On January 29 we moved Evelyn into her crib. This was the third time that we made the move. The first was when she was small. Not like she is big and all grown up now, but at the time she was just a tiny baby still. I couldn't handle the separation. I physically ached when she wasn't in the room with us. It was like my arm was missing.
The second time she wasn't ready, and made it known to all. It was right around the holidays and we were in the process of a futile attempt to banish the swaddle from the bedroom. After night 4 it was useless. We all weren't sleeping and the entire house was just an emotional, sleep-deprived wreck. So back to the room she came, content in her nest next to our bed.
This time, though, the quality of our sleep began to deteriorate with her sleeping in our room. Each time I came to bed she awoke, crying to nurse and frantic for comfort. Maybe I've written about this already, but frankly I am too lazy to check the archives. So anyway, our sleep turned to shit. We were all waking up multiple times through the night, starting with when I came to bed. So, the move happened, and now we are one week later and things are going surprisingly well. She sleeps for a long stretch nearly every night, and when she wakes prior to that first night nursing, she resettles herself more often than not. I do realize that I just jinxed myself by saying this out loud, by the way. My point is, it is working for us right now. We are all sleeping better for the change.
I am surprised, however, at how my heart aches and misses her at night. Our little room feels like it is missing something. In an odd way, having her in the other room magnifies the fact that I no longer carry her in my womb. Women often comment on how they miss feeling their baby kick and roll inside their round bellies. I haven't felt that. Yet, suddenly, here I am missing her soft presence. You see, since October of 2008, this is the longest we have gone without sharing the quiet stillness of the night together. The is the furthest away that my girl has been from me since she was a little cluster of cells.
There are many things about motherhood that I never anticipated, and this is one of those things. I am sure that this is really the beginning of it, seeing as we have a lifetime of intense attachment intertwined with moments of letting go ahead of us.
Once, when I was living in Ecuador, I was talking with my mom on the phone. At the time, I was on a separate continent, my brother was in Boston, and my sister in San Diego - we were all far from home. She wondered aloud, as we talked, what had happened that we all moved so far away? I told her, with confidence and reassurance in my heart and voice, that it was the sense of adventure that she and my dad had instilled in us. In my eyes, they had raised us to explore; they gifted us with a sense of confidence and security to pursue our dreams, regardless of location.
Now, here I am as a mother and my heart aches knowing my own daughter is as far away as the next room. Miles away. How could I know, back then, what it felt like for my mom to have us all so far away? I too, hope that Mike & I will instill the same sense of adventure, exploration, confidence, and security in Evelyn the way that my parents did for my siblings and me. From experience, I know that it will indeed be a magnificent gift to give her. I also know, however, that it is with heaviness in my heart that I will let her go. Only now, as a new parent, do I even begin to understand how much courage it takes to be a mother.
I started with two medium organic sweet potatoes. I poked holes in them, wrapped them in foil and put them in the oven to bake.
They baked for about 45 minutes, until they were soft and squishy when I squeezed them. I then unwrapped them and put them in the fridge to cool while we went out for breakfast with Mike's family.
When we got back from breakfast, I slices each sweet potato lengthwise and scooped out the meat. I was surprised at how the meat fell easily away from the skin. You can see the skins folded and stacked in the photo below.
I used the hand blender to puree the meat. I added breastmilk and water to get a thin puree. It wasn't so thin that I could pour it, but it was very smooth. I didn't know how much liquid I would need to thin the puree to the right consistency, so I just kept adding until it looked right. I used about 3.5 ounces of breastmilk and and additional 2 ounces of water.
This is what the finished puree looked like once I put it in the ice cube tray. Each cube is an ounce of food. I froze the cubes and before I went to bed last night, I popped them out of the tray and into a baggie that I labelled with the food and the date prepared. The little bowl on the left is what I reserved to feed Evelyn over a couple of days, so it is now in the fridge. 
Is there a baby hiding under all those blankets?
