When I was in labor with CeCe, I felt like I was pushing forever (in reality it was only 2o minutes total). About halfway through, I was pretty discouraged, so as soon as Carl could see her head he shouted I see black curls! I had always wanted a curly haired little one, so that was all the motivation I needed to keep on pushing. Since I had an epidural with the twins, all the pain and, well, feeling every aspect of labor was so new to me with CeCe. So was the experience of naturally birthing a big baby: CeCe (whose full name is Sienna Faith) weighed 8 pounds 4 ounces, whereas the twins were only around two pounds each. Slightly different, huh? However, after all that pain, the experience of immediately holding my little girl on my chest was also very different from my first labor experience. The rush of adrenaline was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, which should have been a sign that CeCe was going to be unlike anyone I had ever experienced before either. Little did I know…
From the time she was born, CeCe was different than the twins. She was bigger, she was a champion nurser from the beginning, and she had those beautiful dark curls. She was a quiet baby through most days, perfectly content to be worn from the time she woke up until she went to bed. She wanted her mama and only her mama. She rarely let her grandparents hold her, and she often shied away from even her daddy. She was an easy, content baby during the day. Nighttime was a different story, however. CeCe has always been a horrible sleeper, waking every 45 minutes at night to nurse until about her first birthday. Her first year of life felt like it was going to kill me. Between her sleep habits and parenting twin toddlers, it’s a miracle we survived.
Funnily enough, once CeCe could walk and talk, she turned into a different child. My laid-back, easy-going baby turned into a little bulldog. She climbed on everything, explored everything, and gave us quite the run for our money. She wasn’t afraid of anything. When she was about two years old, she slammed her finger in a bedroom door, cutting the tip of her finger off. We lived 20 miles from town and the nearest hospital at the time, so I was in a complete panic trying to load up two three year olds and a two year old to get her to the emergency room. I had no idea what to do with her tiny finger that was hanging on by merely a thread of skin, so I (I don’t know why) wrapped it in a washcloth and then duct taped (yes, duct taped) it on to stop the bleeding. The girls were in dress up dresses and rain boots, Cade was wearing a full body Spiderman costume, complete with mask (he lived in it for his entire third year), and we had just gotten about six inches of fresh snow. We looked like quite the circus rushing into the hospital! By the time we were at the hospital, CeCe had calmed her screaming and was calmly staring at her washcloth-bandaged finger in a mixture of awe and fear. Carl had met us there and took her in, where she allowed them to stitch her finger up without a single tear. I was far more traumatized than she was!
Not long after that fun day, I woke up one morning to some weird sounds. The kids were all in a room together and out of our room at this point, but I was usually up before them. At the least, if they woke up first, they came in and immediately woke me up, so I couldn’t imagine what I was hearing. Splat, crack, splat, crack. I creeped out of bed, looked into the kids room to see empty beds, and quickly walked out to the living room. Standing before me was CeCe, an entire carton of eggs in front of her, showing the twins how to thrown them against our leather couch. She was chucking them at the bottom part of th couch, so the would crack and then the egg goo would slide down onto my brand new rug. She thought it would be fun. Deep breath.
CeCe has her own unique names for everything. Even at five, she calls tomatoes ponanoes, pogo sticks are popo snicks, salt and pepper is salt and feffer. There are so many others, I wish I could think of a few more. We try to teach her correct names for things, but to no avail, she just has her own little language. This last summer, we drove 1,800 miles to eastern Montana to visit family. Our car had some issues in the middle of nowhere in Southern Idaho, so we had to stay at a hotel and get it figured out. We were all exhausted, discouraged, and ready for bed by the time we trooped into our room at 11 that night. As I was nursing Adele and Carl was trying to find more pillows, CeCe somehow managed to pick up the hotel phone, dial 911, and shout into the receiver: WE HAVE A FIRE! She then slammed the receiver down, while we all stared in bewilderment. Once we figured out that she had really, truly called 911, we had to call the front desk and explain our dilemma.
CeCe is one of the funniest, sweetest, most kind-hearted little girls I know. I know I am completely biased, but she is so special to us. We are so blessed to have her in our life and I feel so lucky to have been chosen to be her mama. She does hilarious things on a daily basis, some of which are just so funny I had to share them with you!