Ely is Out of my Belly

What I wish people had told me…

2011-11-18T10:53:00.001-08:00

When I was expecting Ely, I often asked other moms “What do you wish you knew before you had the baby?” I gleaned a lot of useful information that way.

But, you know what I wish someone had said to me? I wish someone had told me, “If you pay attention, they’ll teach you how to do it. Relax.”

They teach you to forget about everything else and hold them.

They teach you to feed them when they are hungry.

They teach you to love through the tears, exhaustion and stress.

I don't know if that will be true for the rest of our child rearing years, but up until 2 years, 3 months and 25 days, it is absolutely true.

She is currently teaching us to potty train her- which was something I really worried about the "hows" and "whens" of. Once again, she is teaching us the biggest lesson she's taught us so far: if we pay attention, she will teach us.

Who knows whether we are doing it right? But up until this point, I can tell you we're doing this parenting thing in a way that seems to bring great happiness to all three of us, which, at this point, is enough- more than enough, really.

Sweet Prayers

2011-10-03T07:26:00.000-07:00

When I was talking about baptizing Ely with the Pastor at Santiago Community Church, he asked some questions, among them "Why do you want to baptize her?" My response was something along the lines of "It is our public acknowledgment that she belongs to God. He created her. He blessed us with her. We have her for the relatively short-term, but she belongs to Him forever." I suppose this was my interpretation of Jeremiah 1:5 "I knew you before I formed you in your mother's womb..."

Some of you will read that and roll your eyes and possibly think I am a complete fool. Some will like the answer. Some may have already stopped reading. No matter what, the answer came from my heart. (Side note: Anyone who knows me personally, knows that I am far from a model of holiness, let's put that out there right now ...)

Despite ALL my flaws, I have been given a tremendous gift called “Faith”. I don’t know if my parents, society or God himself gave it to me, but I certainly didn't earn it. It has been my calm in so many of the storms of life and I am very grateful for it. There have been times when I've really questioned the whole God thing. But, I no matter what, I always seem to come back to the "God-shaped hole" in my heart that only He can fill.

I think it follows naturally that I should share this faith with a certain small child in my life. I don't really think of it as teaching her about God, because, I often think she knows much more about Him than I do. Matthew 19:14 “But Jesus said, “Let the little ones come to me, and do not keep them away: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

Recently, as she has started to use “thank you” appropriately and without prodding, we have been praying together. I pray things like “Thank you God for our family, friends, home and countries. Amen.” At first, she didn’t say much, then, after a few days, she prayed “Thank you 'Malia. Thank you Seba." (Her two best buds). Slowly, she started including other people: Ruth (our cleaning lady who is truly a blessing to our house), 'Buela, 'Buelo, Pop Pop, Gramma. Sometimes, when I am really lucky, she includes me on the list of people she is thankful for.

Her prayers really warm my heart. I love the way she looks at me as if to ask "Is that right?" and, perhaps even more, I love reassuring her that "God is yours as much as mine. You can say whatever you want to Him." And the best part: the smile on her face as she feels accepted and approved of by her mommy and her God.

Her prayers are also enlightening. At an age when Ely can be so darn stubborn, praying seems to be the most natural of acts for her. Her prayers are simple. Her prayers are about people. She has yet to say, "Thank you for my new toy." I am sure she will, but it impresses and humbles me how, each night, she remembers the people that she loves instead of the things she has- and, I feel challenged to do the same, not only in prayer, but in all aspects of life.

I suppose this is another reminder that “While we try to teach our children about life, they teach us what life is all about.” ~Angela Schwindt

On Battles and Wars

2011-09-10T11:00:00.000-07:00

Ely is two-years-and-almost-two-months old. So, while I try to keep battles to a minimum, it goes without saying that we have our fair share. I do my very best to focus on the "war", even if it means losing some battles. Let me share a couple receent issues with you.

The other day I dressed Elisa in khakis and a purple fleece pull over, but she thought the outfit was lacking a little flare. So, she went into her dress-up drawer and pulled out a pink “bailaelisa” (which means “dance Elisa” in Spanish, but it’s really Ely-ese for any tutu, skirt or dress).

Our plans for the day included YuKids. So, Ely took her nap and we were on our way- bailaelisa and all. I asked her to take the "bailaelisa" off twice, once before we left the house and once as we were getting out of the car. Both times, she answered with a very solid “no”. So, I didn’t push too hard. Ely pranced around the mall with her “bailaelisa" and an extra big grin.

I tell you this to prove that I DO pick my battles. Now, I’ll tell you about a battle I chose to fight: Ely’s bangs!

They were cute and wispy, until she got one of those helmet cuts. Right there, in the hair salon, I decided that the bangs were history and started putting barrettes in her hair (a million times a day).

Well, 25,000 lost barrettes later, I was about to give up. Until, I asked a friend how she got her toddler to wear a barrette. The reply was so beautifully simple and obvious: "I just don't cut her bangs". Um, duh!! If I followed this mom’s advice, I was guaranteed a win! Option one: Her bangs bother her enough that she agrees to the barrette. Option two: I deal with the shag until the bangs grow out.

And so the silent war began. I offered barrettes regularly and she refused. Her bangs are in eyes. She has to tilt her head up to see anything. It isn’t the cutest look I've ever seen, but I am holding out. Perseverance was the name of the game. She doesn't know I can take care of the problem, therefore, there is no strife.

I was relaying my technique to my uncle and he said, “you are not going to win”. When I assured him I would he just repeated himself. Now, I don’t know whether or not he was talking about Ely's hair, but I started thinking about his comment on a level that had little to do with hairstyle...

I think of successful parenting as raising well-adjusted citizen(s) who (gasp!) don't need their parents anymore. Now, hopefully, if parents play their cards right, kids recognize their efforts and sacrifices and enjoy their parents’ company enough to want them around.

If I am being honest, the thought of Ely not needing me anymore breaks my heart just a little bit. I assume/hope that it will get easier as she gets older and pushes away slowly. (Please, do it slowly baby.) But, no matter what, parenting doesn't sound so win-win to me.

Actually, it sounds like I get to pour my heart and soul into someone else's well-being with the best possible result being pride in a job well done- and maybe a grandbaby to cuddle. And the worst possible outcome: well, let's not go there... So, maybe it is true. Maybe I can’t win. But, I hear that “it’s not if you win or lose. It’s how you play the game.” And to these games (bang eradication and motherhood) are worth the fight.

Mommy-leaving Day

2011-08-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

It’s been a long time. Besides the fact that avoiding meltdowns and proactive behavior management is a little more time consuming with a two-year-old (yes, 2!!!) than it was when I first starting writing, I have also taken on free-lance translating. I am finding it to be the challenge and non-baby-related mental stimulation that keeps me feeling like an active part of society. In addition, we've had some awesome time with family and friends. So, those are my excuses and I present them to you in hopes that my long break does not mean that my blathering license has been revoked. 'Cause tonight, I need it...

My mom left today after a visit of a little more than three weeks. We didn't do much exciting. At all. But, it was just wonderful having her here. I've been living in Chile since 2004 and I have dropped my mom (and when I am lucky, my dad too) off at the airport at least once a year since then- and sometimes more than that. You would think that it gets easier… it does not.

Each time since Ely was born, my mom has given me some words of mothering encouragement when she leaves. At the beginning, when Ely was 4 weeks old, she said “You can do this.” After that, it has been some version of “You’re doing a good job.” I think it goes without saying that it feels good to get such a compliment from my mom (even though I recognize that there is some bias J). First of all, as a stay-with-my-kid mom, it isn't often that I get feedback on my "job performance”. Of course there are the kisses, hugs and tantrums, but they seem to be allocated randomly and not necessarily a reflection on that day’s parenting.

I never have it together enough to say much more than “thank you” through the tears. I think it goes without saying, though, that the vast majority of how I parent is a reflection of how I was parented. I sure hope she knows that I recognize that (and after reading this, she surely will!). But what I really want to say is that if I ever let Ely out of my sight (joking!), I would hope that she feels the way I feel when I have to leave my mom (or dad). I would take that as a tremendous testament to my success as a mom.

Now onto real life, in which I take Ely for walks by myself, eat considerably healthier food and no longer have my favorite "laundry tramp"... I hope this “real” life will include some time to write a little more.

Here's an unrelated tidbit of cuteness for you:

Mommy: "Ely, how do you say "cookie" in Spanish?"

Ely: "Baby's cookie."

Give it back!

2011-02-08T15:22:00.000-08:00

About two weeks ago, Ely was sick and wanted ‘num’ (her code name for nursing) every.second.of.the.day. While I was glad to be able to provide nourishment and comfort while she was sick, by the end of it, I was ready for her to get.off.me! I love her dearly, as you know, but I needed space. I went out with friends one night and came back a new woman.

A week later, she had a REALLY bad night. Once I made sure she wasn’t sick or teething, instead of feeling the normal compassion, I was just frustrated and again feeling like I needed SPACE! I thought about it for a day or so and made a big decision… it was time for night weaning.

Ely is 18 ½ months old and we are on night four of night weaning. Some nights are better than others, but she understands when I tell her that “I don’t want to do num right now” and offer her ‘juice’, which is really water. (You’ll keep my secret, right?)

Sometimes she cries and I hold her and reassure her. I tell her that growing up IS very hard, but mommy needs to sleep, too. Sometimes, she rolls over and goes back to sleep.

I’m glad to be doing this at an age when she understands what I’m saying to her. I’m glad that I waited until now because I’m so very confident that she knows I love her beyond words. I’m also glad that I was able to wait until it felt right for me, not because someone else was pushing me to do it. All those things together make me really confident in the decision.

Of course, I’m getting less sleep than when I just nursed her at night and if this continues for much longer, I totally reserve the right to change my mind… That said, let me tell you a funny, if gross, little ditty from night 2.

We were spending some “awake time” together around 3am, much to my dismay. She was reaching her hands out and playing with them. I thought she wanted to hold my hand, as she often does. So, I relished the moment and played with her little fingers…and she SCREAMED!

I’m not talking about a little cry. It was heads and shoulders above her, ‘I’m upset. I want ‘num’’ cry. This was an all out scream. I tucked her under my arm and rocked her. It continued and I was confused... until I felt it…

She had apparently been picking her nose and had a ‘treasure’ on her hand. When I lovingly played with her fingers, I’d unknowingly removed the treasure. The blood curdling screams were all because…she wanted her booger back! She hadn’t been reaching for me. She was playing with it- and I’d stolen it!

Oh, the joys of motherhood!

The happy ending: I did not give it back and she went back to sleep without ‘num’- that time.

Birth plans...

2011-02-08T15:18:00.000-08:00

When I first started reading about “birth plans”, I rolled my eyes a little and thought, ‘Ugh! Another indicator of how our society misses the mark.’ I thought these women were a little presumptuous in writing down their 'plan of events’, wanting to control everything.

You see, whether you believe it to be God’s or nature's plan, things go like this: labor starts, cervix dilates, mom pushes, and baby comes out. The rest is just (uncontrollable) details. That’s just the way it’s going to go down.

Unless, it doesn’t… I wrote about Ely's birth here, but didn't really go into the core of the "problem". A couple days after she was born, I sobbed to R, "If my body can't complete the most basic act of motherhood: giving birth, maybe I’m not cut out to be a mom." (This self doubt really hurt, not only because I doubted my ability to care for my sweet baby girl, but because I've always known I wanted children. In fact, that is the only thing that I have ever been SURE I wanted.)

R reassured me that I, and my body, were made for this motherhood thing and filled in with the parenting duties while my hormones settled a little. The feeling subsided slowly. I credit establishing a successful nursing relationship with helping soothe these wounds. You could say nursing, and even “extended” nursing was my own personal “bu-ya! I can TOO do this! My body WAS meant for motherhood”. (I'd guess that has at least a small bit to do with why we're still at it.)

In an effort to understand what had happened and heal, I read about other women who'd had similar experiences. I talked to friends. Overwhelmingly, women with unplanned c-sections were regretful of the way "it had all gone down". The personal acceptance processes ranged from almost immediate to prolonged mourning of their birthing experience.

I think the latter is probably confusing to women who haven’t suffered an unplanned c-section. What does it matter what “door” the baby comes out? Logically, it shouldn’t. Unfortunately, logic has very little to do with the birthing process.

I’d suggest that giving birth is, at its core the most animal thing we do as “civilized” human beings. There are cultural norms surrounding eating and sex, but there are no such rules about growing and birthing a baby. (If you’ve ever seen a video of a natural birth, the “sound track” is quite animal-like. I think we can all agree on that.) Our bodies are pre-programmed to do it and societal norms have very little influence on whether we can complete the task successfully (except for the against-gravity position that most hospitals put you in, which is arguably a “societal norm”).

Did you know that some mammal mothers who do not feel their baby come through her birth canal does not recognize their young? Maybe my feelings of self-doubt after my c-section weren’t illogical. Maybe they were animal. There’s a whole hormonal sequence that I missed. It came later, in the form of oxytocin, but those first few days were pretty painful (emotionally).

And so, I’ve concluded that birth plans ARE an indicator of how our society misses the mark, but not in the way I originally thought. Birth plans are women's desperate attempt to reclaim the birthing process, to ask others to support us in what our bodies know how to do naturally.

Of course, there are times when I thank God obstetricians exist. They are necessary, without a doubt, but living in a country where the Cesarean rate is 40%, I think it's time they back off a little bit and let us and our babies do what our bodies we were meant to. Unless mom or baby are in danger (or simply want to do it another way), I think we, as a society, would benefit from letting things "go down" the way they were meant to.

The Magic Water Finding Man

2011-02-01T16:49:00.000-08:00

I have a close relationship with my parents. We get along well (unless I'm trying to make my mom clean out an area of the house that she doesn’t want to clean). I talk to them on Skype almost every day. My husband genuinely loves them (and not just in that "they're my in-laws, so I have to” way.). I am an only child. I birthed the only grandchild. Logic would dictate that being so far apart is not the ideal long-term situation for us. Logic would be correct.

In their classic selflessness, they are planning split their retirement time between Chile and an undefined location, at least for the first couple years when mobility is not an issue. Then, who knows what is in the cards, although I'd venture a guess that they'll spend more time here. (If you're confused as to why, refer back to my being an only child and having the only grandbaby- grandbaby being the main attraction, of course!)

While I love my house and it’s fine for extended visits, I think we all agree that a little bit more privacy/different lay out, is vital if we're all going to be together long-term. So, in 2007 we found a piece of property out where my in-laws live (yes, family is THAT important to us that we are going to try to live close together.) And there our little parcel of land sat…

Until my parents' Christmas visit, when my father starting pushing to get the ball rolling on building this place we've talked about building for four years. First order of business- find out where the ground water is. So, we did... but not how you think we did.

It was important to do this step in the summer, when the water levels are at their lowest. So, about a month ago, we called a "brujo" (literally a warlock, but in this case, I like "magic water finding man" better because there’s no witchcraft involved) and he appeared one afternoon with two copper rods and a crystal ball on a pendulum. ... hold on, I'm serious.

I was (understandably?) skeptical. So he let me try out the rods- and they really do work by themselves!!

Once he found the best place to drill the well, he pulled out the crystal ball pendulum. He pointed at the ground and asked “Hay agua aqui?” (Is there water here?); the pendulum began to swing. He counted. Supposedly, the number of swings indicated the number of meters below the surface the water will be found. His pendulum said anywhere between 15 and 35 meters.

Now, I don't want to be a jerk, but that's a pretty big range, especially when you pay for drilling by the meter! Given the range and the fact that he'd told my in-laws they'd find water at 15 meters and didn't find it until 40, I was pretty skeptical (again). So, he let me try again.

I tried once silently and he corrected me: I had to point at the ground and ask the question aloud, otherwise how would the earth know I was talking to it? So, I did and … nothing. He insisted I try again… nothing. I told him not to worry; the earth just didn’t understand my accent. He assured me that it was not my accent; I just didn’t have the “vibras” (vibes) to get an answer. Honestly, I'd rather it be an accent thing than a lack of “vibras”!

Anywho, it was a fun day… I learned a little and laughed a lot. Only the drilling of the well will tell whether he is right or not. Keep your fingers crossed that we find water at 15 meters!!!

So, we “found” water… Steps 2 and 3 to be done simultaneously:

(2) Drill well

(3) Find an architect- more on the architect search to come…

PS. I realize Ely hasn’t appeared in “recent posts”- not that there have been many. She is still alive and well and perfect (well, to her mommy and daddy anyway).

Seven years and I'm still botching it...

2011-01-29T17:32:00.000-08:00

I´ve lived in this long, skinny country for seven years now (gasp!), but I must confess, I'm FAR from having it figured out. There are some guidelines that I know and do my best to abide by. There's a whole other set that I don't know/understand. And, then there's the set that I know perfectly well, but forget.

Let me set the scene by saying that having a housekeeper/cleaning lady here is quite normal- it is not an indicator of some new luxurious lifestyle. These arrangements range from live-in, full time housekeeper to once a week cleaning lady. I have the latter and I had a new lady this week.

I really like her. Not only does she work independently so I can take care of Ely and translate while she naps, but she helped me make lunch and split a beer with me at lunch. While I have loved my previous cleaning ladies, I was never able to convince them to have a beer in the middle of the day- no matter how hot it was. I’m not a big drinker, at all, but I do appreciate a cold beer on a hot day and Thursday was a scorcher!

So, we had our first day together and it was a relative success. She cleaned. We ate lunch. Split our beer. I paid. We both got what we expected out of the deal. Then, it was time to go and I messed up and made things all weird.

Let me give you a little background: As a whole, I find Chileans to be REALLY clean people. Like REALLY clean. Their houses are clean. While housekeepers play a part in that, I've found this to be categorically true even in homes without a housekeeper. (Side note: LB, if you're reading this, I bet you wish I'd spent more time in Chile before living with you in college. I've learned a few things ;))

Personal hygiene is off the charts (excluding boys between 18-20 who do their best to look dirty once they are finally free from the demands of their colegio, although I have a sneaking suspicion that their mothers make them shower daily and that their dirty appearance is the result of A LOT of effort). All of my (Chilean) officemates used to have toothbrushes in their desks for use after lunch or any random snack. All of the guys that work with R shower before leaving work. My darling husband ALWAYS ~~showers~~ used to shower before we (used to) go out at night- no matter how late we are running.

So, since it was such a hot day and she worked really hard, I thought our new cleaning lady might be uncomfortable going home without taking a shower. So, I offered her the option. Her response, "I don’t have a towel." To which I smiled and responded "I have one I can lend you" and scampered off to get it. I produced the towel and she took it and headed upstairs dutifully.

As soon as I was up the stairs, I had a ‘doh’ moment. I’d totally and completely forgotten what I’ve been told many times… some Chileans don’t share towels. Towel sharing has never been an issue for me. I just assume that if someone is offering me a towel, it’s clean. Maybe that’s naïve, but I’ve survived so far.

I know of a few ladies of a certain age who take towels to hotels. R’s uncle who is a great handyman was working here and brought his own towel for the end of the day shower. I’ve never asked what the issue is because I’m usually told in one of two contexts (1) Another gringa asking if her mother-in-laws no towel sharing policy is the norm (2) Going somewhere and R tells me to remember towels because X doesn’t share towels. I’ve never been comfortable enough to ask X "So, why you don’t want to share your towels with us?" Although, I do assume that it’s related to the cleanliness thing.

So, in an effort to be nice and sensitive to the cleanliness factor, I had accidentally forced an unwanted towel on my new cleaning lady. So as not to offend me, she’d taken it into the bathroom and appeared 10 minutes later, freshly perfumed. I chose not to address my faux paus. I couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t sound like "Why don’t you want to share my towel?" thereby making things weirder. So, I zipped it and said good-bye.

I went upstairs to get the towel to throw it in the wash I was doing- and noticed it wasn’t damp. I glanced over and the tub wasn’t wet either. I had made her so uncomfortable that she’d faked a shower to avoid offending me! Eeeekkk!

I really hope that she comes back next week… I bet she’ll bring her own towel, lest I force another on her.

At least when you’re new to a country and/or are clueless to the guidelines, you don’t know when you’ve botched it… I hate when this happens. Seven years into it, I’m definitely passed my "She’s new here. She doesn’t know" grace period.

Lunch Line of Life

2011-01-13T17:01:00.000-08:00

Flashback: Little blonde girl sits in her classroom listening to the day's menu on the morning announcements. This particular little girl was always quite confused by one particular lunch item: choiceoftwo. Yes, every morning the announcer would list the options: main meal, choiceoftwo, and milk.

As a card carrying member of the bring-your-own-lunch club, I distinctly remember wondering what that part of the meal looked like. I never saw anything unidentifiable on my friends' plates. Well, that may not be entirely true, but nothing that I could imagine being called choiceoftwo.

When I got older and bringing my lunch became so embarrassing, I finally figured it out: Everyone got to choose two of the three to five totally unappetizing options. No matter what I chose, I always wanted to try the other options. You know, just in case. Usually, if we wanted to take two tasty things and asked for an extra apple, the cafeteria manager would concede, but no one could try ALL the options: choice or two, you see.

Life may offer a variety of options that is more appealing than an elementary school lunch, but you certainly can't try them all. I find myself constantly reminding myself of this- you are currently reading exhibit A. As I see my friends develop rock solid careers, take awesome vacations, pursue higher education, etc. I feel like I’m missing something, which might be more appealing than what I’ve got.

How do you go through the lunch line of life and really, truly value what you have? I LOVE my life, really and truly. I am married to my best friend. I have a sweet daughter who teaches me more each day than I could ever teach her. I’m blessed with parents that are able and willing to spend their vacation time with us, a house that is a home, lifetime friends and new friends, and two adorable (if incestuous) dogs.

Why in the world am I still looking for that extra apple?

I, like many of us, was raised to believe that anything is possible; that you can have it all if you only work hard enough. While optimism is important, I'd like to take a second to call BS on that. I just don't think I can, or anyone can, for that matter.

I don't think I can work from home enough to take awesome trips and be as available as I want to be for Ely.

I don't think I can pursue an awesome career or even that master's degree, be available for Ely and have the energy left over to nurture my marriage.

I don't think I can nurture my marriage, pursue higher education, raise Ely, work from home (Gotta pay for that degree somehow!) and maintain my physical and mental health.

I hate to be a downer, but I don't think I'm the only one. Something has got to give and at this point, for me, it can't be time or energy spent on Ely or my marriage. This day of her childhood and our relationship are the only things that won't be on the menu tomorrow.

The bounty is plentiful and we can all choose a lot more than two options, but trying a little bit of all of them will leave us with a stomach/heart ache gets in the way of enjoying any of them.

Now, I’m scurrying off to be thankful that I was able to choose this life. Your choices might be different and equally fulfilling, but I think it’s worth recognizing that the position and ability to make these choices is worth being thankful for.

Please remind me of that next time I’m asking for an extra apple.

Owner's Manuals

2010-12-01T07:53:00.000-08:00

One day, I was talking to my dear friend, Eileen. I was probably complaining about something that someone had done that I didn’t like, but realized most people would consider normal. She said something along the lines of: We all have our own owner’s manual, kind of like a washing machine. There are certain rules for dealing with us and if we communicate them to the people we love, they should respect them. If it’s not in the manual (i.e. we haven’t communicated it), we can’t hold others responsible. Disclaimer: She is MUCH better with words than I am. So, I am sure that it was much more eloquently stated.

Anyway, that was really a turning point for me. I got much better about calmly, clearly asking people to treat me the way I need to be treated- and about realizing that, when I hadn’t done that and a person didn’t follow my “owner’s manual” rules, I was partially responsible. I also started being more aware of other peoples’ manuals, which helped a great deal in not expecting others (especially R) to react to a situation exactly as I would.

I spent the first year of Ely’s life really trying to get to know her- to “listen” to her as she tried to communicate her owner’s manual. I’m not saying I understand why she does everything she does, but I can say without a doubt that I’m an expert on Ely, at least for now, before her emotional world gets much more complicated.

So, it makes me cringe when people do things to which I know she doesn’t respond well. Never fear. She is pretty darn effective at communicating her feelings! The problem arises when adults get their feelings hurt by her reactions or her generally avoiding contact with them.

Here are a couple things from her “owner’s manual” that might help:

If you rush up to me and make loud sounds 2 inches from my face, I’m unlikely to respond well to you.
I take a while to warm up to people. I have to see if I can trust you. When I decide I like you, you’re in. Forever.
Whiskers hurt. If you haven’t shaved, please don’t rub your face on me.
If I say “no”, when you ask for a kiss, please don’t pick me up and smother me with kisses. I won’t like it and, I don’t mean to be a jerk, but it is my body, after all.
When I say or sign “all done”, I’m full. Please don’t shove more food in my mouth.
If you’ve just finished smoking a cigarette, you stink. I don’t want you to hold me.
If I fall and you laugh. That's rude. Please don't tell me nothing happened. I'm the only one who knows if it hurt. How about treating me like you would any other person and asking me if I'm okay?
When you offer your arms and I say “no”, I’m serious. If you pick me up/pull me away from someone else anyway, I will get upset. I might kick and push away. That’s not being bad. That’s self-defense.
When you offer your arms, I say “no” and you pretend like you were going to give me something (candy, etc.) if I’d complied, I don’t understand what you are saying. Plus, I don’t know what candy is. Maybe you should just be nice to me and let me warm up to you first.
I’m only 16 months and the world is still new to me. If I’m feeling scared, tired, snuggly and want to hang with mom or dad, I’m not overly dependent. I don’t have “mamitis” and I am not “con la maña”. I’m just acting my age.

(Okay, maybe the last two were more me than her, but still…)

Looking back at those, they aren’t all that crazy. Most of them are true for me. I’d imagine that they’re true for you, too. Could it be that kids are people, too? Possibly?

Paper Angels

2010-12-01T05:12:00.000-08:00

Our house is a mix of kiddy music and Christmas carols these days. This song brought tears to my eyes this morning.

After what I wrote last night, it seemed too perfect not to share it. I encourage you to get past the twang and listen to the message: Kids are our responsibility- at Christmas and always.

Mother Lionesses Unite

2010-11-30T18:04:00.000-08:00

Ely’s birth was very painful for me, both physically and emotionally. It was an unplanned C-section and I had a lot of issues surrounding that. A wiser person, in a country like Chile with a c-section rate of 40%, would have at least contemplated the possibility of a c-section and prepared for it. But, ever the optimist, I was sure that these “birthing hips” I’ve had since I was 13 were about to be put to good use. So, I didn’t do any reading on the process and when you like to be in control like I do, not knowing what they are doing, how they are doing it and what the risks are is pretty darn scary.

Not being able to stand up and attend to your baby's needs those first few days is confusing and heartbreaking. Also, while the medical care I was given was first-rate, it seemed that they weren’t prepared to deal with the emotional side of what had happened to me- And yes, I say “to me” because at the very core of my being, it still feels like a violent act was committed against us.

In retrospect, I’m just happy to have a happy, healthy little one. I finally started coming to terms with the whole thing when I read something another woman said to her child. She described her scar as "the door to where you used to live". I cried and emotional healing began. (For the record, if I had to choose between this less-than –lovely experience and not having Ely, I’d say, “bring on the pain!”)

On July 24th at 19:49, I gave birth to two beings: Ely and the mother bear to protect her. At our Mom's Thanksgiving, we touched on the mother bear topic, but this time she was a lion. So, for the rest of this post, we’ll go with lion. I remembered the less-than-lovely nurse who, about 12 hours after having Ely when I was trying to stand up and was doubled over in pain, told me“You have to be brave. You’re a mother now.” I was livid and I snarled at her, “Don’t tell me I have to brave. I would throw myself in front of a truck for that kid, but I physically can not do this." I didn't see that nurse again (thank goodness!) but that momma lion emerged for the first time right then and there. She is here to stay (and she is REALLY brave!)

One of the lioness' superhuman powers is mommy visions. These mommy visions are sometimes ridiculous and concrete like the recurring one that Ely’s taking a bath, the phone rings and I come back to find that she has drowned. To clarify, there’s nothing ridiculous about drowning in the bath, but it is ridiculous to think that I would leave her alone in the bath tub.

The more bothersome mommy visions are those that I can’t prevent by controlling my own actions. One that has been on my mind lately is sexual abuse. A while ago, Ely had a nasty bad bruise in the diaper area. I’d been with her constantly for two days before the bruise appeared. So, I knew that there was nothing to worry about and chalked it up to a weird fall, but that really brought the whole abuse thing at the forefront of my mind.

Sexual abuse has been in the news lately within the context of clerical, school abuses; and individual cases of step brothers and uncles preying on our little ones. On one hand, I’m glad to see these things in the news because it means that the victims aren't being silenced, but on the other I wish, with every bone in my body that there weren’t cases to report on, that this was simply not a problem.

But, alas, it is not so and the worries overwhelm me at times. I’ve made lists and talked to R about things we can do to prevent such situations, but the realization that we cannot totally protect her from people who prey on children is heart wrenching.

I wish that I could have a more circumspect outlook on this, but I will admit that when I hear about cases on the news, I always feel the most animalistic instincts of revenge emerge. I’m quite sure that, if the situation ever did arise and it were my baby on the news, I would be in jail shortly thereafter.

As I write this, I hear my heart crying its non-violent cry, "Vengance is mine saith the Lord.” But, I can not quiet the hatred my human heart feels. My stomach and heart literally ache every time there’s a tale of a child being mistreated or abused, sexually or otherwise. It's always been that way, but even more so now that I imagine Ely's sweet face on every one of those children.

I always long to “press rewind” and to hug the child, and love him/her as unconditionally as I love little Ely and provide the lioness protection that every child deserves. Every. Single.Kid deserves it, black white, purple or green, poor or rich, tall or short. Every.Single.One.

The fact that I can not physically and financially provide for all of those children, that I can not press rewind and take them away to be care-free kids drives a knife through my soul. So, maybe the lioness that was born on July 24^th wasn’t just born to protect Ely. Maybe the lioness was born to open my eyes to the plight of other children, too.

But, where are those children’s lionesses’? This overwhelming desire to protect that I feel is not extraordinary. It's what nature intended to happen. So, what on earth is going on in our society that children are victimized and women's natural instincts are not protecting them? And how the heck do we stop it?

(To be clear, I'm NOT blaming the moms. Like I said, we can't protect our kids all the time. I'm refering to a specific case in which the mother knew what was happening and didn't stop it. Although, I will say that in the absence of a fully-functioning mother lioness to protect a child, I think society, as in me and you, have an obligation to step in when we suspect a child is being abused.)

I’ve focused on sexual abuse here because it's what's been haunting me most lately, but we all know that there are other types: physical, emotional. Maybe abuse is the symptom of an underlying problem with how our society views children.

Lately I read a pretty powerful piece about fathers and children. I realize that the vast majority of fathers are not sexual predators, but from what I hear there is plenty of physical and emotional abuse in some homes. I’d encourage you to read this and share it with others because maybe, just maybe we can reach one person who could be a potential predator and affect change in how they see the children with whom they are entrusted. I don't think the solution to the problem is that easy, but it might make a difference to someone and it's worth a shot. Anything is.

Here's a link about preventing sexual abuse.
Here's a link about how to recognize signs of sexual abuse.

I'm late, but still thankful...

2010-11-26T08:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Ely and I spent the day with friends. There was turkey and yams and a dip in the pool. It was a lovely Thanksgiving, indeed. I felt thankful all day long, but didn't have a chance to write about how thankful I am. So, here it comes...

Little Ely- every day with you is the best day of my life. Even when you are cranky and not all that fun, I'm thankful that you are my baby. Being your mom makes me a more patient, more circumspect, more loving person.

R- What can a girl say? I'm thankful for your unconditional love, for having married my bestest friend. I'm thankful that you send me random text messages to thank me for "giving up" everything for this life we share. I'm thankful that I can respond, with complete honesty, that I wouldn't change this life for anything in the world.

Friends Near and Far- I'd count myself rich to have just one of you. Having so many true friends, whether we talk all the time or don't get to catch up very often, is a blessing. Thank you to each and every one of you.

Mom and Dad- There are no words. Really.

So many people who are really clinging to something: a life, a relationship, a house, a job, health, a pregnancy, a difficult child, are still able to count themselves lucky. When they do, they often say, "I'm just thankful that..."

This year I'm thankful that there is no "just" in my thanks. I am whole-heartedly thankful for every single blessing this year and the wonderful absence of serious problems at this moment. That may change tomorrow, but I'm thankful for it now.

Happy Black Friday!

Worry du jour

2010-11-10T06:06:00.000-08:00

We all have our own brands of craziness, right? At least that is what I like to think. It might just be since I’m slightly loca, I like to think that others must be. If that's not the case, don't tell me. It would really rock my world.

Here’s one of my preferred brands: I drive myself crazy. Yes, it’s true. I drive myself to insomnia and constant nervousness. I have a tendency to isolate one idea, usually based on a future decision, and I worry and worry and worry and well, you get the point.

Leo Buscaglia had it on the nose when he said, “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.” Logically, I know that this is a silly problem that I would benefit from nipping in the bud. But since I come by it naturally (Thanks mom!) and have no idea how to get rid of it, I’ll just indulge it and tell you about the thing that's been keeping me up lately.

The topic du jour is Ely’s education. To be honest, this is not du jour. This has been around since before she was born. We've always known that our child(ren)'s education was THE major drawback to staying in Chile. When she was six weeks old, R started looking at apartments in my parents’ vicinity. He’d decided that we needed to make an international move so Ely could go to the elementary school I attended. I talked him down from that ledge, reminding him that even if the move would provide an excellent, multicultural elementary education, it would not provide health insurance or jobs for us, both of which were more immediate needs.

This whole education thing is a valid concern in a country that doesn’t have a decent public school system. The other two options are: Colegios Subvencionado and Colegios Particulares. Colegios Subvencionados are partially funded by the public education system, but each child pays tuition, too. These schools generally offer better academics than public schools at a price that is more accessible than a Colegio Particular. Colegios Particulares are private schools, some of which offer truly first rate educations. Since spots in those schools are highly sought after, they come with some serious competition and an even more serious price tag.

There is a private school within walking that our neighbors are happy with, but doesn't have very good standardized test results. It costs X per month. There is a school on the “other side of the world” that caters mostly to diplomats’ kids that costs 7X, not to mention the whole gamut of schools in between! Where does one even begin the selection process? Is it wiser to go with a school that costs a reasonable 2 or 3X and save the money for enriching experiences? Or is it worth the sacrifice to pay 4 or 5X for a school with a swimming pool and IB program?

We also have to figure transportation into the equation. We have the school within walking distance and schools that would take an hour to get to by car. I would have to pick her up and drop her off, which would take somewhere between 30 minutes to four hours each day. Again, there’s a whole city of schools in between. Am I being selfish not wanting to spend too much time in the car? Or overprotective not wanting to hire stranger with a minivan to pick her up and drop her off?

Let’s not even get into the religion piece, or let's do. We're Christian, but not Catholic. I hold tight to the idea that religion is a personal decision, a relationship if you will, and I don’t particularly want Ely in a school where she is expected to participate unquestioningly in rituals in which she may or may not believe. However, most of the schools with both strong academics and affordable tuitions are Catholic schools. Am I cutting off my nose to spite my face? If opting out of mass and religion classes is an option, am I keeping something from her? Would I be making her more likely to be ostracized?

If I remove myself from the issue a little bit, I can tell you all the logical things that you might tell me to soothe my nerves:

1. Primary and high school are more about socialization and learning how to learn than REAL learning (beyond reading, writing and arithmetic, of course).

2. Research shows that a child’s school environment has a much lesser effect than the home environment.

3. Children are adaptable. She will be fine no matter where you send her.

4. A school’s reputation matters a lot less than how your individual child feels and performs there.

And those things? They are all true. I know it. But, there is a constant internal conversation that goes a little something like this:

Okay, Number 1, but in a place where classism and nepotism are the M.O. and people form tight circles with their “colegio” friends, might it not be worth the sacrifice to socialize Ely with the people who are practically destined to powerful because of the social standing they were born into? Are those potential social and business contacts worth a sacrifice?

And number 2: totally behind you, but I don't know of any university admissions officers that make home visits.

Number 3: yes, but is fine good enough? I don't want to serve her the world on a silver platter. Even if I could, that doesn't do any good for anyone. But, shouldn’t I aspire to more “fine” for her?

And you, number 4, absolutely, hands down in agreement. But why do I feel like I have a choice between strong academics and a school where she will develop as a person? All of this just seems like a bunch of false choices.

I don’t expect her to be a rocket scientist (unless she wants to be!), but I also don’t want her stuck in a dead-end job she hates because we made the wrong choices for her. I want her to flourish into the person she wants to be and not be limited by where she went to kindergarten.

I want a school that is reasonably accessible at a price that doesn’t require a second mortgage. I want a balance of academics, sports, social development, and maybe field trips. Is that way too much to ask?

It’s a big task this parenting thing. Making life-impacting decisions for a whole separate human is huge. Did I really sign up for this? I can’t even make my own decisions without giving myself insomnia for weeks or, in this case, years beforehand!!

So, seriously, talk to me. I don't care if it's through a comment, facebook or email. Share your insight and soothe my soul...

What is important in a school for your child/your family?
If you have a school-aged child, what do you like/dislike about his/her school?
What are your best/worst memories of school?
How much do you think school affects the people we ultimately become?

Guess we're not the only ones...

2010-11-09T04:26:00.001-08:00

I'm often asked why I don't post pics of Ely on Facebook and untag pics of her when other people do post them. I'm also asked why I don't put pictures up here... Some think we're crazy, but it's a cost/benefit thing.

What's the benefit to distributing pics of Ely to all my long lost friends and acquaintances? Of course, I'm ridiculously proud of her and Facebook is like a big fat wallet full of pictures, but is it worth granting Facebook rights to those pictures and putting them out there for just anyone to use her image for whatever reason?

We have a private, password protected blog for pictures that we share with people we trust and have enough of a relationship with to know that sharing is safe. We might be crazy, but we're not the only ones...

http://www.jessicagottlieb.com/2010/11/the-momblogosphere-wants-its-photos/

Food for thought.

Crianza amorosa

2010-11-08T04:55:00.000-08:00

This is one of many articles that I've been reading lately. I thought it was worth sharing with anyone who's interested in child rearing and reads Spanish.

Barefoot Babes...

2010-11-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

One day this (north American) summer, I was in the US and Skype-ing with my dear husband. We had the following conversation:

“T, why doesn’t Elisa have shoes on?”

“Because it’s hot outside and we’re in the house.”

“She needs to have shoes on.”

“Why?”

“So her feet don’t get big”

(insert weird look and an eye roll here)

“Why do you think your feet are so big?”

(I burst out laughing.)

Now, after seven years in Chile and five of them married to a Chilean, I’ve learned that most cultural differences are not a matter of right or wrong, rather a difference in perspective and/or life experience. Most times I can accept and respect beliefs for what they are; however, the need to cling tight to shoes is one belief that I really struggle with respecting.

I’ve learned to smile and accept the admonitions that: my insistence on going shoeless (even in the house) will get me sick and then I’ll give whatever horrible illness results to my daughter, who is innocent in the whole matter; and that the bichos (literally bugs, but in this case germs) in Chile are “stronger” and I don’t realize what I’m up against. Not to mention that any time Ely or I have a stuffy nose, it's because I've been going pies pelados (bare foot, but applies to stocking feet, too).

(Note: A concerned acquaintance asked her doctor about my horrible habit of going barefoot in the house. (No joke!) Her doctor told her that if they do that in my country and I’ve grown up doing it, my immune system is stronger and that is why I don’t get as sick as Chileans would. He also told her that she should not try the same thing, for she didn’t have such a dangerous upbringing. (Phew! Glad to know that evolution has saved me!))

So, I’m pretty used to the broken record telling me that daring to take my shoes off indoors will bring great peril. I'm not used to nor was I prepared for my darling husband telling me that the peril has already come- in the form of gigantic, sasquatch feet!

(Another note: Apparently, my mother-in-law had also noticed Ely’s bare feet in a Skype session. It was so noteworthy that she commented to my parents’ Chilean neighbor, who asked me about it.)

Now, I will admit, wearing a 9 ½ in Chile is not something I would recommend, if you have any control over the matter. Here’s why:

Shoe shopping goes a little something like this:

#1 I walk into a store without bothering to look around. I find a sales associate who looks like they might be willing to help me and ask politely, Cuales modelos tienen en cuarenta? (Which models do you have in 9 ½?) Invariably, the sales associate looks me up and down in disbelief and says, Cuarenta?!?!?! (9 ½?) If they are older, sometimes I get, Estas segura, mija? (Are you sure, honey?) Once I explain that I do, in fact, wear cuarenta, they either ask their co-worker if there’s anything available in cuarenta (who then has the same reaction) or head back to the stock room. If I’m lucky, they come out with a box or two. If not, they shake their head with pity and tell me they have nothing to offer.

# 2 Just today, I got a pedicure with paraffin wax. Well, my foot didn’t fit in the little bucket with the paraffin . The podologist looked at me, seemingly embarrassed, and said “Don’t worry. Put your heel in and I’ll splash the paraffin on your toes.” I smiled and agreed. She told me not to worry. She did not say that it happens to everyone, just that I shouldn’t worry about my enormous feet. (Did you see me just cross that off my worry list?)

So, you see, having large feet is quite inconvenient and could be a horrible problem if not for frequent trips to DSW when I’m in the States. But, let’s move away from my feet and talk about Ely’s feet…

In most cases, when R voices a strong opinion on parenting, I respect his wishes. But, this shoe thing, I confess, I have not followed through on. We’ve come back to a spring that feels more like summer and I am enjoying the cool tile under my feet. So, I’d imagine Ely is, too.

Last night, after dinner, I offered Ely a walk around the block in her ~~chariot~~ tricycle. She liked the idea and went to look for her shoes, saying “djuice, djuice” as if she were calling them. She came back with one. I went to find the other, but it was not to be found. I had four choices:

Renege on the offer and face the consequences (Darn this age when she understands!!)
Keep looking for the shoe and push bath time and bed time back.
Take her with one shoe
Take her without shoes

Seeing as how this is a tricycle that I push (she doesn't use her feet) and it was 80 degrees outside (see? Not springy!) I chose option four. She didn’t seem to notice. We happily pushed around the block.

Guess how many people commented on her shoelessness? THREE! (a security guard, a mom and a grandma) With each comment, I giggled to myself and explained the whole not being able to find the other shoe. The guard smiled and nodded. The mom and grandmother both looked at me as if I was publicly abusing my daughter.

I didn’t go home embarrassed or annoyed. I went home feeling triumphant that I was able to give my little girl part of the essential gringa experience: summer (or spring, as the case may be) barefooted-ness! I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did!

I'm glad to have my concerned acquaintance’s doctor’s “expert” opinion telling me that if I start her young, she’ll be able to do this her entire life! And thank goodness Ely’s growing up in a globalized society and can order shoes in whatever size she ends up wearing. (Maybe this is what she will hate me for when she’s a teenager?)

Pumpkins

2010-10-31T19:12:00.000-07:00

Long time, no write. I have lots of thoughts, but nothing that I've had time to put in order enough to make worth sharing. So, how about some pictures of our pumpkins?

This was R's first ever pumpkin carving! He did a great job, didn't he?

And, after a rough start, I think mine turned out okay, too.

The Man-Bra

2010-10-17T17:30:00.000-07:00

One of the books I picked up lately is by Laura Gutman, an Argentine psychotherapist. It´s called, La Maternidad y el Encuentro con la Propia Sombra (Motherhood and the Discovery of One’s Own Shadow.)

She starts with the idea that at birth and for a while after, mother and child are one. Then, she goes on to say that the role of the father is to “support and separate”. In conversation, I’ve called it the “man bra” concept. (If I could find a nursing bra that could pull that off, I’d be all set.)

In conversations about those post-partum weeks, I’ve repeatedly heard, “He said, ´I feel like I’m not doing anything. ` I almost punched him!” and variations on the theme. In an effort to save our male counterparts from physical violence, I thought I’d share Dr. Gutman’s ideas.

According to her, a woman who is properly supported is capable of fulfilling all “maternal” duties. She even says that women don’t actually need a man to help with the baby. (R, this theory applies to newborns and should not be construed to mean that you are off the hook for changing diapers, giving baths, etc. because it takes two. She’s your kid, too.)

Here’s a summary of the role of a newborn’s father:

Facilitate mother-baby bonding . Take care of (or delegate) everything that is not: feeding, cuddling, changing and holding the baby.
Defend mother-baby bonding from the outside world. Guard the nest. Keep everyone who is not absolutely necessary away. Fend off criticism and advice.
Actively encourage introspection. Allow the mother to explore and deal with the emotional upheaval that is childbirth.
Provide. Provide for the mother-baby dyad’s physical needs.
Accept and love the mom. Don’t question how or why she does things. Allow her some space to be a little illogical and love her through it.

These are all pretty self explanatory, but I will just add that number two seems to vary from woman to woman. Some friends have been anxious to show off their new bundles of joy. I, however, wanted to hibernate for about a month. It wasn’t anything against the visitors; I just had this animal instinct to keep everyone away. That time would have been a lot less stressful if I’d been able to anticipate those feelings and had asked R to “guard the nest”.

Okay, now back to what Dr. Gutman has to say. Anyone who is expected to provide that amount of support needs some sources of strength:

His pre-existing emotional stability (that wasn’t bushwhacked by hormones and child birth!)
His workplace, where he retains his identity and routine.
His professional position and prestige. (She separates two and three, but I kind of see them as the same.)
Down time. Reading the paper, watching TV, long showers and all the other things that make us moms want to kick them in the you-know-where.

Source of Strength Number 4 = Eureka!!!

R is a wonderful father. Really. Truly. Wonderful. However, he seems to think he has retained the right to do certain things that just drive me bonkers!

When Ely was about six months old, I left her with R in the bathroom while I went to finish laundry. Within a couple minutes, he came into the laundry room, plopped her down and said, “Please take her. I can’t poop in peace.” My response? An expletive. I hadn't read about Dr. Gutman's ideas on the down time R needs to be such a great dad.

So, fellow madres, I propose making a deal with our beloveds: leisurely poops for services of support and separation. You know what separation is? Girl’s Night Out!!!

In all seriousness, I think it’s worth considering Dr. Gutman’s ideas about what we really need those first weeks and what our "man-bras" need, too, because, afterall, it does take two. I'd be interested to know whether you agree with Dr. Gutman's ideas....

Orgullo Ajeno

2010-10-15T13:48:00.000-07:00

There's an expression in Spanish: vergüenza ajena. It means feeling embarassed for someone.

I’d like to use what I think would be the antonym for that expression: orgullo ajeno. I don't know if that is a normal expression or if it's an Ely's Momma-ism. What I'm getting at is feeling pride in something that is not really yours to feel proud about.

Orgullo ajeno is what I feel, along with gratefulness for the miracle that was the rescue, about this whole miner ordeal. I feel proud of the people for following the story for 70 days. (Let's face it, the collective attention span for anyone news piece is usually not that long!) I feel proud of the miners around the country that showed their solidarity. I feel proud of the engineers and teams who figured out how to get ‘er done. I feel proud that the majority of the miners chose to emerge wearing shirts that gave thanks to God and quoted scripture (Psalm 95:4, for those who are curious).

On a colder, more removed level, I feel proud of Chile for exposing the whole ordeal. Some say that it was all a government show. I think the whole situation was too risky to be purposely made a show; and if it looked showy to others, well I think that’s a bargain price to pay for 33 lives. Not to mention that given the choice, I'd take a show over a cover-up any day of the week. I dare say that this if this happened in China, we may not have heard about it until the rescue was successful.

There’s a much smaller story happening in the background here in Chile: The CNTV (National Television Council- a government entity) has "formalized charges” against Club de la Comedia (a show that mixes stand up and sketch comedies) for blasphemous sketches. The sketches are, in my opinion, quite offensive not only because they cross the line of poking fun at major figures of the Christian faith, but also because they make light of rape.

The person who filed the complaint that led to the charges agrees that the sketches would be equally offensive if they were about any other religion, but points out that it is especially unacceptable in a country where 90% of the population is Catholic, but I digress.

What I really want to say here is that, I disapprove of the sketches and had I been watching the show at the time, I surely would have changed the channel and possibly complained to the station.

However, if we’re going to get worked up about anti-Catholic programming, let’s start with shows that demean women and their role in society and decay the moral compass of the country. Let’s start with the meat markets that pass for shows, like Morande y Compania, Pelotón, Rojo, Mekano or the soft porn that distorts expectations for relationships: Infieles, Los Cuarenta, etc. You know, the shows that "every one"watches and people talk about? Garbage in. Garbage out.

(My Goodness, I sound like my father!)

Or are the 50% of us that are women less important than 90% that are Catholic?

Let’s put that aside for a second because I think there is a greater issue here:

"I may disagree with what you have to say, but I shall defend, to the death, your right to say it." –Voltaire

I want to see the same freedom of speech and freedom of press displayed throughout the miracle of the 33 miners applied here. I don't want the government deciding what is too offensive for TV. After all, changing the channel is always an option and public outrage, letter writing and boycotts are much “safer” methods of changing programming.

A popular movement of that sort against the brain-draining programming on national TV would give me lots of orgullo ajeno.

Thirty by Thirty

2010-10-12T12:45:00.000-07:00

For the past year, two months and eighteen days, I've been almost exclusively dedicated to a little someone we call Ely. It has been a pleasure, truly. I'd call it the best year, two months and eighteen days of my life, without a doubt. I'm happy for every minute of every day that I'm blessed to be able to stay home with our sweet girl.

However, Ely is growing quickly, as kids do. I can't believe how quickly my time with her has flown. If there were a "slow mo" button on her, I assure you, I would have pushed it a loooooong time ago! Alas, she seems to be maturing by the day.

As Ely becomes more independent, I'm finding time to do things for myself. To be straight, I'm talking about Ely being able to play independently or sit in her chair hugging her stuffed animals, not packing her bag for college or changing her own diaper, for that matter! Even as she weans herself away from me (and I cherish every second of her needing me), I'm reminded of what I've always known: She is not "mine" and has her own path in life, which means that no matter how much I wish she would stay this size or never demand her own space/life, she will eventually. So, I need to figure out where that leaves me, without forgetting to relish every second of now.

I've started to think about about what the future might hold for me, when she needs me less intensely. I have some ideas for what might follow for me professionally, but those need to be "baked" a little bit more before sharing them here. Thinking about the professional future, started to remind me of who I was before Ely joined us. I don't miss that girl at all, but I have to admit, I do miss her body!!!

I set a goal for myself: Drop 30 lbs before I turn 30. It's not all baby weight, in fact, most of it (atleast 20lbs) is "stressful, sedentary job" weight that I put on in the two years before I had Ely. When I'm successful, I'll be around where I was when R and I go married. It took alot of work to get into that wedding dress, but I loved the feeling and I want to give it to myself again. I have eight months to do this. I have plenty of time, a plan, and intermediate goals. No need for weird diet and/or chemical products or pills. Is it weird that I'm psyched about this? (and might I confess that I'm writing about it partially because I'm psyched and partially for accountability??)

In all honesty, I don't feel bad about my body right now. It's not perfect, but it's healthy and it gave me this sweet little one sitting next to me and continues to nourish her. I'm thankful for it and to it. It feels like a nursing mom's body, which is fitting. I'm just ready to feel a little more like a lady. I'm ready to love the way a dress looks on.

So, thirty by thirty, here we come. I could definitely use a "support group" anyone out there have a similar goal? We should chat!

Daddy Dearest...

2010-10-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

My dad was away last week visiting his home town, family and best friend. Since I'm used to seeing my parents on Skype almost every day, I really missed him. So, I got to thinking about my dad and my relationship with him...

They say that a woman tends to chose a mate like her father, for better or for worse. Even though, when I was 16 I swore that my father was SO embarassing and would never do such a thing, it seems to have happened.

R, you are better dressed, more organized and handy, by any measure! I'm talking about the deeper qualities that you share like: Your love for disgustingly big hamburgers.

Okaaaay, in all seriousness, Both love their family first. Dad and R reject traditional roles of aloof fathers and embrace their baby girls with acceptance and overflowing love. They've chosen to be involved in their daughters' lives and they've reaped the rewards- deep relationships.

I never realized how blessed I was to have a father that shared the task of parenting with my mother until I got older and compared notes with friends. Along with the countless "thank you"s I owe my dad, the most important one is: Thanks for taking the time to get to know me and thank you for giving me time to get to know you!

If there's one thing my dad was born to do, it's be a dad. I'm just thankful that he was mine.

Stick around for a long, long time, okay?

Belated Feliz Cumpleaños

2010-07-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

On July 24, our sweet Ely turned a year old.

We knew we wanted to mark the occasion. R's family is rather large when you consider aunts, uncles and cousins. For space and because July weather is iffy, we needed a tent. Here's the inside...

And the elephant dress that Ely's grandma made her for her Elephant-themed party.
The elephant fun straws that I meant to give to the kids as favors and only remembered to give away about three of them....

The perfect plate that gave fuel to my elephant-themed party idea.
Ely's grandpa working hard to save the "fondant" (which turned didn't turn out to be fondant-y at all. What can I say? I got cocky thinking I could pull that off.
Finally got the frosting on the cake and topped it off with a bow...
and the refreshments...

"All done!" Bye-bye

2010-07-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

The one (modified) sign Ely does is “all done”. We didn’t get much further than that. I wish she’d sign “water”, “juice” or something. Then again, I wish she’d DRINK water, juice, or something! Signing “more” would be nice, but a "point and pant" gets her point across just as efficiently.

To be honest, I don’t see the purpose of signing “please” and “thank you”. Sure, they are important words to SAY and we model them, but signing them? I’d rather her concentrate on learning something else.

There’s all sorts of “If you teach them to sign, they’ll never talk” out there, especially for babies in a bilingual environment but, I try to disregard any and all “If you…, they’ll never…” advice, anyway. ( I cross-my-heart-hope-to-die, she’s not going to go to college waking up to nurse, sleeping with us, or wanting to be carried.) Our decision to stop signing at “all done” was based on, well, honestly, nothing besides a lack of need.

So, we happily sign “all done” and pay attention to her cues. For the most part, we communicate pretty well. She’s rarely frustrated by my lack of understanding. At least I haven’t heard, “You just don’t understand, Mom!” followed by a stomp and slamming door (yet!) On her end, he seems to understand the basics: “Don’t touch.””Careful.” “Hot.” “Kiss.” “No.” “Good Morning, Guavaberry” (Oops! Did I just give away my addiction to Juan Luis Guerra?)

This first word milestone has been appearing in books since about nine months, but Ely wasn’t even close. Of course, she’s been tickilmg our funny bone by looking at us pointedly and proclaiming “Num” and other such baby words in a ~~bossy~~ self-assured tone since about seven months. She also said “Mamamamamamamama” and “Daddadaddaa” aroung ten months, but neither R nor I were willing to swear she knew what she was saying.

In the last month or so she has been repeating the same strings of sounds in the same context. So, we figured we were getting close. As we neared a year, R and I were expectant. Would it be Spanish? Wouldl it be English? We’ve been waiting (im)patiently.

About a week ago, the “all done” sign was complimented with “ahhhh dahhh”. We called it coincidence, until it happened again. Then, we paid attention. Now, it sometimes replaces the sign.

Yesterday, my mom was trying to show her how to get down from the bed feet first. Ely made it quite clear that she wanted to try the “head-first” method and grandma objected. (Crazy, right?) Ely was quite upset with her grandma. I picked her up to do something and as I carried her away, she gave grandma a killer look and said, “Ahhhh dahhhh” and waved goodbye. We both burst out laughing because it was pretty apparent that Ely was ~~ordering~~ inviting her grandma to skidaddle.

I’d say we have it! : a kid with her mom’s attitude and tolerance for frustration and a first word!! Not” mommy”, not “daddy” or “papi”, but “All Done!” I should have known! Anything taught in the context of food, sticks! She is my daughter, afterall.

I love Epicúreo and this kid-loving country

2010-07-19T13:59:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a while, a long while, since I sat down to write. My parents are here for a visit and I’d just rather spend time with them than in my head or on the computer. However, since Ely is napping peacefully beside me and everyone else has declared it a lazy day, it seems like a good time to check in.

Yesterday, we went to a kids' show for which Ely was a bit young. I knew that going in, but it was put on by a team I worked with a while ago. So, I wanted to check it out. If you have kids 2-4ish in Santiago, definitely check it out!

After the show, we headed to Epicúreo, that restaurant where the owner offered to take care of Ely while we ate in peace. We've only been there four times, but it's become a real favorite. The food is delicious and the environment is unbeatable. I don't mean ambiance. I mean environment because while the decor is quite nice, it's more than that.

There are only two waiters and, by Chilean standards, both are excellent. One of them remembers us each time and greets us as "amigos". (As proof that he doesn't just do that to everyone, he always makes reference to something that happened last time we were there.)

I tell you all this because I love the restaurant and because I had another "This is the Chile I love" moment there yesterday:

There was a little boy, 2 years old, maybe? With his face painted like a tiger. The waiter who remembers us carried him over to our table to introduce him to Ely. Ely looked at him, kind of confused because she still thinks she's the only baby in the world. The little boy was equally disinterested.

Shortly thereafter, we heard LOUD wailing. It sounded like Ely's would-be-friend was not happy. Then, we saw the ~~little boy~~ tiger bouncing down the front hall as happy as could be, but the wails hadn't stopped. That's when we realized that it wasn't wailing. They were roars! Tiger roars!

He was having a blast prowling the restaurant roaring at the top of his lungs... and no one was trying to stop him or even quiet him, for that matter. No one rolled their eyes. No one shot him evil looks. People smiled and accepted, even enjoyed his kid-ness.

It was Sunday lunch, a time that is traditionally a family time. So, it didn't matter that we were in a nice restaurant because kids can be kids most places and at most times in this long, thin country- not just at Chuck E. Cheese's.

Spooning

2010-06-18T17:57:00.000-07:00

After pondering for months about what to get Ely for her first birthday, I've decided:

Spoons. Spoons. and more spoons.

She loves them. She loves them more than anything else at this point in her life, I tell you.

On Thursday we met some friends for dinner. She behaved like an angel until it was time to leave and she wanted to bring home a souvenir- a spoon!

We currently have a spoon somewhere at the bottom of our bed because last night she would not let go of her spoon from dinner! So, I nursed her to sleep and fell asleep myself, which means the spoon went MIA after repeatedly hitting my forehead as she dozed off. (Maybe I should go rescue the spoon now that she's asleep in her Pack n´Play unarmed?)

Today, she carried her spoon from lunch all. around. the. mall.

The kicker: She doesn't eat from a spoon! She prefers her mush served on my pointer finger.

What do you think this is? a sign of her destiny to become an old lady with a horrible spoon collection from all the places she's visited? Do you think she's hoping to find a silver one?

P.S. I'm (semi-) joking about giving her spoons, but if I don't come up with something soon, spoons it will be!

The same, but different

2010-06-16T12:55:00.000-07:00

As the topic of expanding families begins to emerge among my mommy friends, the "Can you ever love a second one as much as you love the first?" question arises with regularity. The experienced moms among us usually say, "Yes, but you love them differently." It's much the same with countries.

I love the USA because it's the place that made me who I am. It's the place that holds all my childhood memories. It's the place where neighbors know and look out for each other. It's the place where kids whose families have helicopters go to the same public schools as kids whose families struggle to make ends meet (and the kids don’t care who has what!) It's the place where a person's word means something. It's the place where sweets taste as good as they look. It's so many things...

My great love for my homeland doesn’t diminish my love for the land where my daughter was born. I love Chile because it's the place where I became an adult. It's the place where you can enjoy life and if that means being a little late sometimes, it's okay. It's the place with ferias and whole streets dedicated to selling one thing. It’s the place where the majesty of the Andes reminds us of how very small our problems are. It's the place where people are allowed/encouraged/expected to take time out from their day to nourish themselves and spend time socializing as they partake of the sacred right to almorzar (eat lunch). It's the place where those who have the least are the most generous. It is so many things…

(Disclaimer: I’m well aware that “Santiago no es Chile”. To be fair, the metro DC area is not the USA, either. Let’s just say that my examples refer to my experiences and not the whole country.)

I’ve had two “This is the Chile I love” moments lately. The first was reading this blog entry, written by a dear friend who captured a slice of Chile perfectly. Domingo is Chile in so many ways.

The second, was driving up San Pablo after this morning's soccer win. The street was flooded with people wearing red, waving flags, tooting horns, jumping, screaming, and overflowing with joy. The beat of the drums jostled every bone in my body and the street was alive! This is the Chile I love. It's not the sparkles of Sanhattan or the flawless new highways; it's this, when Santiago shows the world that it is not "Latin America-light”, that I fall in love all over again!

All of this re-infatuation makes me wonder how Ely will feel about her two countries. Will she even feel like she has two? Or is the USA just the place where mommy's from? Will she feel like she “belongs" in both places? or will she struggle to find a place for herself in either one? Which will feel like home to her?

I hope that she will achieve what I finally have. I hope she loves each country the same, but different. Azadeh Moaveni said it so perfectly in Lipstick Jihad: “I resigned myself to never saying goodbye, because I now realized that I would perpetually exist in each world feeling the tug of the other.”

Cruze, you say?

2010-06-11T17:19:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post has nothing to do with Ely.

I learned a lot in college, most of which I can’t regurgitate on demand anymore, but it’s all there somewhere. One of the few lessons that I remember clearly was from the Marketing section of the dreaded COB 300. The professor was talking about qualitative marketing research, specifically the Product Diffusion Curve .

I remember this lesson clearly, not because the concept was so ground-breaking, rather because I could identify where I fell (and still fall) on the curve, immediately. I, my dear friends, am a faithful member of the late majority. While I’m not necessarily a follower by personality, I’m not a trend-setter, by any stretch of the imagination.

My dear husband, however, is a card-carrying member of the early adopters for all things technology and automobile related. He’d love to be, and sometimes is, an innovator, but he shares most purchasing decisions with people who are waaaay behind him on the curve (me at home, his family at work).

Whenever we’re about to make a big purchase, our differences are really brought to light! It drives him crazy that I go with tried-and-true and I get sleepless about his love for the new-fangled and sparkly.

This particular episode of “one spouse frustrated, one spouse sleepless” began a looong time ago when R started ~~bugging me~~ hinting about getting a bigger car. I tried to fend him off and was successful for quite a while.

Then, about two weeks ago, he cranked it up. His technique was impressive. It really became apparent how well he knows me because if he’d said, “I think you should get a model car that’s just being released.” I would have told him where to go with that idea. But, step-by-step he talked his change-resistant, uncool, late majority wife into it.

We compared, contrasted and test drove until we came back to the car R had (in retrospect) been mentioning throughout the whole process…the new Chevrolet Cruze. And here it is…. Wait for it… He was right! It was the perfect car for us. So, for the very first time in my life, I became an early adopter!

I’ve had the car in my possession for less than 24 hours, but I’m so much more excited than I ever expected to be about a car. This afternoon, I had a moment that made me love it even more:

I was driving home and decided to try out the CD player (yes, CD as opposed to MP3 or whatever the cool kids are listening to these days. Remember? Late majority!) I dug out an old CD and sang along (horribly off-key, of course) to some of the romantic, country songs that I used to listen to in college. I used to listen to the words and think, “I’d like to have that some day.” Only, this time around, I got all giddy, butterflies in the tummy (There’s a ten month old in the house, we say “tummy” around here.), and I realized I do have that!

It was an especially cheesy moment when I realized all over again how lucky I am to have R. He knows me so well (and loves me anyway! Crazy man!) Even if he can use that knowledge to “work” me, that’s not a bad thing when he has my best interest at heart and I get a new car out of it! It’s pretty priceless to not only love your husband, but to be in love with him. It’s also pretty darn nice to feel that new love sensation (almost) five years into a marriage. It beats the heck out of the new car smell!

On a semi-related note: R is pretty in love with the car… Kinda makes me doubt my rank on his list of loves... I know the list includes: Ely, me, his “big black truck”, new models of cars, and technology but I’m not sure in what order. Maybe it’s better not to know. Hey, I’m happy with Top 5! Ooooohhh, but what if soccer is in there too? I could be in trouble!

The Little Mermaid

2010-06-10T11:36:00.000-07:00

As a child who grew up taking extended-family summer vacations on Lake Winnipesaukee, taking swim lessons, being a (less-than-~~stellar~~ mediocre) member of a swim team (what can I say? I’ve never been much for athletic competition), and with a dear friend who had a pool in her back yard, water was an important part of my childhood. I have priceless memories involving water.

It was not by accident that I was comfortable in the water. My mom started taking me to swimming lessons, cutely called Bitty Baby Bubbles when I was a bitty baby and continued on with me into Buster Baby Bubbles. (Considering the clumsiness that has been and remains my faithful life companion, I’m pretty sure the latter would have been a better name for what I’d been doing all along!) Then, there were years and years of swimming lessons after that (Tickle, T, Pull anyone?)

So, when Ely was born, or rather when I found out I was pregnant, I just knew I’d take the babe to swimming lessons as soon as possible. In fact, when R and I were going through finances when we decided I’d stay home with Ely, I’m quite sure I told him, “ I just want to make sure we’ll still be able to do swimming lessons and things like that.” (At least I have my priorities straight, right?)

I’m happy to report that my little mermaid had her first swim lesson on Tuesday. She, along with nine other adorable babies clad in bathing suits and ridiculous swim caps, took the plunge. Most of the babies really loved the water and all of the moms loved the lesson (but not the equally ridiculous swim caps we all had to wear!).

The teacher did a nice job of getting the babies progressively more comfortable in the pool. We sang lots of fun songs, one that was particularly catchy: “Tengo una casita, muy linda y chiquitita. Si quieres entrar, tienes que soplar” (I’m pretty sure R has had enough of my off-tune rendition of that one!)

It was all fun and games until… the part where the babies were supposed to go under water! I knew this was coming, but I didn’t expect it at the first lesson. The first baby under was Sam-the-Swimming-Super-Star. He did an awesome job! While we applauded him, my stomach wrenched.

As a mom who really tries to respect my daughter’s personal rhythms and timing, I was really conflicted: She seemed totally comfortable with the lesson up to that point, but I know from bath time that she’s not a big fan of the whole water-on-the-face idea. Yet, I didn’t want to underestimate her or let my own reservations get in her way.

So, after two solid minutes of thinking about whether to take our turn, I decided that I’d try it once, but if she didn’t like it, we’d wait until she put her face in on her own to try again. Well, this little mermaid did just fine. There wasn’t a tear or a cough and she went right back to playing with the water.

Maybe she had no idea what happened, maybe she’s just blissfully unaware of the danger not being able to breathe presents (I realizes there was no real danger at swimming lessons) or maybe it rocked her world and she can’t wait to do it again. Who knows? I’m just glad I didn’t stand in her way. And I hope, with all my heart, that this is the first step to a childhood chock-full of as many sweet, water-related memories as mine.

Twenty Nine

2010-06-05T07:06:00.001-07:00

So, the calendar says that it's already June 5. How the heck did that happen? How has it been a whole year since I started maternity leave (yes, we get six weeks BEFORE the due date AND 12 weeks after!) and celebrated 28 with bbq and a few great friends?

Regardless of how quickly the year flew by, it has been a noteworthy one, indeed. It brought wonderful changes and experiences. To name a few:

The arrival of Ely and the transition from couple to family
More time than usual with mom and dad
Taking a job that doesn't include a salary, but for which I'm paid every single day in smiles and hugs.
Meeting new friends and having more time to catch up with old friends

As I mentioned in the post on the private blog, on the night of the earthquake, both R and I were pretty sure that was the end. I distinctly remember thinking, "It's been a good life." and feeling thankful for the days I'd had. So, it goes without saying that I'm incredibly thankful to have been blessed with all of the days since.

I'm glad to have lived my 28th year and look forward to my 29th. I don't feel any sadness about the encroaching big 3-0! I'm thrilled to have made it this far and grateful for what my life has turned out to be. As none of us has tomorrow assured, I'll be happy for each day this year.

If I could make one birthday wish, it would be to have North and South America be just a little closer together. (God, please take note: I'd prefer this be achieved without another earthquake!)

If that's out of the question, how about world peace?

If I had to, I'd settle for the addition of a direct flight to DC or BWI.

Happy 29th birthday to me. Happy 29th Anniversary of parenthood to my dear parents. And happy June 5th to you!

My First Kiss

2010-06-01T16:39:00.000-07:00

Some kisses you remember, some you’d rather forget and some you really do forget.

Today, I had a first kiss that I will never, ever forget! It was bath time, a time we both enjoy. She was playing with her Gladware and rubber ducky (I’m too cheap to buy any REAL bath toys!). She pulled herself close to me. I put my forehead to hers, which always gets a smile. She pulled back and then came in and planted one on me!

Granted, it was more like a lip suck with more tongue than a highschooler. That runny nose didn’t faze me, either. You see, this is the first time that Ely has initiated a kiss. She’s given me one when I ~~pester her repeatedly~~ ask, but this time it was all her idea. She may not speak English or Spanish yet, but those eyes said, “I love you, mom” and my heart melted right then and there.

Just More Me

2010-06-01T08:54:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I wanted to be a million things:

· A Harlem Globetrotter- My best friend in kindergarten T, convinced me that we could go out for the team together. We knew our inclusion on the team would be ground breaking, as we would be the first girls on the team, but I don’t think either of us considered that race might also be a problem for me.

· An Astronaut- Once T and I figured out that we were dreadfully uncoordinated; we set our sights a little lower- outerspace! So we joined Young Astronauts and dreamed our dreams.

· A veterinarian/Private Eye- One day, C, G, M and I were discussing our futures. We were faced with indecision and decided that there was no reason we couldn’t be two things: one during the day and one at night. We hated bedtime, anyways!

· An Actress- In sixth grade I had to give a speech about my idol. I chose Kirsty Alley because she was SOO beautiful! My mom ~~made~~ persuaded me change my idol. She suggested Sandra Day O’Connor and provided some pretty convincing arguments. I gave in, but just for the speech! I was still going to be an actress, just like Kirsty Alley.

· An Olympic pole dancer (yup!)- One year, C and I were watching Olympic gymnastics. We felt inspired to create our “own” art form. So, we swung ourselves around the utility pole in my parents’ basement. We worked for hours to perfect our routine to a St. Elmo’s Fire record (yes, record). We were convinced that if we could only get an Olympic scout to come watch us, they would realize that pole dancing just had to be part of the next Olympics.

I love that I remember those things so clearly because it gives me an insight into the mind I once had; the one that really, truly believed that anything was possible. The one that was blissfully ignorant of the ways of the world.

Somewhere along the way, when I was 16 or so, I decided that I wanted to be: a mom. I couldn’t think of a single profession that seemed more rewarding than motherhood. I’m sure that my parents were ~~wondering what they’d done wrong~~ thrilled with that idea! Just what every teenager’s parents want to hear, right? I think they found some solace in my plan to “be a smart mom”, which was my way of telling them not to worry; I was still going to college.

And so I did. To make a looong story short: I went to college. I got married. I worked as an EFL teacher and as an academic coordinator. Each step provided various levels of fulfillment. Then, the mommy bug bit and Ely was born. As it turns out, I was right about this mommy thing. It’s awesome.

Newsweek’s Anna Quindlen, reflecting on her experience as a mother, said:

I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity.

That is exactly what I’ve experienced since Ely’s become part of our life. It’s partially because I have time to do the things that make me feel more like me. It’s also that I feel more connected to humanity at large.

I used to read a lot of non-fiction books about war, genocide, abuse, poverty, etc. Even though my soul wrenched, I could remove myself enough from the subjects to read the books as part of my quest for knowledge. These days, the evening news can bring me to tears and forget about violence in a movie. I just can’t handle it.

The problem is twofold: First, I see everyone, aggressor and victim, as someone’s baby. Second, I just want a better world for Ely. It’s a combination of those two things that make me more acutely aware of how my actions affect others.

I want a world where people don’t purposely hurt one another. I want a world where people look for beauty in each other and the world around them; where Ely can be oblivious to skin color and socio-economic status and see people for what they are: people. I want a world that genuinely loves her and every other mother’s baby, with total acceptance. I admit it; I want a utopia, complete and utter utopia.

I can’t change what really goes on out there, but change starts here at home. Conscious of this, I find myself living with a new peace, longing for harmony in my dealings with others: A little less me, a little more world/community/family. It’s refreshing.

I hope this peace remains with me at least through Ely’s childhood. I hope that she sees it modeled and that she learns to create it for herself. If she can manage that, anything IS possible.

Who knew that being a mom, I’d end up actually being a million things? So, I’m not a pole dancer, an actress or a singer (I think we can all agree that’s a good thing!) But, I am a peacemaker, a teacher, an administrative assistant, a pillow, ~~a milk cow~~ source of nutrition, a chef, a maid. Most importantly, I’m just more me.

TV and Bon Bons

2010-05-28T11:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes people think that since I don't work, I stay at home watching TV, ignoring my kid. In fact, the other day my neighbor offered me some CDs of children’s songs in Spanish since Ely "doesn't have stimulation." (Awesome!)

I love being at home with her, but resent the implication that I ignore her all day. The reality of our lives is that we see someone, most of whom have children Ely can interact with, almost every day. It's good for my sanity and keeps Ely (gasp!) stimulated!

On a related note i.e. desire to brag (hey, it's a mother's right!): Yesterday, the neurologist was astounded by how social Ely is. Honestly, I am too! Neither R nor I are incredibly extroverted.

Last night, she slept horribly, had a slight fever and a runny nose. Since she doesn't have a single tooth, I'm thinking that might be our culprit. But, I’ve cried wolf a million times on teething and she’s seen a couple people with colds this week. So, we’ll see.

No matter the culprit, today we’re both exhausted and not feeling well. We're bundled up in our warmest, comfiest ~~pajamas~~ clothes, watching TV. I'm embarrassed to say that the viewing list has included nothing juvenile or remotely educational, but we’ve had plenty of Real Housewives of Orange County, Clean House, Bringing Home Baby, Sixteen and Pregnant. I can honestly say that today (when Ely is 10 months and 4 days old), is the first day I've "lived the dream". I’m not ignoring Ely, there’s lots of reading aloud and cuddling going on. When she gets wiggly, I put away the DVDs so she can do this again.

(yes, that's a purple shag rug! R picked it out when we bought the house, but I've come to love it!)

Now, excuse me, I'm going to go get my bon-bons- the afternoon soaps are starting! Stimulation resumes tomorrow (once that neighbor gets me that CD).

A family that sleeps together...

2010-05-17T07:15:00.000-07:00

Blame it on the safe sleep recommendations of the 1980s, but I LOVE tummy sleeping. About the fourth month of pregnancy, tummy sleeping became rather uncomfortable. So, I settled for my back. Just as I was getting used to that, Babycenter.com informed me that it was no longer safe to sleep on my back. I decided to heed the warning and resigned myself to side sleeping. (By the ninth month, there was an intricate system of pillows and cranes to get me into a comfortable side sleeping position.)

I was looking forward to going back to tummy sleeping after Ely was born, but alas, I was a nursing mother. I convinced myself stick it out until my supply regulated. By the time I could comfortably go back to my belly; Ely had established herself as a bad sleeper. (At 9.5 months, we’ve had approximately 4 nights of uninterrupted sleep!)

When we got back from the States in January, “we”, well I (R didn’t see the need quite yet), decided that it was time to move Ely upstairs into her own bedroom. So, I moved upstairs to the extra room for a while (and enjoyed lots of tummy sleeping!), while she adjusted.

The night of February 26^th, Ely spent her first night alone upstairs. I felt tremendously successful (and nervous) after almost two months of getting her comfortable in the room that we had painstakingly prepared for her while I was pregnant. That night, she woke up at 3:20 and I trudged upstairs to nurse, bummed that she hadn’t made it through the night. Fourteen minutes later, the earth shook. (I thank God that she woke up when she did and that I was upstairs with her.)

As you can imagine, Ely moved back downstairs (since I wasn’t going upstairs!) to her Pack n Play. With the crazy nighttime temblors that continued for weeks, even that proved to be too far away from us. And so, she slept in the middle. There she remains months after the earthquake.

Each night, she is put to bed in her Pack n Play. At her first waking, she moves into the middle. On nights that she doesn’t wake up, both R and I find it hard to fall asleep not because we’re scared of temblors, rather because we LOVE sleeping with her. R especially likes it since he often leaves for work before she wakes up and comes home after she’s in bed. It’s a special time for them to snuggle and reconnect.

R has always been open to the idea of bed sharing on the premise that there are many people in this country and around the world who cannot afford a crib. (I haven’t seen any studies, but I think it’s safe to assume that those children don’t grow up to be overly dependent or psychopaths just because they snuggled their parents at night.) I, on the other hand, was worried that it would be detrimental to our marriage. It took the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced to open me up to the idea. Looking back, I wish we’d started earlier.

R was right; sharing our bed with Ely has not taken a toll on our marriage. If anything it has made us feel like more of a parenting “team”. We love to snuggle our sweet baby between us. Also, since she is such a lousy sleeper, we get much better sleep than we would otherwise. Now, when she wakes up to nurse, I can just roll over and take care of business. I don’t even have to really wake up.

The only drawback to bed sharing is… you guessed it: no tummy sleeping! The three of us share a queen sized bed and since our little munchkin sleeps like she’s being crucified, that puts both R and I on our sides. But, in the scheme of things, that’s okay with us.

You know that Faith Hill song that goes, "It's not right. It's not fair. What you're missing over there"? Last night, I was the last to fall asleep. R and Ely were snuggled together. The words to that song popped into my head. I wished R could feel how very much I loved them at that moment. Watching the two people you love most in the world snuggled together, blissfully unaware that you're watching them sleep brings indescribable warmth to one's heart.

Thank you, earthquake, for helping me get over myself and relish these precious moments, even if it means I can’t sleep on my tummy.

Another one bites the dust

2010-05-16T07:55:00.001-07:00

Before becoming parents, everyone has a list of "I will never..."s. Here are just a couple samples (and status updates) from my list.

I will never bed share. (I'm working on a post about this.)

I will never be part of a mommy group. (Part of at least two and I love them!)

I will never nurse a baby who can walk. (Who knew my kid would start walking at 9 months!??!?!)

I will never let my kid lick gross things (At the supermarket on Tuesday, she was really quiet and well-behaved. By the time I realized what she was doing -sucking every. little. crevice of the shopping cart clean-, I figured she'd already sucked the germs off!)

I will never give my baby unhealthy snacks. (Thank you Gerber Puffs aka sugary snacks. They keep her happy while we finish our meal in peace!)

I will never sit my kid in front of TV just so I can take a break. (read on...)

Last night, our ~~inconsiderate~~ lovely neighbor turned our WHOLE house into a discotheque, light show and all. I’ve lived in Latin America for six years now and have come to tolerate what my mother refers to as “Friday night in Latin America” fairly well. So, believe me when I tell you that this was over. the. top. We’re not talking about a little bass or even the 3 AM karaoke we’re blessed with from time to time.

R and I could have invited 50 of our closest friends over to have a dance party in our bedroom and it would have been a rockin’ good time, but alas, we have a 9 month old. So, instead of being an excuse to stay up and act like fools (which we like to do), we were anxious to go to bed so we could deal with said 9 month old when she woke up at 7, which she was bound to do.

After three hours, two white noise machines, the bathroom fan, ear plugs, and everything else that might drown it out a little bit, plus a couple calls to the paz ciudadana (yes, I am THAT old neighbor raining on the parade), we were still grooving to every word of the reggaeton they had going on over there. After entertaining thoughts of garden hoses accidentally watering their speakers, early morning megaphones and extended lawn mowing starting at 7AM, I decided it was more mature and neighborly to get dressed and go to talk to them (REALLY nicely). I held back everything I wanted to say and literally begged them to turn it down. Finally, after pulling out the “Golden Rule” and promising them that if the situation were reversed, I would cede their request without a second thought, they agreed to turn it down.

Oh.sweet. sleep. until Ely was ready to start the day. Trudge, trudge through our morning routine. I could barely keep my eyes open. I was desperate for ANYTHING that required minimal maernal participation to keep her entertained. Enter: Baby ~~Crack~~ TV! Ely has seen a soccer game or two and more daytime soaps than I care to know about (at 'buela's). But, I have never been the lazy/guilty one, until this morning!

I picked up the paper that I’d been meaning to read, sat her on my lap, turned it on and she sat. Silent. Content. Enthrawled. (I have to admit, the drawing part is pretty cool!) Ialmost felt guilty for subjecting her to the mind-numbing, trance-inducing crack, but then it started.

Anyone recognize these guys?

These two harmless, hamburger-looking goobs are called Booby and Booba. That’s right. Not Bobby, Booby. The script went something like “Hola, Booby, ¿Como estás? Blah blah blah” followed by Booba’s hunt for Booby, during which he calls out “Boooooooby? Booooooby?” Maybe it was being overtired or maybe just immaturity, but I giggled to myself every single time.

Next up, a vocabulary program that used words that I remember from Spanish class, but have NEVER heard in Chile. I couldn’t help but think about what a riot it will be to hear Ely using those words with her grandparents, who will undoubtedly mistake them for English.

So, I’ll try to limit her exposure, but Baby TV’s cool drawing skits, semi-pornographic character names and random vocabulary have won my heart.

I'm beginning to think that my list of "I will never..."s should really just be treated as a list of prophecies that I am eventually destined to fulfill. Thinking of it this way will save me mental anguish as I systematically violate all of my own rules.

The new motto is: “Everything in moderation.” But don’t worry Dad! I remember the lessons of the 7^th grade SnoopDogg incident: “As her parent, I have a responsibility to be the gate-keeper of her mind until she is mature enough to make her own decisions.” And “Garbage in. Garbage out.”