I’m at a loss for a blog post for today and, while looking for inspiration, I started trolling my archives. And I decided – why try and come up with something new? Why not look back on Thanksgiving 1992. 25 years ago. Hannah’s first Thanksgiving. (This post originally appeared on November 26, 2013)

This was November 26, 1992. Twenty one years ago tomorrow. My baby girl was exactly 12 weeks old.

Of course she’s wearing a velvet dress. Back in the day when I had any say at all on what she wore on a holiday it always involved velvet. And the blue went with her eyes. And the smocking, well, I just love smocking on a little girl’s dress. The tights and the shoes? Oh my. And I tried with her hair but there just wasn’t enough for a bow in those days.

But what’s up with her right hand? That little “paw” there? Hold onto your hats because this is the part where I admit that I was a bad mother.

You see, I went back to work after my maternity leave on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I figured a short week was a good way to ease back into work life and I was out of paid time and so it was decided that I would return to work on Monday the 23rd. Being a good wife and mother, I purchased a pot roast to put in the crock pot for that morning. I thought it would be nice to come home after that first day to a ready-made dinner and a wonderful smelling house. I got up extra early that morning and I put the roast in the crock pot on the kitchen counter. I went about the business of getting Hannah and I ready and then I laid her jacket out on the counter and set her on top of it so that I could put it on her – something I had done every time we went out for weeks.

She started crying but that wasn’t unusual since I was stuffing her into her jacket and she often fussed about that. As I went to put her right arm into the sleeve of her coat I saw the red mark and, I’ll admit, I was completely baffled at first. And then I realized – when I laid her on the counter her little hand had gone right up against the hot crock pot. The crying was because she was in pain not because she was mad about the jacket.

I had burned my baby’s hand.

I had burned my baby’s hand and she was crying and I ignored it and thought she was just fussy.

I had burned my baby’s hand and it was already starting to blister.

I brought her straight to my mom’s house – she lived about 5 minutes away. My mom took right over and offered to bring Hannah to the doctor so that I could head to work. I didn’t dare call in, although, looking back on it, I could have and my boss would have understood. So off my mom went with Hannah and off I went to work, crying the whole way.

Worst first day back to work story ever, right?

The burns were second-degree, of course, and we had to use silvadene cream and keep a sterile gauze bandage on it for a bit. And that’s why my baby has a white paw in all of the pictures from her first Thanksgiving.

Mother-of-the year 1992 right here, folks.

Let’s hope Jack’s first Thanksgiving is much less eventful!

Today we’re throwing it back. We’re throwing it allllllll the way back to December 1992 when Hannah was 3 months old.

I cannot even stand the cuteness. And yes, she was a roly poly little thing. Or, as my pediatrician used to tell me, she was clearly thriving. In all seriousness, she was 8lb 5 oz when she was born in September and by December of that year she was up to a hefty 14lbs. That little velour jumpsuit is loose – and so cute! Hannah was the best dressed Christmas baby ever! – but that’s mostly my little nugget filling it up with her chubbiness.

I had an Emmaljunga pram and we went everywhere with that thing. It was heavy and a pain in the ass to haul in and out of the car but Hannah loved it because she could stretch out and be comfortable, nap when she felt like it, and gaze adoringly at her mama. Or, as my mom used to say, be the princess that she was clearly meant to be.

I look at these pictures and they bring back some truly happy memories. I remember that by then I was feeling like maybe I had a handle on this mom thing, finally. I was back to work but on a light schedule, she was (mostly) sleeping through the night, I was still able to breastfeed exclusively thanks to a very helpful mom and an understanding library staff, and the joy I felt when I got home from work each day and her eyes lit up at the sight of me – well – I get verklempt even now when I think about it.

I was on the verge of my first Christmas as a mom and I can honestly say that the wonder and magic of the season was profound and new and it has been ever since.

Allow me to present . . . mother and daughter in their matching Christmas sweatshirts:

Yeah.

These must have been a gift from my mom and, while it’s cute on Hannah, on me? Oy. Is it appropriate to use a Yiddish exclamation of dismay on a Christmas photo? Well, I’m going with it.

And can we talk about my hair? The blondeness? And the permed-ness? And the headband with the bow? Double oy.

In any case, this was taken at my mom’s by her Christmas tree and in front of the fireplace. You can just see the edge of the Ten Commandments that now hangs in my dining room. And there are ornaments in that photo that now hang on my tree. And my baby girl – just look at those cheeks and those tiny feet and hands.

So, despite the corny sweatshirts and bad 80s hair that obviously carried over into the early 90s, it’s a photo I sort of treasure.

Happy Christmas, Throwback Thursday Style!