One Year Old. Gulp.

Dearest Sammie Girl,

It’s amazing how much things can change in a year. You’ve made sure of that. You gave your father and I the title of “mom” and “dad” and we couldn’t be prouder. Thank you, Sammie girl, for making me a mom. We may have thought that our lives were full of blessings before you came along, but we hadn’t seen anything yet. You’re the blessing and joy that brings a smile to our faces 24/7.

Tomorrow at 12:02 AM, you turn the big zero one. As in, you’ll be one YEAR old.

A year ago tomorrow, we were listing your age in hours. Then we were stating it in days. Days gave way for weeks, and when weeks became too confusing to count we moved onto months.

Now, darling girl, we’ll be counting your age in YEARS. Gulp.

A year ago today, your birth mom went to the hospital to be induced because you were already a week past your due date. We packed up the car and drove the few hours to Modesto, a combination of anxiety, excitement and anticipation.



As you know, our patience was tested that day as you took your sweet time to make your debut. The four of us waited on pins and needles in the hotel room, only to find out from the social worker that you probably wouldn’t be born for at least another day or so.

Nuts. I tried to ease my disappointment by going on a date with your father to the mini golf place across the street from the hotel. I won—and I NEVER beat your father. Go figure.

I went to sleep that night heartbroken, because I was so ready for you to be here and my lack of patience was getting the better of me.

An hour after drifting off, your father got the phone call that would change our lives forever. He woke me up to tell me “the baby’s coming.”

That moment held the excitement of Christmas morning—times a hundred million. I managed to type up the conversation on the blog (don’t ask me why I did that—in retrospect I know that I wanted to write it down so I’d remember it forever. Buts seriously? Why did I feel the need to do it at that very moment?).

Ten minutes later, we were on our way to the hospital and making a pit stop at Taco Bell’s drive thru (Your father HAD to have a taco at that very minute. It was his own “Seriously?” moment).

Less than an hour later, I was in the hospital room, holding a tightly wrapped and VERY alert little girl named Emily.



Fifteen minutes later, I was holding the same baby, but her name was Samantha Joy.

“We’ll call her Sammie,” I told your father and Nonni.

“Sammie’s a boy’s name,” your father replied.

“Not when you spell it with an ‘ie’ at the end instead of a ‘y’.”

“I’m not going to call her Sammie. Her name is SAMANTHA.”

I can’t help but smile as I write this, because your father’s the one who calls you Sammie more than anyone. I’ll stick a “Samantha” in every now and then (usually when introducing you to someone for the first time), but I don’t think I’ve EVER heard your dad call you anything but “Sammie.”

Looking back, you soooo are a Sammie and you soooo are not an Emily. Emily’s are demure and quiet and dainty. Sammie’s have spunk. They say it like it is. And they’re gosh darned adorable.

And that, my darling Sammie, is exactly what you are: spunky, loud and ADORABLE to the umpteenth degree.

Those days and hours leading up to your birth may have been a frenzy of nervous energy, but they were nothing compared to the excitement we’ve faced over the past year in watching you grow from silent newborn into the sweet and determined little girl you are today.

This past year has been a series of firsts: first smile, first laugh, first time sitting up, first time creeping, first time crawling…

I can only imagine what milestones the next years will hold.

Gulp.

If this were a 1990s sitcom, this post would be my cue to sit with the rest of the family in the well-lit living room, cheesy music playing in the background as I recount my favorite mommy moments of the year while clips of past “episodes” of your life played onscreen. On sitcoms, they did flashback episodes because the writers/actors/producers were too lazy to come up with a new plot. In this blog, however, it’s because as your mom I just want to wax sentimental for a moment and reflect on the joy of this past year before the clock runs out on your babyhood in just a few hours.

*cue cheesy music*

My favorite mommy moments of this past year include holding you and reading, singing and talking to you that first night in the hospital’s conference room/storage room. I loved those first few months of last summer, when it was the two of us going anywhere and everywhere. Giving you your first Taco Bell burrito and seeing you creep around the room a few hours later was a particularly cool moment. Stumbling into the laundry room with you on my hip and hearing you point to Maynerd and exclaim “DOG!” (your first word) was absolutely awesome. Seeing you crawl perfectly across the room to me on Mother’s Day was just plain awe-inspiring.

My absolute most favorite mommy moment, however, are the low key ones. I will always treasure the memories of sitting with you in your darkened room as you slept on my chest, fist curled tightly around your Robey (POFFKAMR). The room was quiet, save for the deep breaths of your sleep and the piano sound of Mike Strickland playing “Sunrise, Sunset” on the ipod. We’ve played the same soothing tunes for you every night since you were born, but those nights as I held you, the lyrics of that song were never far from my mind:

is this the little girl i carried,
is this the little boy at play?

i don't remember growing older,
when did they?

when did she get to be a beauty,
when did he grow to be so tall?

wasn't it yesterday when they were small?

sunrise, sunset,
sunrise, sunset
swiftly flow the days.

seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers,
blossoming even as we gaze.

sunrise, sunset
sunrise, sunset
swiftly fly the years,
one season following another,
laden with happiness and tears.

what words of wisdom can i give them,
how can i help to ease their way?




Loving you, my Sammie girl—past, present and future,

your mommy

PS. This is post number 100--pretty cool the way that worked out, eh?

Dearest Sammie Joy,

You are, without a doubt, MY daughter: a drama queen with a penchant for demanding the attention of the audience, no matter where you are.

Last Sunday, your stage of choice was the living room at Nonni and Poppa’s house. It was Mother’s Day (my very first one, thank you very much—more on that to come later), and the whole Willis side of the family was there to celebrate. We’d already had our fill of corn burritos, and we were sitting in the living room chatting it up while you played with your toys on the floor.

Suddenly, you looked at me with an anxious look on your face and started “talking” to me. Loudly. I mean, you could give my drama students a lesson or two on how to project your voice. All eyes turned on us as we had this conversation:

You: Yeah!
Mommy: Yeah?
You: Yeah, YEAH!
Mommy: Yeah? Yeah?
You: Yeah, blah blah YEAH!!!

Then, without warning, you stopped yelling and graduated from creeping to crawling as you crawled to me from across the room. Perfectly. On your first time. Your stomach never touched the floor. With an audience.

I can’t imagine a more perfect Mother’s Day present.

The two of us just after our Mother's Day brunch with the Vogt side. My shirt says "Sammie's Mom:"

...and again at Nonni & Poppa's backyard for Mother's Day with the Pullen side:

Love you, daughter!

your mommy

PS. As you might have guessed from the above conversation, your favorite word is “yeah.” You use it a lot. You use it if we leave the room. You use it to talk to us. You use it to express your joy over whatever toy you’re playing with. You use it to interrupt our phone conversations. Yeah.

PPS. Your dad and I enjoyed a rare date night last Saturday when we chaperoned Central's prom. You didn't go (you had a date with Auntie Beth instead), but we did snag a prom picture first:

My Daughter, the 1980s Rock Star

Dearest Sammie Girl,

Last Friday, I simply could NOT take it anymore. I’ve spent the last month and a half trying to ignore it, trying to hold off for just a few more months—until I couldn’t anymore: it was time. Time to get your hair cut for the very first time.



A few hours after making the appointment (and after waiting a little while longer for Nonni to get there so she could take pictures of the momentous occasion), we were sitting in the chair in my hair dresser’s garage salon. The plan was simple: I’d hold you in my lap while Tracey combed and snipped away at the locks that had been growing since you were born. I didn’t want her to cut a whole lot, just trim up the bangs so they weren’t in your face anymore and take a little off the side to even it up a bit. Simple, right?

Yeah, right.

Ha, ha.

You squirmed, cried, twisted your head and tried to stand up.








As I held you, Tracey bravely wielded the scissors and snipped away, cutting randomly whenever you stopped wiggling for two seconds. She must be a hairstyling ninja, because now that all is said and done, you’ve got perfectly straight bangs and pigtails that are relatively even.





Monday night, you got to debut your new hairstyle at the restaurant when your daddy’s family took me out to dinner the night before my birthday. I don’t know where you put it all, but you started eating from the moment you sat down—and didn’t stop until we took the last bite of pizookie and ice cream.




Realizing that your meal ticket was about to come to an end, you opened your mouth wide, took a deep breath, and let out a scream that popped a few circuits in my hearing aids. I spent the remaining part of the evening keeping you placated on the benches outside.


On a completely random note, it dawned on me that, aside from the pictures above, I haven’t been taking very many pictures of you this month. This is a problem, because I’ve been putting together monthly photo collages of you to display at your epic Sesame Street birthday. Heaven forbid I should only get eleven out of the twelve collages complete! So I’ve spent the last few days taking pictures of you whenever possible.

This is what I got last night, just before putting you down for bed:

Showing me how you open the drawers:






Perusing the bookcase.



Reading to me.




Making a beeline for the hallway.


…and finally, down for bed. Note the similarity between your hair and the hair of the 1980s pop icon (from the band Flock of Seagulls):




Loving you lots, my little rock star!
Your mommy

One Trick--No--Make That a NO Trick Pony

Dearest Sammie,

What’s up with the learning-a-new-trick-dropping-the-old-trick-thing? Your first trick, raising your hands on cue to “sooo big” was replaced with waving good bye and hello. Waving lasted until you figured out that you could stick out your tongue when we asked you what a snake does. Now, you’re clapping and refuse to show us what a snake does anymore.

Nuts. The snake thing was a particularly fun thing to show friends and family at get-togethers. Clapping’s alright, I guess…but not nearly as fun. Good thing you still remembered how to eat once you figured out how to use a sippy cup, because that could’ve created all sorts of problems.

The highlights of your day continue to be breakfast, lunch and dinner time. If we don’t feed you fast enough, you start to grunt for more. If whatever’s on the tray isn’t what you want, you delicately pick up the morsel of food and deliberately drop it on the floor.

Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about the food dropping too much because the dogs have figured out that baby + dinner = table scraps for dogs; they’re never more than two feet away from the high chair during meal time. Unfortunately, you’ve figured this out and find it quite fun to lean over and feed Roxy a Cheerio or two. Fortunately, Maynerd doesn’t mind being left out—he just hops on my chair after I’ve gotten you out and cleans up whatever food you may have accidentally dropped on the high chair seat. Unfortunately, the dogs weren’t around last Friday night when Nonni & Poppa took you out to eat and you proceeded to put EVERYTHING on the restaurant’s floor.

Loving you lots,
your mamma

11 down, 1 to go

Dearest Sammie Girl,

We’ve made it. We’re in the home stretch. Only one more month to go until your father and I can look at each other, breathe a sigh of relief, and say “we did it—we kept an infant happy and healthy for a full year, now the hard part is over and we can just sit back and relax.”

*Okay…the cyber moms and dads of the world can stop laughing at any time now…really…you can STOP laughing and pointing your fingers at the computer screen…I know that it only gets harder from here. Kind of. We’ll see what the next seventeen years entail.*

I’ve spent much of the past few months planning/obsessing over your first birthday party, and so far, all I’ve got to show for it is a pile of plates and napkins in the spare room and the relief of having the invitations completed and in the mail. We’re going for the Sesame Street theme. You probably could care less, we could do the Dirt and Boogers theme for all you care at the moment, but I’d hate for you to have to look at your baby book** some day and see that the party consisted of nothing more than Dirt and Boogers.

So we’re continuing with the Sesame Street theme, and I’m hoping that the piece de resistance will be the four-tiered cake I’ve been mentally dreaming up for the past several weeks. Your Auntie Tamara is helping me, and I don’t want to give too too much away, but let’s just say it involves feathers, fur, and an edible bird’s nest. We’ve also had several *practice* runs that involve you eating cake, and I don’t think you’re going to be one of those one year olds whose parents have to prod them to eat the deliciousness in front of them. You’ve yet to meet a cake you don’t like. All I have to do is figure out how to distract you from the cake once you’ve eaten your fill, lest you get a case of the “Sammies” and turn on the waterworks when we try to take it away before you get a case of the “Ralphies.”

Enough about what will be…let’s chat for a moment about what IS. Namely, let’s chat about your tongue. More specifically, you like to stick it out at people. This is funny when said people know what you’re doing (which is showing the world what the snake does). It’s not so funny when random strangers think we’ve taught our eleven month old to be rude and stick her tongue out at them.

Fortunately, this past weekend’s guests (my former college roommate, Lisa, and her husband, Dave) knew that you were doing your snake impression, and didn’t shun us as parents. Rather, they joined in on the action:



While Lisa & Dave were here, Dave had fun with his super-fancy-camera-that-is-on-my-list-of-things-to-buy-when-we’re-super-rich-but-we’ll-never-be-super-rich-so-I’ll-probably-never-own-said-camera. I even managed to sweet talk him into taking a picture of us by the front door.



This may not seem like such a big deal—we weren’t even really able to get you to look at the camera and smile—but this picture is the LAST of the pictures I needed to finish the A-Z book I had started for you before we were even matched with your birthmom. It represents “H is for Home.” It was supposed to be a relatively easy project, but getting all of the pictures necessary proved to be more difficult than I had previously planned. So, it’s with great acclaim that I can say that I finished at least something** to represent your first year as a Vogt.

In other news, while you’re still not pulling yourself up to a standing position, you are able to STAY standing when I put you next to a piece of furniture you can hold on to. Standing has proven to be quite fun for you, especially when I showed you that you can make noise by banging on the top of the coffee table.

Yeah, I may regret that some day.

Happy Eleven Months, Darling!

Loving you, my spunky little girl,
Your mama

**Yeah, about that baby book…I’m still not done beyond the first few hours in the hospital—still hoping that ONE DAY I’ll have the time to scrapbook your first year like I’d like to. Any hopes for getting time to scrapbook over spring break were brushed aside in my efforts to get your birthday invitations done and in the mail. Maybe over the summer…yeah, right. Who am I kidding? That’s not going to happen, either.

Sign of the Times

Dearest Sammie Girl,

You, my darling, have exploded with developments in this past week. For the past several weeks, you've been creep/crawling and stopping to do what can only be described as the half sit/half lounge positition (really, it makes you look like some sort of bikini model--if bikini models had Buddha bellies and diapers). I half-seriously wondered if we'd have to give you intense sitting lessons lest you not pick it up naturally in the call of the wild/living room.

That changed a few days ago, Sammie dear, when you took the time from your daily creep/crawl/lounge lizard act to sit up. On your own. Several times. Whew. I guess we won't half to follow you to college so we can place you in a sitting position now--because you're doing that on your own now, thankyouverymuch.

You've also taken to learning new things to keep us amused. Previously, you were a two trick baby (raising your hands on cue to "sooo big" and giving somewhat reluctant high fives). Now, you can wave hello and good-bye on command (usually when the person's left the room--but better late than never), you stick out your tongue when we ask what the snake does, and you're using sign language during meal times.

I'm particularly excited about the sign language thing. I'm partially deaf, and if I don't teach sign language to my baby, the deaf community will take away my deaf card. Frankly, being deaf is the one conversation starter I've got left, so I needed to do whatever possible to keep the deaf card active.

I always said I'd sign non-stop to my children when I became a mom. Then I became a mom and reality/laziness hit. I started off with the best intentions, signing constantly, but then life got in the way and I just started talking instead of signing, even though you were already showing progress at six months by signing "bottle" to us. Guilt eventually got the best of me last month, and I took up signing with you again, focusing especially on "more" and "eat."

This past weekend, your short deaf wonder mama's chest swelled with pride when you first signed "eat" while I fed you your breakfast. A few minutes later came "more" when your daily dose of Cheerios ran out. Since then, you've signed these words on a number of occasions; apparently you're a Pavlov baby because food is one the thing that's conditioning you to use sign language as a means of communication. Yeah, baby!

I'm going to *try* to keep it up by adding a few more signs to our daily vocabulary: sleep, dog, mom, dad, book and no should keep us busy for the next few weeks. Hopefully it'll be enough to not bring shame to the deaf community.

In other news that's hardly news, we had a rather chaotic weekend, darling girl. The women on Nonni's side of the family thought it would be a lovely idea to get together for a weekend in the mountains.

And it was lovely...until nighttime, when certain babies refused to go to sleep. You--who has slept through the night since you were a mere few weeks old--stayed up until well past midnight and then woke up, inconsolable, every other hour for eight straight hours. So...I accidentally slept in past breakfast. Crankiness ensued all the way around, crankiness that didn't subside until you were down for a nap and I had a special beverage along with my lunch.

At least we got some pictures out of the deal:

With Nonni:


With Aunt Diane's *adorable* puppy:


Four generations of Willis Women:


With your cousins:


Sporting "half pint" and "full pint" shirts:


...and finally, on the way home:


I love you Sammie--even as you're screaming out your refusal to nap as you are right now, I love you,

your mama

PS. Got the pictures back from the Pullen Photo Shoot last weekend. What's up with the turtle face you're sporting in some of these pictures?









and lastly, my favorite:

Happy Happy Joy Scream

Dear Sammie,

While I'm on spring break (and pretending that I'm a stay at home mom), I've had the pleasure of taking you out and about as I run errands. Each and EVERY time, we get stopped by people who simply MUST tell us at that very moment that they've never seen a HAPPIER baby. I usually respond by smiling proudly at you, making some cute/gag-me-with-a-spoon-cheesy-fake-mom-voice-comment...and jetting out of there before the aforementioned passerby figures out that you aren't always that happy.

Yesterday, while I had you in the shopping cart at Costco, we were stopped by a former co-worker of mine. You were VERY happy/borderline ridiculously cheerful, so I was feeling a little too good about chatting for longer than ten seconds. Here's the play by play:

Me: Hi *former co worker of mine* (FCWOM)
FCWOM: Hi, Sar--WHAT AN ADORABLE BABY!
Sammie: *giggle, giggle, lean pigtailed head on mommy's chest to up the cuteness ante*
FCWOM: I've never seen a more happy baby!
Me: (looking at you) Tell the nice woman thank you! Tell her thank you! You are a cutie little baby, aren't you? Yes, you're so happy! (looking back at FCWOM) We're really lucky, she's a very happy baby.
Sammie: *sit straight up and look at mommy, clasping hands and grinning to show your two new pearly whites*
FCWOM: Seriously, she is so cute!
Me: Yes, she's so fun. Her name's Samantha.
Sammie:*doing the shy smile trick thing again for more attention*
FCWOM: So...are you still teaching at Central?
---fifteen minutes later---
FCWOM: I'm so glad I got out of there when I did.
Me: Yeah, I'll be there until I die. But at least I really like the kids.
Sammie: *smile smile. wipe eyes, decide that you want a bottle* WAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

FCWOM: Wow she changed moods quickly.
Me: Yes...it's a bit Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. Have a great week! (Run to make a beeline to the shortest line while avoiding eye contact with FCWOM)
Sammie: *look over my shoulder at FCWOM to resume the grinning position*
---two minutes later, in line---
FCWOM: (Pulling cart behind mine) I guess I'll get to spend a few more minutes with Samantha while we wait in line!
Sammie: *realize you still don't have previously thought of bottle* WAAAAAAAAAAUGGGGGGGGGGH!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHCKKKKKKKK!!!!!! WANYH-WANYH-WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
FCWOM: She turns the tears on fast!
Me: Yeah, she does that. *Nervous chuckle*
---five minutes later, paying for my purchases---
Me: (Yelling to be heard over the screams) See you later, FCWOM! Have a great week...again! (Mad dash to the exit)
Sammie: *smile, smile, grin*


I think in future years people will refer to similar mad mood shifts as "The Sammie." I think it'll play out like this:



Guy #1: So I went on this date the other night, with this really cool girl. Started out great, she was all fun and smiles. Then I mentioned my ex-girlfriend's name and she totally pulled a "Sammie" on me.

Guy #2: Yeah, better watch out for those mad mood shifts. Once they pull "The Sammie" on you, you just never know when it's going to come back again.



Or something like that.



In other news, we had a crazy busy weekend. It started off on Saturday, with the Pullen side of the family trekking down to Visalia to take some artsy family pictures. Your Poppa had promised Nonni TWO YEARS ago that he'd get family pictures taken for her for mother's day. Then came pregnancy/plans of adoption, then came baby, and baby again, then came the "let's wait until the babies can sit..."



Finally, your cousin started sitting a month ago, and Poppa had run out of excuses, so we booked a session with the same photographer who's been shooting your professional baby pictures. Nonni even bought you and Ben coordinating blue and yellow outfits, and made the rest of us wear clothes to match the two of you.



The photo shoot took place in a field/oak preserve, and it was freakin' cold. Which is a bummer when the usually-prepared-mommy forgets to bring a sweater for her baby girl who's wearing a sleeveless dress. Fortunately, you turned on the grins as soon as the camera came out. Whenever you weren't in a shot, we had you wrapped in a blanket and Nonni's sweater. I think the pictures will come out okay, but I won't know for sure until we see them for ourselves on Friday. I was hoping to get a good picture with the three of us, and I *think* we succeeded in getting at least one halfway decent shot. Anywho, we capped off the day by going to dinner and giving you spaghetti for the first time.



Um, I think you like spaghetti.

The next day was your very first Easter. You started the morning off by perusing what the Easter Bunny brought you in your Easter basket (plastic eggs, some with cheerios, some little toys, some just empty).







The Easter basket kept you entertained for quite a long time when Daddy's side of the family came over that afternoon. Uncle Tom got at least fifteen hours worth of footage out of you exclaiming over each and every egg as you pulled it out of your basket.

I managed to finagle you away from your admirers long enough to get some pictures of you outside with your basket (again, it was super cold--seriously the coldest Easter I can remember in a loooong time). Fortunately, you saw the camera and gave me a few good shots.





After a too-quick afternoon nap, we shuttled ourselves off to Nonni & Poppa's for Easter #2. You and Ben seemed to hit it off. Literally. You sat there and hit each other on the head with your Easter eggs. I channeled Uncle Tom and took a bazillion pictures. Bummer that all of the sixty something pictures are blurry.






Love you, my Sammie Girl,

your mommy