're a family and we're doing well. Really well.

The really good news is that Paul will be coming home much sooner than expected (like always, I cannot be specific online with when because it's military travel). The really bad news is that he's now gone.

In my head, I wasn't too worried about Paul leaving. I knew it would be sad. I knew he'd be away from Ellerie and that would be tough. But I also knew I'd have help from my mom. I figured, "help is help." It's just two people tag-teaming the never-ending needs of a newborn, we'll just do it.

And then Ellerie arrived (via long and painful labor that ended in c-section) and I became a mom and Paul became a dad. In the hours that followed, Paul also became husband of the year. He had the needs of Ellerie to tend to and then the needs of his physically and emotionally shattered wife. The things he saw and helped me through... I can't even. I cannot even. I am so thankful that he was here to help get me through that labor and eventual surgery.

Over the past few days, we all rode a roller coaster. Paul was the rock through the whole thing. It was like he'd already rode the ride 1000 times he was so good at it. My phenomenal partner and Ellerie's fantastic dad. I can't express how much I'll miss him and his help. He's so good with her and so good with me and somehow kept it all together for us all.

My word brave has tested and strengthened me over and over this year. But I gave it a workout last week and will continue to push it's boundaries in the next few. I'll cry. I'll laugh. I'll be weak. I'll be strong. I will have help. I will need help. And I know I will get us to the other side the way Paul somehow got us to day four. Then we'll be back as three - sharing the successes and struggles and growing together.

*I do have a lot of PERFECT photos that I will share eventually. Right now, priority one is the little lady (obviously) and priority two is rest (of course) and priority three is telling these stories and getting down these thoughts. Writing here is how I process information. This space is where I feel like myself and how I grow and heal.