Mother’s notebook -- MARY BETH P. ADOMAITIS

Did you know babies don’t come with instruction manuals?

That’s right. But you would think that after nine months of nurturing,

nourishing, protecting and providing a safe haven for the little one, any

mother would know how to take care of all her baby’s needs.

Wrong.

I delivered my daughter, Kathryn Elaine, on Nov. 21. Two days later, I

was sent home with a beautiful seven-pound child. That’s when I realized

that all the information I gathered from every book I read, every video I

watched and every person I talked to went right out the window.

For starters, you would think that bedtime wouldn’t be stressful

because Kathryn slept most of the time anyway. I put her bassinet right

next to our bed, rolled up receiving blankets to keep at her sides to

stop her from rolling around, and I turned out the light.

That’s when she started crying.

And crying.

And crying -- until 4:30 in the morning.

My husband, John, and I tried everything from adjusting the room

temperature to checking her diaper to feeding her.

She wanted none of it.

It seemed that she was cold and felt the warmest only after we lined

her bed with a couple of receiving blankets on top of the mattress --

safely tucked in of course. But that only lasted an hour or two. This

went on for the first few nights until we got used to each other, and

when she started to realize that she is supposed to sleep when it’s dark

outside, not during the day. But that took quite a few weeks for Kathryn

to figure out, as well as a lot of sleepless nights for all of us.

But like I said, babies don’t come with directions. Every child is

different, so you can’t always depend on others’ advice on child rearing.

I finally realized I had to figure it out for myself.

Back to the crying.

I needed to determine which cry meant what. The high-pitched scream,

which is usually accompanied with a red face, wailing arms and kicking

feet, usually means she’s hungry. The long, drawn out whine means

Kathryn’s tired, and the tiny little sobs with the boo-boo face means her

diaper needs changing or she just wants to be held. Those are my favorite

cries.

I could go on and on talking about my Kathryn -- about how most people

think she’s a boy because she has very little hair; about how when I put

her to bed her pajamas fit, but when she wakes up they’re too small;

about all the little socks I keep losing even though I made sure there

were pairs when I put them in the washer, or about how she never fails to

spit up or spill something on herself right after I change her.

But one thing is plain and simple -- I love being a mom, and I

wouldn’t change a thing about her (except maybe give her more hair.)

This Sunday will be my first official Mother’s Day, and I have waited

a long time for it. After suffering a heartbreaking loss two years ago, I

consider Kathryn my miracle baby. She came to us a little early and with

some minor scares, but overall she is a healthy and happy little girl.

She never lets me forget that she’s here, and I melt every time she

smiles at me.

So I will celebrate her life this weekend. I will celebrate the fact

that each and every day, I finally have a little girl who looks up to me

and depends on me for everything. I will remember the wonderful

relationship I have with my mother and hope that Kathryn and I are as

close when we get older. I will remember what a precious and priceless

gift she is and cherish each moment I have with her. And I will remember

the sacrifices my husband and I have made so I could stay home with her

every day.

After all, she is only a baby once -- even though I’m still trying to

figure out what she is doing half of the time.

* Mary Beth P. Adomaitis is freelance writer and former Times

Community News editor. She can be reached at o7 [email protected].

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