When Sun was born, being early and small, they whisked her away from me before I could hold her. But before leaving the Delivery Room, my husband got a good look at her and held her. As the doctor was completing my caesarian section, and I was doing all I could not to panic about having major surgery while being wide awake, I focused all my attention on my daughter. As CS gazed at her for the first time, I heard him ask the nurse, “What’s that on her leg?” WHAT? I thought. What’s WHAT on her leg? Ohmygod! What’s wrong with her??? The nurse very calmly responded, “Oh, that’s just a birthmark.” I could breathe again.

Then the nurse handed Sun to my husband and he brought her to me to see. Then Sun was removed for testing for hours. We waited and waited to see her. When they finally wheeled her in and put her in my arms, the first thing I did was unwrap her and look at her leg. I wanted to be damned sure no one swapped babies on me. And maybe there was another one that looked as cute as her (although that is hard to imagine!), it would be rare for that baby to also have Sun’s unique birthmark. Her mark was there–dark red, almost purple, like a bruise, and smooth on her skin. I thought it’d clear up in a few days. Here’s what it looked like then:

It did not clear up. Instead, it turned from a deep red to a bright red and the skin raised and got bumpy. It is large and takes up a good bit of her left shin. It is technically called a hemangioma and is more commonly referred to as a strawberry mark due to its bright, angry red color and the raised texture of the skin. We were told that best case scenario it would grow and then slowly (over a period of years) disappear.

We were told to “keep an eye on it.” And we did keep an eye on it. It started to get scabby. Did this mean it was starting to “involute” or heal or did it indicate a sign of growth? The internet suggested either could be the case. So two weeks ago we took her to a pediatric dermatologist. The doctor informed us that the scabbing was a sign of growth, aggressive growth. Such scabbing could lead to serious scarring. In an attempt to prevent that, we took the doctor’s advice and allowed her to begin laser treatment and oral steroid treatment. Today was her second laser treatment. The idea is to first stunt the growth of the mark and to rush it into the involution phase. If thereafter it is not reducing in size and color, a second treatment of lasers would be used to diminish its appearance. Here’s (two overexposed pictures, sorry) what it looks like now:

I have a lot of mixed feelings on this whole thing. On the one hand, it is just a birthmark that is not expected to hinder her ability to crawl or walk. It is superficial and not likely to cause permanent injury. Well, other than that potential permanent scarring. In a world where appearances are everything, do I want to encourage that behavior by medically eliminating her negative features? It isn’t like she has a club foot or bow legs. It’s a mark on her skin. A mark that tells me and the world that she is uniquely herself. And do I want to expose her to laser treatment and steroids? No, I do not.

But on the other hand, it is a very large mark and the scabbing is not at all attractive. And there is that very real chance of serious scarring. CS and I have both been asked many times already by perfect strangers, “What’s THAT on her leg?” “Was she burned?” I want to answer these insensitive people, “That is from me smoking (and/or drinking) while pregnant.” But I always cower and find myself defensive and giving the person a crash course on hemangiomas. We cover her leg now in public as much as possible just to keep idiots from asking us dumb questions or giving us weird looks. It is nice that we do get an occasional person who will say, “Oh, look at her birthmark” in a matter-of-fact tone. But that is the exception.

And as bad as CS and I feel when asked these questions, how bad will Sun feel when teased by other children? Kids can be cruel. And as a parent, we all want to shelter our children from needless hardship.

So for us, as bad as I feel about taking action on a mark on Sun’s skin that is not likely to ever cause her a physical problem (well, other than that risk of scarring or not dissipating entirely on its own), the decision has been made and we have taken action (and to me, lasers and steroids are moderately aggressive) because we feel it is in her best interest. We are told that she is likely to have some residual mark on her leg at the end of treatment–the texture of the skin is likely to be wrinkly. But it still saddens me that those features that are unique in us are the ones we sometimes take action to eradicate.

So, Pete and I were admiring Sun’s recent picture when it occurred to Pete that Sun’s hair, in addition to being muppet hair, looks like the old-time handlebar mustaches of the wild, wild west. Damned if I could disagree. So here’s what Pete thinks Sun would look like as “Wild West Sun”:

Still damned adorable to me!

My hubs dabbled in photography. It started with a trip to Europe. He needed a digital camera for the trip. And he researched the best deal for the money. He spent a lot of money on that camera. This was over five years ago. He came home from that trip and realized he had a talent. I encourage that talent. He hated his job “working for the man,” and so we worked to get him working as a full time photographer.

He bought stuff. Lots of stuff. Cameras galore–film, digital, antique, brand spanking new, cheap, expensive. And lens and lights and camera bags and those umbrella things to capture the light and light meters and photography books and magazines. And he attended conferences and got better. And he got gigs. He photographed weddings, children, pets, baptisms, high school seniors, parties.

Then we bought a business post-Katrina and he put the photography on the back burner to focus his energies on the business. And he’s happy with the business.

But we have a new baby, dammit, and what does any new mom want? PICTURES! I have thousands of pictures of my cat from when CS first began taking pictures. He has even promised to take a picture of Sun every day of his life but hasn’t. But yesterday! Yesterday! I got this:

There were other equally as good pictures. I spent all day at the office gazing at the pictures he took of Sun. Sun and her muppet hair. And when I got home from work, CS told me that she grabbed things for the first time–a toy, her burp cloth. And when I picked her up, she grabbed my necklace.

It is truly amazing how much she changes from one day to the next. I will insist that CS keep photographing her to capture it all.

I am 37. I don’t usually feel 37 (although sometimes I feel 67); rather, I usually feel 27.

I remember being around six years old, putting my mother at 35 years old, and being in my mother’s room watching her put make-up on one morning. “Mom,” I asked, “do you have false teeth?” “No, honey,” she responded, “Why do you ask?” “Because,” I answered, “I thought all old people had false teeth.”

I shudder to think what Sun will think of her old mom when she is six and what questions she will ask of me.

Today was The Day. My first “real” day back in the office. Officially. And the first day Sun has been away from CS and me all day. Gulp.

I planned on going to work on Monday but was quite distressed to discover not one of my pre-pregnancy suits fit me. Not one. Ohmygod. So I spent Monday at the mall buying “big girl” clothes — but just enough to get me to where I can lose the rest of the baby weight. Wouldn’t want to get too comfortable in my big girl clothes such that I don’t want to get back to my earlier weight (at least, this is what I tell myself!).

So today I am in a spiffy new suit. And heels. Heels! I haven’t worn anything but sandals for the last three months. I feel like the Hank Azaria character in “The Bird Cage.” You know, the one who tripped wearing shoes? Yup, that’s me.

Anywho, this morning went off without a hitch — my briefcase was ready, the baby was packed, CS even packed a lunch for me. We both felt like it was my first day at school!

Then I was off to meet my friend Wendy (over at Southern Mom) to hand off Sun to her. We had a rendezvous point in between our two homes and on the way home for Wendy from dropping Amber off at kindergarten — at a closed down fruit stand. Glamorous, huh?

Wendy calls me to tell me the traffic is tight at that location. So we detour and end up doing “the drop” on the side of the road. More glamor! So I quickly hand over Sun and her mountain of accoutrement when Wendy and my eyes meet with a singular thought. Wendy asked, “Does this feel illicit to you?” I felt I should be talking in code: “Here’s the ‘package’”; “the ’supplies’ are packed”; “the eagle has landed” (Ok, that last one was just for fun). Thankfully, there were no fat envelopes swapped. I think cops would have swarmed our cars thinking I was selling a baby out of the trunk of my car.

And Wendy has spent her day reminding herself why she doesn’t want a third child (good ole dirty baby diapers!) and blogging all day to keep me up to date. I wonder how she’d feel about installing a camera in her home for me to see Sun all day. . . . C’mon!

And thus today has been a success. I have even been invited to be on a Steering Committee for this great national organization of which I am a member for their 2008 conference in New Orleans! Way cool!

So though I am wobbly in my shoes, the worst is behind me. I have new work that actually envigorates and excites me (oh, how long has it been that I’ve been envigotated and excited about work?)

It is official: I am a working Mom.

After all the troubles I had with getting Sun to nurse, we finally got it down last week such that Sun is nursing first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and at the 2am feeding. The other three feedings are bottles (one breast milk, two formula). So I am now pumping at most only twice a day. I opted for this schedule so that whether I was at work or not, things would be the same.

When I am at work, I am pumping with a Medela Pump-In-Style pump given to me by a dear friend. She GAVE me her pump, a pump she used four years ago while she worked as a new mom.

And that’s the funny thing. This pump already knows my office. You see, the friend who gave it to me once worked in my office. Technically, we met through work and became friends. But we became friends five seconds after meeting and both knew we had found something special in each other. Then she had the nerve to up an move far, far away and we don’t see each other or talk as much as we would like. But when we do talk, all time slips away and it’s like we talk every day.

Every time I grab the pump backpack or plug in the pump, I think of my friend and her journey with being a working mother and striking that balance that makes it successful. I draw strength from her — she who works harder than most people I know but could get away with working half so hard to keep up with the rest of us; she who wants the best for her son and her parents and struggles to want the best for herself; she who has been down this breastfeeding/pumping road I am about to walk down and knows it can be done.

And so I didn’t just inherit a breastpump, but I am also benefiting from the journey this pump has already been through with its previous owner. I’d like to think there is another mom-to-be out there to whom this pump will pass in another couple of years.

I love to smell the top of a cat’s head. Cats have spots near their ears on the tops of their heads that have glands that secrete an oil. This is why cats rub their heads on furniture — to get the oil on their favorite pieces. They are marking their territory.

I have replaced my favorite smell being that of a cat’s head with that of Sun. I have found that I now smell Sun whenever I pick her up. I smell the top of her head and kiss her. She doesn’t always smell like baby shampoo (in fact, she rarely does). She just smells like Sun, just as CS smells like CS and Peanut smells like Peanut. And I inhale her scent and hold it in my nose the way a cat smells something new — with it’s mouth slightly ajar memorizing the scent.

I can’t get enough of her smell. Even when she is crying heavily and I get a noseful of her milky breath. Sun’s scent is intoxicating.

My mother came for a visit yesterday. Just before she arrived, Sun had another one of her exploding diapers. This one spread all around the waistline of her onesie. I immediately put the onesie in the washing machine. When the washer buzzed, I went to check it — it was still stained. I tossed it in the trash and called to my mom, “Well, there goes another one.” She called back, “Here’s a little hint: put it in the sun. Baby stains will come out.” I thought, “Sure; I’ll humor you.” Just like I humor her father when he offers me cans of tomato paste that are so old they are about to burst — I take the can telling him I’ll use it then toss it in the trash when I get home. It’s a public service, from my way of thinking. I am getting bad food out of society.

So I open my door to place the onesie on the porch. “On the grass,” my mom says to me, “You need to put it on the grass — it has something to do with the chlorophyll.” I find the one small patch of sunlight in the yard and lay the onesie in it. “This will never work,” I continue to think.

We then go to lunch and return an hour later. It is now overcast and there is no sun in my yard. I pick up the onesie and am shocked, SHOCKED, to see nary a stain. Not on the front that was touching the grass, and not on the back that was facing the sun. It looks brand-spanking new. White as white gets.

So there’s my mother’s helpful tip to all you mommies out there: “Baby stains” (nice euphemism, huh?) come out easily in the sun but only if you lay the item in grass. What tips have you gotten from your mother that you thought were outrageous but proved to be true??

Early on in knowing Captain Sarcastic, I was aware that animals and small children responded to him–he has this uncanny ability to calm and relax them; they are uncontrollably drawn to him. So it came as no surprise that Sun finds peace in her daddy’s arms. I can rock, sing to, or walk with Sun endlessly. And she’ll even fall asleep. But within 15 minutes, there is a pretty good chance she’ll be up again. After about three rounds of this, I give up and send in CS. He’s the closer. He can get her down in no time every time and she is down for good. Rrrr.

Oh, and the cat? Since the baby was born, Peanut is even more into him than she was before–and that is saying a lot. She still crawls over me to get to CS to give him biscuits. CS summed it up quite succinctly recently: “If she won’t give you biscuits now, you’ll never get ‘em. I mean, you’re doughy and smell like milk.” Indeed.

With all the problems I’ve had with breastfeeding, there has been another kind of nukkie war being waged in our home. Sun loves to suck. She could suck all day. Except for one problem: the binky pops out of her small mouth. If she were a cartoon, I’d see “doonk” all day long in a cartoon bubble above her head. Has a parent ever been arrested for child abuse or turned into Child Protective Services for duct taping a binky to a baby’s face? I’m just askin’. . . .