Brandrea

A strange thing happened today. I was playing with Cora in her room and her mild fussiness suddenly became a loud cry. I looked at her and saw something strange. Immediately I stuck my finger in her mouth and rubbed it around, touching something completely foreign but also familiar. Her slick baby gums had been punctured by two rough ridges. I shouted for Brad, who immediately ran for the Orajel, while I briefly pontificated (possible?) on how I read something once about Orajel not being the best choice, blah blah, google, blah. He ignored me (totally fine in this scenario) and then I gave her some teething tablets after the Orajel application.

Never mind that we hadn’t checked her temperature all day. Neither had we tried any investigative methods to figure out the reason for the fussiness earlier in the day. But once we felt teeth, we promptly started handing out meds like candy.

After one minute, two minutes maximum, the excitement had died down. That’s when I started crying. I felt like I did not know this little one in my arms. I don’t have a daughter with teeth, so who is this?! Obviously, she is still Cora, still my daughter and still the same tousled-haired baby I took out of the crib this morning. But she is also changing, and sometimes, like today’s sudden discovery of two emerging teeth, I don’t even realize it. Unlike the first bike ride without training wheels or the walk across the stage at graduation, some of the moments of change will come unheralded. I will wake up, look at her and wonder. I think that is the best part of parenting. The Wonder.

Cora woke up little while ago, possibly disrupted by the teething pains. Brad held her for a while, but he said she kept looking around, looking for me. She loves her daddy (She tracked him down all day long while he was working from home, no matter what distractions I threw out there.) but in that moment she wanted me. I was happy to oblige, because I needed her for a little while. We cuddled, I rocked, she nuzzled. I slipped her pacifier out and rubbed her bottom gums. I needed to get acquainted with these new parts. I needed to get re-acquainted to my baby, the one who will now chew differently, nurse differently, smile differently. As she continues to grow, I am excited to learn more about my daughter in every new phase and to guide her through each new part.

*An extra roll of chub at the top of Cora’s thighs. Squeezable and cute. Maybe she will have finally hit the eighteen pound mark at her doctor appointment next month?

*Forty-five minute naps for Cora. Only twice a day. Not cool.

*A beautiful entertainment center (still to be painted)!

*Speed. Army-crawling, booty-wiggling, floor-wiping speed.

*Cherry chocolate cake balls. Amazing.

*Finger foods. Cheerios, peas, mum mums (also known at our house as “surfboards” and yum yums) and flavored baby puffs.

*The waltz, salsa, and swing dance. Brad had a date last night with four ladies, ranging in ages 7 months to twenty-six years, and we learned some fabulous moves.

Not new, but our favorite, trademark Cora smile:

Today is a beautiful day. We got something like 6-8 inches of snow yesterday and it is shimmering in the sun this morning. Cora woke up an hour ago, ate, and then wanted to go right back to sleep. She has been trying to go down to just one “morning” nap (around noon) and one late afternoon nap; because of this she often wakes around 7:30 to eat and then needs a little more sleep after that – maybe until 8:30 or 9. We have been keeping her up until about 8 or 8:30pm when we can, which has been adjustment for me. For some reason I have an unspoken Babies and Children Should Go To Bed At Seven rule in my brain. But this new bedtime seems to be working well. It makes sense because then she is awake (and happy!) when we are out and about in the evenings.

This morning as I was feeding Cora in bed, she touched my face with her soft hands and I returned the caresses, tracing along her cheek and chin. Some days just have those moments. They are moments that happen every day, but they somehow seem unique. I hold them, breath them in for a minute, and remember that now will only happen this one time.