tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59433014576508437092024-03-05T19:55:45.644-08:00Three, It's a Magic Numbercommonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-69965360403691927702014-07-03T15:24:00.000-07:002014-07-03T15:24:51.466-07:00Some People Don't<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9rClLQmg04SAZEOltgM9LmHF4o1tXOIkrH_iB3hAix1RCx4l5rXZnSmxaoNMbaMvdQw21GNgE66JJ6_2Usb0BxgX3MKPZRzCCq2jvOM5AB39-5qsb4nuJ4DXkjuob6A9zDq59wifwFA/s1600/DSC05175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9rClLQmg04SAZEOltgM9LmHF4o1tXOIkrH_iB3hAix1RCx4l5rXZnSmxaoNMbaMvdQw21GNgE66JJ6_2Usb0BxgX3MKPZRzCCq2jvOM5AB39-5qsb4nuJ4DXkjuob6A9zDq59wifwFA/s1600/DSC05175.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Ila turned 4 on Saturday. Happy birthday, Ila! For the last several weeks, because of her impending birthday, we have been counting. How many days until her birthday. How many years old she is. And, the other night, how many years until she could drive. She and I were running an errand when she announced that she would not be able to drive when she was 5 but maybe when she was 20. We discussed 16 as the legal driving age and counted from 4 to 16 to see how long it would be. She told me that 12 years was a long time. Then, after thinking quietly for a few minutes, she said, "What if we lived 20 years?!" as if this were an astoundingly long time to live.<br />
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I said, "Well, I hope we live a lot longer than 20 years. Some people live to 100!"<br />
<br />
Then, very pensively, earnestly, with a note of regret in her voice like she was informing me of something true but difficult, she said, "Some people don't."<br />
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All I could do was agree with her. Some people don't. I know I am not alone, in the land of parents, with my feelings of abject horror at the thought of my children dying. It's a thought I can't even look at squarely, in the eyes. It darts in, and I avert my eyes quickly, but I can still see the looming shape, the indistinct figure of fear in my periphery. I suffer from intrusive thoughts about death in general, and I really hope my children are more like Kiyomi in this way. She just doesn't think about death. Her death. Our children's deaths. I worry that Ila will be more like me. And, I worry that she is going to ask me about death before I have a good answer figured out. My bar for "good answer" is pretty low. I'm not talking about some kind of philosophically thoughtful, open, considered answer. I'm talking about an answer that doesn't simply broadcast my complete panic. I'd like to be coherent and not sniveling. That'd be a good answer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tyEngw3V9gbKhTb4KbYXhuuK_WVdMzVT5mMr_TlqOm2reCUhtKlHgsOwbAby69ZoksXzeQvl7FUKgCbl7Ikq7QaJUJwfBpPA2BSaTaPxVjMSMpYRBqQIG4MbVS95T-5-SCekea47Lu0/s1600/IMG_2886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tyEngw3V9gbKhTb4KbYXhuuK_WVdMzVT5mMr_TlqOm2reCUhtKlHgsOwbAby69ZoksXzeQvl7FUKgCbl7Ikq7QaJUJwfBpPA2BSaTaPxVjMSMpYRBqQIG4MbVS95T-5-SCekea47Lu0/s1600/IMG_2886.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>So, I listen to her thoughts circle around time, aging, mortality. She is defintiley trying to figure some of these things out. We were eating a snack the other day and talking about her being a kid and me being a grown up. I said, "Maybe I'm a little kid too."<br />
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Ila dismissed this immediately. "No, you're a grown up."<br />
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"What makes me a grown up?"<br />
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Without missing a beat, as if this was the universal bar, she said, "You drive a car."<br />
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"What if I was a kid who drove a car?" <br />
<br />
She thought for maybe one second. "No. You use sharp knives. And scissors."<br />
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Now we have delineated maturity. Driving and successfully using cutting implements. (By the way, I'm killing it as a grown up. You should see me with some scissors.) Never mind all that other stuff - supporting yourself, caring for your family, taking emotional responsibility for yourself, making decisions, doing lots of household chores. If fact, that's kind of what being a grown up means for me right now. Doing chores. I don't mind really. It's one of the easier items on the list. Fortunately, being in my home most of the time also includes cute little kids. They are so cute. I know that I will get more rest when the two little ones are older...but I will miss this toddler adorableness.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOH2to9mAgBFjl35SAegHUAMZo9vzqMSQ8HTwfkHbyywpHuoKYhBlnEKpj15JSgeAg4S60kJAtdxvbBoaj91MmqvBLh9pLIMtQkfQRlIttFovfMSvI-nuG_YkwNiZNZeblfya_BPiNFc/s1600/IMG_2820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOH2to9mAgBFjl35SAegHUAMZo9vzqMSQ8HTwfkHbyywpHuoKYhBlnEKpj15JSgeAg4S60kJAtdxvbBoaj91MmqvBLh9pLIMtQkfQRlIttFovfMSvI-nuG_YkwNiZNZeblfya_BPiNFc/s1600/IMG_2820.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
Pippa is the adventurer of the family. Fortunately, this includes being bold, quick, smart, perceptive, strong, persistent, and tough. Unfortunately, this also includes being incautious, fearless, stubborn, and not the least bit sensible to danger. She is amazing to watch. When she learns to do something, she does it like 50 times in a row to really get it down. She is not thrown off by failure or mistakes. She loves climbing and anything new or forbidden. That's pretty typical for a toddler, though. Still, she exemplifies these toddler traits. She is also a bit of a brute. She will pull, yank, ram or in any other way try to force objects and people to do her bidding. Ila has never been physically aggressive with the babies but they are with her, especially Pippa,. They will pull her hair or hit her on occasion. Sometimes they seem frustrated. Sometimes they just seem curious. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDr8nOfWtmB4vYBHlq96QeDMaziGn0fh1mAzdgCYZBbSCF7PhyMQR77LsN1w_Pw3jvY5UQkJ9oKFUp6eaNhZsr8CL3Sqgm0XlpEsH4ddj2fUvvviCa9rgomhio24ZHolhcjzxg15DoI4/s1600/IMG_3167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDr8nOfWtmB4vYBHlq96QeDMaziGn0fh1mAzdgCYZBbSCF7PhyMQR77LsN1w_Pw3jvY5UQkJ9oKFUp6eaNhZsr8CL3Sqgm0XlpEsH4ddj2fUvvviCa9rgomhio24ZHolhcjzxg15DoI4/s1600/IMG_3167.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Pippa is also so determined to communicate. She has a number of words she says all the time: tickle, up, nur (nurse), hi, bye, no, more, nose, hat, ball, this and Pippa. She says "mama" sometimes but she doesn't really use it as a name. She sort of issues it as a command to anyone fitting the description, as in, "Get a mama in here now!" or "I want the other mama, not this one!" She looks at you like she is willing you to understand her. She also takes your hand and makes it do what she wants. Sometimes this includes manipulating it, like making it into a cup to hold something or taking one finger to push a button. She is going to be a powerhouse when she gets all her words. Watch out!<br />
<br />
Forrest is our little Puck, our tiny mischievous elf. He pays close attention to what
he's not supposed to do and does it, preferably for laughs because he is
also a ham. He has one dimple and a very playful little smile. He
loves, loves, loves to laugh with you. In fact, when anyone is
laughing, even if he doesn't know why, he is prone to laughing himself.
He just wants to join the party. Plus, he is tiny. He's so cute. His little hands, his little
face, his little body. He's just so little. Sweet and cute and cuddly and devilish. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhMG7I3M8gWGW01HVS11EVACONDILqPsOPT3vRxNYsuu3C9blgiYOR8yVOOJ7tmLYL4HIsICMwnw8Wv2WCtRdQBDdS7Su44Flktnje7Nc6QkRfXDEGZG6DxlVRERgvmX8ljAuZMNlAdA/s1600/IMG_2818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhMG7I3M8gWGW01HVS11EVACONDILqPsOPT3vRxNYsuu3C9blgiYOR8yVOOJ7tmLYL4HIsICMwnw8Wv2WCtRdQBDdS7Su44Flktnje7Nc6QkRfXDEGZG6DxlVRERgvmX8ljAuZMNlAdA/s1600/IMG_2818.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>He is also the resident pointer. He babbles and points, very emphatic babbling, but mostly babbling. He does do a few signs, and he's maybe said a few words: here, this, raisin, ball, more. But the one word I know he's trying to consistently say is "nurse." Like Pippa, he says something like "nur." He's also a biter, though fortunately not when he nurses. The two rounds of teething have including many little nips on my leg. He just leans over and takes a chomp, mid activity. Then, after all the teeth are in, he stops. I guess my body parts are the most enticing teethers.<br />
<br />
Together the babies are like puppies - egging each other on, getting into everything they shouldn't, climbing all over each other, stealing each other's toys, and howling in agony if the other one is unhappy. Throw Ila into the mix and the house looks like a tornado hit. It is exhausting, I'll grant you, but, when I have all three of them on my lap (they all miraculously fit), it is also pretty sweet and wonderful.<br />
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NOTE: So, I actually wrote this the first week of June (right after Ila's birthday), but it has taken me a month to post it! I just reread this and, in the intervening weeks, both the babies have started saying so many more words...Pippa says a mean "Ila" now...and Forrest's current favorite is the word "more," which he pronounces "moah moah moah moah." And says it like a baby bird hollering for, well, more. It's amazing to see how much changes in a few weeks at this point in a child's life. <br />
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<br />commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-83116930397236310482014-03-01T17:35:00.002-08:002014-03-01T18:41:13.609-08:00Look what I can do!<br />
Hip hip hooray! Forrest and Pippa are one!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZEY7o1bhOdE0rt9i8xjxIX-i3YtlNeCHdm34kiY_rmq-AyIimolL3qI2otc5uYrh8cXxVYJxtbo2KJOBbyoq3dIWUyZddVUJMDzObWCgzY_QvqM6GlZQl_r7WnY4dSnznIuxLoi0lm4/s1600/IMG_0653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZEY7o1bhOdE0rt9i8xjxIX-i3YtlNeCHdm34kiY_rmq-AyIimolL3qI2otc5uYrh8cXxVYJxtbo2KJOBbyoq3dIWUyZddVUJMDzObWCgzY_QvqM6GlZQl_r7WnY4dSnznIuxLoi0lm4/s1600/IMG_0653.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday suit; birthday balloon.</td></tr>
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It is hard to believe that they have been around for a whole year...and that we survived having two infants at the same time. Seriously. I actually frequently think, "Well, this isn't sooo bad...it'd be really crazy if we had three!" I guess you acclimate to whatever ridiculous number of babies you have. Though, part of me also always minimizes difficulties. It IS crazy having two infants at once. It is soooooo much easier than it was at the start, but, when they both are wailing in anguish, pulling at my pants (as they were this morning) while I try to get a glass of water or make myself some food or answer the phone, the challenge of the situation is fresh in my mind.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPRmuD-Au10JKXMWCWgb7ttKLauAqe2DW4-GLsxItv7dMomy573Ft2zslof4eNJ2VE_T4owRba46wGpxknHFyRq9VsMonSQxCfPsOgH1HKazWNUvgr6U01MFbeugJvVws8bWr2M0azWk/s1600/IMG_0678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPRmuD-Au10JKXMWCWgb7ttKLauAqe2DW4-GLsxItv7dMomy573Ft2zslof4eNJ2VE_T4owRba46wGpxknHFyRq9VsMonSQxCfPsOgH1HKazWNUvgr6U01MFbeugJvVws8bWr2M0azWk/s1600/IMG_0678.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9tYc2l7PmGi0H0h_p_IW3M6Y_XHzHrZMFYQrkq_o7rVJcz3oQ6oJeYOoSQVBUMe02_Rw80A3z3nzqz7KZfrWZFueWQ-YzNZC-2eJlpzSlFhB_j334tLSlYC0-sPHudDtc_EIWP8xuPo/s1600/IMG_0670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9tYc2l7PmGi0H0h_p_IW3M6Y_XHzHrZMFYQrkq_o7rVJcz3oQ6oJeYOoSQVBUMe02_Rw80A3z3nzqz7KZfrWZFueWQ-YzNZC-2eJlpzSlFhB_j334tLSlYC0-sPHudDtc_EIWP8xuPo/s1600/IMG_0670.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>You adapt, certainly. But you also make compromises about quality. The
babies get significantly less one-on-one attention than Ila did -
something all second children probably experience, but it's even worse
as a multiple. I still approach every situation as if the perfect
ideal version of the scenario is possible with enough work. I can be
the best, more present, mature, patient, evolved, kind, loving
person...all the time. Lately, I've been trying to remind myself that I
am human and that being grumpy or having too much to do are human
realities. Perfection isn't always a possibility. (Yeah, I heard it. I
know you want me to say perfection isn't ever a possibility, that it
shouldn't be the goal. Baby steps, okay? I'll let go of doing
everything exactly right one little bit at a time.) I mean, sometimes
you can plan and rest and be ready to have a wonderful family day at the
zoo. Sometimes it can be pretty great, and you remain positive and
patient and present through all the unexpected little upsets inherent to
any outing with a three year old and two one year olds. But, sometimes
all your maturity leaves you and you snap at your partner, harshly
shush your three year old and grumble at the babies. That's when I have
to remind myself that I too am human and not always capable of calm and
reason. I am starting to realize I have some insanely unrealistic
goals for myself. (I guess I'm a slow learner.) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN32HgsyzPGPLrY4Ohb_SoayLWvNQEIe-C0BcCUmZeuzqV1SZTJt_H4pMJZGP_X7g6F6_A9pvi0rHEA5r2GCFwK_6yv1omKT9pZA_AMehBZ9kvhZ0ydBwBPz4KWuIodDiGuL_2vXgwTI/s1600/IMG_0556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN32HgsyzPGPLrY4Ohb_SoayLWvNQEIe-C0BcCUmZeuzqV1SZTJt_H4pMJZGP_X7g6F6_A9pvi0rHEA5r2GCFwK_6yv1omKT9pZA_AMehBZ9kvhZ0ydBwBPz4KWuIodDiGuL_2vXgwTI/s1600/IMG_0556.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the toy box!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUEo6wOvVHz2Vk5ih3BtGT9BteufHF6ssos-Mhfz8rw_huIuIBPJeiBU25M2b5Qq9dk6coiiArMOrkzO3yeLqYFFxnOF5puDPUreJzBLv6rJnESYfWg4sR5syIi01Uvm2u5bxlsvAc5E/s1600/IMG_0465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUEo6wOvVHz2Vk5ih3BtGT9BteufHF6ssos-Mhfz8rw_huIuIBPJeiBU25M2b5Qq9dk6coiiArMOrkzO3yeLqYFFxnOF5puDPUreJzBLv6rJnESYfWg4sR5syIi01Uvm2u5bxlsvAc5E/s1600/IMG_0465.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a> Maybe this will be my motto for the year: embrace imperfection. There's a great Tara Brach (awesome psychologist and meditation teacher) talk where she quotes some old, renowned zen master who says that true freedom is <span class="st"><span class="f"></span>being "without anxiety about imperfection." I have a LONG way to go to true freedom. And, just to be perverse, I put pressure on myself to embrace imperfection. I want to do it perfectly. Some part of me knows that it is better for my children to see me deal with the difficulties of being human - including being grumpy and distracted at moments - in a functional, flexible, forgiving way, to truly exhibit self-compassion, to give up striving for perfection. <i>Some </i>part of me knows that, just not the part that's in charge a lot of the time. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gJzlVQeFXGtqejYb_EPvdmzm1DYvm1wf1c-Z328nVHRKt-ol38JMKthACMEdDRvrERTjUytQ7PHeeWnvupcTGMEKvSPuWM-mXXL21ipM5kdr-OSr3-Bvs88xtt9PPrUFAuKncg-onPY/s1600/IMG_0684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gJzlVQeFXGtqejYb_EPvdmzm1DYvm1wf1c-Z328nVHRKt-ol38JMKthACMEdDRvrERTjUytQ7PHeeWnvupcTGMEKvSPuWM-mXXL21ipM5kdr-OSr3-Bvs88xtt9PPrUFAuKncg-onPY/s1600/IMG_0684.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a>Well, hopefully I can help my children be flexible, curious, kind little people who embrace mess and mistakes. The hard thing about parenting (one of them) is that it is most important to let go of those things that are hardest for you to let go of. My kids will certainly be MOST aware of my drive for perfection in those areas that I have the hardest time being kind toward myself, being flexible. These will, then, be the most charged, the most important areas for me to work on. Argh! Why does everything have to be modeled? Why can't I simply tell them beautiful stories about being flexible and kind toward yourself? Why do I actually have to do it?!<br />
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Fortunately, babies are amazing distractions from all this ridiculousness in my head. Look at them walking! They are so cute. Forrest loves anything that is loosely shaped like a comb because he loves having his hair combed. He likes to put little toy spoons, spatulas, a little wooden fake knife we have to his head and try to comb his hair. Here he's licking his comb-surrogate instead of combing with it, which is almost as good, I guess. <br />
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These are actually early walking videos. I wanted to capture Pippa's funny little monkey crawl here for posterity. Forrest started walking on Jan 1 and never really looked back. Pippa still crawled for a week or so, interspersed with little moments of walking. </div>
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Forrest is about moving. He's also a bit of a ham. He's learned this one foot stomp that makes everyone laugh...so, obviously, he keeps doing it.<br />
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Pippa also likes to move...and she loves music and dancing. Also, I think she might be a budding drummer. She drums on EVERYTHING. She has gotten encouragement but, again, this started with her. She's also the biggest mimic we've ever had around here. She babbles and chirps and tries to copy every sound. Very cute. She actually said her first words, "Tickle, tickle," about a month ago. We thought at first she was just copying the sound, but she says it all the time at the right moment - when we're going to tickle her. She also closes and opens her little hands repeatedly in the tickling gesture while she says it. It's very cute. And, she started signing last week - "all done," "more," "eat," and "up" so far.<br />
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It is amazing how different hanging out with a one year old and a three
year old is...because, time-wise, they really are so close in age. In some ways, the babies are so exhausting...but,
weirdly, they are also much easier than a three year old. The babies are physically demanding at times, but it is so easy to get them to laugh, to distract them, to comfort them, to toss them on your hip and do whatever. Ila is more of a little person, with more opinions and ideas about how things should happen. It is exciting and amazing to see her turn into her...but it takes a little more discussion and compromise than with the babies. At least there's variety around here, I suppose.<br />
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Ila is so sweet with them...and generally very tolerant and patient. However, when I get out the camera to record something (like here: I wanted to catch Pippa drumming), she really wants me to focus on her and only her. I can record five minutes of Ila before trying to get 20 seconds of a baby, but she still wants to be part of the show for those 20 seconds. This is totally understandable, but it does sometimes make us laugh a little. <br />
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<br />commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-153427460363217622014-01-04T15:36:00.001-08:002014-01-04T15:36:38.318-08:00These Babes were Made for WalkingOne of my New Year's resolutions is to write a blog post today. That's it, just today. What I like about this resolution is that it's very immediate, seemingly achievable. What I don't like is that it is actually not that achievable. Seriously! ONE post may not happen. (Note: I didn't finish the blog post that day. It's three days later.) Let's recap 2013 in order to help you understand why I may not be able to get one post done: having twins is very, very, very time consuming. It's actually embarrassing how long it takes me to do one thing, like respond to a short email. Sometimes it takes a month. So that was my year. Busy but not seemingly productive. .<br />
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The babies have certainly been busy. They've grown from the little tadpoles I wrote about last (in July!) into actual crawling, walking, hopping little newts. (Okay, what's a baby newt called? A newtlet? Certainly not a tadpole. My herpetology-loving friends are, undoubtedly, offended by my metaphor.) Forrest started crawling at the start of October and Pippa joined him a month later. Pippa's crawl is one of those drag-one-leg, monkey-scoot kind of crawling styles. But they both really move, particularly Pippa. <br />
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Forrest is kinesthetically precocious, I think. Shortly after mastering his traditional little cross-crawl, he started standing. He rises up from the floor, unaided, then beats his arms in the air...sort of like Tarzan or King Kong. I really had misgivings about this description when I first used it. I mean, it's so overly masculinized. But, really, he looks sort of...cave man like, that's just what comes to mind when I see him do it. He gets down into this little squat and jumps and grunts and chirps. Then he rises up out of the squat and hollers and flaps his arm exuberantly. I guess it sort of looks like he's having some weird episode...or he looks like he's doing a cross fit exercise, maybe. You know, something that is really going to make your quads sore the next day. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLSpbcRfxj9P97Lvjy84LoAca11XoCIt2qgm2GaBu7YD_bu9FMCFSvzkYX1B6oMc0QnqV4uZJoZV6vJ02vByqdKZuBzlK7cz76raagA2ylkYNbOQaYV4kymifRtnRuLGrbzc3pIRvoH8/s1600/DSC04453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLSpbcRfxj9P97Lvjy84LoAca11XoCIt2qgm2GaBu7YD_bu9FMCFSvzkYX1B6oMc0QnqV4uZJoZV6vJ02vByqdKZuBzlK7cz76raagA2ylkYNbOQaYV4kymifRtnRuLGrbzc3pIRvoH8/s320/DSC04453.JPG" width="320" /></a>While Forrest spent his time standing and announcing to the world he'd done so, Pippa mastered cruising around the furniture. She could even walk with just one hand aiding her. I think she could actually walk on her own pretty early on, it just hasn't dawned on her yet...unlike Forrest who, when given two hands to help him walk, he'd shuffle in this jerky, puppet sort of way.<br />
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The jury was out on who would walk first since they both attacked he problem with very different strategies. However New Year's day, Forrest started walking. They both have, in the last couple days, taken some negligible mini steps on their own, but yesterday Forrest really struck out into the real world of walking. He likes to carry this pooh bear stuffed animal that is almost as big as him while he hobbles around. It's pretty ridiculously cute. Have I mentioned that he's in the second percentile for height? He's a very short little honey. The lack of height is great for cuteness but not great for carrying giant stuffed animals.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4WaIOV0uFyp8Ri03GBKT1R7ya-hDlImFvAsUn0oQba304YzptCQkCMQZrG7qfpLv6TlSA0nt597JuYF8e8RmSBDvDi7mO7aaS1QCgtAFf0RIt-M10LMyrPAa58gdErqzYpQX9lv2Vss/s1600/DSC04481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4WaIOV0uFyp8Ri03GBKT1R7ya-hDlImFvAsUn0oQba304YzptCQkCMQZrG7qfpLv6TlSA0nt597JuYF8e8RmSBDvDi7mO7aaS1QCgtAFf0RIt-M10LMyrPAa58gdErqzYpQX9lv2Vss/s320/DSC04481.JPG" width="320" /></a>After seeing her brother shuffle around like a little unstable T-Rex (those little arms out front to balance), Pippa,
on January 2nd, decided to join the ranks of the walking. Without
months of standing and hollering about it, she has simply started to
stand on her own and walk. Just like that. They do appear to motivate each other. When he could push himself into sitting and crawl and she couldn't, she
seemed very frustrated. Having a big sister runnig around certainly
spurs them on, but they also appear to really push each other. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpP4eKgZ5qgH4v_gic6GI7y7cV3nQeuqZ8Jh9dbmjURkmCDdWXio5yE6PnOzd094ecxn4fJ5r0Y6j0GB8YgL2bwQ1F0JN26J45141Fm0ETpZNw_z5KQ_zFazYa7bzvata_qjv-IKg62NQ/s1600/DSC04493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpP4eKgZ5qgH4v_gic6GI7y7cV3nQeuqZ8Jh9dbmjURkmCDdWXio5yE6PnOzd094ecxn4fJ5r0Y6j0GB8YgL2bwQ1F0JN26J45141Fm0ETpZNw_z5KQ_zFazYa7bzvata_qjv-IKg62NQ/s320/DSC04493.JPG" width="320" /></a>Pippa, who is, incidentally, the opposite in size (97th percentile for weight!), started clapping and saying, "Yaaaay!" a couple weeks ago. Every time she does it, we all stop - everyone in the house - and clap and say, "Yaaaaay!" She loves this, obviously. The night after she really got it, really understood she had this power over us, she woke me up in the middle of the night. I rolled over to her and she looked up at me with a big grin, clapped and said, "Yaaaay!" I wanted to holler. But, also, it was pretty adorable. Forrest, after watching these demonstrations, has started clapping himself. They clearly are aware of what the other is learning and doing. They also often have
little giggle fits together. They crawl through this little tunnel we
have and laugh and squawk at each other. It's very sweet and funny. Of course, they stop as soon as I try to get video of it. Grrrr.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjF5Oa5GIOGq2eVWdOkeIFn9kgLxUqFAPdh2oDwM8WOywmmqSD9psBZoJDdQQPZECGTX_mNzaBQjEfrSyYfwnJ-vZ8j_QRrDTflreRKJwBlXF1gR3Bo_doSyK8ugyrhlBSmzn_XTOntU/s1600/DSC04228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjF5Oa5GIOGq2eVWdOkeIFn9kgLxUqFAPdh2oDwM8WOywmmqSD9psBZoJDdQQPZECGTX_mNzaBQjEfrSyYfwnJ-vZ8j_QRrDTflreRKJwBlXF1gR3Bo_doSyK8ugyrhlBSmzn_XTOntU/s200/DSC04228.JPG" width="200" /></a>So, Pippa outweighs Forrest by 4 pounds. She is a big sweet potato while Forrest is an itty bitty potato. He is in a much greater pencentile for weight than height, so he still seems like a dumpling, just a short a one. Everything about him is little, except his belly. I cannot get over his hands, in particular. They are so little and sweet. I can be exhausted and grumpy and he'll wave one wee mit in my face while nursing, and I just feel all ooey gooey love. That's oxytocin for you. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNDKxk6QiWssdSpVTMLe4PbiDI42LYTsIuu4iFTKXXohdJ7qmo007MxJb_6yOUyBe_P27v_EAomLHgzF4Z9h9w25OdwxDSgtXLp_SRF1ZiqhkI5netEGtlPz1oJhE4A195jofTnt0zEU/s1600/DSC04229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNDKxk6QiWssdSpVTMLe4PbiDI42LYTsIuu4iFTKXXohdJ7qmo007MxJb_6yOUyBe_P27v_EAomLHgzF4Z9h9w25OdwxDSgtXLp_SRF1ZiqhkI5netEGtlPz1oJhE4A195jofTnt0zEU/s200/DSC04229.JPG" width="200" /></a>Pippa is a cute little monkey, too. She's so big and strong (her grip is ferociously and disturbingly strong) and, like her big sister, super keyed-in to what's going on around her. Oh, and she can holler so loud that you can hear it in orbit. Even when she wakes at night, she just does it loudly. Eyes closed, still sleeping, she goes immediately to this grunty, yelling complaint. It's super inconvenient as it wakes other sleepers. She is a force to be reckoned with. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGWXlj3fFz1k-BERPJpN2-bn_RzHUFi4-c-jEQi8r6a3Ej4WezCrS0em8vs0GLK85CyUKItRfJRKyP3ua0CPbXLJaBLwSHX_y5-17bTpIdVcgVy7VfgbjPcK2pDXUXPW5B7DgYIzsE1M/s1600/DSC04230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGWXlj3fFz1k-BERPJpN2-bn_RzHUFi4-c-jEQi8r6a3Ej4WezCrS0em8vs0GLK85CyUKItRfJRKyP3ua0CPbXLJaBLwSHX_y5-17bTpIdVcgVy7VfgbjPcK2pDXUXPW5B7DgYIzsE1M/s200/DSC04230.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyrEXxG0Y6aDoXb9YXZe8GFmwv8O3AgJsCnmtzyP16ofdIPv4JAwETv722MX35_O_9v3gnNYwPY5F-MUBl8gvHKhKXR_JGICYJrGieDA4t3qOqPRk_IBp9ByFCyIXG4O4Z0hXaCjLg5k/s1600/DSC04232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyrEXxG0Y6aDoXb9YXZe8GFmwv8O3AgJsCnmtzyP16ofdIPv4JAwETv722MX35_O_9v3gnNYwPY5F-MUBl8gvHKhKXR_JGICYJrGieDA4t3qOqPRk_IBp9ByFCyIXG4O4Z0hXaCjLg5k/s200/DSC04232.JPG" width="200" /></a>They're both so sweet and active and adorable. I find myself feeling bad that I have less energy to take them places (the logistics alone are exhausting). They're like little shut-ins. Cute, sweet little shut-ins. It's hard to take them to non-baby proofed areas as they both like to put EVERYTHING in their mouths. I realize most babies are not like Ila was - she never put anything in her mouth. Really. It was weird. Pippa and Forrest crawl and wobble around the room, mouthing everything in their path. They leave little slime trails. Like slugs. "How did the toe of my shoe get wet? Oh, Pippa just crawled by." It's crazy and gross and totally...normal, I guess. This particular trait doesn't seem evolutionarily adaptive to me, especially if you're a twin and your parents have less ability to watch every move you make...or carry you all the time so you don't choke or ingest poison. But, what do I know?<br />
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Ila has also been busy. She was in a production of the Nutcracker this past month. She was a mouse and a snow flake. Dancing, actual ballet, is not exactly how I would describe the movement in the two scenes with her and the other 3 year olds. Not that that matters, of course, because it was sweet and hilarious. I felt so happy for her up on the stage, doing this thing without us. It's sort of amazing to see her becoming her own, independent person. She (and the other little kids) seemed to have no stage fright, and Ila has been so enamored with this whole experience, she wants to be called Clara (the little girl in the Nutcracker). "Ila," she informs me, "is never coming back." Oh, boy. She's been going by "Clara" for about two months now, so who knows how long this will last. It's hard to determine whether she simply loves dancing or if she is more in love with acting out the story of the Nutcracker over and over in our living room. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcJbV_JyhyFcs5_L6mM4v-mNkOrUKQDCF4w4-FRLBtea5g1PI3yX94Q5dVNy49ApQP1hCtglqIq8qaWrOd7JblqcYpMfSOrZCt1RpPAoUfR_3pMcD9D8YAYHeAj3fuvygobi3Je9wCxw/s1600/DSC03800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcJbV_JyhyFcs5_L6mM4v-mNkOrUKQDCF4w4-FRLBtea5g1PI3yX94Q5dVNy49ApQP1hCtglqIq8qaWrOd7JblqcYpMfSOrZCt1RpPAoUfR_3pMcD9D8YAYHeAj3fuvygobi3Je9wCxw/s400/DSC03800.JPG" width="400" /></a>She's also really hit her stride as a talker. In the last six months she's added lots of face and hand gestures. She's so expressive. She says, "We should eat some ice cream later...maybe?" with this little eye-brow raised, quizzical and conversational little look, accompanied by a casual shrug. Like this is the way to get ice cream - act nonchalant. It's so funny. It's like she's pantomiming us and all our expression, trying them on and picking the ones that feel right. Not to mention her fabulous 3 year old logic. When Kiyomi was chopping onions recently, she mentioned that the vapors from this onion were going to make her cry . Ila informed her that this was because Kiyomi has "thin eyes" while Ila has "thick eyes," so the onions weren't going to bother her. It's very hard for me to believe she is only 3, that she was a goofy little baby like her sister and brother only two years ago! What did we do before we had her? Stare at the wall? I know some of those things were important, engrossing, time consuming...but I've totally forgotten what any of it was (maybe cleaning my house?). This is just as well, since I won't be able to do that adult-focused living for a long, long time.<br />
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<br />commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-49718378649118195082013-07-28T16:43:00.001-07:002013-07-28T16:53:23.504-07:00Acceptance<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Xm8GHUfUlk6O-sJ2PuXNAwaQj83SPX8RCRGsxsz1Zz9_BOYozdQvv1qLSMUkVITd-PybsGmedwFYPi-G0tKSwRv1R84lMhOe-T28L1b1rwSJdCM2Rd2qQ91UkK13WvRdXMk_cQqPc6M/s1600/IMG_1468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Xm8GHUfUlk6O-sJ2PuXNAwaQj83SPX8RCRGsxsz1Zz9_BOYozdQvv1qLSMUkVITd-PybsGmedwFYPi-G0tKSwRv1R84lMhOe-T28L1b1rwSJdCM2Rd2qQ91UkK13WvRdXMk_cQqPc6M/s320/IMG_1468.JPG" width="320" /></a>One year ago, I found out that I was having twins. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in shock that day…actually, kind of
horrified and scared, to be perfectly honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even after I accepted that I was carrying two babies, was actually
excited about it, it was so unreal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Carrying twins – let alone higher order multiples – isn’t particularly
fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was extremely sick, yet I had to
eat so much food; I had to visit the doctor every two weeks until the last
trimester when I got to see her every week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had about a hundred ultrasounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Three visits to the labor and delivery emergency triage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two admissions for preterm labor with
resulting unpleasant medication and hospital stays. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fun. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLJhBukwfo-gkcy6IJ5hcSvyoid5r6tSQOJV2PJJcF3zXNJDAyM1S91amvaMZhdlEHclQvpt1Z00f8o755TBdXG7WJRaDiqVS7iQkAxzSdDqamlLs_ELkCkaxsvS3CLj_424Y9BcRGGU/s1600/IMG_1405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLJhBukwfo-gkcy6IJ5hcSvyoid5r6tSQOJV2PJJcF3zXNJDAyM1S91amvaMZhdlEHclQvpt1Z00f8o755TBdXG7WJRaDiqVS7iQkAxzSdDqamlLs_ELkCkaxsvS3CLj_424Y9BcRGGU/s320/IMG_1405.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My homage to matching outfits. Probably the only time.</td></tr>
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Now, it’s hard to remember having only one child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The babies are only five months old, but the
logistics of everyday life have so changed that I can’t really remember what it
was like when all we had to juggle were the demands of our single little
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila has been off from school this
last month, and I’ve learned a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, I’ve learned one main thing a lot of times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is HARD having a three year old and two
babies without any preschool or live-in nanny type support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think most people would put money on that
being the case, but let me just say it again: it’s hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to keep everyone entertained, to
exercise and engage the three year old, to get everyone napping, eating,
bathed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Baths have grown much scarcer,
let me tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila likes to tell me that I’m smelly.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, there’s actually getting out of the
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HA! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four out of five days, Kiyomi and I will say, “Let’s
go do something all together today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, two hours go by in the process of slowly getting ready to go…and
it’s nap time or dinner time and we abandon the whole trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, family walks are our main way of
getting out with all five of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise,
one of us takes Ila out to do something fun to keep her from getting totally
stir crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the end of the summer
after Ila turned one, I think we’d gone on five actual trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Airplane rides, long drives, boat rides,
train rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d even been out of the
country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, we can’t make it out of the
neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful these two
babies are not extremely challenging…just the ordinary level of baby challenge
is almost more than we can handle.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9S4-p8eSJJQjR5Feo6PnN21dw8E6t8iogIBLVlG6OUpks8rfmtr5gllxMpoo-VOhwtx2sfhykdbOCMEN51uH18UjQn-7OBJ3pazDIoQAkSnZqF0F1Ugv1GM6Atj2k5B8g_Z63jaRqSk/s1600/IMG_1431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9S4-p8eSJJQjR5Feo6PnN21dw8E6t8iogIBLVlG6OUpks8rfmtr5gllxMpoo-VOhwtx2sfhykdbOCMEN51uH18UjQn-7OBJ3pazDIoQAkSnZqF0F1Ugv1GM6Atj2k5B8g_Z63jaRqSk/s320/IMG_1431.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wobbly babies.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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Oh, also, the sleep sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have I mentioned that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since mid-June, night time is not the restful
domain of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a farcical satire
of that tranquil state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s become
absurd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A good night is when I wake up
5-8 times to nurse, and everybody goes back to sleep immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pippa starts squawking at 5ish still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kiyomi and she go into the other bedroom and
sleep a little longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forrest, my once
good sleeping-in companion, now wakes and starts rolling around, gurgling and
yipping at 6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I’m lucky, he’ll do
that for an hour and ila will sleep through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If luck holds, I can fall back to sleep for half an hour to an
hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a good night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bad night involves one to three children
being fully awake for a period of time, usually more than an hour, and crying or hollering or having a
bathroom accident or a nightmare or some other fit of wailing and yallering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week, I’ve had three “good” nights and
the rest have been a little post-apocalyptic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Incidentally, I was planning on taking a challenging course with a lab
this fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HA HA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I will have to postpone that and take
an easier lecture. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, even that may
be beyond me.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazingly, though my
total amount of sleep lies somewhere between a very rocky three hours to a moderately
disturbed six hours, I generally feel okay during the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still pretty much human…at least passably so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Night and wake up time are when I feel like I’ve
joined the undead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, this is just
for…what? Two more years or so?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwSgVo9o_YYUE0GwZ1AqmhDudoNRuhwW70RzwQY6HTKERNlSr2BvAfg6TQ2XiRXLmFcMsnlhjpVClEXPqvVYg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Anyway, the days run together, and I find that I’ve
barely taken note, explicit note, of new exciting things that I don’t want to
forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The babies have, for the last
few weeks, been rolling around a lot, from back to front especially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once on their stomachs, they are both pretty focused on
pulling their little legs up under themselves and otherwise thrashing
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forrest is perhaps a little more
persistent about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also gets real
pissed about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
he really wants to be going places, maybe he’s just sick of holding his head
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they could both be little crawlers pretty
soon here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then all hell will really
have broken loose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week, Forrest
has also become more adept at sitting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over the last five days, he’s gone from ten seconds upright to several
minutes…that is, if you spread his legs out to widen out his little base of
support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pippa sometimes seems even
better at it…then she’ll have a day where she doesn’t sit up for 2 seconds when
I try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, they both love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They love watching the whole kooky
performance that is our life from an upright posture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They particularly
love watching Ila.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s the only thing
that has made them laugh out loud without being tickled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s pretty adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila is hilarious herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s so earnest and animated when she
talks now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s been talking a lot about
her Dads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently she has a few.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they are small enough to fit in her
pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other times they are big guys “who
don’t clean much but fix a lot of things.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s fascinating and also a little horrifying that some of the cultural messages
about gender have really come through already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We recently went up to Flagstaff (that was an exhausting but fun
experience with the three children).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila
got to hang with a cousin who is about five years older than her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila was entranced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This girl could do so many things – like pretty
amazing tumbling (gymnastics), which Ila had to try in turn.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwJePDMjb4NodZJ3JOo5uGUYmeRMKNERto17CLDgKJljsBg58UdXElH1jZ8TSlc5Tmb-kC4DqTiOoyut9am' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation, but it feels surprising
when I get one phone call or one email sent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s the bizarre thing about having very small children, you are so
busy but you don’t actually get much done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d like to try to get even less done, actually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, sure, I’ll be taking a class this
fall, but I will just have to do that in the little bits of time I’ve carved
out with babysitting coverage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I’m
with the kids, I would like to try to do less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just the basic amount of laundry and household stuff (which is shockingly
a lot, sure) and the rest of the time just be with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s very easy for me to get swept up in trying
to get an email written or an extra load of laundry done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to be engaged with something other
than just tiny people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I feel very
torn, very pulled in half when I am only partially attentive to all their tiny
demands all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I’ve got to get
some shit done each day for the house to run, but I need to spend some very
conscious, very focused time with the children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s sort of weirdly artificial, but I’ve started sort of setting a
goal, like half an hour one-on-one time with each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The others can be around, but at least half
an hour where I am holding and talking to that child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Ila, we do story times before nap and
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have some snuggle time in the
morning and after her nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the
babies, I try to spend that time with eye contact, holding, talking, singing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels like so little, but it’s hard to do
even that much. </div>
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Still, I also need
to focus a little on other stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Chores, phone calls, a run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise
I feel a little Charlotte-Perkins-Gilman-Yellow-Wallpaper crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny because, on the one hand, little
small tasks like these are important to distract my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, too many and I feel stressed, disembodied,
like I am not located in the present enough. I recently heard <a href="http://www.sitemason.com/files/hFFfLW/Root%20of%20Inner%20Wisdom.pdf)">this quote</a> from
Thomas Merton<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null"> </a>about the innate violence of trying to do too much, even for good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that acceptance and choosing
to <i>not </i>do is really at the heart of living skillfully with grace and real
peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just not a skill that’s
particularly emphasized or easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean,
who wants to accept all the irritating shit that’s out of our control?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather rage, blame, resist, holler, and
otherwise beat my fists against the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What is that Virginia Woolf quote?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Against you I fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to do a little less of that high
scale resistance, even if it is very poetic and even sometimes a little
satisfying. </div>
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<br />commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-6097477571520561742013-06-25T19:03:00.002-07:002013-06-26T11:32:46.237-07:00Less Than Perfect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbnX7T6q-Ln-RCnyH9iV_Ky53TVHo418msq1SPQdK06kkYhzg-__6l8CHY0Iojc611iZQ2rdWanmAQjw7dioriDflu-dmY7vBJuysR56WqDp21PgYmiP0loq96QiuK-yxH3AQSgHkHhs/s1600/IMG_0949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbnX7T6q-Ln-RCnyH9iV_Ky53TVHo418msq1SPQdK06kkYhzg-__6l8CHY0Iojc611iZQ2rdWanmAQjw7dioriDflu-dmY7vBJuysR56WqDp21PgYmiP0loq96QiuK-yxH3AQSgHkHhs/s320/IMG_0949.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pippa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning as I began my laundry regimen, my eye caught
sight of this little onesie on one of our drying racks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s cute, with little animals on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered for a moment, Ila in that
particular outfit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so fat and
sweet in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onesies, in general, are
pretty adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny, because
once you’re out of infanthood, a body suit that snaps at the crotch just
doesn’t seem particularly cute or practical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyway, it just got me thinking about Ila’s cute fat baby thighs and
arms poking out of her baby clothes…and how I have two cute, fat little babies
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how baby clothes are so
precious and mini.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a real
mushy-gushy mama moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, really,
babies are so lovely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So cute and sweet
and roly-poly and smiley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The twins </span>are cooing,
gurgling, squealing, laughing, happily grabbing things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They really focus on an object and pull their
arms slowly – as if they were moving through pudding or are a barely
rehabilitated stroke victim – toward the toy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, they bring their toy toward their mouth while bringing their head
toward the toy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They look like little
potato bugs, roly-polies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are adorable…and a total pain in the ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, that was my next thought in all its
maternal glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much for warm
fuzzies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look, if I could get a real
night of sleep maybe I wouldn’t be Dr. Sweet Loving one moment and Mama Hyde
the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just saying, exhaustion
isn’t good for the mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had about 7,
maybe 8 weeks of glorious night routines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The vast majority of nights the babies were only waking up once each to
nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s just two times to wake up
in a night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Glory!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hallelujah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could simply have them next to me and nurse them lying down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila was really the most unpredictable with
her occasional toddler nightmares or middle of the night bathroom needs or the
agony of her 20 requirements before she can fall asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, even Ila, most nights was pretty
cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0saJxSRzUw3eDKTt15gOGplNUEZDaba-ttW54gmZb3vd38z7zh3s0HPdrz-4jSugfLBlPVl8Nyr9BG3zOrpOG5QxUY2MMBK4lLBVTJduZ7HqNnDyonvlvVsWDVqOrcCcZF3ezFrUCmWk/s1600/IMG_0952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0saJxSRzUw3eDKTt15gOGplNUEZDaba-ttW54gmZb3vd38z7zh3s0HPdrz-4jSugfLBlPVl8Nyr9BG3zOrpOG5QxUY2MMBK4lLBVTJduZ7HqNnDyonvlvVsWDVqOrcCcZF3ezFrUCmWk/s320/IMG_0952.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forrest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, apparently they are a union, a united front, a voting
block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little over a week ago, there
was obviously a consensus that sleepy times were over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The babies started waking up each at least 2
times a night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila got a cold and
consequently, had several middle of the night fits of sadness, discomfort and
other loud, stormy emotions that, of course, woke up the babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every morning for the last week, I have
woken up amazed that I’m not dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
done in by sheer fatigue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, then I
remember, people don’t die of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tiredness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s makes life a
little less livable, but it doesn’t kill you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the other hand, people do get sick more easily when not getting
enough sleep. Then some of these folks probably do die from nasty secondary
infections that their bodies can’t combat because they have two infants and a
toddler staging a coup every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
it comes to babies, everyone, including myself, says the game is changing
constantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I know this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I clearly didn’t really believe it
with whatever faculty allows you to believe in something deeply enough to act
on it…because, well, because I was shocked and upset that the game
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I liked it so much more when
they slept, you know, for more than a few hours at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s to the game changing again to
something I like better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not fair because she’s three and sick right now, but I
think I may be the most grrrrrr-ed about Ila’s current sleeping habits, which
include a screaming fit most nights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
were doing this preemptive bed time snack to prevent the “I’m hungry” dance
after lights were out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, it has been
working pretty well, but now she realized she can say no to the snack and then
ask for food later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took us a day or
two to reformulate our strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
snacks after lights out except a glass of milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And she has to wait in bed for us to bring it to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this too controlling?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too making a mountain out of a molehill?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this a battle that I shouldn’t choose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like a seething, fiery demon, only capable
of draconian, unevolved parenting when I am exhausted and dealing with her
stall tactics at 9:30 or 10 PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we’ll
try this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It’s amazing how these things that seem so small, so
unimportant during the day become pivotal at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, yes, I get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A need for attention, for contact, for focus
from me is probably behind all this screaming and hollering she’s doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am trying to give this to her too…but, and
I would also like to believe this with that faculty that allows you to believe
things <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> act on them, sometimes I just
suck as a parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I can’t be the perfect parent I can
imagine and construct in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
that I’m human, that I have faults, challenges, insecurities, fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I can imagine not having them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can imagine, in almost all situations, what
the mature, kind, compassionate thing to do is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really, even in the middle of a rage, I know what I should do or
so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t always do it. Okay, to be fair, I don’t
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> to be mature sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I want to be a whiny, selfish,
grumpy, rigid, unforgiving, know it all, bossy, angry, grudge-y person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The downside is that I can see all the
errors I make pretty much while I’m making them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe we all can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as a parent, the stakes are just so much
higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels so much more
unforgivable that I can’t whip myself into shape and be…perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, and this is better I’m sure, just accept that
I’m human and accept that I’m not perfect and model this warm, gushy glowing
self-acceptance to my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> One of the best things children can learn is how to make mistakes, to <i>not</i> be perfect. </span>Come to
think of it, it’d be a lot better for me too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxLMyOh9JWDINXSPo_1IlvaZ-dcbftFKSnPSAAsCZ7bv9VsoflMOIPZJVYkGeA3ww86aWvPLCjxy7OldCgKGw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-63223672692021430922013-06-17T15:10:00.000-07:002013-06-17T15:22:16.652-07:00Morbid Compulsive Intrusive Thoughts in a Mild Case of Generalized Postpartum Anxiety Disorder<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a special type of mental illness reserved for
mothers with small infants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, we have names and specific diagnoses for
postpartum anxiety and depression disorders. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I think these may be on a
spectrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, I do not think
that I have a full blown or diagnosable depression or anxiety disorder…but I certainly have a
mild or perhaps moderate form of something diseased living in my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My concern stems mainly from the amount of
time lately that I spend at 3 in the morning trying to convince myself that I
a) am not necessarily destined to watch one of my children suffer a terrible childhood
illness before dying or be the victim of a fatal freak accident (I certainly
might have to but it’s not a sure thing) and b) that I do not have metastatic
liver cancer, even though I’ve had 2 dreams and a gripping presentiment about
it that were very, very real (this is incredibly compelling evidence in the wee
hours of the morning) and will have to, therefore, say goodbye to my small,
lovely little children before they are fully grown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, maybe I’m not near the “normal” part of the anxiety
and depression spectrum, maybe I am drifting out to sea a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember for months after Ila was born having
to talk myself down off the edge of the yawning abyss that is my fear of death.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every night from 3-5 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> think about the racing speed my life appears to be going
at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor could I stop thinking about the
snuffed out candle of an ending we all face. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like I want to spend my nights this
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(What do they call these ideas that
come unbidden [with alarming frequency, I might add]?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intrusive thoughts, I believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, compulsive intrusive thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, that’d be morbid compulsive intrusive thoughts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is sounding worse and worse.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, whatever all this is, I am more prone to it after
having babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Single, double; it doesn’t
matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something about having babies
leaves my brain fried, strung out and overly anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably it’s the lack of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably it’s some wild combination of
hormones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably it’s the fact that,
while I love all my sweet young’uns dearly, they are quite demanding but not
super exciting for the first months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This leaves my brain free to get into all kinds of mischief – planning,
worrying, imagining, wishing, hoping, organizing, detailing – while my hands
are busy with infants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without my hands
and time free, all these thoughts and plans and scenarios are crippled,
sidelined, sequestered, caged, fermenting and festering in my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This equals a certain amount of mental
illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love the Anne Lamott quote from her journal of her son’s
first year, <span class="st">“What I hope for the new year is that [my son] has a
great ride and that I learn to stay a little bit more in the now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I notice the other day that not only do I
spend a lot of the time in the future with imaginary triumphs and catastrophes
and boyfriends, or in the past with my memories, but I’m so crazy that sometimes
I even go into the past and </span><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">rehash things</span></i><span class="st"> that turned out </span><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">well</span></i><span class="st"> yet might have turned out disastrously.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually found myself doing this the other
day, thinking about a moment when Ila was swimming that could have ended in
drowning but didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really it wasn’t
anywhere near drowning, she was being watched by two adults…but not by me, and
I just had a moment of concern or alarm while she was splashing around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, later, I found myself thinking, what
if I hadn’t asked these two people to watch her while I took a little dip
myself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if they hadn’t been
watching her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if she had actually had
been struggling?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, my brain travels
a little further afield and remembers that drowning accounts for a shocking
number of child hood deaths – is it 25%?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Can it really be that high?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And,
then further, on to a story my pediatrician told me about a child she knew that
drowned at a party with about 40 adults around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>None of those people were actually watching this particular child, I
suppose each thought others were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyway, the child drowned there in the middle of a crowd of swimmers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>How can I know that this won’t happen to my
child?! </i>my brain screams. </span></div>
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<span class="st">Now, I am not a psychological expert, but I
have begun to doubt the wisdom of our doctor telling me that story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After she asked if we have a pool (no) and
are aware that drowning is a common and very preventable way many children die
(yes), she could have left it at that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why offer the gruesome details?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
story has haunted me now for about 2 and ½ years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it doing more harm than good?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not sure, but it likes to sneak in and
grip me when my defenses are down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
when I’m not thinking about how I am already probably dying of liver cancer and
that sometimes dreams do portend real trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mean, outside of Shakespeare and Hollywood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could actually be dying and my subconscious
is sending signals via dreams that something is wrong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind my deep and abiding love of
empirical proof and scientific evidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This could happen. I'm just saying, if idle hands do the devil’s work, then idle minds must get into even more
trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-22198213771726597682013-06-02T15:01:00.000-07:002013-06-02T15:05:39.510-07:00A Little Bit Little: Happy Birthday Ila<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Although Ila is big, as she likes to tell random strangers
in the parking lot, she informed me she is still “a little bit little.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She seems quite a bit big right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s wild to think that a year ago she was
just turning two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was still sort of
a baby – speaking in little phrases, nursing, newly potty trained, still
wanting help do many things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she is
almost a preschooler, wanting to do everything on her own…except, say, picking
up her toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These early years really
pack in a lot of changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaQ6r8zhUjrcqOlmmU5mT5ov-1JXHNcPQhJ4l_SoFkPc83Rfie0p-SJP4W8rW5K0BCBOcK3lX_ZkgaRwio2_SOC3FAljNEcYi6cdzullGspuG5R9rzXDiRCtPbf7IypMOqWRoXaSWWyM/s1600/IMG_7590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaQ6r8zhUjrcqOlmmU5mT5ov-1JXHNcPQhJ4l_SoFkPc83Rfie0p-SJP4W8rW5K0BCBOcK3lX_ZkgaRwio2_SOC3FAljNEcYi6cdzullGspuG5R9rzXDiRCtPbf7IypMOqWRoXaSWWyM/s320/IMG_7590.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ila in her first month.</td></tr>
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Even crazier than all of this, is the fact that before three
years ago, she didn’t really exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
that I have some baby comparisons, I must say that Ila was a generally sweet,
calm baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has always been kind of a
serious child, watching everything very closely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cool thing about this is she is very
perceptive and understands so much going on around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The down side is that she is very perceptive
and understands so much going on around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We can’t have any conversations not meant for little ears around her at
all, not even a stray comment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also
has an uncanny ability to understand us when we try to spell something
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She also, now, doesn’t want to do much when we ask; she
usually tells us she is “not ready” for her hair to be brushed or to put on sun
screen or to eat or to get her shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lately, we ask her how many minutes until she is ready (the answer is
always 5 minutes; good thing that’s the upper limit to her concept of time
right now).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, no matter the answer,
we set a timer for about two minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fortunately, the passage of time is still pretty abstract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This gives her time to adjust to the idea
that we are doing whatever it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly
it works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes she will never be
“ready” for whatever we are suggesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We try to not get into situations where it becomes<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>an out and out battle
of the wills because, and this certainly wasn’t happening a year ago, we end up
with a screaming fit. Wooo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three is quite an age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somebody recently commented that she felt the
“terrible three’s” were more accurate than the “terrible twos.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must say that Ila certainly has a more
decided opinion about the way things should happen now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is both exciting and, in the case of a
screaming fit, quite challenging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fortunately, screaming fits are not the norm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly, she is a lovely, snuggly little
goose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t quite remember our house
without her plane trips to the beach (a line of little chairs in her room is
the plane, the beach is the rug) or her work as our in-house doctor (she always
measures your stomach with a little paper measuring tape she got from my
obstetrician, even if you are complaining of a head ache and cough) or her
discussion of her many babies, several of which are usually still “in her tummy,”
or without all these little bags filled with sundry, unsorted stuff tucked in
every corner of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is,
perhaps, her favorite activity: putting crap into bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puzzle pieces, books, papers, random articles
of clothing all together in a bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
doesn’t matter what it is, she’ll bag it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
Three years ago this week, she was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came out howling (and kept at it for a
good 45 minutes) but settled into a calm, watchful little baby girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is so funny and thoughtful and just her
own little her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t wait to see what
this year brings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzyTigKHtX9bqeTWUwngZ3y3QuoOWfrPgcL8v3zRGnJ_nxZlT_nhyr9uKJgjdI6Sn2W93q548zQE4HLadZoUA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
</div>
commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-56741943125483009372013-05-18T15:35:00.002-07:002013-05-18T15:35:56.183-07:00Detours<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
May 7<sup>th</sup>, 2013</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nqRplbKtldsn3xl9hyUaqwwCA1RF4_avlFHhlR0JLMXSjXt5JEOLpWYQWbFmpXgbkGUdk5FR2dzuZeXXgG-brBcYDgNzi7XoqByKCFvqh3p4WvP0iVse-wBV3HuQF5WoBH8Z0nkQ1Ow/s1600/IMG_0537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nqRplbKtldsn3xl9hyUaqwwCA1RF4_avlFHhlR0JLMXSjXt5JEOLpWYQWbFmpXgbkGUdk5FR2dzuZeXXgG-brBcYDgNzi7XoqByKCFvqh3p4WvP0iVse-wBV3HuQF5WoBH8Z0nkQ1Ow/s320/IMG_0537.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not so successful tummy time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67qNN-Nh7zwR8VCyTuYK3AV3D_Fop0zfmfn8cbhu4G8jgz4P4ZdlO1ovcCu7Q8nu_VouslqjFa7Be6enyWgmdWpctD9UL6pyFDltSy6d58DrBnkSjYWWipyhKKJLUOOD35RjsI97hkq4/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67qNN-Nh7zwR8VCyTuYK3AV3D_Fop0zfmfn8cbhu4G8jgz4P4ZdlO1ovcCu7Q8nu_VouslqjFa7Be6enyWgmdWpctD9UL6pyFDltSy6d58DrBnkSjYWWipyhKKJLUOOD35RjsI97hkq4/s320/IMG_0561.JPG" width="320" /></a>I am tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really
tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One comfort is that I know people
don’t die from this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, a lot of
other folks wouldn’t have passed away before me in the pursuit of infant care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, yesterday, when my eyes were on fire
for like 5 hours before bed time, and I kept fantasizing about putting my head
down, it did sort of feel like I was dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By this time in Ila infanthood, I could lie down with her and just nap
and nurse for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s so much
harder to do with two, especially as Pippa will take a pretty decent nap of a
couple hours (with intermittent waking, squawking and resettling) while Forrest
will take two little tiny naps of half an hour during that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are, roughly, in sync, but their
different natural proclivities, when it comes to sleep, are surfacing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, earlier this week, Pippa slept
through from 9 until 5:30 the same night that Forrest woke up to nurse about
every hour. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not exactly ideal, but
fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact Pippa has really
calmed into this little sweet, bizarre creature who puts herself to sleep and
often sleeps long stretches at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
least for the last couple weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
kind of amazing because the other two babies I’ve birthed don’t seem to
understand this concept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that Ila or
Forrest are terrible sleepers, but they never put themselves to sleep!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pippa has had a number of nights with the
more usual 2-3 wakings to nurse, but it’s starting to be pretty standard that
she only wake once…and sometimes not at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is so strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am trying
not to depend on this as a permanent state of affairs, but Ila never did
anything like this so I find myself thinking this is just the way Pippa might
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forrest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Fortunately, a little shy of 8 weeks, both Pippa and
Forrest settled into more manageable babyhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m still often bowled over by juggling two babies, particularly in the
late afternoon/evening when everyone is hungry and grumpy and heading toward
the train wreck that is bed time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, the
babies did what all the books say babies do once they’ve gotten a bit attached
and adjusted to life outside the womb – they cry less, they give little warning
squawks before really getting going, they stop if I pick them up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s kind of a miracle when this actually
happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think Ila started out
hollering a little less and not quite so loudly, so it was a shock to have to
screamers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, though, they seem to use
crying as an actual method to get what they want instead of simply as a
permanent condition of their personalities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is a definite improvement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would say the prospect of raising twins, at least until toddlerhood, now seems
merely very challenging rather than potentially impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now if I could figure out how we will afford
to put all of them through college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually,
forget college, through private preschool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Yeah, wouldn’t it be amazing if we had actual public preschool?)</div>
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May 12<sup>th</sup>, 2013</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWBIXAvfft8PlC9lAqVsuB_qJkTyL3TjAc1VBlQ8PFkq7RUNDEcNsCOhTMqxNQCV9DXibrx6R2dWa05a4ZkBKnMrYlNPOpv21vx7L2VF86e8l31XPPhyj2DkUfVx6BtCKMEGfXQ45uoU/s1600/IMG_0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWBIXAvfft8PlC9lAqVsuB_qJkTyL3TjAc1VBlQ8PFkq7RUNDEcNsCOhTMqxNQCV9DXibrx6R2dWa05a4ZkBKnMrYlNPOpv21vx7L2VF86e8l31XPPhyj2DkUfVx6BtCKMEGfXQ45uoU/s320/IMG_0413.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? The only happy one has a pacifier!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We decided this weekend, without a great deal of
planning, to restrict Ila’s use of her pacifier to only sleep time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is actually how it has been since before
she was a year old, but in the last two months, she has been using it all the
time she is home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She runs in and nabs
it from the bedroom and won’t be parted from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, not surprsingly, we’ve had little to no
energy to restrict her use of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Judging from how unhappy, ornery, grumpy and obstreperous she has been
without it this weekend, I would say it has been helping her with the sibling
transition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s kind of amazing,
actually, how intense her desire for her “ba-ba,” as she calls it, is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her pacifier has been incredibly useful as an
aid (for falling asleep, etc.), so I don’t regret introducing it, but it feels
like we’re asking an addict go cold turkey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>According to some folks, kids that really want to suck will do it
whether you give them a pacifier or not, so maybe she would have been a thumb
sucker if we hadn’t started with the ba-ba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, I don’t really have any data to support this, so I’m not sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There certainly do seem to be children who
are never interested in sucking fingers, thumbs, pacifiers, etc. and others who
can’t get enough.</div>
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May 18<sup>th</sup>, 2013</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ila and Pippa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Clearly jinxing really works when it comes to
babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a week of claiming Pippa
was so much calmer and such a good little sleeper compared to her first two
months of life, she decided to scream for two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am ashamed to admit that after a day of screaming every time she is awake and
refusing to eat, just one minute more of screaming sends me to the place where
I have to remind myself that I do not want to shake my baby or toss her down on
the bed forcefully and run screaming from the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like such a terrible parent for a)
having these thoughts at all and b) having them so quickly after a screaming
session starts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the start of a
screaming day, I have some patience…but it evaporates before the day is out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like such a weakling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I should remind myself that many
times with either baby or even Ila, I do find some reserve of calm and patience
in the face of frustration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, at
least sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s better than nothing,
right? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, one of the reasons I
want to be calm and patient when frustrated (at least some of the time) is that
it feels very important to model for Ila and, eventually, the small ones, how
to deal with frustration without screaming, throwing a fit, breaking
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to be a model of
flexibility and maturity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want
to pretend I don’t get angry or agitated or irritated or frustrated; I just
want to deal with those emotions skillfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess I want a lot of things. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ila holds Forrest with Mommy's help.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ila has adjusted back to having her pacifier only at
sleep times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t too bad, though I
still dread the final adjustment away from the pacifier altogether.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I should be a tougher parent…or see the
long view more, but I do not find it easy to inflict short term suffering in
the interest of long term gain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be
fair to myself, it can be hard to know what short term suffering is worth it
when parenting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t get me wrong, some
situations are pretty clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
mind the wailing about something she wants me to buy in the store that we are
not going to buy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t mind the
hollering when she is upset because we told her not to do something dangerous
or unkind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I don’t like to see
her unhappy, and I want her to understand that there are reasons we don’t buy
everything we want or hit people or jump up and down on a block wall, but it’s
easy to determine her short term unhappiness about these disciplinary decisions
of ours is worth it in these situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Others are not so clear cut. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
pacifier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going to sleep on her own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you just wait for the child to be
ready?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to inflict true anguish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the guiding sentiment behind
parenting philosophies that are “child-centered,” I suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s my job, then, as a parent to not be
guided by an impatient desire to get her to fall asleep on her own or by my
worry that the pacifier will be harder to get rid of the longer she uses
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, impatience and worry are
not good motivators, though I frequently feel compelled by them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worry is particularly insidious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, having a pacifier has clearly
given Ila a tool for negotiating difficult situations, transitions, and
feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought that it would be
easier for me as a parent if I had never let her have one, thus avoiding the difficulty
of weaning from the pacifier, is motivated by worry and doesn’t feel like it
takes into account what makes the most sense for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes kids need little psychological
crutches – pacifiers, sleeping in parent’s bed, having someone sit with them
until they fall asleep – these are not forever, but it is hard to remember
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There isn’t one, straight line of
emotional development from infancy to adulthood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone’s path is different, with all kinds
of seeming detours en route.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All this is
easier to remember if I focus on staying in the present…if I could just stay
present long enough to remember that.</div>
commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-14800702111056331292013-04-23T16:12:00.001-07:002013-04-23T16:12:29.468-07:00Welcome to the Twiniverse<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Exactly two months ago today the twins were born. The passage
of time has been both glacial – as only time with an infant can be – and,
strangely, very rapid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess having
three children, 1000 pounds of laundry per day, and only two hands has a way of
making time whiz by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have I mentioned
that all three of my children have adopted the pastime of hollering and
screaming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila is easing off on the fits
now, though she is still pretty touchy and easy to set off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I get her sadness and confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a big adjustment for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, seriously, these two infants cry more
than seems wise considering their survival depends on me, the person who is
slowly going crazy and, thus, being rendered incapable of taking care of anyone
let alone needy and exhausting infants because of all their shrieking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
I know they’re tiny babies who can’t help
this very questionable behavior…blah blah blah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I’m saying is
that I think infant deportment is pretty much an argument against
intelligent design.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a wonder we
weren’t all set out on rocks to be carried off by large birds of prey when we were
little mewling newborns. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I said
before, I don’t think they scream and cry more than an average baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they scream and cry about as much as
an average baby…but there are TWO of them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How is that fair?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, the better
question, why on earth did I think fairness would enter into this whole
experience?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why, for instance, did I
believe they would somehow not each, individually, be as difficult as a single
infant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I couldn’t face that
possibility.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Okay, fortunately, I think I see light at the end of the
tunnel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pippa, who was rapidly becoming
the least popular resident in our house due to her 3 AM hollering, is getting
all coo-y and gurgle-y and smiley and adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, she has always been cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s one of the those babies that came out looking pretty freakin’ cute…it’s
just that looks only get you so far when your favorite hobby is waking up at 4
in the morning every day after nights of crying at all too frequent intervals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she’s actually napping a little, swiping
adorably at mobile toys, and making unreplicatable lovely little baby sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxBgOBeqiHtCn9PawfyAZuMxH8bSobPgIX1nW2fT7FLqCIaaT0WILqkHVLeuQFwuY10T77uTaLEwibFuuKQYw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Actually, they are both smiling and cooing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both started smiling pretty early – 4 weeks
- and with more frequency than Ila.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
also both seem to enjoy tummy time and vigorously pump their legs up like they’re
going to just up and crawl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ila was a
little loungey, reclining, not-crawling-early baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The twins' more active demeanors are exciting
and sort of terrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if they
really do start crawling early and just run me ragged with their infant
crawling antics?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When do they start amusing
each other like twins do in all the anecdotes everyone loves to tell me? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously. This is not a hypothetical
question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anyone knows, please tell
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to mark that date on my
calendar and cross days off as we get closer. </span></span></div>
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Several people said it took about 6 weeks to adjust to the
insanity of the twiniverse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ha!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must be a slow learner because I am just
now, at a little over 8 weeks, feeling sort of barely adapted to this strange
new world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe a few days in the last
week I’ve felt like I can kind of juggle it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wake up, keep Forrest asleep by nursing him,
get Ila up, nurse Pippa (who has been napping with Kiyomi in the living room
since some ungodly hour), pump so I have breast milk other people can give them
in bottles, help Kiyomi get Ila ready for school, get Forrest (who is now
crying), change both babies and hope they don’t each scream through the whole
process, and then spend the next 5 hours alternately tandem nursing them,
individually nursing them, coaxing one to sleep while keeping the other one calm
(hopefully).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am lucky, like today,
I have a few minutes with both hands free to type this up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or fold laundry (more likely past time for
me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, after the rushed bathroom visits and
dashes into the kitchen to feed myself, I don’t actually have time even for
laundry most days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or anything. Even
eating is a challenge, which, considering they are being exclusively
breastfeed, is a bit dicey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get to 4
in the afternoon, and I’m ravenous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
probably not the most pleasant person around here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I can tell it’s getting a little better (please, gods,
don’t reverse this trend!) because I spend more time looking at them and thinking
they are sweet and cute and less time looking at them with confusion and misery
because I can’t figure out how to keep them both from screaming at the same
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My current mantra: <i>This is a very
short period of their lives. Others have survived this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a very short period of their
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others have survived this. This
is a very short period of their lives. Others have survived this...</i> <br />
<br />
It's a good thing they are both cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-82489735730848456462013-03-18T16:44:00.000-07:002013-03-18T16:44:53.065-07:00Open, Shut Them Ah, sleep…I remember you. So, with Ila, at three weeks I was feeling like I’d gotten the hang of nursing, and our “sleep” had sort of normalized – meaning, I knew I was only going to get a couple 2 hour chunks of sleep a night. I felt a little better, a little like I’d accepted the situation. For about 1 day. Then it hit me – I was going to have to sit up in bed to nurse this little squirmer for an hour three to four times a night…for months…and months…and months.
Predictably, I felt quite depressed. And exhausted. I became very determined to nurse lying down. I had tried it a few times already, but neither of us was quite coordinated enough as a new nursing pair. However, I continued to try and always had that hope ahead of me. Someday, I could just roll over and nurse. I would barely have to wake up! At two months, I achieved this dream, and it was way, way better. (Of course, after a year and a half of the “roll over and nurse” situation, I was also quite sick of this as well and fantasized about an actual night of uninterrupted sleep.)<br />
<br />
So, the difference with twins is that I will never have the lie down and nurse dream to look forward to. I have just reached the “getting the hang of this sleep insanity” point…and I cannot believe that I will just have to sit up and nurse them all the time for months and months. Two AM has become a bleak, bleak place without a real hope of more sleep to look forward to any time soon…in any possible twin nursing position. Maybe someday their night time schedule will be staggered enough I can simply nurse one then the other lying down. I don’t really know how to affect this kind of change, though…and I need them to be on the same schedule during the day so that they actually nap at the same times.<br />
<br />
This all points to the fact that life with twins is harder than life with a singleton infant. This seems obvious, but I say this because apparently not everyone believes this. A father of a girl at Ila’s school said to Kiyomi, after she said that we are exhausted and really feeling the difference of having two infants at once, that one baby was just as hard as twins. (They just had their second child.) Excuse me? I’ve had a single baby. The only way that is harder is if you are comparing the world’s fussiest singleton to the world’s easiest twins. Granted, I feel much more prepared and less shell-shocked than the first time around…but leaving the house, nursing, getting a free moment to go to the bathroom when neither is crying…this is WAY harder. And, I would say, that both of these babies already cry and squawk more than Ila did.<br />
<br />
Neither of these babies better become colicky…I don’t know what I would do. I think, when I was pregnant, I just sort of believed that they must, MUST be easier than Ila because…well, they had to be otherwise I would not have been able to face the prospect of two infants. Ila wasn’t a particularly challenging baby – I think she was pretty average. However, even two average babies – that’s overwhelming to think about. Now, I am realizing – really realizing – that they could both be average, neither an easy baby. OR, they could both be more sensitive, more fussy, more needy than Ila. There is nothing that guarantees that they won’t be. Like I said, two AM has become a very bleak place.<br />
<br />
On the up side, oh my god, they are so cute! It feels sort of decadent that I get to have two tiny, adorable, lovely babies at once. I feel, the second time around, that I am really cherishing this tiny infant stage. It’s so fleeting. I’m less traumatized by the sleeplessness and the chaos that an infant introduces into your life. And, while they can’t do anything, they are so sweetly captivating just lying next to me or nursing or making all those weird little faces infants make…well, they are thoroughly captivating to me anyway.<br />
<br />
So now that the babies are a reality, Ila has been a bit more fragile, a bit more sensitive in general, but she is still pretty excited and enthusiastic about the actual babies. She loves to help, and she loves to take care of her own babies while I tend to the twins. Her babies are always much better behaved than the real infants. Yesterday morning, when I couldn’t get the babies to let me put them down for 15 minutes to use bathroom and eat breakfast, Ila informed me that her babies had already nursed and gone back to sleep. She looked at the twins as she said this, as if to let them know other babies knew how to behave. Incidentally, she informed me a few minutes before this that she had five babies, named Flower, Bee, Daisy, Stripe Baby, and Giraffe Baby. Stripe Baby is my favorite. I wish I’d thought of that name for ours.<br />
<br />
My mother has always liked to say that those dolls that close their eyes when you lie them down and open them when you pick them up are a dirty trick. Reality, she contends is exactly the opposite. Well, our babies are certainly bearing her out on this point. Ila did as well…it’s just easier to carry one baby around with you all day. I feel guilty because I am perpetually choosing which one of the babies to carry, calm, comfort…unless I am just nursing both of them. So, as you may imagine, I basically nurse them all day so as to avoid unhappy infants.<br />
<br />
While Ila, as a two year old, does introduce a certain amount of chaos and illness (hello, thousands of colds!) to the baby situation, it’s refreshing to take a little time every day to just hang out with her. After spending the day with the infants, she seems amazingly accomplished because she can use the toilet and speak in complete sentences. Seriously, though, I am enjoying this age – she erupts everyday with all kinds of odd statements and ideas. Yesterday, while playing grocery store, she told us that her car was parked far away, “in the distance.” I love when she incorporates odd little phrases like this. And, she taught us this little song the other day (from school).
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<br />
It’s amazing to suddenly have three children…and also daunting. I just have to trust that my intention to have quality interactions with them all while still getting everything done that must get done (basics, like eating, etc.) will be enough. I have already had twinges of guilt when one infant is wailing inconsolably for the 5 minutes it takes to change the other baby or when Ila really wants me to play or snuggle or read, and I can’t as I’m nursing the babies. I cannot imagine having 5 or 8 or 10 children. My god!commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-13781195358405232012013-01-29T09:36:00.002-08:002013-01-29T09:36:57.110-08:00It's a Boy...and a Girl!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<![endif]-->Almost the first thing I said to the doctor when I walked
in for my 7 week ultrasound last July was, “Just tell me it’s not twins.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ha ha ha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The nurse and doctor laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s
a fertility doctor, so I imagine a number of his patients are concerned about
having multiples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly some
percentage of his patients using medication to increase ovulation or doing in
vitro is nervous about twins, triplets…and beyond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This must be a sentiment that he recognizes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The doctor started the ultrasound and shortly thereafter
let out a kind of surprised “Oh-ho!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
didn’t sound negative enough to make me really nervous, as in “Oh-ho, there’s
no heartbeat!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(That would be a poor
choice of delivery and tone, certainly.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Still, Kiyomi very quickly and urgently said, “What?” sensing something
was not quite normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68efte3-E6v77GtXvQZVr0g-uCEQ1D6lHgrwmQ0uKvjnqkk6rzPjYtfNbjYjVXn0W4s2jydEcG5QiwYZqhYRrNxGhi2rp0Y9gsFvGqdzfoO5L96VxxdB8MVW6Gh6Wm7EK76-n4o8irU8/s1600/IMG_9634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68efte3-E6v77GtXvQZVr0g-uCEQ1D6lHgrwmQ0uKvjnqkk6rzPjYtfNbjYjVXn0W4s2jydEcG5QiwYZqhYRrNxGhi2rp0Y9gsFvGqdzfoO5L96VxxdB8MVW6Gh6Wm7EK76-n4o8irU8/s320/IMG_9634.JPG" width="240" /></a>The doctor replied, moving the ultrasound wand toward the
left, “Well…here’s one baby and,” moving the wand to the right, “here’s another
baby.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m pretty sure we both looked, well, sort of
horrified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people start out wanting
twins, apparently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, to be honest,
there are some reasons I can understand this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have a few friends who’ve had a very hard time getting pregnant or had
their first baby very late in life…and hoped for twins as they weren’t sure
they could get pregnant again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I
have also encountered people who just think it would be fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Okay. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, having one infant at a time is pretty much like a
cyclone of chaos and sleep deprivation touching down in the middle of your life
all by itself…so, I can’t say I related to the wish of having more than one at time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had said to both my mother and Kiyomi, “God, I hope it’s
not twins” before this ultrasound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why
would I even be thinking about twins???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
the chance of having multiples is increased with use of certain fertility
medications or in vitro fertilization, I have only ever seen my doctor for
plain old insemination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I like to
say, our fertility problem fortunately seems limited to the fact that neither of
us produce sperm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, why were twins
even on my mind?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who can say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it was the incredible increase in nausea
compared to my first pregnancy, the very early onset of pregnancy symptoms
(like five days after the insemination), or – and this sound pretty ridiculous –
all these double sneezes I was having…which I’ve never had before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I know is that it never crossed my mind
when I was pregnant with Ila…but I was thinking about it quite a lot in the
early weeks of this pregnancy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At any rate, we were both in shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our doctor promptly said, “I’m sorry,” which
is sort of an odd thing to say when telling a person they have what appears to
be a pretty normal and successful early pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Congratulations seem more in order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t blame him, though; I had essentially
just told him I didn’t want twins…and I’m sure we both looked like we’d been beaten
about the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Everything stressful is increased in a pregnancy with
multiples – likelihood of miscarriage, slowed fetal development, lower birth
weights, preterm labor, likelihood of stillborn babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pregnancy really is a joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got to the car, I cried stormily for
about ten minutes, wailing, “My life is over!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess all the plans I’ve had for the next five years are shot!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh my God, how are we going to do this?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if something goes wrong?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJDR1rOwk99R4u59Ep1xjF2mMgMzBbDoT-_Geacc9_rck3n-wAkp9MQZaEKTRirU7WkB2ah2wwP3lwJ_WnOGiUxwzr6X_LRIZPOhZPt3omQs3Hj-0UQsR_RELg8ltW1o0w5mChkTyJTo/s1600/IMG_9652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJDR1rOwk99R4u59Ep1xjF2mMgMzBbDoT-_Geacc9_rck3n-wAkp9MQZaEKTRirU7WkB2ah2wwP3lwJ_WnOGiUxwzr6X_LRIZPOhZPt3omQs3Hj-0UQsR_RELg8ltW1o0w5mChkTyJTo/s320/IMG_9652.JPG" width="240" /></a>Then, pretty much I accepted it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even started to feel excited – it certainly
would be an adventure…and I have a pathological need to rise to any
challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as one of our friends
who actually has small children and still seemed genuinely excited about twins
said, “Well, it’s more baby!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For better and for worse.</div>
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So, I studiously researched what I needed to do to
increase the probability of positive outcomes for a twin pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This included eating 3500 calories a
day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was supposed to gain 25 pounds in
the first 20 weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is work, let me
tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, you can’t just eat a
bucket fried chicken and call it a day…these calories are supposed to be
nutritional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I was certainly more nauseated in this pregnancy; I got
quite big quite fast and, as a result, my physical movement has been much more
restricted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, the first two
trimesters went pretty smoothly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the
third trimester started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have had to
go to the hospital three times to be evaluated for preterm labor…two of those times
I got to stay for several days and got to experience the joys of medication to
stop labor and constant fetal monitoring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unpleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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At this point, I am 34 weeks, and all three of us are
fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it is a relief every day
that I do not go into labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would
like to make it to 37 weeks at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
I am bigger than I was at the end of my first pregnancy…so, it’s hard to
imagine where the rest of the baby mass is going to go in the next weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, they are already stretched from well
under my ribs deep into my pelvic bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
are each probably over 5 pounds at this point…and we’re six weeks out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where else is there to grow? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And where will my organs fit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, am I going to have two 8 pound
babies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s 16 pounds of baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is that even
possible?</div>
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Fortunately, Ila has been super excited about all
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She likes to talk about how she
also has “monkeys in her tummy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, sometimes it’s babies…sometimes it’s bears or penguins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or even one moose and one fox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course it will be an adjustment when the
babies actually come, but she is very stoked about it right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loves taking care of her own “babies,”
which is almost any object she’s playing with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She frequently commands me to snuggle whatever she is playing with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lego train?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>An invisible mini-alligator (“it’s not scary, Mama”)?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her big rubber bouncy horse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they all need to be cuddled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
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Part of this stems from the fact, I believe, that she has
really turned into a snuggle bug herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When she started pre-school in August, she needed about half an hour of
snuggling with me every morning before she would consent to getting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This snuggling time also helped with the very
gradual weaning process we went through in the fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not super traumatic…for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been pretty upsetting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped breastfeeding her with some serious
reservations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt, practically and
logistically, that it might be best since I will have two infants I needed to
nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, emotionally, I really
did not feel ready to wean her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even
now, she’s so completely in love with my breasts – she may not be nursing, but
she wants to pat, snuggle, touch and kiss “the boobies.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so sweet…and really makes me wish I
could still be nursing her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I’m
already a statistical outlier as someone who nursed her child well past two…but
it’s so sweet and lovely…and it’s such a tiny fraction of our life together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to let go of this stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sigh. </div>
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On the other hand, heading toward three years old is
pretty amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like every week
she says more and more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny that
a year ago, she was still speaking this seriously limited baby pidgin - mostly
nouns and verbs, only a few multi-word phrases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she’s a real
conversationalist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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When I was still
taking classes at the end of last semester, she came into the room I was in
and, with a sigh, said, “I have so much to do.”</div>
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I was amused, “Oh really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What do you need to do?”</div>
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“Math…” (I took two math courses last fall) “and jumping.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She paused for dramatic emphasis, “On the
bed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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That’s a pretty serious itinerary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess Kiyomi and I must have been saying that
we had a lot to do with some frequency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
last semester she “worked” at her desk (a little end table in the living room)
on “lab reports.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She, like most two
year olds, is a sponge for these little phrases and mannerisms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hilarious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or a little distressing when she says, “Crap!”
or “Jesus!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or something worse with
perfect intonation and timing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Two is such an amazing age. When I think that we will get to have two more little goofy beasties running around our house, saying ridiculous things and concocting bizarre games and ideas about the way things work, I guess I'm excited about having two more. They just need to stay in a little longer...oh, and be super mellow and easy when they come out. Ha! </span>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-23453964367627848722012-06-16T14:20:00.000-07:002012-06-16T14:20:27.515-07:00Hot Undies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
We are raising a nudist, which is to
say, we have a perfectly normal two year old who prefers to be naked
as much of the time as possible. I accept this, especially in Tucson
in the summer, with little resistance except when we must go outside.
First of all, I am okay with the expectation that most people have
that everyone has at least some clothing on in public places. I'm
fine with this. We can all wear clothing in public. Ila doesn't
necessarily agree. She is uninterested in the norms and rules of
society as they apply to clothing.
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<br />
</div>
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When I remind her that she needs to
protect her body from the outside – sun, cactus, tripping and
falling – she does acquiesce, which is a blessing. However, she
picks very astounding outfits given her proclivity for nudity. For
example, the other day, I couldn't interest her in clothing all day
when we were thinking of going out. “Hot shoes,” “hot shirt,”
she informed me. Okay, we'll stay home and be naked.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8OuCVuJumvfbnhKHYJvlypzpOzSNIYNs5_-HfRlJdzmi_Zc3T4q0SqSb5g02a4lXQvH_mPYbRg5O91X7waWYU-dS8xCJ0Hp6rPDCQkHp8PaH14QKyzBBIcb1fHXUVWWHavgbNnwAti4/s1600/IMG_8036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8OuCVuJumvfbnhKHYJvlypzpOzSNIYNs5_-HfRlJdzmi_Zc3T4q0SqSb5g02a4lXQvH_mPYbRg5O91X7waWYU-dS8xCJ0Hp6rPDCQkHp8PaH14QKyzBBIcb1fHXUVWWHavgbNnwAti4/s320/IMG_8036.JPG" width="240" /></a>When it was time to go to a little two
year old birthday party for two friends, she selected a shirt, skirt,
leg warmers and socks. This was 4 in the afternoon, not a
particularly great time for leg warmers, if you ask me. Then, about
three hours later, in the cooler early evening, after taking a naked
dip in our friend's swimming pool and putting on some undies, she had
to take off her underwear a few minutes later, saying, “hot
undies.” This has become a frequent refrain around here. “Hot
undies.” They are, apparently, the most thermal item of clothing
she is ever forced to wear. How and why undies can be so much hotter
than socks and leg warmers requires the kind of logic only a two year old
understands.</div>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-86795287707819602882012-05-28T14:02:00.000-07:002012-06-16T14:16:09.176-07:00Transitions Are Rough<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yesterday I spent much of the day on
Ila Time. That is, we played or read or walked around the house with
her little shopping cart and stroller as she wanted to. Despite
this, she was extremely resistant to transition to other activities
when I had to enforce them. I had a doctor's appointment, so we had
to go over to Grandma's. She didn't really want to get off the potty
to do that. Then, once we were at Grandma's, she didn't want to get
out of the car. This is a hot car in Tucson in May. The appeal
obviously wasn't the car itself. We went to the library in the early
evening and she didn't want to get out of the car once we got home,
again. I remember that, at one of the schools we visited, the
director making a comment about “gently moving the kids inside”
after being outside, after which she said, “transitions are rough.”
I guess that's what we're facing here.
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We've been reading parenting books that
emphasize “non-coercive” parenting strategies. Say you want your
child to put her clothes on, any clothes even just those little
bloomers that go under a dress and that shirt that is so small it
looks like a bib, you need to get out of the house to make it to an
appointment and you've been trying to gently get her ready for an
hour. Now, you may be tempted to force her to put her clothes on or
bribe her or give her an ultimatum and practice “love withdrawal”
(isolating her – time out her until she does what you want) or in
some other way assert your authority, but that would be coercive
parenting. Even called “violent parenting” by some books.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I get it. I mean, I think some of this might be a touch overblown, but I like the
love and reason style parenting (or teaching)...it's just NOT
efficient. Non-coercive parenting techniques are generally the
slowest way to do things. In addition, I find that I have to
frequently readjust what I think we need to do. This is, I suppose, the slow parenting movement. (I imagine there is one out there.) For example, I
think, “Oh we have two hours before we need to be home again, we
can run to the store to get paper towels and sun screen in plenty of
time.” Only to decide, after an hour of slowly moving at Ila speed
toward departure, that maybe I don't really need to go today; maybe
we should just stay home and draw and read. It's sort of like when
she was tiny and I didn't really want to bother leaving the
house...we've come full circle.
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I try to remind myself that each phase
of childhood has its own natural rhythm and time. Toddler time is<i> very </i>slow when it comes to abandoning a perfectly good activity,
like reading <i>Olivia Saves the Circus</i> 17 times, for a hot car ride to
some boring grocery store. I can't blame her, I guess. It's just a
balancing act – getting done the things we really need to, being
realistic about the things that don't really need to happen, and just
generally slowing down enough to be present and available for her. I
can't say I always do it with grace, but I am trying.</div>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-6717993265159956712012-04-19T09:32:00.000-07:002012-05-18T09:34:57.663-07:00Olive Too.So, right around Valentine's Day, Ila said “I love you” to me for the first time ever. Well, technically, she said, “Olive too,” but I know what she meant. In the intervening month, she has gotten a little closer to the standard pronunciation, but it still often sounds like a strange contraction, “lovetoo.” I think she's trying to say, “I love you, too,” or maybe she just can't say words that start with y? Either way, waking up with her in the mornings now, which was already so snuggly and sweet, is even more adorable punctuated by her little attempts to tell me she love me. It's very lovely. I know that co-sleeping doesn't work for some folks, and I get that, especially on nights she's very restless, but I can't imagine not having her in our bed right now. When she wakes up now, she says, “kiss” and “hug” repeatedly while she gives us snuggles. How freaking cute is that? <br />
<br />
Speaking of standard pronunciation, I'm trying to just revel in all her odd little saying as I know they will not be here forever. “Bub-bel-ee wa wa” for carbonated water, which she weirdly really loves. “Blank-uh-let” for blanket, which is my favorite right now. But I know these little Ila-isms will not be around forever. She used to say “block-oh-lee” for broccoli, and she's already lost that. The last few weeks her pronunciation has been getting better and better. And she said her first full, real sentence last week, “It's right here” (about a temporary tattoo on her knee). What a simple sentence, yet it sounded so sophisticated and erudite after so many weeks of “Mama, drive” or “Mommie, walk” or “Eat, peas, corn.” It's amazing to see her really focus and grow verbally...but it's also a little sad to see some of the most surprising and humorous pronunciations go.<br />
<br />
I've been trying to record samples of her speech. However, she has become fixated on watching videos of herself on my camera (hopefully not the start of an extremely narcissistic personality) whenever I take it out to record anything. She just asks to see "the baby"...<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxLplAS0QryhRCAAwoioP35NGXkMdEq2hYqhoCCDezhtqlH5MbWcpT_R5bGGmQeJzGK-zh7QvpSJhORKa_W9g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>
<br />
I am now in school again, so we've been looking for a preschool. That's fun. Meh. Actually, I shouldn't complain too much, we found one we really like that had a spot for her in the fall. Now that she is almost two, there are a lot more options out there. I look forward to having a place that she will – hopefully – enjoy going to so that I can get work done...but I also feel torn about losing so much Ila time. It somehow feels different than when her grandparents watch her now. When they watch her, it sort of feels like an extension of our little family unit, still close to us and part of our lives. I guess that's why picking a pre-school that really “feels” right, with nice families, etc. is so important. I want to be clear...I don't feel guilty about leaving her exactly...it's more like I feel greedy, like I should be the person who witnesses most of her little toddler moments of life...I don't want these pre-school interlopers. I'm not sure this is a super-functional and healthy feeling. I mean, it's really about me...Ila can certainly grow by having some time with other adults and children in a safe, nurturing environment. I'm not saying it's required at the age of two, but it can be great for a toddler. After all, I am not, realistically, going to keep her home forever and home school her...but I am a teensy bit embarrassed to say that I sort of secretly want to do this. <br />
<br />
I'm not necessarily convinced she loves being away from me for long periods of time anyway. I mean, I think she will adjust and enjoy pre-school, but there is definitely a threshold she hits and then just wants to be with me. I think children are supposed to be “energetically” connected to their mothers until they are three according to Chinese medicine...this seems about in keeping with my experience. She is certainly becoming more and more opinionated, more individuated, but she still feels very, very sensitive to how long she is apart from me. This can be stressful, of course, but I remind myself that this is such a tiny, fleeting amount of her life. And much of the time, especially during morning snuggles, this connection feels so completely wonderful that it's easy to forget about how difficult it is to, say, do the dishes when she wants me to hold her the entire time.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-45977040815749972362012-01-17T14:53:00.000-08:002012-01-17T20:09:41.379-08:00The Weeee GameOne of the best parts of this phase of Ila's life is her burgeoning friendships with other children. Two weeks ago she started using language with other little kids. Her language use in general has expanded wildly in the last month - number of words, short phrases, the use of commands - but when she actually turned to another little child her age and spoke to them, I realized what a huge leap this is. She has gone from speaking only a little, and usually to adults she knows, to trying words out even on the other strange little people around her. She's always been fascinated (as all children are) with other young-ins, but now she has more tools to connect. Pretty amazing to watch, even if no actual words are being exchanged...a whole new level of her self - her social self - is developing because of the impulse behind talking and communication. <br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxoYbk3Zm-K5Iu1MlSpHg4b5qmMBDBNNOzTQ6C4j2Qr3vs1nlen_HFdzqrVxBZZXNULQlcQL3PB90-RO3D2BQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-76154663718018298652011-12-31T14:36:00.000-08:002011-12-31T23:54:40.205-08:00"'Wing, 'Wing, 'Wing"As soon as I've noticed something amazingly, ridiculously hilarious and adorable that Ila does...she stops. For instance, she loves to peel the papery outer-layer off onions and garlic. (This in itself is not particularly adorable. It's funny until you find little bits of onion paper and little cloves of garlic all over the house.) So, garlic has become a favorite object and worthy of being called by a name, as opposed to the many objects that are still simply pointed at. The way Ila says “garlic” is quite adorable. “Gark,” rhyming with “park” with a full, hard k and a little guttural all around, like a bark. Next to “ock” for “sock” or “wing” for “swing” it was my favorite Ila word...but now it's sounding more like “garik.” I guess I should cheer her development, but I sort of want her to keep saying ridiculous things like “boo-ie” for booby (a favorite word and object) or “pi-coh” for pine cone. Or “pa-co-ine” for pop corn. So fun. On the other hand, a 10 year old who speaks like a 2 year old is not really so cute, but it's hard to remember that when Ila is babbling away in her half-speak. <br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwl1GiskdLdE-0uYQ-MJiP2I3Ijfe7Tnl1i52-IoB83d-G2jAscwN5kAPR7z9eNVQPRHXXrCoqrt2jJlh_yCg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />She is babbling away now, though she is a bit reticent about talking around other people. It's interesting because she's not really that shy, except with language. But at home, she's saying more and more. In fact, we've gotten to the stage where she'll say a string of words, and I can only nod and smile because I understood maybe two things. She speaks with great zest and enthusiasm...just not with great pronunciation. What's interesting is that, in the last week or so, she says a bunch of words together...but not necessarily as a sentence, per se. She doesn't really have syntax yet. So, she might say, “pine cone ball slide boom uh oh” all in a row, but really they are just individual exclamations. I'm excited to get to the subject verb, simple sentence phase. Though, she does use the imperative. “Walk!” is a common command issued when she wants us to come look at something, take her outside, pick her up and take her somewhere. It's a sort of cover-all for her wants and needs.<br /><br />Along with all her new language, her affection is probably the most fetching thing about her. I cannot express how much I love the little kisses she freely proffers in the mornings when she just wakes up. She also likes to lie in bed for a while, snuggling. She nestles in so that I’m spooning her...and it is indescribably lovely. Yesterday, she said, “Mommie,” to Kiyomi and then, when Kiyomi turned to her, Ila kissed her three times...just because she wanted to. So sweet. I get it, this baby thing. It's pretty amazing.<br /><br />Then, there are the times that I want to ram my head against the wall because she won't go to sleep or she wants something we've just taken away, and she's hollering and head banging. Or, she is shrieking, “up-pee” (up, please) at the top of her lungs while my hands are completely full. Actually, to be fair, Ila doesn't really scream and wail too much...but she is starting to have real memories of objects around her. We used to just holler and point at some imaginary attraction in the distance so that we could slip an offending object out of her grasp. She would fall for it, maybe whimper a little but was easily distracted. Now, she knows. She wants whatever it was. She can guess with skill where we slipped it, and she'll employ all forms of bellowing and hollering to inform us that we should return it. And, if it's a food treat, she employs her oft used “moh” (with a raised tone at the end, like a question) for “more.”<br /><br />She also seems to be developing a particularly slap-stick centered sense of humor. Yesterday, I made ridiculous faces while shaking my head around. Uproariously, apparently. This morning, while Kiyomi was dancing around with Ila, she pretended to run into the wall. Hilarious. And it was just as funny the sixth time. I imagine this is a totally normal stage of cognitive development...but it feels so unique and world-altering to see an actual sense of humor developing...it's like she's turning into a real human!commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-59192991073056427232011-10-31T08:59:00.000-07:002011-10-31T13:35:35.443-07:00MamaSo, Ila says "mama" now. Well, actually, she shouts "mamam" or a sharp staccato "mam" from across the house. She hasn't really branched out in her use of the word - no sweet "mama" when we snuggle or even a whimpered "mama" when she cries. It's pretty much a demanding holler whenever she uses it, usually when she can't see me because I've walked out of the room to get a glass of water or answer the phone. It's sort of like the baby version of the pool game "Marco Polo," only she's always the searcher. I can't really reciprocate. If I call "Ila" she may or may not respond, depending on her mood and how engrossed she is in whatever she's doing. And she's not at the verbal stage where she responds to a call with words. She may physically appear if you call her, but probably not, especially if she is doing something she deeply enjoys like taking out all the cloth diapers and unfolding them, strewing them all over the room and house.<br /><br />I'm not sure what scene I had pictured in first being called "mama" or "mommy." I suppose I assumed it would be used like a name, "Mama"...maybe with a soft little kiss on my cheek. Okay. No, I don't think I was silly enough to picture that. I just assumed it would be like, "Mama, up!" Or, "Mama, read!" But Ila is just barely starting to use the names of objects as terms to indicate what she wants, needs, can't find, etc. She still pretty much uses names as declarations. Book! Ball! Hat! There they are, she wants to say. Right there. Paper! Crayon! She's the town crier for inanimate objects around here.<br /><br />This stage is actually a little frustrating for everyone, Ila included. When she wants something that she knows the word or sign for, she still often doesn't use it. I'll say, the voice of preschool teachers ringing in my head, "Can you use a word or a sign, Ila?" Of course she ignores this. Once I've figured out what she's probably wanting, I'll say, for instance, "Do you want to nurse? You can use your sign." She sometimes will then sign for it, but sometimes she continues to be frustrated, though she clearly wants to nurse. It's such a bizarre gap between having some words and knowing how to employ them. I have to admit, it's seems a little like a prison to me, having only 30 or so words and signs to communicate everything you want or need. I'm amazed she's not constantly throwing her blocks at the wall in rage. Fortunately, she is so fascinated by everything around her, absorbing so much new information, that she isn't usually caught up in frustration. It is amazing to watch her make connections. Everyday she says something new or does something new.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxp4o_wjaGVNyDdRMHClNqVWbsvStqCIBUIUCZM7rqnOL_nN6XVT1b-KR9T6gwD49qHUrUT735kkwvfgh2gYA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Lately, she's been really into putting diapers on her stuffed animals. She's always been freakishly obsessed with cloth. Wash cloths, blankets, towels. She also loves cloth diapers. She lays them on the ground, smooths them, picks them up, lays them down somewhere else. So, the other day, I put a diaper on one of her bears. Well. That was probably the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. She promptly took it off the bear and indicated that I should put it back on. We repeated this about 56 times, until I started to lose my mind and told Ila she should try it on her own. I went into the kitchen to make our lunch and left her to play with the bear and his diaper. Several minutes later she came to me and handed me the bear...whose leg was mysteriously wet. I had my suspicions, so I followed the little droplets of water all the way to the bathroom. She had taken off bear's diaper, like we do hers, put the little toilet seat reducer on the toilet and put bear on the potty. Or, rather, <span style="font-style:italic;">in</span> the potty. I was torn between feeling a little sad about bear's new toilet bowl leg and the adorableness of Ila wanting to help her bear go to the potty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVWqJj1mr3GDgcbLgSgU6Dmm989xtbdpqmbySAQt3rAmw17xEo6GhXLt3r-n3H4hOu2WZwhUOE6IQ_ms5T7aAw17z2Of4qDMhlQ4oH1xGORCrg8dE_ZVIVkvWXqb1g3QGC-5mDgdDaYI/s1600/IMG_5646.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVWqJj1mr3GDgcbLgSgU6Dmm989xtbdpqmbySAQt3rAmw17xEo6GhXLt3r-n3H4hOu2WZwhUOE6IQ_ms5T7aAw17z2Of4qDMhlQ4oH1xGORCrg8dE_ZVIVkvWXqb1g3QGC-5mDgdDaYI/s320/IMG_5646.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669757559901430546" /></a><br /><br />We've started putting clothes and shoes on this bear along with diapers. She eats it up! And, she's really attached to this particular stuffed animal, which, before, she barely even looked at. It's so interesting how caring for an object (or person, I suppose) endears it to us. Sure, sometimes when that little person is awake for an hour in the middle of the night, it's not exactly endearing, but overall, it is sweet to feel that you can care for another person, you can offer help and kindness and love. And there are such moments of sweetness, even in the middle of the night. Often, when she wakes up, Ila will now stroke my side as she nurses or snuggles me. She is truly coming into her own, affection-wise. She likes to give kisses and cuddles in the mornings and this, fortunately, snaps me out of the zombie state I may have been in only moments before, still groggy and unrested from a less than ideal night.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-51385581214879159772011-09-19T12:31:00.000-07:002011-09-20T12:57:04.676-07:00LexiconMy favorite new word of Ila's is definitely "mole." Not like the animal, like the little brown spots my skin is covered with. She's been fascinated by my moles for a number of months. It's particularly lovely when she tries to pinch and pull the few around my neck that are a bit raised. I get to say fun things like, "Ila please be gentle with Mama's moles." At any rate, she obviously absorbed that these spots are moles because the other day she kept poking me on my knee and saying, "Mo," as in "mo" (poke) "mo" (poke) "mo" (poke). I was bathing her, so I wasn't super focused on what she was saying until about the 8th poke. Then, I realized she was trying to tell me something. She was pointing out my moles.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthW8Vg1ijbUOXQ4OOgbzixbhgHrUPWgJBfMbmeHeVTfb6ORu4Yuzo7pC6e7cp6msj_uHqxcAiiQ5_H48NXi555fOTbE0ZbC7qzLPQAyA4Wolch8pKmDXcRpcSW1bVzcV1EwCEoAhaK0c/s1600/IMG_4120.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthW8Vg1ijbUOXQ4OOgbzixbhgHrUPWgJBfMbmeHeVTfb6ORu4Yuzo7pC6e7cp6msj_uHqxcAiiQ5_H48NXi555fOTbE0ZbC7qzLPQAyA4Wolch8pKmDXcRpcSW1bVzcV1EwCEoAhaK0c/s320/IMG_4120.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654182478345802386" /></a><br /><br />Now, why, I would like to know, would she decide this is an important word to absorb and use when she seems completely and entirely uninterested in words that have much more practical applications like "eat" or "yes" or, even, "no"...or, the lovely "mama?" Sigh. I admit, it would be sweet if she actually called me mama. All in the fullness of time, I suppose. Realistically, she shakes her head for "no" and does her signing for "eat"...but there are so many other practical words that she hasn't adopted yet.<br /><br />It is fascinating to observe which words she plucks out of the hundreds she hears each day to try out and repeat. Her earliest words, after "egg" and "Bob" (for a stuffed bobcat toy), were "ball," "hat," "hot" and "water." Technically they were "ba," "haa," "ha," and "wa." "Ball" and "water" are not surprising. She loves playing with both of these, so these word selections make sense easily. Why "hot," though? I wasn't even aware that I used that much with her. However, I suppose, when I'm holding something hot, I am very emphatic and clear about it. Maybe she picks up on this extra emphasis - the word seems important, so she makes special note of it.<br /><br />On the utilitarian side of things, she added "up" (pronounced exactly right) shortly after the above words. She likes to use it semi-automatic style, "up up up up up up up up up up." Towards the end they're screeched if you're not complying quickly enough. Whenever Kiyomi or I walk into the kitchen, she is sure to race in and hit you with a volley of "up's." This room is, obviously the hub of lots of interesting activity, and she doesn't want to miss anything. These days, we have to stand her on a chair or step stool by the counter, give her her little apron, and let her "help." Helping pretty much means tasting everything, smearing food across the counter, or banging the mixing spoons around. It's pretty adorable if you just roll with it. If you are very attached to getting whatever it is done quickly, it's a little less cute.<br /><br />She is so much more...capable. I suppose that's the right word. For instance, it feels like she understands the majority of what I'm saying. The other day, she was "helping" me make scones. I was cutting in cold butter to my flour mixture, and, after cutting off a few "tastes" of the butter for Ila, I asked her to put a few pieces of butter into the mixing bowl. Well, I'm positive she understood what I asked her to do, but she had a better plan. Why not "taste" these much larger pieces of butter as well? She did want to put the chunks of butter into the bowl...she just wanted to eat them more.<br /><br />She's also much more physically dexterous. She can eat with a spoon, with a surprising degree of accuracy. She is running...actually, more like trotting, but it's way more coordinated than the bizarre trip-step hop she was trying out a couple months ago. She's able to put stacking rings onto their spindle. She can manipulate little things with her fingers. Just thing, a year ago, she was a little blob that could barely grasp a rattle when I forced it into her fingers. It's impressive how much kids learn and grow in the first couple years of life.<br /><br />She just seems to <i>know</i> what she's doing more. She bit my nipple while I was nursing her and chatting with folks during our visit to the cottage. She hasn't done this many times, and I responded with my usual "no" and put her down routine. This is, of course, very upsetting for her. However, she came back a while later and signed to nurse. She starting nursing, and I looked down at her. She very gently made a biting face then shook her head, as if to say, "I may want to, but I would never do that horrible biting thing." Her little face was so earnest, I wanted to laugh. Sometimes it seems she's particularly cute and hilarious when she's experimenting and pushing the limits. I know that I ought not laugh at certain things, but it is difficult. Other times, have no problem not laughing. She dropped a stuffed toy in the toilet right after peeing in it...that was a moment I did not laugh. (While telling Kiyomi about it later, though, I did chuckle.)<br /><br />She watches everything then experiments with weird gestures. She's got this fake smile she pops out and works on occasionally. Last month she was shrugging her shoulders in a prolonged cutesy way. Yesterday, she was shaking one hand spastically in the air as she'd seen me do when I was shaking water off my own hand. Today, she's putting her head down and slouching around like Quasimodo. Some things are clearly imitation. Others, I'm not certain where they came from. <br /><br />She has added a few more words to her permanent repertoire in the last couple weeks, "book," "uh-oh," "bike," "Willa" (our friends' daughter's name), "apple", "banana" (pronounced, oddly, "meena") and "help." But I can see that it will be a while until she is truly <i>talking</i>. It's sort of charming that she's so sparsely verbal, though. It adds to the feeling that nothing is premeditated for Ila. Limited language, limited planning. There's something so unstudied and present about everything Ila does. She walks around the house, busy with a block or ball, then tosses that aside, walks to another room, barks like a dog in response to the neighbor's dogs, repeats a stray word I say, points to a succession of five things some with accompanying gestures or sounds, then wanders on again.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-8762810308165571722011-08-04T16:19:00.000-07:002011-08-04T18:54:45.601-07:00EggIla said her first word. Sure it was two weeks ago, Saturday the 23rd, and it's taken me an eon to find a minute to write this...but she said her first word!!! Egg, long aaaaaa, silent g. We are particularly fond of the face contortions that go along with this word. <br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy9UDqt2NBZT5Njy-4_d3ToGeqSfrTncYvbJjVm3Ma_GsVMkaK1uvL4VOzerPWDjsARq62zlvQpybOi8im9iA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Our friends were over for dinner, and Ila started saying "egg," with her own, charming pronunciation, of course. I was doubtful that she was actually saying "egg" at first, but our friend Jenny was sure. Ila kept repeating it, and Jenny was right. Egg it is. I was trying to get Kiyomi to bet with me about what her first word would be. She thought it would be something sweet and affectionate, like one of our cat's names. I thought it would be some object that she loved, like "keys,"her current favorite object in the world. Ila loves her toy eggs and actual eggs, so I think I kind of won that bet.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzlIDCOeCt9856pKrlhMamGFyNa9uNwAwnGs_8UT0RLmhDRfoe3tOeNQoKSM47EEEsFCuvd1-AORg2X46f3Bw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Other than that, she has added some more sounds, including a pretty adorable soft roar whenever she sees pictures of lions, tigers, bears, leopards, etc. In fact, she is really into repeating animal sounds. She's sort of meowed and barked, kind of quacked, done a little oinking and clucking, along with some serious fish gulping, cow mooing, and roaring. I find myself wondering if she's going to be autistic in the Temple Grandin style of autism, you know, really in touch with animals, seeing and thinking like them. This is, perhaps, a ridiculous worry, but it is what I think of each time she adds a new animal sound.<br /><br />Right this moment, she is fake coughing and covering her mouth. Then, she looks at me expectantly. If I don't follow suit fast enough, she covers my mouth for me - with her hand - and fake coughs, with a look that's a little like, "Okay, Mama, this is easy. You can handle it." Technically this is Ila time, I should be playing with her. And she obviously feels this. But, I wanted to jot a quick note on her first word before I forget it all. See, she's dumping water onto the floor from her sippy cup. Hmm, now she's feeding me a blueberry she put in her mouth then took out to put into mine. Mmmm. Retribution? Or regular toddler antics?commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-57562966099815628422011-07-16T10:40:00.000-07:002011-07-17T11:48:11.257-07:00Pee and Poo and Lots of ShoesIla is an actual little person now. She walks around the house with a real sense of purpose, even if her mission seems to be nothing more than to pick up a sock from the bedroom, carry it to the dining room, back to the living room, before leaving it on the couch in order to knock over a stack of books. I sort of wish she could write a "to do" list. I'd like to see that list. She's obviously very busy because she walks around with her hands resting on her back, like she's surveying all the work to be done around her.<br /><br />One important task is to find every shoe in the house, point to it, and say, "Ah ha ha ha" like The Count from Seasame Street. Kiyomi started this by saying, "One shoe, ah ah ha ha; two shoes, ah ha ha ha" whenever she removed Ila's shoes. Ila likes to actually bring me any of my shoes she finds, doing her impression of the number obsessed vampire all the while. I thank her, though I'm usually already wearing a pair of shoes. I feel like I should do something with the shoe as she looks up at me expectantly. How many times can you change shoes in a day, though?<br /><br />Along with her shoe-spotting call, she still does her fish impression - popping her lips open and closed like a fish - and moos like a cow, well sort of like a cow, maybe a cow just learning to moo. Actually she moos for pretty much every animal. But, we're not picky around here. Who's to say giraffes don't moo? I don't know what giraffes sound like, may as well say they moo. She also has added a fairly reliable "no" head shake. She has been shaking her head when I say "not or "no" or "don't" for a while, as well as nodding when I say "hmmm-mm" or "yes." However, she recently started shaking her head in response to questions from me. As in, "Ila, let's go potty. Do you need to go potty?" She shakes her head.<br /><br />Well, I say her head shaking is "fairly reliable" because yesterday, after putting her on the potty, asking her if she needed to pee, and taking her off because she shook her head, I got peed on. Yup, about 60 seconds after taking her off the toilet, before getting her into a new diaper, she just peed on me. Right down my stomach and leg. Warm pee, hmmmm.<br /><br />Actually, she's been a little resistant to the toilet of late. We are not really potty training exactly; we've just been putting her on the toilet a number of times a day since she was about eight months old. She often goes on the toilet, and we don't try to pressure her or congratulate her or draw a lot of attention to it. We just read aloud, hang out, and she goes. It's been very mellow and pretty successful in introducing the potty and keeping her cued into her body.<br /><br />She has, for many months, gone poop mostly on the toilet. But this week, she has not signed or wanted to go on the toilet. She seems to want to go in her diaper. Very interesting. I sort of think she is very distracted and excited by her increasing abilities to <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> things...so she doesn't really want to take a break to go to the bathroom. Anyway, I just keep reminding myself it doesn't really matter that much, but I can feel the worrier in me trying to claw her way to the surface of my thoughts. "Maybe we're overwhelming her. Maybe she feels anxious. Maybe she is angry." I can't exactly trace the logic of these worries necessarily...<br /><br />In addition to her "no" head shake, she added the milk sign, we call it the nursing sign, to her repertoire. This has become a favorite sign, especially when she's already nursing. While on one breast, she makes the gesture and points to the other breast. She wants access to both I guess. A few times she has popped off one, sat up, nursed for a second on the other before returning to the original. She'll do this a few times in a row. I laugh, but I feel like maybe I should be discouraging this?<br /><br />In fact, I find myself wondering this about a lot of things lately. Should I tell her "no" when she climbs up onto the couch or the chair or the bed or basically anything climbable? (She's hit her climbing groove, I think.) Or, should I just try to show her, over and over and over, how to sit far away from the edge once she's climbed up? And, how to get down backwards and safely? And just try to always be there to spot her? Parenting certainly gets more complex as a child gets older.<br /><br />I find myself wondering, in particular, what her brain is capable of even learning. Obviously, a lot. The human brain, even at the age of one, is an amazing, amazing learning machine. Still, some concepts are just impossible at this point. To use the climbing example, I'm pretty sure that she does not learn from a fall. She climbs on the couch, bounces around unsafely, launches herself off the front first rather than using a safer method, falls, is upset...and she will do the same exact thing 5 minutes later. She is obviously not "learning from her mistakes" at this point. (Does anyone ever?) I think what she's learning is something else entirely. What that is is up for debate. Gross motor skills in the form of mad couch dismounts? Like, she'll do this over and over until she can stick it?<br /><br />Whatever it is, she is certainly all about developing physical movement and coordination at this point. She has begun to dance standing up, she used to do the bouncing on her butt form of dancing. Now she spins, flaps her arms around, bounces, sways, and - my favorite - does a little backwards walk...maybe a baby moonwalking move? She knows the word "dance," too, and will sway or bounce when dancing is suggested. Very charming.<br /><br />In reality, she's very into aping all kinds of things she sees us do. Carrying around a bag, putting things into it, patting her stuffed toys and making a "mmmm" lovey sound, hugging, kissing. It's so weird to think this little creature who loves to do what her mamas do will one day be an adolescent who needs to break away and run the opposite of what we do. So bizarre. I particularly love how she copies sounds we make. Let's say I'm frustrated with something and I heave an irritated sigh. She often copies the sighing sound, which makes it hard to continue to be so aggravated. She copies the sound of nose-blowing, coughing, grumbling, groaning. It's pretty hilarious. My personal favorite is when she copies us saying, "wow," like the in the video below. (Also, check out how she's rockin' an unbuttoned onesie without a diaper. Kind of the baby equivalent to a wife-beater, no?)<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyadQyCYhCw_fIgFduiQrjaZg0XLhclZ1QtXXLFmGSTnz7lErlfWITHSmtBWbHf6vnzQoOwjv7L6-SCIaD8sA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Two of my favorite new develops are her new desire for interaction with other little people and her cuddling. As soon she started to really walk around - for transportation rather than sport - she became more interested in the other small children she encountered. She's definitely graduating to the age of interaction and play with other little ones. It's exciting to watch. She is less grabby than I thought she would be. She used to grab other babies faces as her go to move. Now, she likes to give kisses and pats. It's all pretty adorable. As far as cuddling with us, it isn't really new for her, but she has just gotten to be sort of skilled at it. She loves to snuggle in the mornings, and this is probably one of my favorite things in the entire universe. Ever. Spooning her as she nestles into me. Kissing her; being kissed by her. It's so sweet and lovely, even if her kisses are still crazy, sloppy open-mouthed affairs.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-52923751909603709982011-06-24T22:37:00.000-07:002011-06-26T10:58:23.784-07:00Learning is fun...?I'm in a “fresh start” mood. This has been brought on by some combination of coming home from a trip (this often puts me in this mood) and the book that I'm reading. It's <i>The Dirty Life</i> by Kristin Kimball about the author's journey from life as a free lance journalist living in Manhattan to a wildly new existence on a run-down farm in northern New York state with a zealous, passionate farmer. She initially meets him for an interview but, within about a year, winds up engaged to him and working harder than she ever has to breathe life into this old farm with him. It's invigorating to read. I know myself well enough to not trust the little romantic voice in my head that says, as it probably does to most who read this type of book, “Yes! Become a farmer! Forget all these other trivial, unimportant things! Live on the land, of the land, with the land! Woo hoo!” (At this point, the theme song from Green Acres should be playing in your head.)<br /><br />Farming is incredibly hard. Her description is not glamorous or rose-tinted. The first year seemed truly grueling. Still, this book inspires in me a feeling of courage, daring. I may not become a farmer, but I want to live a brave life! To do the things that most resonate with me but also terrify me. This feeling, as everyone who has ever made-then broken-an exciting New Year's resolution knows, is fleeting. Real change is slow-going and requires steady effort, though the effort may not be uniform. I do believe in sudden, inspired break-throughs, like deciding to leave everything behind and become a farmer. But, the real work is shifting your outlook and energy slowly, daily, thoughtfully...like actually doing the daily work of farming. <br /><br />This is all a very long way to say that real change is dull and hard, which many have observed before me...and, yet, feels so true that each time I re-realize it, it does not even seem hackneyed. Perhaps I just love short cuts, which is to say I'm human. Or, I like the feeling of <i>imagining</i> sweeping, awe-inspiring changes to my life, which is also to say that I'm human...or at least one type of human. Still, maybe I can do it. Make whatever changes really matter, that is. There is a new pressure I feel in all this because I have a child. I would like to live, as I've said before, in a manner that is contented, confident and well-grounded. I would like to model equanimity, peace, and a deep connection to my life for Ila. I don't need to be happy all the time or certain of everything...I just don't want to surround her with restless, anxious energy.<br /><br />So, now, I might think to myself, “What will I do today? What can I do today? What do I want to do today?” Think on the small scale. Not this: <i>What am I doing with my time? I should be applying for grad school or maybe...should I write today? Will I write something today or just not do it as usual? Why don't I write more? I am so lazy. But that's negative. I should be positive. I will write. Soon. In fact, I should write every day for a block of time – during Ila's naps! Yes, during Ila's nap, I will write every single day. That is my plan. Whew! Now I feel direction. Maybe I will sit down and my a schedule for myself. Block out the writing time. Get ready to write. But not today. Today I don't have time to write. I need to make a year plan; no, a five year plan...</i><br /><br />This morning, I was thinking this to myself, “What will I do today?” Then, some challenging energy in me upped the ante: I thought, maybe I will just do this each <i>moment</i> I notice myself planning, worrying, wondering, feeling pulled in different directions. I can say, “What will I do in this moment?” This is, for me, the extreme micro level. It seems insane and ridiculous on the one hand. An almost irresponsible letting go of planning, idea making. And, on the other hand, it is deeply freeing and appealing. If you spend your life as you spend each day...well, I guess this approach makes sense. It just runs counter to every habit in me.<br /><br />One advantage I've found in having a child is that I am actually pulled back into the present moment pretty consistently. Last night, in the relative cool and dark of our bedroom, Ila lay next to me with her cheek on my breast, her legs sprawled over my thigh, her little body snuggled close. It was so sweet and lovely. I had been thinking the moment before, “God, I'm tired, but I need to get some things done tonight. When is she going to fall asleep?! Fall asleep already!” Fortunately, just as I felt an ugly resistance and anger rising in me, some wisdom in me that surprises me each time it surfaces, said, “But what about right now? Right now is so deeply pleasant. It won't always be like this. Enjoy it.” I relaxed and noticed how sweet and close she was.<br /><br />While this is very touching and grounding, the flip side is that you really do have to cede much control over your time and life. (Or maybe just the illusion of control?) Anyway, the other advantage that goes along with being pulled into the present by a child is harder to appreciate. You also have ample opportunities to recognize how futile planning, organizing, analyzing, sense-making, pattern making can be. You have the opportunity to see this, embrace this truth, let go of trying to control, live in a more accepting, present manner. Or you can get angry about how little control you have and resist it. I volley back and forth between these two responses.<br /><br />For instance, I did have a number of things I wanted to do last night, things I cannot do when Ila is awake. But, she was restless...so it took a while for her to fall asleep. By that time, I was pretty tired myself (9 PM; pretty pathetic, I know) and decided to just go to sleep. It was sweet to lie with her and enjoy her little being...but I also did have to give up getting anything else done. Does that matter much? Probably not, but in the moment choices like that are pretty difficult.<br /><br />I just saw a couple friends in LA who have a brand new little baby. The exhaustion and bewilderment that go along with a newborn were palpable in their house. I immediately remembered vividly Ila's first couple months. Woah. That whole having a new baby thing was intense. What I found myself thinking about as I talked with these friends was how the first year, for me, was a series of realizations that I needed to let go and accept whatever was going on, however unpleasant it was. Most of the exercises in acceptance were around lack of sleep, particularly around accepting that Ila was not sleeping, not going to sleep, not even sleepy in the least although Kiyomi and I were both exhausted and it was 3 AM. But, there are other lessons too. The Lesson of Having Only Two Hands, two hands full of a baby and a thousand other things to do with your hands, like folding laundry or washing dishes or checking email. The Lesson of a Constantly Needy Baby that does not want to be put down even for a second, even for you to run to the toilet or make yourself a snack. Each of these is fun in its own way.<br /><br />What was particularly upsetting about all of this for me was that I had to do it over and over. I want it to work this way: face something challenging - say, long periods of wakefulness at night - recognize the reality of the situation, relax into, accept it, see my resistance, give up resistance as much as I can. And be done with it. I shouldn't have to do that over and over, right? I already accepted that I'm not getting the sleep that I want. Why do I have to learn this lesson over and over? Why do I have to find a new level of resistance in myself every time, a new way that I have to let go! Sheesh. Who knew I had such a plodding, linear view of life – do something, check it off the list? This is, apparently, not at all what life is actually like.<br /><br />Anyway, I will try to lap up the fun, tender, hilarious moments...or at least notice them as they are happening! Ila is in a particularly cute phase. She has begun to walk in earnest, as a means of transportation rather than an occasional recreational past time. It started about two weeks ago. She would let go of whatever furniture she was hanging on to and toddle a few feet, looking pretty exhilarated and puffing little excited breaths. Now, she is truly a walker. She gets more steady every day; she's looking less and less like a little shuffling Frankenstein baby, short arms out in front T-Rex style. It's almost unspeakably adorable to watch her teetering forward as fast as she can go, then pivoting recklessly around to come back to you, smiling and wrinkling up her nose. She also makes all kinds of wild vocalizations, everything from “wowwowwaaahwow” to “bababababa” to strange breathy sounds. What cute creatures one-year-olds are. That being said, she is also much more irritated when I take something away from her or when she wants something she is not supposed to have...she likes to employ a cry that varies in its authenticity to protest anything she doesn't like. All of this is extremely fascinating to watch. I'm curious to see her personality as it unfolds and develops.<br /><br />One of the sweetest and always surprising treats are those times when she just cracks up. There's really no way to know why certain things are hilarious to her, and she's a very sophisticated audience – something will only make her laugh once. So, it's hard to replicate these moments or make her laugh this hard. Another little lesson in just enjoying these lovely moments without clinging to them? So, I guess it's best to simply observe and enjoy those times when she laughs and laughs.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwdH1BWG0S8ns3MVs3mYNMN0zs98BZTVSGeKbIOt-LsWftz3HCjQHVkPcWFI3TLMcs474aNDNZD9IvXIMOVsQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-30035935644252646622011-06-08T12:46:00.000-07:002011-06-09T10:35:30.711-07:00Growing Up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYS8wHr-b31mbHVDuyIYeli8e7s3Mr8AnY-bjlQj2feJ2fIVGMkWzAq4eAmMPkm_kr5M-ipFJM9uaGc0T-TsINjL-loWBNu9ugTIJg9e0nnMhmOrnhyphenhyphentdf9F9jDSopp1EPIvvDahgSiE/s1600/IMG_1774.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYS8wHr-b31mbHVDuyIYeli8e7s3Mr8AnY-bjlQj2feJ2fIVGMkWzAq4eAmMPkm_kr5M-ipFJM9uaGc0T-TsINjL-loWBNu9ugTIJg9e0nnMhmOrnhyphenhyphentdf9F9jDSopp1EPIvvDahgSiE/s320/IMG_1774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615962516078442514" border="0" /></a>"Mother's body is baby's natural habitat." I read that in a book on breastfeeding when I was pregnant, and I've thought of it a lot in the last year. When she was a tiny new baby it seemed very obviously true that I was the mother ship, and Ila was the dependent little satellite. Strangely, this phrase popped into my head even more as she got older. I'm more conscious of her connection to me as she navigates the world a teeny bit more on her own. This is sort of contradictory, but she seems even more connected to me now, though she was completely dependent on me before. Perhaps it is that she now <span style="font-style: italic;">chooses</span> to check in with me, look at me, snuggle with me. I feel so physically connected to her, even now as she wants to explore more. According to Chinese medicine, a mother and child are energetically connected for the first three years. So, traditionally, if you needed to treat the child, you would look at the mother. This idea also feels sort of accurate to me. Ila is still nursing quite a lot, so, in many ways, we still are still literally physically connected. I don't know why this is surprising to me because it is pretty obvious, but I feel more and more connected with her. What I'm wondering is, will I feel this when she's an adult?<br /><br />Seriously, I've been thinking about how odd it must be to have all these memories of your little baby - some of which are probably pretty vivid - when you are interacting with your adult child. It seems very uncanny. Sort of related to this, on Ila's birthday last week, I really was thinking about laboring with her. I wonder if I will often think of this on her birthday in years to come. It seems sort of cliche, doesn't it? Your birthday, mother regaling you with how hard her labor was, etc. etc. Well, maybe this is only because it was just a year ago, but it was pretty connected to all my thoughts around celebrating Ila's birthday.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zUwrMqbKmuVKmgkJ6b7xAaJe8dSFCkagOboJwh-SMJ2SbMsskLsOoW1QT9GzSKvB06Iz3YFQakFsnzR09JrojV-XvBVNPprQ15HVy5t3KEExlH0eVkktEO0AmSFdxuZFv_pKfRDmPX8/s1600/IMG_1717.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zUwrMqbKmuVKmgkJ6b7xAaJe8dSFCkagOboJwh-SMJ2SbMsskLsOoW1QT9GzSKvB06Iz3YFQakFsnzR09JrojV-XvBVNPprQ15HVy5t3KEExlH0eVkktEO0AmSFdxuZFv_pKfRDmPX8/s320/IMG_1717.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615961175991592226" border="0" /></a> So, Ila's birthday. Wow. She is now a one year old. It is hard to believe it has been a year - it has felt both longer and shorter than that. I guess mostly longer probably because I was actually awake for more of the last year than prior years. So it was <span style="font-style: italic;">actually </span>longer. I found, though, that I've had a much stronger connection to the present moment this last year. It is nice to be reminded to stay in the present and focus on what is happening with Ila right in front of me...even if some of the time is exhausting and difficult! Most of the time I just marvel at how curious, adorable, and fascinating she is. These are the moments that time seems to go very quickly.<br /><br />Lately, she is babbling constantly, including this morning at 4:30 AM. She's still not talking, but she is intent on communication. She uses her signs (check out "more" in the video below!), sometimes a little wildly, and clearly wants to be understood. Oh, and she does moo like a cow when she sees a pictures of them. She mimics sounds, gestures, faces. And clearly understands a great deal of what we say to her. I can't wait for her to use actual words...it will be so wild. It's hard to imagine what her first real word will actually be. Cat? No? Cow? Maybe even mama?<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzJ3af-wzHeNfrolsmFCiRRvu_Mg8Zpszq56RC1rXQghlCao2x1QIyFecqcujqS_Ph_BAJRUiyOm_9COcPKdA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Now that she is getting to be a real, live kid, I was perusing the "discipline" section of some of our parenting books. One comment struck me about modeling behavior for your child. This is obvious and not anything new for me, but I realized that the strongest way I communicate my expectations for Ila is, of course, how I behave. Duh, right? Well, it really struck me at that moment. I started thinking about how...sometimes I'm so impatient or I kind of throw a fit if I'm frustrated. I get fixated on small things. It's hard for me to let them go at times...and I want to blame someone else in my frustration...for whatever is wrong. In Buddhist terms, I'm all about aversion. I don't want to accept that things aren't the way I want them to be - whether that is getting a cold for the seventh time in seven months or finding a wet towel on the bed. Really, I don't even want to accept when I'm deeply irritated. I don't want to just notice the emotion, feel it, give it space without clinging to it, let go of it, without the expectation of feeling immediately better. I like to push it away. Blaming someone else is a great way to do this!<br /><br />See? I'm all about aversion.<br /><br />Anyway, it occurred to me that <span style="font-style: italic;">self</span>-discipline is an important place to start when when disciplining anyone else. ("Discipline" sounds so negative to me, yet "self-discipline" sounds so positive. Interesting.) I definitely realized this as a teacher too...but my tendencies toward impatience, aversion, anger...well, they're pretty strong. So, for the last few weeks, I've been thinking about how I really should both accept who I am...and subtly change it. What a tricky balance, no? (This reminds me of yet another fabulous Lydia Davis short story, <a href="http://emergencyreports.tumblr.com/post/684108805/lydia-davis-new-years-resolution">New Year's Resolution </a>. Very short and hilarious. Read it!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YwQGTvKlwVLZMjEvpz6apfewQpFZeTITMLbxtWrPRYB1ZR7fx-za8W_C0i_W28_Jx4bgPWRFXVeF7ZoK5KZwAtL0-_uh_B2pCgrO5lmfS8JEDhSle7qdLEP7hyfpjNHUJ8ytz-GqST4/s1600/IMG_1583.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YwQGTvKlwVLZMjEvpz6apfewQpFZeTITMLbxtWrPRYB1ZR7fx-za8W_C0i_W28_Jx4bgPWRFXVeF7ZoK5KZwAtL0-_uh_B2pCgrO5lmfS8JEDhSle7qdLEP7hyfpjNHUJ8ytz-GqST4/s320/IMG_1583.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615963468690747090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I guess what I realized is that I'd like to be a very true, conscious version of myself for Ila - and my - sake; that there are ways that I create extra suffering for myself (and those around me, I'm sure)...and that it would be good to work on this since, as a parent and a model for my child, I will have a lot more credibility if I am not simply avoiding difficult emotions, blaming other people, erupting in anger. We'll see how this goes.<br /><br />Here's to not throwing tantrums, at least!commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-66092249226924895122011-05-20T17:19:00.000-07:002011-05-20T18:01:22.227-07:00This Boo is Made for WalkingILA WALKED! On Her Own. <br /><br />She actually did it last Saturday, but I sort of cheated. I was kind of spotting her from the back, and then I let go. She walked to the couch. I hollered and cheered. Then, she did it again for Kiyomi...after which she showed no interest in it for a week. Then, today, she did some shuttle runs between Kiyomi and I for the better part of 15 minutes. It was cute. We kept clapping and cheering. She kept going back and forth with a very pleased look on her face. It was cute. I still am not sure when she will really want to walk from one place to another...that is, without a squealing, excited adult at each end to encourage her. <br /><br />In other news, I'm some kind of immunological cripple. This must be why I've had a cold every month for the last six months. Not constantly sick; just sick, better, sick again, better, over and over. Well, "over and over" for a total of six. That is too many over-and-over's. <br /><br />I blame breastfeeding. <br /><br />I love breastfeeding, but still Ila is sapping my life force via my mammary glands. Fortunately, this means that she has only gotten sick a couple times - thanks to my amazing life force. (If I'm not going to benefit from it, I guess I'm happy Ila is.) Unfortunately, Ila got it this time, and she's miserable. <br /><br />So, it is particularly remarkable she wanted to totter back and forth on her little feet today for so long. While she did do this little bit of exercise, she has mostly wanted to cry and look like a little sad, wilted bean. Poor little babe. So, in the interest of one sick little walker, I am making this brief.<br /><br />She walked! Woo-hoo!!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyNSllpNh8gsgQ1WHsY0wtl6YYyhztqZR5H85upnFJqHVW3Wz-8_PZNM4xU-6uAbllBMI3Rek4INWT0ZmpK' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-16350347400365453392011-05-09T07:37:00.000-07:002011-05-11T07:19:29.537-07:00Yes and NoSo, yesterday was our first Mother's Day. Ila and I woke up all snuggled together, then she nursed for a while, then snuggled and slept more. It was pretty heavenly. I can't believe she is almost one! I look forward to seeing her as a toddler, a little kid and a big kid, even a teenager, and beyond...but moments like yesterday morning really bring home how sweet it is to have a baby around, with their funny little faces, chubby hands and feet and all the speaking-in-tongues babbling.<br /><br />It's nice to remember how adorable and fascinating she is right now because we are also having, concurrent with all this cuteness, a horrible time sleeping. Ugh. She has been up for over 3 hours in the middle of the night several times in the last week. At those moments, I look forward to the time that she is sleeping soundly through the night - fine, fast forward five years, I don't care! I don't care if I miss all kinds of amazing things, just give me some solid sleep! Then, she's a cuddly little darling in the morning...and I think, ah well. Who needs sleep?<br /><br />She is so cute.<br /><br />Seriously, I walk around all day long saying, "You are SO cute" and feeling it with my whole being, in an acute, almost painful sort of way. I'm worried about the time I have to stop remarking on her adorableness out loud. Something tells me that it is not good for a child to hear this as a constant refrain. This is unfortunate; however, I don't want to be one of those ridiculous parents that are too clingy and affectionate and gushy, whose children shake them off constantly with embarrassment, whose praise means nothing because it not really earned and so often repeated. I'm just going to enjoy this time that I can kiss her on the cheek and tell her she's lovely every five minutes. Hopefully I'll be able to break this habit...<br /><br />Developmentally this is an exciting time. She's not saying any words, and I have been really looking forward to that...so I've been a bit disappointed. Actually, it's more that I've been wondering what I'm doing wrong - am I not talking to her enough or not in the best, most speech inducing way? And, she wasn't doing any signs - which we've been consistently using with her for months. So, naturally, this reinforced my certainty that she is either a) never going to be able to communicate OR b) crippled by my obvious ineptitude in instructing various forms of speech. Fortunately for all of us, she started signing this last week! Woo-hoo! She started with "all done" and "eat." These were shortly followed by "potty." Mostly, she signs this back at us in response to our signs or questions. <br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxzqInG8A5shACvdHmi9523u5o-Sg25mv7P5nGskigEhVppC3DtL7HZVW4PC8C4GSlOCY2FSo1b3JKZCDvFkw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Since she was signing with some reliability, I decided to teach her to sign for "book" because she loves to be read to so much. This sign is easy; you open your two hands like a book. She picked it up right away...and it is the most bizarre of her signs. She's turned it into this exaggerated shrug with some head thrusting, usually accompanied by a bizarre smile/grimace. This is the sign that she does most frequently without any prompting. Actually, it's probably tied with "eat." An eater and a reader. I can live with that. I am curious to see when she starts using "potty" of her own volition. She goes on it when we put her on, but it will be very exciting when she starts actually indicating when she needs to go herself!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz11GlvTRAMnDIyph_M3_KgHEBq3dwTO7TEARDWfS3QOxT2rjGN-PeWyQWMIzoM07uVcNqw6VdyzNkUsvnZkA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Beyond signing, she's making all kinds of little connections. The other day she had a shirt with a sheep on it. When we got to a page in a book we were reading with a sheep, she looked down at her shirt and pointed to the sheep. What was so exciting about this is that I've never mentioned that this creature on her shirt is a sheep. Also, the book we were reading does not mention the sheep by name; it's just one of the little animals cavorting in a barnyard. I thought this was pretty amazing. Upon reflecting on this, I think Kiyomi has called it the animal on her shirt a sheep, but still, I was pretty impressed.<br /><br />Similarly, she is definitely making the connection between shaking the head meaning "no" and nodding meaning "yes." I didn't even realize I nodded my head much for yes, but I must because the other day when I was saying, "hmm-mm" as a yes, she started nodding. Funny. As far as shaking her head, she's been doing that for a while, but not really as a sign for no. She used to just enjoy shaking her head back and forth; I think because it felt good? But recently she has connected it to the word no, which is not a word she likes to hear, incidentally. When I say it, her face gets all scrunched up and she starts crying. Sometimes really crying, not like just a fake sob or two, like someone kicked her in the shin crying.<br /><br />For example, the other day, she was standing at my knees while I sat on the couch. We were looking at a book or a toy and she leaned over and started to bite my knee, sort of idly. She's getting some new teeth, so she enjoys chomping down on most everything. I said, "No, Ila, please don't bite my knee." Well, she shook her head, "no," as I said no, then the waterworks started. I didn't even say it in an angry or upset manner, and I was already adding, "You can kiss my knee or pat my knee." (Which, if you really want to bite someone, I'm not sure kissing and patting afford the same pleasure, but I like to give options.) Anyway, she was sad for a moment, but we were still playing so the sadness was forgotten. After a minute or two she leaned over and gave my knee a lick - I think that's her version of a kiss. I said "thank you" and "oh, how nice - you gave mama's knee a kiss" and a few minutes later she did it again.<br /><br />This whole incident was pretty interesting. It's sort of settling this notion I have that "no" doesn't always work that well. We're not big users of the word "no" - though when she consciously bites or kicks and it hurts, I pretty instinctively say no. The main "no" arena has been around throwing food on the ground. We've been trying to offer the option to put the food on the table or give it to us if she doesn't want it. We've said, "no, Ila don't throw the food on the floor." And that pretty much crushes her little spirit entirely. Then, she just throws food on the ground and shakes her head "no" while doing it. Nice.<br /><br />Now, I'm not someone who thinks you should never use the word no. Also, I know that tears don't indicate being truly, deeply wounded. But, she has such a visceral reaction to the word no, I've decided that maybe just giving her the better options in whatever situation over and over and reinforcing and recognizing the desired behavior is probably more effective than using such a charged word with much frequency. I know, probably a gajillion developmental psychologists are rolling their eyes at the banality of my realization, but I'm living it, baby. And as my yogi tea recently informed me, "Wisdom becomes knowledge when it is personal experience."<br /><br />Anyway, all these little gestures seem sort of small when I write them out, but when most of your child's life has been spent as a little grub that can't talk or indicate or express connections in anyway, it's pretty surprising when these sorts of thing start happening. She's growing up into a real, live, actual little person! Pretty remarkable.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943301457650843709.post-7629011213825423552011-04-15T16:27:00.000-07:002011-05-09T07:36:40.918-07:00UprightIla stood on her own! She loves to toddle around clutching tightly to two hands or the furniture - she prefers hands as her exploration is not restricted to furnitured areas. Today, I let go of her hands for a moment - she can lean back on my legs - and she just kept standing there! No swaying, no reaching for anything. Just standing! Then, twice after this, she chose to take her hands off her balancing object - a chair and a table. She had this thrilled, sort of shocked look on her face with just a dash of fear, exciting fear, mind you. Wow! I can sort of glimpse her walking in my imagination. I know she'll walk on a purely theoretical level, but today it seemed like a real possibility! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQVvO1RwWwhyphenhyphenJCAkgmYlMvbNC7zzgZnevjPSDjjUBlzLZ_wucsBnqrW97PsBhGUe2FbJRPMha8d8EpG-81qrrQVpRNT6YvhCVxtnx_3ER3XFBnPHiueDLySpm6w3g7ZBgDEpkxbDY7ocQ/s1600/IMG_1445.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQVvO1RwWwhyphenhyphenJCAkgmYlMvbNC7zzgZnevjPSDjjUBlzLZ_wucsBnqrW97PsBhGUe2FbJRPMha8d8EpG-81qrrQVpRNT6YvhCVxtnx_3ER3XFBnPHiueDLySpm6w3g7ZBgDEpkxbDY7ocQ/s320/IMG_1445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596048367726007202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />What a day! It has been a very sweet day (among other things, Ila took a freakisly long nap). This morning she started rustling around and obviously wanted to nurse at about 6 o'clock. I got us all snuggled up and positioned...and Ila proceeded to latch on and nurse for about 20 seconds, then pulled off and put her pacifier in her mouth for about 5 seconds, then back to the breast for 20 seconds, then back to the pacifier...back and forth for about 10 minutes. She did this all in a closed-eye, semi-conscious daze, like she was getting stoned off all the snuggle-y, sucking action. I, however, was wide awake after 30 rounds of this and decided to plop her pacifier in and pull her up onto my chest. She settled into a light sleep for another half an hour, sprawled across my body. It was so absolutely lovely and blissful that I didn't even mind how much I really wanted to still be sleeping.<br /><br />Later, after the standing action, I put Ila down for her second nap. Today is my brother's birthday, and I was thinking about him as she fell asleep. I have a lot of guilt about not being a kind big sister when we were growing up. Sometimes I think this has something to do with my parents; sometimes it seems like it's just about me. Specifically, I always wonder how I could have been a better sister - maybe it's something my mother did, or something my father didn't do, or something flawed about me that made me stingy and ungenerous with my brother. But, I am always looking back thinking my sibling behavior was problematic and wondering how it went wrong. I think about this because, if Ila has a sibling, I'd like the two of them to love each other without these feelings of guilt.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhVwXHdh29Agg-8tXcucdwuUAJJKRhbMd1US4P_hCRWqfPCNyBTKXPAQd-GHtFOMVhc4dqlC8InDisw1bURKo5Dh1l_VJTgHsopeSTqlhjljck2lnE7izL57wrUtAlvd1ZbPVmPYWK78/s1600/IMG_1453.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhVwXHdh29Agg-8tXcucdwuUAJJKRhbMd1US4P_hCRWqfPCNyBTKXPAQd-GHtFOMVhc4dqlC8InDisw1bURKo5Dh1l_VJTgHsopeSTqlhjljck2lnE7izL57wrUtAlvd1ZbPVmPYWK78/s320/IMG_1453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596049085582556930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, it just occurred to me today - after three decades as a sister - that maybe I'm looking at it all wrong. Maybe nobody did anything wrong, maybe I was a pretty normal big sister, but there is something in me that always wants to rake myself over the coals for past behavior and choices. It's such a revolution to think that, in fact, this isn't about who I was as a kid but about who I am today: I am someone who wants to fix things, even long ago things that were (and still are) totally out of my control, someone with a strong tendency to be a bit too critical of myself. Also, a bit of a rigid perfectionist. Now, instead of thinking about ways I can make Ila a perfect older sibling (it has now become clear that was what I was doing), I will focus on trying to help her be kind to herself. Maybe then she will be okay with who she is, what she needs, and we may just foster a love of her own little self that can overflow into kindness and compassion for any other little beings she shares a home with. There's a thought.commonalgebrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762121785741487180noreply@blogger.com4