February

I'm at a loss for words. And not just because I didn't have a great sleep night last night. Being a parent is hard work. I am analyzing everything I do for Eleanor and for myself. After getting over the initial hump with breastfeeding, I now analyze pumping and when I should do it and when should I try to offer her a bottle. I analyze if I'm feeding her enough or too much. I analyze my morning cup of coffee and if it's giving her gas and if it's the gas that makes her shriek from her sound sleep. I guess this is just the beginning of the analysis and worry.

Things have been better mentally for me. That first week and then the time in the hospital was bad, really bad. At one point R asked me if I felt like harming myself or Eleanor. I didn't but it was all I could do to eat or get out of bed. The reason I did was Eleanor. Feeling better made Stella's birthday easier. We didn't really do anything special. We just thought of her and the day last year when everything changed. We cried a lot. I couldn't look through her photos or go into her bin. The last time I did it was too hard. Instead I wore my owl locket and cried into Eleanor's hair.

Part of me wishes we had done something- a cake, a candle, a special trip. We thought about going for a drive out to where we got married but Eleanor is a little too small and it's a little too cold. And I feel like one year is too hard. It takes me a while to get used to things, to adjust. Like when I started high school I wanted to do activities but I wanted until my second year to pick what I wanted to do. Same with college. Same with life. It takes me a while to figure things out in my slow brain. Stella will never be forgotten and she was remembered by those who truly are important in our lives. And she lives on in Eleanor Moon. Taking care of Eleanor was my gift to Stella.

Now we wait for the 25th. My sister made a candle we'll keep lit all day in the Jewish tradition to remember the death of a loved one. And it will be Eleanor's one month birthday. Stella will always live on in Eleanor. The funny thing is I didn't see a strong resemblance between the two of them when Eleanor was born but as I sit here next to Eleanor and look up at Stella's photo on the bookcase, I do. Same nose, same chin, same forehead, same amount of hair.

You know, speaking of those who remembered Stella on the 13th. R and I are not religious but we try to have a kind of spirituality. R was reading Tricycle magazine the other day and read aloud a part that sticks with me:

If you're out watering your flower garden by hand, you naturally concentrate the flow of water to benefit your beautiful flowers. If there's an area of weeds, you don't waste water there. [...} You can learn to selectively water the positive seeds and flowers in you by attending to them. There are enough weeds. You don't have to encourage them.

I also take this to mean that the people in your life are flowers or weeds. Why spend time watering the weeds?