everybodylovesbaby

To my five followers on blogger...

2010-01-29T10:46:00.002-05:00

I MOVED YO! Hope you can stop by www.everybodylovesbaby.com -- the blog warming party is in full swing!

Your grandpa was awesome! Week #4

2010-01-27T23:02:00.002-05:00

Dear Luki,

There’s really no better way to put it other than to say: Death Sucks. A lot. And it’s not just because your grandpa isn’t here anymore, it’s that, in a way, bits and pieces of those who loved him died as well. And even though I know that we will rise to the occasion, that this tragedy will make us stronger, better people, I often wish you could’ve gotten to know us the way we used to be.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently. Your grandma’s birthday was a couple of days ago, and it was one of those days when we were all drenched in an overwhelming desire to have your grandpa here, with us. We missed him constantly, but none as much as his wife and partner of 33 years. Her life was so intertwined with his, they were such a tight unit, that she is perplexed about the fact that her birthdays continue to come without him.

I know your grandmother is going to be O.K., but I also know that she will never be the same. She is a different version of the person I grew up with. And, because I love the way she was, sometimes I feel sad that you won’t get to experience that.

But I also know that the years she lived by your grandpa’s side were amazing. I think that the best word to describe their marriage is: exemplary. Everyone wanted to be like them. Personally, I used your grandpa as the standard by which to measure my love interests. When your daddy met him, he was so impacted that he told me he wanted to be just like him when he grew up. Right then, I knew I’d found a keeper.

When I would tell my girlfriends the stories about how your grandma would call her husband in theatrical hysterics because her gas light turned on and he would drop what he was doing to meet her at the nearest petrol station so that she didn't have to pump her own gas, they would joke about hiring her to teach them the tricks to finding and keeping the perfect man.

But your grandma didn’t have to use any tricks. The things your grandpa did – dropping her off at the entrance of every store; getting out of bed to buy her ice cream at midnight; helping her make dinner and then washing the dishes each night – were always done willingly. He adored and admired her, and that was just his way of demonstrating it every day.

So, yes, your grandma will never be the same. But if she can find comfort in something, it’s that she has no regrets from her relationship with your grandpa. And, although she may feel sad, lost, and confused at times, after 33 years of being considered the most important person in his world, she will never feel worthless.

Cherish the person you end up spending your life with Luki. It's the greatest legacy you can leave your family.

Love,

Mom

On becoming domesticated

2010-01-25T07:07:00.002-05:00

Last week was pretty busy. A couple of very talented people and I are working on redesigning this here blog and turning it into a proper website, so I've been spending a lot of time getting things ready at my new URL. You know, making hors d'oeuvres and finding throw pillows that complement the color scheme so that you all feel welcome when I invite you over. Because in my virtual life, I am a domestic goddess.

In my real life, however, things are drastically different. This week I started my new year's resolution to cook dinner every day, and I have to say that I feel exhausted and underwhelmed with the results of my culinary experiments. After spending four hundred years peeling and chopping one onion, splattering grease all over the kitchen walls, and using every single cooking utensil in the cabinets, I keep ending up with some version of dry meat which may or may not contain traces of Salmonella.

Being domesticated is hard!

So yea, there were a couple of days when I just wanted to order a pizza, buy a jar of Gerber for Luki, and call it a night. But I didn't do it because I genuinely want to figure out this cooking thing. And it's not just that homemade food is healthier and less expensive. It's because some of the greatest memories of my childhood involve food. Really, really good food prepared by my mother. And it is extraordinarily important to me that Luki have similar experiences.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: I want to become more like my mom.

My mom, who, coincidentally, is turning a year older today. And now she's probably really mad because she forbade everyone from even mentioning her birthday. Understandably, she is in no mood to commemorate the occasion without her husband, so I won't say anything else about it.

Instead, I'll talk about me, and the birthday I hope to have many years from now. If, when I turn 43 for the ninth time in a row, I have made enough of an impact on Luki that he wants to emulate me, even if it's in the tiniest thing, I'll have at least one reason to celebrate that day.

Madre, en tu día no dejamos de mandarte nuestro amor
Madre, en tu día con las vidas construimos tu canción

-Silvio Rodriguez

Your grandpa was awesome! Week #3

2010-01-20T23:27:00.001-05:00

Dear Luki,

Last week, when I told you about how your grandpa tackled the foreign streets of Miami decidedly and without missing a beat, I briefly mentioned that one of the first things he did was teach himself how to drive. Let me expound on that.

He was thirty five and had never sat behind a steering wheel. That may seem strange to you because you were lucky enough to have been born in a country where automobiles are the norm, but in Cuba, having a car was a luxury saved for a select few. And since your grandmother was constantly protesting and writing letters against the communist regime, we were not part of that small clique.

When your grandpa arrived in the United States and realized that his previous method of transportation, the bicycle, was not compatible with the South Florida expressways, he immediately went out and bought and old junker for $200. With no licence or any driving experience whatsoever, he managed to get the vehicle home and convinced us to hop in for a ride. I'm not sure if the car was actually brown or the color of paint that had completely chipped away; its sagging ceiling needed to be held up with staples; and we spent more time up on the sidewalk than the street during that first ride; but it got us places.

After that, your grandpa purchased other, slightly better versions of old, battered cars. We couldn't leave the house without a gallon of water to pour into the part of the motor (yes, that's as far as my technical knowledge of automobiles goes) that needs to be constantly hydrated, lest it get overheated.

When we moved to Charlotte, he was finally able to afford something brand new -- a Toyota Corolla for your grandmother. He still drove around in a little used Hyundai that kept stalling.

One day, your grandma, uncle and I were heading down one of Charlotte's biggest roads when we saw that traffic was backed up. As we got closer to the spot where the congestion started, we realized that it was your grandpa's car, stalled in the middle of the busy street. He kept trying different ways to get the car to move and somehow figured out that he could get it going by putting it in reverse. So, without dawdling, he got behind the wheel and drove the rest of the way home backwards, looking through the rear view mirror.

Your grandmother was horrified at the risk of such an outrageous maneuver and I, an insecure and foolish teenager, was like, totally embarrassed.

Today, I have a completely different perspective about that event.

Don't you ever get stuck Luki. Always find a way to keep moving, even if it's in reverse.

Love,

Mom

In search of balance

2010-01-18T21:42:00.000-05:00

Confession. Last night, when I happened to find out the Golden Globes were on and realized I hadn't seen a single nominated film I felt...nostalgic? frustrated? uncultured? mommyfied? I don't know. I can't commit to a single adjective. But I definitely wasn't in a happy place.

Ton Ton and I just went to the movies for the first time in about seven months over the weekend (We saw Broken Embraces, the new Almodovar film. I thought it was O.K., but definitely not my favorite of the Spanish director's masterpieces. Ton Ton was too distracted by Penelope Cruz to opine).

In my previous life, we went to the cinema as often as twice a week.

***

When I was pregnant, Ton Ton and I would lie in bed together and fantasize about the baby in my tummy. He would say, "Can you imagine it? The baby, here, nestled between us?"

I thought I could.

Yesterday morning we brought Luki to our bed and, as we tried to get a few extra minutes of sleep, he hung out between us, sucking his feet and occasionally petting/scratching our faces.

Amid yawns, Ton Ton said, "Do you remember when we used to imagine him? When we talked about putting him in bed with us?"

I remembered.

The real deal is exceedingly better than anything my mind could have conjured.

***

And yet, sometimes I miss bits and pieces of my old life. The movies, the concerts, the cocktails with friends. I can rattle off the different sleep training techniques for babies, but have no idea what's going on with healthcare reform.

It takes the balance and coordination of a trapeze swinger to be a good mother AND an interesting person. I'm still working on both. I suspect things will get better with time, when Luki is weaned and I am no longer a mobile food unit.

For now, I'll just have to make do with this Oscar worthy performance:

Resolution #2

2010-01-14T22:51:00.000-05:00

Well hello there! Fancy seeing you here! I am in such an inexplicably good mood! Can I get you a cocktail? A snack? Lovely day, isn't it? Ahhh...don't you just LOVE winter sometimes?

Anywho...

On a completely unrelated note, after a three month stay in the United States, Ton Ton's mom is heading back to Venezuela on Saturday. She and her empanadas will be missed.

With her departure, I will be launching another one of my new year's resolutions: I'm going to learn to cook!

Stop laughing. I'm serious.

Yes, I know I say this all the time, but this year it's different. My dad's not around to make tostones and congri anymore, and I can't let Luki grow up deprived of such basic necessities. So, now that Mamacita is leaving and won't be doing the cooking, and while Luki is still too young to eat table food and risk being poisoned, I am going to start experimenting in the kitchen.

I've written here before about how I yearn to be the kind of mother whose kids brag about her cooking. The mom whose kids go off to college and can't wait to come home and eat their momma's food. That's the kind of mom (and dad) I grew up with.

Unfortunately, right now I can barely boil water. That's not an exaggeration. Just the other day, I put the kettle on the stove to make my mom some tea and turned on the wrong burner. I was cooking plain air until my brother walked by, saw the bright red burner, and put the kettle in its proper place.

But that's all about to change. I've made a pact with Ton Ton to cook every day (well every weekday) if he handles the dishes. I've been looking up recipes, watching the Food Network, and even got some "hands-on" practice with my uncle who is a chef while in Miami. This weekend, I will take the final three steps to begin my endeavor:

1. Create the week's menu
2. Grocery shop
3. Develop and test-run an evacuation route in case of fire

Stay tuned! I'll be sure to blog about my culinary adventures.

Your grandpa was awesome! Week #2

2010-01-13T23:52:00.001-05:00

Dear Luki,

This past week, you rode on an airplane for the first time and we flew to Miami. You were great on the flight, and I made sure to breastfeed you during take-off and landing so that your ears wouldn't pop. The whole experience reminded me of a flight I took, also to Miami, over 17 years ago. We were leaving Cuba and moving to the United States, and when my ears popped in the plane your grandpa asked the flight attendant to bring me some water.

I don't remember too much about that day, but when your grandpa would talk about it later, he'd always mention how nervous he was. He didn't breathe easily until we were in the air, headed to the United States with no chance of being sent back. It was his lifelong dream to leave the oppressive regime in Cuba and offer your uncle Ani and I a better life.

And it was in Miami where he began to fulfill that dream.

I thought about him a lot as we drove around the familiar streets of Hialeah a few days ago. About how unfamiliar those streets must have seemed when he, at 35 years old, took on the challenges of starting it all from scratch.

But I want you to know that your grandpa didn't hesitate for a second. He exuded confidence and infected us with positivity.

Little by little, he began to build a new life for us. All on his own, he found a job, bought a car, taught himself how to drive, and moved us into our first apartment. I remember the day he came home with a T.V. We were all so excited that it was in color and had a remote control. I remember that he would drive me to school every morning and stop by the bakery to buy me two meat pastelitos for lunch. I remember that he'd come home from work and take your uncle and I to the park to play soccer or ride our bikes.

Eventually we left Miami and moved to a safer city with more opportunities.

But I will never forget how our new life in the United States began. How, when everything was new and different, your grandpa made it familiar.

Stand boldly before the unknown Luki, it's the only way to achieve your dreams.

Love,

Mom

A future chocoholic

2010-01-12T20:10:00.000-05:00

When I was a little kid, my mother brainwashed me into thinking I didn't like chocolate. Every time someone offered the luscious fruit of the cacao tree, I would wave it away and say something like, "No thanks. I don't like that. I'd much rather munch on this delicious carrot."

The truth is, I'd never tasted chocolate. Big E told me I didn't like it, and I believed her. She claims that she manufactured the lie to promote healthy eating habits, but I know better. My mother told me I didn't like chocolate so that she would never have to share her treats with me.

Because Big E is addicted to all things sweet.

And I mean, wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-eat-a-cupful-of-sugar-in-the-raw-and-a-pack-of-Starbursts-mixed-with-Oreos-chased-by-an-entire-pint-of-Häagen-Dazs-chocolate-ice-cream-covered-in-syrup addicted. She needs help.

Since the days of my deprived childhood, I've come to appreciate the taste of Godiva, however, I'd much rather eat a piece of fried chicken than a brownie. I've learned to like sweets in moderation* and would never, for example, purposely give myself an extra shot of insulin to make my blood sugar low just so that I can suck sweet and condensed milk out of a can like a certain diabetic someone who shall remain unnamed.

Anyway...

Now that I'm a mother of a baby who eats solid food everyday, I want to make sure that Luki has a balanced diet. I started off pureeing different vegetables like squash, carrots, and sweet potatoes for him, and he was eating them with gusto...that is, until he discovered the natural sugars in fruit. Now, the kid cries and spits out his vegetables, but is always willing to have some banana.

At the suggestion of friends and relatives, I've tried to confuse him by feeding him a spoonful of fruit followed by one of veggies, but no dice. He's all, "Lady I may still crap my pants, but I'm not stupid", and turns his face away every time he sees it's squash puree.

So, much like Big E, but for totally legitimate reasons, I think I'm going to have to lie to my kid, because if he discovers the magic of chocolate, he won't ever want to put anything else his mouth again. Well, unless we're talking about sweet and condensed milk.

*Except when I was pregnant. When I was pregnant, I had butter pecan ice cream and Cuban Dulce de Leche (not to be confused with Argentinian Dulce de Leche) for breakfast lunch and dinner. But I'm sure that the industrial quantities of sugar that passed through the placenta have nothing to do with Luki's sweet tooth. He totally inherited it from my mom.

Brrr...from Miami

2010-01-09T22:45:00.000-05:00

Aside from looking at us like we were crazy for waking him up at 5:00 am to head to the airport, Luki’s first experience aboard a plane went off without a hitch. Well, he did knock down the complementary glass of orange juice I was so kindly given after paying $50 for checking two pieces of luggage, but that’s the sort of thing I routinely did before he was born so I won’t hold it against him. He played, laughed, and cooed throughout the entire trip and, most importantly, his diaper did not explode. Luki gets an A+ on traveling.

Ton Ton and I, however, get a C-. It’s a question of basic math: four hands divided by one stroller, two suitcases, a diaper bag, a computer case, a purse, and a camera bag, equals two people tripping all over themselves and holding up airport traffic. Next time, we are definitely going to pack lighter – the computer and camera are absolutely necessary, but perhaps Luki can ride atop one of the wheeled suitcases and we can do without the stroller.

Miami has been fun, albeit, uncharacteristically cool. Although that sucks because I was hoping to dip Luki’s toes in the ocean for the first time, the weather has been responsible for affording us more than a few giggles. Just to be clear, when I say “uncharacteristically cool” I mean yesterday the high was 65˚F and the low was 40˚F. When we left home Thursday, it was below freezing.

I kid you not; we were watching the Spanish news and, in between the usual update on Fidel and rant against Chavez, they had a special segment in which they interviewed a meteorologist and a “heating and air conditioning expert.” The meteorologist used the words “polar temperatures” to describe the cold front, and the HVAC guy gave a step by step guide on how to turn on the furnace.

Our relatives must have been watching that newscast too, because when we went inside their house it felt like we’d just walked into an oven. They had set the thermostat to 80 degrees and were wearing sweaters! When they saw that Luki wasn’t donning a snow suit and ski mask, we got an earful. “The baby is going to get sick! You have to cover his head!”

It’s been an improbable trip. ~~Hell~~ Miami has frozen over. Our kid didn’t poop all over us. And, oh, I think I just saw a ~~flying pig~~ polar bear outside our window.

Happy Birthday Ani!

2010-01-07T05:15:00.000-05:00

A quick shout out to my brother Ani who is turning 22 years old today! It's quick because today we are traveling* to ~~North Cuba~~ Miami to visit some relatives and relax a bit and I haven't finished packing, so I don't really have time to go into detail about what an incredible person he is.

But I will say this: He is my favorite brother. Even if I had another brother, he would still be my favorite.

And also this, to him directly:

"Happy Birthday man! I know you may be sad about your first birthday without the man who is responsible for your birth, but don't. Dad is still with you, I see him in you all the time. And I'm not just saying that because of your receding hairline. He is in your laughter, in the way you treat mom, in your back-breaking willingness to do anything for anybody and, mostly, in your overflowing, never-ending, sure I'll sit here and spend an hour "talking" to an old hard-of-hearing distant relative, patience. You are wise beyond your years, and I have tons to learn from you."

*Don't worry, I'm taking my laptop. There will be a blog about Luki's first plane ride. Please pray for a poop-less flight.**

**You like how I just assume you wait for my posts with baited breath? It's because I'm the most humble person I know.

Your grandpa was awesome! Week #1

2010-01-06T10:30:00.001-05:00

Dear Luki,

You totally slept through it, but a few nights ago we rang in the new year. You need to work on your nightlife endurance, dude. I don't want you cramping my style because you're "too tired" by 11 p.m. when I take you bar hopping for your first birthday.

The truth is you didn't miss much. New Year's Eve was very low key. We just watched T.V. and ate the traditional twelve grapes at midnight. Oh yea, and we also cried because we missed your grandpa so much.

But it's a new year. And I have resolved to not be so sad. Instead, I'm going to celebrate his life and all that he gave me. You grandpa was always happy, and if he knew how devastated we all are he would totally say something like, "this too shall pass" or "more was lost in the war" about his own death.

Right after he died, through the disconcerting and overwhelming sadness, I knew that I would be O.K. You know why? Because I'm his daughter. Losing him is the biggest problem I've ever had to face, but he prepared me for it. Nothing was ever too daunting or complicated for your grandpa, and I learned from his example.

Luki, I want you to understand that I am incredibly blessed to have had a dad like I did. And the thing that upsets me the most about him dying is that you will not get to reap the benefits of being in his company. That's why I'm writing you this letter, and that's why I'm going to write you a letter about your grandpa every week for a year. Because I don't want you to just know him in pictures and casual anecdotes, I want you to be intimately familiar with him. It will make you a better man.

Your grandpa was funny and kind, and he made the best tostones in the world. But above all, he loved. He loved others fully, wholeheartedly, more than himself. And that love, not the love he received, but the love he gave, filled him with joy. I hope I can convey that love in my weekly letters.

Love like your grandpa did Luki, it's the best advice I could ever give.

Mom

Resolved

2010-01-05T14:17:00.003-05:00

A fresh start. A clean slate. A new beginning. That's what each January is supposed to be about, right? Well, coincidentally, I've been feeling like an updated version of myself lately. 2009 was a transformative year. At first it was awesome, and then it kicked my ass so hard it knocked me unconscious. Now, in 2010, I am waking up from that coma with a completely new outlook. Things are so much more in focus.

Last year, my dad died in an accident, or at least that's what the death certificate says. But how can something so important as life and death be accidental? I have accidents all the time. An accident is when I spill tea on my shirt, or ignore my bladder for so long, a trickle comes out right before I can unzip my jeans.

I'm sorry, but ceasing to exist is not on the same level as peeing my pants.

It doesn't make sense to live a bunch of years and love a bunch of people, just to randomly fall off a ladder one day and stop. No. My dad's death, just like his life, has to have a purpose. A purpose for those he left behind.

That's my resolution for this year. To figure out what the purpose of his death is in my life. And I can tell you one thing, even though I miss him terribly, he didn't die for me to sit around and be sad all the time. That would be a complete waste.

He also didn't die to be forgotten. My dad led a great life and my brother and I are immeasurably lucky to have had his example all these years. Sadly, Luki will not be as fortunate. So, as part of my New Year's resolution, I'm going to write my son a weekly letter about his grandpa: things I remember, lessons he taught me, funny anecdotes, etc. It's the least I can do, and it would be a great disservice to Luki if I didn't try to share with him all that my father gave to me. I plan to publish them every Wednesday for 52 weeks. Be on the lookout for the first one tomorrow!

So, that's the plan. That's how I begin my quest to make sense out of this tragedy.

Last year I started writing in this blog. I had a baby. My dad died. Those things didn't all happen arbitrarily. They are the variables to an equation I hope to solve in 2010.

It's our monthiversary! Part VI

2010-01-02T22:31:00.001-05:00

Half a year baby! Luki is turning into an old man. Look! He's even grown a mustache:

It's been a rough month for all of us around here, including Luki. We've been trying to come to terms with my dad's death and that's thrown his routine a little bit of of whack. Sometimes he sleeps at home, sometimes at grandma's. Sometimes he gets a bath, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he eats solids, other times it's just boob. Add to that the holidays, the barrage of people coming in and out to give their condolences, and his very first cold, and you've got yourself the recipe for a very confused and cranky baby.

But Luki is no quitter. So, despite the hectic schedule, he's managed to teach himself a couple of new tricks. He can now sit unsupported! Except when I try to show off to someone that he can sit unsupported. Then, he always manages to topple over, hit his head, and make me look like a terrible mother who puts her kid in danger for the sake of making a good impression. Must be payback for telling the Internet about his penis.

And for his second antic, he gets on all fours and scoots his body back and forth, as if revving up his engines to zoom into month seven. I hope when he gets there, he finds a little more order, tranquility, and better spirits.

Charles Dickens was clairvoyant (or a quick reflection on 2009)

2009-12-31T18:45:00.003-05:00

I didn't read the whole thing, and according to Wikipedia it's about Paris and London and the plight of the peasantry or something -- but the first line of A Tale of Two Cities describes my 2009 to a T.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

In July, I had a baby. He came with the sun on a Thursday morning and changed my life forever. It was the best of times.

In November, my father died. It was sudden and unexpected and, again, everything changed. It was the worst of times.

It's been a year of absolutes. Of black and white and hot and cold. And I, who had been living life in shades of gray and treading lukewarm water, will never be the same again.

In which Luki carries on a family tradition

2009-12-29T20:13:00.001-05:00

I come from a really healthy, long-lasting family. My great-aunt died a couple of months ago at the ripe old age of 102. My grandma is in her late eighties and still has the hand-eye coordination to put on a full face of make-up every morning. My dad only lived to 53, but that was a stupid accident; he was in better shape than most 35 year olds. And my mom -- she eats sugar in the raw by the cupful and gets an A+ on her blood work every time she goes to the doctor.

I say all this to say: I have some quality, Grade A genes.

And then I married a diabetic.

What can I say? Some women marry into money or property, or a family business; I married into chronic (albeit controlled) illness.

Still, as healthy as my side of the family may be, we still get the sporadic cold or flu. And it is a long standing, time honored tradition for the Jardines clan to get sick only during the most special of occasions.

When I was a kid, I would always break into a fever half an hour before heading out to a birthday party. It's like I literally made myself ill with excitement. My parents were the same way -- their defenses always shutting down hours before a big vacation or the giant dinner parties they were known for hosting.

Getting sick on a random Tuesday and watching talk shows all day? Absolutely out of the question.

So I wasn't even a little bit surprised when Luki got his first cold on Christmas Eve. "He's just really excited about baby Jesus' birthday," I thought.

Poor Luki, he was miserable throughout the entire holiday, coughing uncontrollably and then getting really mad at the phlegm that was lodged in the back of his throat. He kept making this really angry face that was all -- I'M JUST TRYING TO CHILL AND SUCK ON MY TOES, WHAT IS THIS AWFUL THING THAT KEEPS HAPPENING TO ME?? -- every time his lungs tried to make their way up his trachea.

When I offered him some boob and he turned his face away, I knew something was REALLY wrong. Because boob and crack are synonymous to my kid, and we haven't been able to afford to send him to rehab.

I took him to the doctor, and she explained that he wasn't eating because his nose was full of mucus, making it impossible for him to suck and breathe at the same time. It was my job to vacuum his nostrils with an aspirator three times a day.

Disgusting yet endearing side note: My mom says that in Cuba they didn't have aspirators, so my dad would suck the buggers out of my nose with his mouth. Gross! But also, wow, he loved me enough to eat my snot!

All it took was one look at the device I was going to insert in his little nose, and Luki started to scream and flail his limbs like a crazy person. However, after being restrained by his dad and grandma, I was able to clear out his nasal passageway making it possible for him to breathe again. He is feeling much better now, thanks for asking.

So, what did I learn from this experience?

1. To thank my lucky stars I now live in a country where aspirators are a dime a dozen.

And

2. To never underestimate the ability to blow my own nose.

Christmas didn't suck as much as I thought it would

2009-12-27T17:17:00.000-05:00

So it wasn't all spiked eggnog and chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and I missed my dad so much even my fingernails ached. But I survived. And at times, I even laughed and felt happy.

My mom says she gives herself a pep talk in order to complete the gargantuan task of getting out of bed every morning. She tells herself, "God took away my husband, but he did not take all that I have. He has put many more amazing people in my life."

That lady, she is so wise.

Because as much as I tried to be miserable and spend The First Christmas Without Daddy in the fetal position with my head between my knees, all the incredible people around me wouldn't let it go down that way.

Case in Point: My kick-ass husband Ton Ton who, despite my telling him many times that I had no Christmas spirit and did not want to give or receive any presents, bestowed me with a much needed brand new laptop computer on Christmas Eve. It made me happy. Happy because it's green and pretty and just the size I wanted, but mostly because he gave it to me. He gave it to me knowing full well I'd bought him a big fat case of nothing in return.

And that's how it was with everyone else. Family and friends putting on their best faces and making the most selfless of efforts in order for the holiday to be tolerable. Mom got out of bed and cooked a delicious meal so that we didn't have to resort to frozen pizza. My brother ran every errand, washed every dish, and smiled the whole time (just like dad would've done). A good friend brought cake and gossiped until past midnight.

On Christmas day, we went to Ton Ton's sister's house for lunch and she presented Luki with a stocking, his name written in glitter. Before I could remove any of its contents, my son, who has the aim of a professional baller, managed to projectile vomit inside it.

I thought to myself, "well, at least we now know how he feels about glitter" and right then, on my first Christmas day without a father, I laughed and laughed.

Christmas time

2009-12-22T19:20:00.001-05:00

Time has been acting funny since the tragic and life-altering event of November 28. My mom keeps saying that she wants the clock to tick faster. That she feels the hours and minutes leisurely strolling by, like tourists who don't want to miss a single site of nostalgia and sorrow. For me, on the other hand, the past three and a half weeks have flown by. I am still stranded in that hospital room. Every detail of that day remains engraved in my being -- the rhythmic noise of the ventilator; the way my dad didn't smell like himself; the look of disbelief on my mother's face when the doctors told us he was gone. It is as if it all happened five minutes ago.

I recently realized that Christmas is in three days, and that doesn't compute in my mind. I just had Thanksgiving dinner with my family. My dad was there. He praised my turkey. The next day he had an accident and was hospitalized. I'm stuck there. How did all these other days sneak in? When did it become December?

Christmas, as it's traditionally celebrated here, has never been a big deal for my family. Before we moved to the United States we didn't really know anything about Santa Claus or crowded malls. In Cuba, all we did was get together for a big meal on December 24 to observe Noche Buena. When we arrived to this country right smack in the middle of Holiday Season 1992, we thought people were crazy and tacky for having giant trees with flashing lights inside their houses.

My brother was still pretty young when we got here, so he bought into the whole Santa thing despite the fact that the fat man in the red suit had never visited him in Havana. So, for the first few years we put up a tree and opened presents Christmas morning. But when we got a little older, we stopped doing all that. The celebration was limited to a big feast on the 24th.

This year, Ton Ton and I wanted to play up the holiday for Luki. We planned to get a tree and put up lights, and envisioned dozens of presents to commemorate our baby's first Christmas.

And then the terrible thing happened. The terrible thing which has put all other things into perfect focus.

My father's sudden and unexpected death has made me realize that the most amazing gift I have is time. The time I spent with him, and the time I have left to spend with others.

When we asked my mom what she'd like to do for Noche Buena, she said she wanted to spend it in bed. So this December 24th, my brother, Ton Ton, Luki and I will be climbing in there with her. Wrapping up the present. Opening up the memories time has kindly left behind.

A SADwich

2009-12-17T19:00:00.000-05:00

Here is a recent picture of Luki:

Hopefully the overwhelming cuteness will counteract the rest of this post, because I pretty much only feel like writing about depressing stuff. And I can't even figure out how to get all the sadness into one coherent message, so I'm just going to type up random bullets of despair. (Random Bullets of Despair, that'd make a good name for a rock band, eh?)

On my way to work every morning I often find it surprising that NPR makes no mention of my father's death in their morning newscast. How can the senate debate healthcare and snow be in the forecast for this weekend if my dad's not around? I realize this is completely irrational -- my dad was not a politician, a meteorologist, or a journalist for that matter, but it's so strange that the rest of the world is still spinning without him. Or maybe what's strange is that other people aren't aware of this immeasurable loss -- to me, it's so big, so overwhelming, that sometimes I just assume everyone else, even strangers, can sense it too. And so, every morning, as I listen to the news, I give myself the latest update on my father. The headline is always the same: No new developments, daddy's still dead.
Take my sadness, my devastating, sometimes paralyzing sadness, multiply it by 1000 decibels of grief, and you will still not understand how afflicted my mother is. One of my best friends said to me the other day that I may have lost my father, but that my mother lost her future. She was absolutely right. All of her plans and dreams of growing old together, of retiring and traveling the world, of having sleepovers with their grandkids, they were all thwarted on November 28. And my funny, intelligent, outspoken mother is disappearing behind a boulder of melancholy. I know she is doing the best she can. The fact that she gets out of bed and showers in the morning is a huge accomplishment. But I can't help but feel like I'm losing her, or at least pieces of her, as well.
I went to the doctor this week and found out I'm back below my pre-pregnancy weight. The grief diet. I would take the 45 pounds, swollen feet, and insatiable 4 a.m. appetite any day, over feeling like this. Hell, I would rather have Pitocin induced contractions and push out ten thousand babies with no drugs than be this heartbroken.
I am trying to keep my shit together for Luki. I don't want him to spend the first year of his life around a loser mom who cries every time she sees a Starbucks (my dad's only vice). It's hard, but this helps:

So there you have it. A bunch of sadness sandwiched in between the thing that has brought the most joy to my life. Right now the grief makes up the entire sandwich. Hopefully in time, it'll just be a condiment you can ask for on the side, like a pickle or some mayonnaise.

In the meantime...

2009-12-14T17:32:00.000-05:00

This post is not about baby. If you're here to read about the contents of Luki's latest diaper, I am sorry to disappoint. Believe me, I wish I was in the mood to write about poop. I would give anything to go back to eighteen days ago, when poop was the worst of my problems -- silly, trivial, inconsequential, poop. But I can't talk about poop, not today. Because November 28 was The Worst Day of My Life and I'm still living in its shadows.

The Worst Day of My Life -- I wonder how many times I've used that phrase in the past because traffic was bad, or I left the house without an umbrella on a rainy day. It's amazing how a single event has completely sharpened my perspective. The worst thing that can happen is not getting laid off or missing my connecting flight. It's not seeing the perfect pair of shoes on sale, only to find out they're sold out in my size. It's not even having the republicans win every single election from now until the year 2175.

The worst thing that can happen is to stand in a hospital room while my father -- my young, vibrant, agile, father -- is pronounced dead by a team of doctors. Dead. As in, he will never fry plantains again, or hold my mother's hand, or check the air in my brother's car's tires before he heads back to college. Dead. As in, he will not see my son grow up, he will not be at his first birthday party or watch him ride a bicycle; he will not ever hear him say "abuelo."

Wrapping my head around the permanence of death has been one of the biggest challenges of the past eighteen days. It's so hard to comprehend that while I am on this earth, I will never see my father again. That I can't even call him for a second, just to ask him how much water I need to add to the pot in order to make his perfectly fluffy white rice.

But everything in the past couple of weeks has been challenging. I've felt a range of emotions as wide as the horizon my dad liked to stare at so much on our trips to the beach. In the same day, the same hour even, I can go from being calm and collected to feeling an urging need to punch a wall and scream until my voice is gone. I am convinced that my father is in a better place, that he is resting, that he is happier than ever, but at the same time I feel an irrational hatred for all the ladders in the world. I despise brain stems and hematomas and neurosurgeons who are trained to say, "there's nothing we can do" without expressing the slightest hint of emotion. And I know, I KNOW, that everyone dies. That we all have a beginning and an end. And I think about all the kids who have lost their fathers or who have never even met their fathers, and I feel lucky that I had the MOST AMAZING dad for 26 years. But then, I see the old men who live to be 90 and teach their great grandkids to play dominoes, and it just seems so unfair.

All of these thoughts and feelings are constantly speeding through the interstates inside my heart and mind.

One emotion has remained constant, however, and that is gratitude. The outpour of support from friends and relatives has been amazing. The family that got on the first flight down, just to hold our hands. The friends who drove to the funeral for the day, spending more time in the car than at their destination. All the people from near and far who sent bouquets of flowers. All the folk who showed up at our door with plates of food. And all the friends, some whom I haven't spoken with in years, who have kept us in their thoughts and prayers and wrote kind messages of support on this blog and on Facebook. I haven't been good about responding, but I've read all of them and I just want to say Thank You.

And thank YOU for reading this entry, despite it not being about the light-hearted and banal things I usually write. I have to believe that with your help, and with time, there will come the day when I can talk about poop again.

It's our monthiversary! Part V

2009-12-06T00:43:00.000-05:00

Dear Luki,

You are now five months old. I am writing this entry a couple of days late because the actual day of your monthiversary was also the day of your grandpa Uli's funeral. Your grandpa passed away. He fell off a ladder at work and hit his head very hard, so hard that his brain stopped working.

I want you to know that your grandpa loved you very much. He thought that everything you did was amazing. This past month you mastered the art of rolling over. The night before he had the accident, your grandpa kept putting you on your tummy to try to get you to sleep, and you kept flipping over and over. He thought it was hilarious.

This is also the month you discovered your feet and they are definitely your new favorite toy. You pretty much ignore every light-flashing and noise-making contraption we've purchased for you in favor of your big toe.

You were introduced to solid foods and learned to push out solid poops. You figured out that your index finger is a whole lot tastier than the pacifier I took away. You demonstrated that, when you put your mind to it, you can sleep through the night. And I don't mean 6 hours, I mean from 9:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m.

But the most incredible thing you did this month, Luki, was exist. Because even though my heart is breaking into a million pieces because you will not remember your grandpa, because he won't be able to take you for rides in his truck or teach you how to climb a tree, your presence has given everyone in the family solace. Taking care of you has helped us keep our sanity in the midst of this terrible tragedy.

You, the result of an unplanned and unexpected pregnancy, have helped me understand better than ever that God is in control and his plans are just. That having you was not a fluke. You were sent to light the way during the darkest, most troubled moment of my life.

And the only way I can think of to demonstrate how grateful I am to have you in my life, is by aspiring to be as good a parent to you as my father was to me.

I love you,

Mom

Thankful

2009-11-28T23:35:00.000-05:00

I owe you guys a Thanksgiving post. I was going to write about the fabulous turkey I made without losing any fingers and the "Thankful for Mommy" pajamas we had Luki wear. But on Friday, in the blink of an eye, all of my plans changed. My father had a terrible accident and he passed away this morning. Our entire family is distraught.

But I owe you guys a Thanksgiving post.

So I want to say that I am so thankful for my father. For his laughter. For is never ending kindness. For his patience. For his strength. For all those qualities he transmitted to my brother and I which are making this moment bearable. Because I know that I will get through this because I am his daughter.

And I am thankful that I will see him again one day in heaven.

Squash with a side of finger

2009-11-24T16:30:00.000-05:00

When I was pregnant, one of the first decisions I made about life with a baby was that he or she would wear cloth diapers. I did a lot of research on the subject and found out that in the 1950s, 95% of children were potty trained by 18 months. Today, only 10% of kids can pee and poop in a toilet by that age. The culprit? Disposables, of course. Plus, cloth is cheaper, better for the environment, and causes less diaper rash. I was sold before the end of my first trimester.

Oh how cute I was! How silly and naive! If I could, I would pinch my pregnant self on the cheek and say to her, "aw honey, bless your heart" in a thick southern accent. Because I'm pretty sure that the people who use cloth diapers successfully have a totally different philosophy around laundry than me. And by that I mean, they actually do it.

Needless to say, Luki wears disposables.

I feel pretty bad about killing the earth and raising a kid who'll probably poop his pants through high school, so today I'd like to announce that I've replaced the cloth diapers pipe dream with another of equal or lesser value: homemade baby food.

That's right! I've done all the research and making Luki's food is cheaper and healthier than the stuff at the store. After a few attempts at rice cereal with disastrous consequences, I set off on my culinary adventure over the weekend.

Knowing full well the extent of my limitations in the kitchen, I purchased the Beaba Babycook for this endeavor. Yes, I know that the same effect could be achieved with a pot and a blender, but a) this is so pretty; and b) we've never used the blender for anything non-alcoholic, and I don't want my next batch of margaritas to taste like peas and carrots.

Ton Ton and I headed to the farmer's market early Saturday morning and purchased some locally grown fruits and vegetables. I cut up some squash, steamed and pureed it in the Beaba and voila! homemade baby food. Luki loved it, and his insides seemed to have an easier time digesting it than the cereal.

Great success!

Except for the part where I cut my finger while cleaning the blade. It hurt and bled a lot. And even though Ton Ton said he could barely see the wound, I'm pretty sure it required surgical intervention. Still, although my finger may be maimed, my culinary spirit remains intact and I shall persevere. I'm pretty sure the Food Network will be calling at any moment to offer me a show deal.

P.S. Luki's rave reviews of my puree de squash have inspired me to make this recipe for Thanksgiving. I'll be sure to blog about it.

P.P.S. Don't worry. We will be spending Thanksgiving at my mother's where there will be plenty of other things to eat should this experiment go awry.

P.P.P.S. If I don't blog about it, or ever again, you'll know it's because ~~I lost both hands while chopping hazelnuts~~ the Food Network called.

You owe Google a big one, Luki

2009-11-19T22:02:00.002-05:00

Today I had a free moment at work and used it to google "baby penis foreskin"

If the IT department keeps track of my Internet usage, they've probably now posted fliers with my picture on them that say, "NOTIFY THE AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SEE THIS WOMAN WITHIN 100 FEET OF A PLAYGROUND." But I promise you, I was not scouring the web for kiddie porn. It's just that, I've never owned a penis and needed to find out if I was taking proper care of my son's.

Poor Luki. He just gave me this look like, "First you talk about my issues with poop, now you're telling the entire Internet about my man parts?? ...And you have the gall to wonder why I sometimes cry inconsolably..."

Listen son, I'm doing this for your own good. And for the good of your penis.

But before I talk about the results of my query, I think it best to start this story with a bit of a controversial topic. Please put away all sharp and flammable objects.

Ready?

Ok. Here it goes...

Luki is not circumcised!

His father and I thought about this thoroughly when I was pregnant and, after lots of research and discussions with our doctor, decided to leave our son intact. We simply couldn't find any compelling evidence that upheld the benefits of circumcision, and almost every man in the family, including Ton Ton, still has his foreskin. (Hey Luki, does it make you feel any better that I just told the Internet about daddy's man parts?) Most of our relatives were born in Latin America, where the procedure is not routinely done and, also, we are not Jewish.

Those who favor circumcision often use hygiene as one of their reasons for supporting the practice. They claim that the uncircumcised penis is dirty and more susceptible to infection. In all our conversations with healthcare providers, they assured us that this was not the case. Dirty boys will get infections, whether they're circumcised or not. Our only job was to keep the area clean and dry.

The "How to not break your newborn" classes we took while pregnant, informed us that, if we decided not to circumcise, the penis did not need any special care. Just soap and water. At the hospital, after Luki was born, the nurses again explained that his genitals were to be cleaned just like the rest of his body. Easy enough, right?

Weeeell, things are never so easy when everybody is trying to raise your baby. Our families, who are always leery of "the way these Americans do things," have been telling us that we need to pull back the foreskin and wash under it.

So, at Luki's fourth month appointment I asked the pediatrician again, "Do we need to be doing anything to his penis?" And again we were told: Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, his foreskin will probably not retract until he is 5 or 6 years old.

Upon sharing this information with our families, the GASPS! were heard in both our homelands. Mamacita was particularly outraged, "I've never heard anything like that! With both my sons, my three grandsons, and my two great grandsons, we pulled back the skin to clean it. And NOTHING happened to them."

And that brings us to today and the inquiry I sent out to Google universe. The results were page after page of experts saying: Leave it alone.

I also found this little tidbit:

"In uncircumcised boys, forcibly ripping the foreskin from the glans in the name of hygiene can lead to pain, scarring and adhesions."

So no. Under no circumstances will we be pulling back his foreskin.

I wonder what Google has to say about "how to keep relatives away from my baby's man parts"

A good gift

2009-11-17T23:50:00.005-05:00

Back in May, when I was 7+ months pregnant and my feet had gotten so swollen they were applying to become U.S. territories, I found a shred of silver lining hiding behind the constant backache and the insatiable 4:00 a.m. hunger, namely: My first Mother's Day and the presents that entailed.

Ton Ton tried to insinuate that I "technically" wasn't a mom yet, but he quickly remembered that I could smother him with my belly and totally make it look like an accident.

"But officer I just rolled over, landed on his face, and he was trapped! No, I couldn't get back up by myself. Oh my God, I think I just had a contraction!"

They would never prosecute me while I was great with life.

So, just like I do on all other major holidays -- My Birthday and Christmas -- I put in my gift request. A CAMERA! A good camera that takes pictures really fast and makes the backgrounds blurry. As you can see, I have a depth of technical knowledge in the field of photography.

I did some research, talked to some photographer friends, and finally settled on the Canon Rebel XS. It wasn't cheap and, upon seeing the price tag, Ton Ton tried to use the whole, you-don't-know-anything-about-photography-babies-are-expensive angle to get out of buying it. But again, my pregnant belly did all the convincing for me. Never underestimate the power of the bump!

In the end, I got the camera and, of course, Ton Ton uses it twice as much as I do. "This thing is amazing," he is fond of saying. And I'm even more fond of replying, "I told you so!"

We got a new lens for it this weekend and I took these shots:

A picture in our poorly lit bathroom that didn't require the use of flash...

Don't mind the angry baby...check out that blurry background! Woo hoo!

The camera was fast enough to catch him before he toppled over...

I can't wait until my first "official" Mother's Day next year; my only concern is that I won't have a giant belly with which to negotiate my gift.

Solid food is no joke

2009-11-14T21:22:00.001-05:00

Was it really a mere four months ago that I wrote on this here blog, "there was human feces on my finger, and I remained unfazed"?

Huh.

Did I also write, "shit has gone from being the most disgusting thing ever to eliciting laughter"?

Oh, how naive I was.

Because I can think of many adjectives to describe the contents of Luki's diaper two days ago - some of which would prompt my mother to wash my mouth with soap - but funny is certainly not one of them.

Warning! I am about to give a graphic and detailed description of my child's bowel movements. Not recommended for those who are pregnant, over 65, or in the middle of eating lunch. Proceed at your own risk.

For the first four months of his life, Luki was exclusively breastfed. That means that, although his poops were very frequent and shot out of his butt like missiles, they were not offensive in odor. The stuff looked like mustard mixed with cottage cheese and sort of smelled like yogurt... a certificate in handling radioactive material was not required in order to change his diaper.

Then, our son more than doubled his birth weight and grew to the 90th percentile in height (that's right, my kid has an A- in being tall!), so our pediatrician deemed him ready for solid food.

Excited about introducing him to something new, Ton Ton and I went to the store right away to buy rice cereal. We fed it to him with a spoon and he got the hang of it right away. Great Success! Right?

Wrong!

He ate the cereal a couple more times, but it made him constipated and he didn't poop for three days. When his intestines finally cooperated, the substance I encountered was so foul, so offensive, so repugnant, that I had to do a double take of Luki's face to make sure he hadn't morphed into a prehistoric creature that feeds off of animal carcasses and sewer water.

As I held my breath and cleaned excrement from my son's bottom, thighs, and back, all I kept thinking to myself was, "if this is what a few tablespoons of rice cereal smell and look like, what's gonna happen when he has his first bowl of beans?"

I am traumatized, as a matter of fact, I think I now have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and going through a similar experience again could seriously implicate my mental health. Fortunately, Ton Ton has agreed* to handle all poopy diapers from now on!

*By agreed, I mean I'm going to talk ad nauseam about the forty-five pounds I put on, the twelve hours of labor, and the stitches I had to endure in my vagina so that he can play with his son, until he marches over to the changing table.

P.S. The good thing about solid food? Luki's farts are now smelly, and I am totally blaming it on him next time I let one rip!

In which I do what I said I'd never do

2009-11-11T22:05:00.002-05:00

When it comes to my child-rearing philosophy, I've always said that I'd like to do things almost exactly like my parents. After all, they raised two functional, interesting, and, most importantly, HAPPY, individuals who still enjoy the company of their mom and dad -- especially around a dinner table laden with homemade Cuban food. In 25 years, if all it takes for Luki to want to hang out with me is fried plantains, I'll consider myself an award winning mom.

However, there is one thing my mother would occasionally do that I vowed to never subject my children to: Under no circumstances would I compare my kids to those of others.

Nothing bothered me more as a teenager than hearing Big E say, "Did you see so and so's room? She didn't have a single item of clothing strewn on the floor"; "Whatchamacallit doesn't walk around in her pajamas with a tangled mass of curls on top of her head all day;" or "I see you got a C in AP Calculus, what did what's her face get?"

And when I would counter with something like "You know who's mom lets her stay out until 1:00," she would just roll her eyes and answer, "Good for her! You better be back by 10."

Nope, I was resolved to never put my child through that. I was not going to use others as the standard by which to measure my offspring.

And then...a bunch of my friends got pregnant at around the same time as I did, and they ALL had the best behaved, quietest, most laid back babies I've ever seen.

At a get together last weekend, the unthinkable happened. I sat a SCREAMING Luki next to one of these angelic children and said to my son, "WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE HIM??" He got quiet for a second, looked at me defiantly, and started wailing louder, as if to say, "MAYBE BECAUSE HIS MOTHER DOESN'T TEASE HIM WITH A GUITAR FOR THE SAKE OF AN ENTERTAINING YOUTUBE VIDEO!"

Ok, point taken.

Still, when Luki had his fourth month appointment a few days ago and delighted the entire pediatrician's office with his rendition of "You better keep bouncing me and don't even think about sitting down," it happened again. I had to ask, "Is it normal for him to act this way?...because all our friends have really chill babies."

The Dr. assured us that he's fine and suggested we get ready for the next eighteen years of dealing with his spirited personality. A personality that makes him unique and shouldn't be likened to anyone else's.

Yes, I realize how lucky I am

2009-11-10T18:18:00.002-05:00

When I was a sophomore in college, my roommate got really sick early on and went home for the rest of the year. It's the only time in my life I've ever lived alone. Free from having to conform to another's lifestyle, I lived happily among piles of unfolded laundry, books, papers, and, my main staple during those four years, bags of gummy bears.

Despite, and probably as a result of, growing up with a mother who had everything in its proper place and would throw my clothes in the dew covered yard whenever I left them scattered on my bedroom floor, the domesticity gene skipped over me. I'd much rather be reading, watching tv, sleeping, or outside counting and cataloging blades of grass by shades of green, than emptying out the dishwasher.

Luckily, I married a man whose hobby it is to compare and contrast different types of hard wood floor cleaners. Tragedy struck our house the day Orange Glo came out with a new formula that left streaks, OH GOD NOT STREAKS!, on his precious floorboards. While Ton Ton obsessed over finding the new perfect product to clean the hardwood, I drank beer and watched TV.

As you can see, our house is the place where traditional gender roles came to retire. We've set up a couple lawn chairs for them and they bask in the sunshine drinking piña coladas all day. As soon as somebody figures out a way for men to lactate they (the gender roles, that is) will forever pass away to that better place in the sky.

In all fairness, I've been trying to be better about maintaining a tidy home, or as Ton Ton likes to call it: acting like a real human person, since Luki was born. I now realize that constantly buying new underwear is not the most fiscally responsible way to deal with laundry, and would like my son to learn so from an early age.

Still, it is my husband who captains the cleanliness ship. So, when he was sick all last week with "a cold that almost orphaned Luki" -- Ton Ton exaggerates almost as well as he dusts -- our Lysol powered Titanic hit an iceberg.

The thing is, I can't act like a real human person if Ton Ton is too high off Sudafed to remind me of it. Without his ~~constant nagging~~ helpful suggestions about picking up my shoes off the living room floor or hanging up my towel after I'm done using it, our house began to resemble my old college pad. Except this time, I wasn't happy in the squalor.

Yeap, it looks like Ton Ton's fervor for organization has started to rub off on me. It's not enough to motivate me to clean, but at least I'm no longer comfortable in a messy home. That's a step in the right direction, right?

Fortunately, Ton is feeling better and things have returned to their natural order:

That's me behind the camera in a pair of boxer shorts, a beer in hand.

It's Magic!

2009-11-06T17:13:00.000-05:00

Have a inconsolable baby at home? Did you try feeding him? How about changing his diaper? Is he sleepy? Maybe it's gas, or reflux, or perhaps an ear infection...

...or maybe your baby just wants to ROCK!

It's as if Luki's saying: "Entertain me minions, or I'll unleash my wrath upon you."

That's just the way they are

2009-11-04T14:18:00.004-05:00

It all started the first day they met. Big E followed the muddy footprints on her white carpet to the exact place on the couch where Ton Ton was sitting. Her first words to him were "you better figure out a way to clean this up!" Ton Ton looked startled and said, "hi, nice to meet you," and I immediately resorted to my standard reaction in awkward situations -- hysterical laughter. Not wiping his feet was a MAJOR faux pas in a house where the Lysol bottle gets cleaned with 409, and vice versa.

That bumpy start marked the beginning of what has blossomed to become a mountainous relationship. There is a running joke in Big E's house that anybody can break or misplace whatever they want because, in the end, Ton Ton will get the blame. She even accused him of breaking the sugar bowl. The sugar bowl. Perhaps type I diabetic, insulin dependent Ton Ton decided he just couldn't take it anymore, tried to put himself in a hyperglycemic coma, and snapped off the handle on the bowl containing his poison in the process. Yea, that's totally what happened.

Now I know, based on my 26 years of experience with Big E, that her seemingly combative banter with my husband is all in good fun. That not so deep down in her heart, she actually likes him -- I'll even venture to say that she LOVES him. She makes snarky comments and blames him for everything because...well, because that's just the way she is. She doesn't really mean it.

Still, as much as I've tried to explain that she's joking, sometimes Ton Ton just doesn't see the humor in phrases like, "you led my daughter to a path of debauchery and alcoholism" or "thank God Luki looks nothing like you!"

Recently, I realized that he probably never will. But before I tell you about that, a related aside and piece of advice:

Single ladies, do not think that you've struck gold when you meet a man whose parents live abroad. When your in-laws live in a different country, they come to visit for many months at a time. I have done the math, and you actually end up spending more time with them than if they lived down the street and you saw them for a couple of hours every day. Your best bet is to marry someone whose parents live across the country. Far enough so that you won't have to see them every day, but not far enough to warrant extended visits. You'll thank me later.

As you may recall, Ton Ton's mother, Mamacita, has arrived from Venezuela and will be staying through January. Although I appreciate that she is much more reserved than my own mother, her lack of enthusiasm about everything, except, of course, her grandson, is often hard for me to swallow. As much as Ton Ton tells me that she is enjoying herself, I just don't see the cheerfulness behind her stern facade. "That's just the way she is!" he explains, echoing my reason for Big E's behavior all these years, "just because she doesn't smile all the time, doesn't mean she isn't happy to be here." And I believe him, even though it makes no sense to me whatsoever.

No, we'll probably never understand each other's mothers, but one thing sure is clear -- on my birthday, while Ton Ton and I partook in acts of "debauchery and alcoholism," both of Luki's grandmas were on hand to babysit -- we are lucky, lucky people to have them around.

It's our monthiversary! Part IV

2009-11-02T23:57:00.006-05:00

Luki may be turning four months old today, but he's already got the dramatic flair of someone with a master's degree in theatre. His aptitude for thespian art is most notable when he hasn't eaten in a couple of hours and takes on the role of "starving boy". The tears and lamentations are so convincing that you would think he was one of those poor fly covered kids in the Feed the Children commercials who hasn't had a decent meal in weeks. And the drama is not just about food...he can go from laughing up a storm to screaming his guts out in one second flat; all it takes is for you to stop bouncing him, change his position, or, God forbid, sit down while he's in your arms. The interesting thing is that these theatrical productions hardly ever happen when the three of us are home alone; like any good actor, Luki likes to perform for an audience.

Our son's quickly emerging personality has definitely marked the most significant development of the past thirty days. Fortunately, it hasn't been all fits of rage and temper tantrums. Luki has revealed that he is a curious, engaged, clever boy, that loves to laugh... and the laughter is the most amazing milestone we've experienced thus far. Just yesterday, his grandpa Uli made him giggle for 20 whole minutes by jumping up and down in front of him -- Luki looked very happy, but grandpa was ecstatic and so proud, you'd think that eliciting those tee-hees from that baby was the greatest accomplishment of his life! Yeap, even bigger than escaping a communist regime, rebuilding his life from scratch, and sending his kids to some of the best universities in the country.

Aside from getting an introduction into the sweets and sours of his temperament, this month has included the typical headways in motor skills for Luki's his age, most noteworthy, his ability to roll over. However, do not expect him to do so on cue, our little prima donna only rolls over between the hours of 2 am and 4 am. If he's going to do a trick, he wants it to be memorable enough for us to lose sleep over it!

We can't wait for what this next month will bring and are particularly excited about his introduction to solid foods and the solid poops that will entail. Stay tuned for all the yummy details.

Halloween Rocks!

2009-10-31T19:26:00.002-04:00

Ton Ton loves to rock, but he really misses Luki when he's playing out. Fortunately, we have found the solution:

Luki is adapting to his new role quite well, and has already made some friends:

Here he is chillin' with his amp:

And finally...here he is doing a kick ass solo:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

A lesson in Halloween

2009-10-29T20:29:00.003-04:00

I think Luki sneaked out of our hotel room in Atlanta to participate in some sort of Baby Labor Union conference because he has been on strike since we brought him home. My well-trained-to-fall-asleep-by-himself-and-stay-asleep-for-seven-plus-hours-at-a-time baby now screams bloody murder when placed in his crib and has shaved an hour off his sleep-length for every day we've been back. The first night he slept six hours, then five, four, and last night...three. Although I'm overzealous about the fact that he can count backwards at such a young age, I shudder at the thought of what awaits us tonight.

Coincidentally, this is also the first week Mamacita has been with us.

Number of gold stars I've received on her mental "I know she doesn't take care of my son, let's see how she does with my grandchild" chart: 0.

Needless to say, it hasn't been a good week. And so, when we went to three different stores yesterday in search of Luki's Halloween costume and they were all SOLD OUT, I couldn't help but ask myself...Is there such a thing as negative gold stars?

I guess you're wondering why I waited until the last 72 hours to look for a costume...

The truth? Because that's just how I roll; I was actually pretty proud of myself for not waiting until the night before, or Saturday morning.

The elaborate excuse I've prepared? Because this, in fact, is my first time celebrating Halloween and I didn't know what costume protocol was. You see, even though I had an AMAZING childhood, it had very little commonalities with those of my American peers. I was born in Castro's Cuba, where the major holidays are el 26 de julio and January 1st -- not New Year's Day, silly, the Triumph of the Revolution! My family immigrated to the U.S. when I was nine and we had so much to learn about Santa Claus, reindeer, Christmas trees, pilgrims, turkey, stuffing, fireworks, etc. that, by the time we got to Halloween, my brother and I were too old to dress up and trick or treat.

So there, I grew up in a repressive regime. Cut me some slack.

Plus, this story has a happy ending. In a last ditch effort, we walked into a fourth store fifteen minutes before closing and found the MOST PERFECTEST costume you can imagine! So magnificent is this get up that the thought of Luki's face 18 years from now when I embarrass him by showing his college roommate the pictures, made my bad week disappear.

WHOOOOPS! Did I forget to mention what this spectacular costume is? I guess you'll have to wait 'til Halloween to find out. Good thing it's less than 48 hours away...aren't you glad I'm such a procrastinator?

And on this day WE were born...

2009-10-24T18:24:00.002-04:00

Last year, God, in his infinite wisdom and with his remarkable sense of humor, decided that I should find out I was pregnant on my birthday. On the one day a year that's supposed to be all about me, I learned that my life, as I knew it, was over.

One year ago, after drinking half a bottle of wine at my birthday dinner, I summoned enough courage to pee on the stick and cried myself to sleep. Luki was not planned, and I was not ready to say goodbye to my freedom, my independence, and my wild ways.

After we told my parents I was expecting, Big E said to me that I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present. Last year, when I had to drink virgin margaritas at my party, it did not feel that way.

And yet, this morning, as Ton Ton sang Happy Birthday to me with Luki in his arms, I couldn't believe I'd spent so many October 24s without him. A year later, I am ready to accept him as the greatest present of my life.

Embarrassing times in the ATL

2009-10-23T20:46:00.006-04:00

I realize that my very limited experience as ~~Luki's slave~~ a mom does not qualify me to dispense any parenting advise, however, as a general rule of thumb, and based on the events of this week, I can wholeheartedly assert the following: It is NOT a good idea to wean a three and half month old off his pacifier only to take him on a four night business trip to Atlanta a week later. Completely unarmed against his extensive repertoire of cries, screams, and wails, I came this close to sticking a barbecue rib in his mouth during dinner last night. I refrained…but only because the waitress had already given us so many dirty looks, she would have most definitely called Child Protective Services if she saw our toothless son nibbling on the nightly special.

Even though Luki orders the supersized combo at McBoob’s six to eight times a day, he refuses to sit idly by when it’s our dinnertime. At home, Ton Ton and I have gotten used to eating in shifts – one of us holds the screaming baby, while the other gobbles up whatever’s for dinner. Then we switch. Chewing is a luxury we cannot afford.

However, this procedure is much more unpleasant to execute in a restaurant full of patrons who are sneering and jeering at the world’s worst parents. And I know that’s what they were thinking because, had I seen such a spectacle a mere year ago, I would have whispered something like, “that baby belongs at home” or “they must have done something for him to be screaming that loudly” in Ton Ton’s ear. I’ve learned my lesson, and, if it were possible to go back in time, I would say to my self from twelve months ago: “Self, why don’t you get your nose out of that family’s business and focus on savoring your meal because, after next year, you won’t have time to detect that hint of ginger in your salad for a few decades.”

Alas, our misadventures in Atlanta’s restaurants are just a drop in the bucket of embarrassing moments sponsored by our dear son this past week. I’d have to say that our ultimate low point happened in the Sheraton at around 11:00 p.m. one night. We had tried everything, short of dipping my nipple in Johnny Walker Black, to get Luki to sleep, but he just wasn’t interested. Instead, he opted for screaming as if we were testing a new line of torture devices on his body. When our next door neighbor expressed his exasperation by banging on our wall, I was utterly and completely mortified.

And yet, call us crazy, but despite all the red in the face incidents, Ton Ton and I both agree that we would do it again in a heartbeat. You see, we decided to take this trip because it would allow us more time with our baby than if we spent the week at home going to our regular jobs. My conference was right in the hotel where we were staying, so I was able to breast feed and play with Luki during my breaks, and, when I was busy, Luki got to hang out and bond with his dad, instead of our nanny. In the end, that uninterrupted family time was worth all the sneers, jeers, and midnight wall bangs in the world.

I just hope he's old enough to enjoy the barbecue next time.

The results are in...

2009-10-21T18:53:00.000-04:00

I don't usually wear jewelry, except my wedding ring, but I'm totally buying myself a locket and putting the picture of Baby 2 in it! Next time somebody tells me that Luki looks EXACTLY like his father, I'm busting out that picture of ME...that's right ladies and gentlemen, Baby 2 is me at 1 month old...and saying, DO YOU STILL THINK HE LOOKS JUST LIKE HIS DAD EH? EH? THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT!

The votes were overwhelmingly in favor of Baby 2, as a matter of fact, only one person thought Luki looked more like Baby 1 -- that person must be delusional from a swine flu provoked fever.

As soon as he starts to sprout curls, which I am 100% confident will happen, you won't be able to tell us apart!

Thanks for playing y'all!

Match that Baby!

2009-10-18T23:46:00.000-04:00

Mamacita has arrived! And she brought with her the missing piece of a little game I'd like to call, "MATCH THAT BABY!"

As you already know, this is Luki:

Now, who does he look more like? Baby #1:

or Baby #2:

Please leave your thoughts in the comments, and I'll be back in a couple of days to tell you who is who.

Meeting Mamacita

2009-10-17T16:55:00.005-04:00

I have a turbulent love affair with Netflix. It's like he's the really nice, smart, funny guy, who drives a Prius and wears trendy eyeglasses, but I always end up cheating on him with the spontaneous, leather clad, motorcycle racing Redbox. After a few months, I realize that Redbox and I have nothing in common, and beg Netflix to take me back. He always does.

When Luki was born, I vowed to be faithful to Netflix; after all, we don't have room for any more spontaneity in our lives. I promised him that things would be different this time, and we started out fresh with a brand new queue. The first film I added was Away We Go -- the movie Ton Ton and I were heading out to see the night my water broke.

It's a cute flick about a pregnant couple that’s trying to find the perfect place to raise their daughter; and, there's a particular scene that I can't seem to get out of my head today. In it, the protagonist talks to her sister about how the baby she’s about to birth will bring certain pieces of their deceased parents back. The dialogue struck a chord because, the more I get to know Luki, the more I see different family members in him. It’s not just a physical thing; sometimes it’s the way he stares, or smiles, or scrunches his eyebrows when he’s about to start wailing.

As we get ready for Luki to meet his paternal grandmother for the first time, I can’t help but think about Ton Ton’s dad, el viejo, who passed away two years ago. He was already quite ill when I met him, but that did not stop him from inspiring me with his overwhelming kindness and hospitality. It would have been a privilege for our son to have known him.

When he died, the entire family was distraught, but, understandably, no one was more saddened than his wife and partner of forty four years. When she meets Luki in a few hours, I hope with all my heart that she catches a glimpse of el viejo in him.

Somebody hand me a spatula!

2009-10-13T14:39:00.002-04:00

Ton Ton was very busy this weekend organizing and executing the local Latin American Festival, a magnificent cultural extravaganza that attracted over 25,000 people on Sunday…so, I had the equally burdensome task of taking Luki to the event BY MYSELF. While my husband juggled food vendors, musical performers, dozens of sponsors, and hundreds of volunteers, I had to figure out how to eat an empanada while holding Luki in his Baby Bjorn without spilling hot grease on his head. Clearly, we were both under similar levels of stress. Thank God I ran into some friends who offered to hold the baby while I scarfed down deliciousness. Phew!

The rest of the day was spent walking around trying to keep complete strangers from touching my son. Yes, I realize I was having another “Big E-esque” moment (they seem to come with increasing frequency these days), but, before you judge, hear me out…

I don’t mind when our friends and relatives hold and play with the baby; heck, if they want to take him for a long weekend to Vegas that is o.k. with me (as long as he doesn’t come back married to a stripper). However, if I don’t know you and my baby doesn’t know you, then you have no business putting your hands on him. How would you feel if I randomly came up to you, STRANGER, and started pinching your cheeks? I’m talking about the ones on your face, so go ahead and get your mind out of the gutter.

And the cheek pinching wasn't even the worst part. It was the grabbing, and touching, and caressing of his hands, the same hands he now constantly sucks on as if they were laced with heroin. Yeap, that is his new drug of choice. He used to be addicted to boob crack, but now speeds through feedings just so that he can free up his mouth in order to suck on his hands.

Just as he was enjoying the taste of both his hands at the same time, one of his many festival admirers said to me, "oh wow, he is definitely teething!" Now, I already knew that the hand sucking and the drooling mean that the teeth are imminent, but in that moment, I understood what that implies. Perhaps it was the wonderful smell of Latin food permeating the air the thing which triggered my realization:

Teething, as in, Luki is going to start getting teeth with which he will be able to eat regular people food. This is not good, and not just because I don't like to share my empanadas. You see, so far, I have been able to provide my son his favorite snack without any real effort on my part -- making breastmilk doesn't require any culinary talent. But once those teeth bust through his gums, I'll have to start cooking his food, and I can't even fry an egg without setting off the smoke detector.

The thing is, I desperately want to be the kind of mom whose kids would rather eat at home than anywhere else. A mom who is always making tasty, nutritious dishes, and coming up with creative ways to get her children to try new foods. That's the kind of mother I grew up with. When I found out I was pregnant, I put "learn to cook" on my "To Do" list, but it just sat there gathering dust along with "exercise daily" and "clean out the closets".

As I stood at the festival, nibbling on a shredded beef arepa, and facing the challenge of completely learning my way around a kitchen in the next few months, keeping strangers at bay suddenly seemed like the least of my problems.

Insulin pumps are sexxy!

2009-10-06T11:01:00.016-04:00

A few years ago, Ton Ton called me up from Target as he was buying a birthday present for his friend's kid. He said, "I think the whole party is themed around that yellow tooth cartoon, so I'm going to buy a puzzle with his picture on it." Having never heard of this "yellow tooth cartoon," I inquired more, thinking that perhaps it was a foreign animation. "Yea...you know, I think his name is Spongy Bob or something," replied Ton Ton.

The man thought Sponge Bob was a yellow tooth! How he managed to live completely oblivious to the annoying, pineapple-dwelling-underwater-creature for so many years, I'll never understand. But that's how Ton Ton rolls. Just recently, we had a conversation in which I explained that Dora la Exploradora was not produced in Latin America.

And so, during my pregnancy, I would have daily freak outs about how clueless he was on the subject of children and the incompatibility of our lifestyle with a baby's. Ton Ton's response was to just hold me tight and very nonchalantly say, "don't worry, we'll adjust, we'll figure it out" and, when that proved futile, distract me with butter pecan ice cream.

He hasn't quite embraced the new generation of children's cartoons, but adjustments have certainly been made. And today, he took a huge step toward a more stable, family oriented life...Ton Ton got himself an insulin pump!

Have I mentioned that my husband has the Diabetes? No? Well, he does..he's had it for over 15 years. And for the past five or so, his doctor has been trying to convince him to get on the pump. But getting an insulin pump means having a medical device attached to your body 24 hours a day -- it's basically the equivalent of growing an extra arm. That did not mesh with Ton Ton and his rock 'n' roll ways.

So, imagine my surprise when he came home from a doctor's appointment a few weeks ago armed with three different pump brochures. He told me that, although his Diabetes is pretty well controlled, an insulin pump would yield much better glucose levels...and that he wants to be as healthy as he can for Luki.

After extensively researching the exciting world of pump therapy on Youtube, he settled on the Omnipod when he discovered that..."there's some really famous kid's band with a member who is diabetic and uses it."

Yes, Ton Ton, that would be THE JONAS BROTHERS!

Luki may be the only kid in school who listens to Guns 'n' Roses and watches Yogi Bear (in Spanish!), but at least he'll be doing those things with his daddy.

Bringing home the bacon (and the breastmilk)

2009-10-05T14:26:00.009-04:00

If Ton Ton's ever fantasized about me working topless, I'm pretty sure a breast pump has never been part of the scenario. And yet...I took my shirt off at work three times today in order to extract Luki's precious boob elixir. Yes, today was my first day back, and I've never been more thankful for a windowless office with a locking door. Getting naked in the workplace was definitely the weirdest part of my day.

The saddest part? Leaning over the crib to kiss Luki goodbye, knowing that we would be apart for the longest period of time since he was born: nine entire hours.

The part that made it tolerable? NPR in the car and having conversations with other adults.

The scariest part? Realizing that my obsession with calling the nanny over and over was completely "Big E-esque." Our nanny has been coming to take care of Luki for the past two weeks and she has done an amazing job...but I still worry. I asked Ton Ton to call her a couple of times (just so that she wouldn't think I was crazy), and I've also got the neighbors spying on her. I am turning into my mother. Perhaps Luki will feel compelled to write a blog documenting my craziness when he grows up.

The most absurd part? Hearing the report on what Luki did today -- he slept, he ate, he pooped. Shocker!

The best part? Getting a big smile of recognition when I got home and appreciating it more than all the previous smiles.

It's our monthiversary! Part III

2009-10-01T20:54:00.011-04:00

Three months. One-fourth of a year. Ninety days. The average risk-free trial period. If Luki was a home appliance, today would be the last day to return him for a full refund. ...I wonder if the wreath of stretch marks around my belly button can count as a receipt...

I kid! We are definitely going to keep this baby...he didn't shart on us at all this month!

Before we start celebrating this wonderful milestone, I have some bad news. Remember how excited Luki was on his last monthiversary about the new hairs sprouting on his little noggin? Remember how I said, "my kid's a genius, he discovered the cure for baldness"? Weeell, apparently, it wasn't quite like that. He bought one of those "As Seen on TV" hair loss products, and the results are not pretty. Yes, hairs grew on top of his head, but the back side is a completely different story. I wish I could say he has a bald spot, a spot can be covered up, it can be combed over...but instead he has a whole bald line that runs from ear to ear. And under it, his hair is so long that it could be braided into a tiny baby rat tail. Poor Luki, you know how sensitive he is about his hair! It's a good thing he can pull off hats so well.

However, other than occasional moodiness over his -- let's call it unique -- hairstyle, Luki has had an amazing third month. He learned to drink out of a bottle, discovered that his hands are almost as good to suck on as the boob, moved into his own room, grabbed a couple of toys on his baby gym, fit into size 3-6 mos. outfits, and, according to Big E, said "abu." Oh, and last night, as a special monthiversary gift to his parents, he slept from 10:30 p.m. until 5:51 a.m.! That ladies and gentlemen is 7 hours and 21 minutes.

And there is so much more greatness to come! I feel pretty confident saying that October will be the most exciting month in Luki's life. We are taking him on a week long adventure to Atlanta, where he will stay in a hotel and spend some quality time with his uncle Ani. He will be celebrating his first Halloween. And, he will witness the epic battle of the abuelas. That's right, Ton Ton's mom, a.k.a. Mamacita, arrives in the U. S. on October 17. Which grandma will come out victorious? It's a tough call ... on the one hand, Big E is much younger and healthier, but, on the other, Mamacita has experience -- Luki is her 7th grandchild so she has already wiped out two grannies in the past. Things are about to get very interesting around here.

But, the most fantastic thing that will happen to Luki in October is that his mother will turn 26 years old on the 24th! Yeap, I just hijacked my own kid's monthiversary to talk about my birthday, the most important day of the year. I like to celebrate it the entire month of October. And let me tell you, this year's festivities will be grandiose...after all, I think I deserve it.

On that day, I'll be sure to have a drink in Luki's honor. Because, thanks to him, the last three months have been the most incredible of my life... and it just keeps getting better and better.

Luki's pad

2009-09-30T22:00:00.042-04:00

Luki moved out of our room and into his own place a few weeks ago (oh, if we could all be so lucky to escape Ton Ton's snoring!). Here is a tour of his new pad:

We didn't know the sex of our baby until he came out and told us, so we tried to make the nursery as gender neutral as possible. Although, now that Luki lives here, it seems like the perfect room for a little boy. The All You Need is Love decal is from sayitwithstyle, and was purchased on Etsy. I discovered Etsy while I was pregnant and fell in love. The bunny mobile is Flensted, it was really hard to pick from the many, many, different designs they have.

The crib was a gift from Big E and Uli and, I am embarrassed to say, is from Walmart. You see, I really liked this crib, but the Walmart version was $600 cheaper -- so, I put away my ideals about labor rights and lifted the boycott against the big box store. I'm not proud, I know I sold out...but the crib, it's so pretty! Big E was willing to pay $900 for the original, but I wouldn't allow it -- that's just outrageous!

The bedding is called Bounce Dreamsicle by Nurseryworks We painted the bottom drawer yellow, because yellow rocks.

Here is the dresser/changer -- again, with the yellow accent.

This is what the other side of the room looks like. The rest of the furniture is from Ikea.

A close up of The Little Prince poster, my favorite thing in the whole room! I found it on Ebay.

We bought that set of flash cards very early in my pregnancy and didn't think twice about the big L on the box. I still can't believe we ever thought the baby in my belly could have been anyone else but Luki.
This is also where Luki keeps his piggy bank: Chanchito

This room used to have carpet in it. Thank God we put in floors! Wiping up poop missiles from wood is much easier than getting them out of carpet.

Finally, these awesome Rock 'n' Roll prints were designed by our incredibly talented friend Juan. Luki doesn't seem to ever get tired of staring at them.

So there you have it...I hope the place doesn't get too dirty after the keg party our son plans to host this weekend!

Welcome back, Saturday

2009-09-27T16:09:00.013-04:00

When Ton Ton and I met and started going out, we would have "dates" that lasted entire Saturdays. He would pick me up at 7:00 a.m., and we'd go right back to bed and spend the day cuddling and watching cheesy chick flicks on cable like, Dirty Dancing or City of Angels (always his picks, not mine). Showering was optional, and food was of the fast and delivered variety.

A lot of things have changed since those first dates almost 7 years ago, but Saturday always remained a day of rest, relaxation, and few showers. Some Saturdays we stayed in bed just because we could, while on others we had to sleep in to recover from the events of the previous evening. One thing is for sure, you'd never, EVER, find us jogging in the park or at Home Depot on a Saturday morning.

And then Luki arrived.

The first weekend he was home, I didn't even realize it was Saturday until the day was almost over. It was no different from every other day he'd been with us -- a vicious cycle of crying, eating, and sharting, with an occasional break for sleeping. After a few weeks, Luki got on a more tolerable schedule...but our Saturdays have been spent at Sam's Club buying cases of diapers, or hosting well meaning friends and relatives who come by to ogle and talk in funny voices to the baby.

Until this weekend...

This past Saturday, with its several inches of rain, was my favorite day since our son arrived. We had no visitors, and running errands in a downpour with an 11-week-old would have been a logistical nightmare. Luki, who LOVES his parents more and more every day, slept until 6:30, had some boob, and didn't flinch again until 10:00. Then, we put him in bed with us, Ton Ton got his guitar, and the three of us rocked out to Andres Calamaro. In that moment, as I held Luki in my lap while he stared and smiled at his daddy, I envisioned the many Saturday mornings that are to come -- Luki, playing a tambourine; Ton Ton, continuing to scold me for singing out of tune; and I, feeling happier than I ever thought possible when we first started this adventure 7 years ago.

After wearing Luki out, we put him down for his nap and turned on the TV. Ton Ton used his special talent for finding the cheesiest, girliest, movie on at that moment, and the two of us curled up on the couch to watch Pretty Woman for the rest of the afternoon.

Getting an identity

2009-09-24T08:51:00.012-04:00

Luki got his first piece of mail this week. Now, I know it's a federal offense to open someone else's correspondence, but he hasn't really figured out how to use his opposable thumbs yet... and it could have been time sensitive material, like a check from an anonymous benefactor a la Great Expectations. But, alas, no such luck -- it was his social security card.

My first thought upon opening the envelope containing the nine digits that will identify my son for the rest of his life was, "ALRIGHT! Now we can add him as a dependent and get us a tax break!"...but the party in my head only lasted a little while. As I tried to commit his SSN to memory, I realized, for the first time, that Luki will become an adult. Yes, I know I've talked about how much and how fast he's growing...but I always figured he would just turn into a gigantic baby, not an adult who needs a social security number to apply for a credit card, file taxes, or get a mortgage.

And, while putting his card away in the safe where we keep our birth certificates, car titles, and ~~piles of cash from our money laundering business~~ passports, I thought about my mother and the little tin box where she kept all of our important papers. And I remembered the day she handed over custody of my social security card to me. I had been away at college for a week and needed it for my work-study job, so she and my father drove up from Charlotte to DC for the day just to put it in my hands. I don't know if Big E, who packed my bags for college as if I was going to Siberia, genuinely forgot to include such an important document, or if she was just in emotional denial about letting go. I will say that, although I didn't realize it at the time, on that day I took a step closer to independence.

So, if I was a cheesy and emotional mommy, I would end this post talking about how important it is to cherish every moment because "oh they grow up so fast". But that's Ton Ton's style, not mine...so I'll say this:

"Hey Luki! Now that you got a SSN, it's time for you to get a part-time job and start pulling your weight around here!"

Two weeks notice

2009-09-21T20:33:00.006-04:00

I'm not going to lie, being home with Luki for the past 11+ weeks has been the most challenging, demanding, and exhausting job I've ever had. So, there is a minuscule part of me that is glad to be going back to work in two weeks. That same part is also very excited about the thought of going out into the world and having conversations in which the other party actually responds with words. Minuscule me can't wait to get back to my routine, to listen to NPR on the way to the office, read the news online, get back 'in the loop' about important things such as ~~John and Kate's divorce~~ the state of our nation's healthcare.

But the rest of me, the vast majority of my person, feels heartbroken, anxious, and...guilty. I just wish I had more time! Just when Luki's starting to act like an actual human baby (as opposed to the boobaholic ball of gas he was for his first 10 weeks of life), I have to abandon him for eight hours a day. It doesn't seem fair! …I've already gotten on my soap box about the lack of maternity leave at my job, so I'm not going to go there again.

However, I will say that this whole motherhood thing is a mosaic of so many damn emotions, I could plaster the walls of a freakin' cathedral. I feel guilty for leaving my baby and for looking forward to being out of the house. I feel anxious about the nanny we hired to take care of him...she seems like she will do a great job, but what if she doesn't? I'm happy Luki is exclusively breastfed, but hate the bovine aspect of having to pump milk. Add to all that the fact that, for some bizarre reason, and for the first time in my life, I'm starting to actually care about what other people think. Or what I imagine other people are thinking. I’ve convinced myself that I have a contingent of relatives and acquaintances who judge me and think I’m a terrible mother for going back to work…and, at the same time, there’s a whole other group who, should I decide to stay home, would think me bourgie, or be appalled that I, a loudmouthed supporter of gender equality, could take on such a traditional role. Oh, the PARANOIA that comes with childbirth….this must be what doing meth feels like.

I blame my father and his sperm containing the X chromosome for all this, because I really don’t think I’d be having these feelings if I was Luki’s daddy. My favorite Beatle said it best:

In the end, I have to have faith that things will turn out alright and be happy about my impending return to the workplace, because, as a friend said to me a few weeks ago, "a good mom is a happy one."

On umbilical phobias and hernias

2009-09-14T17:35:00.011-04:00

My husband is afraid of belly buttons. Yes, it's as weird as it sounds (but not as weird as the fact that he still sleeps with his childhood blankie wrapped around his head!). He refuses to touch his own or anyone else's navel, and would really rather others not touch their navels in his presence. We don't know what deep cave in his psyche this phobia stems from, but one thing is for sure, the belly button sends cold shivers down his spine.

And now cue in Alanis' "Ironic," because the man who has been avoiding navels his entire life just begot a son with a belly button the size of Mount Everest. Ok, maybe Mount Everest is a stretch, but it would totally be the perfect ski resort for ants. Yes, Luki has an umbilical hernia, and as much as Ton Ton tries to cover it up and pretend it's not there, it simply cannot be overlooked, especially when the kid cries and the thing grows three times its size.

Now, I'm not really worried about the hernia...it's not a serious condition and should go away by the time Luki is a toddler (I had one and it went away on its own), but it has gotten me thinking about the kind of mother I'm going to be. You see, it's not just Ton Ton. Lots of people, upon seeing his protruding umbilicus, make comments like, "eww how weird", "it looks like it's about to pop" or "gross". And then I have to summon every ounce of self control in my body to keep from yelling "YOUR FACE IS GROSS YOU DOUCHEBAG, MY CHILD IS PERFECT!" And I want to lie to Luki and tell him that they're just jealous because his belly button is special, it's a real button that can actually be pushed in and gives him magical powers.

But that's not the kind of mom I want to be. You know, the mom who hides or ignores all her child's flaws, assures him that he is perfect in every way, and ends up raising a mediocre, pompous, jerk.

So, when Luki is old enough to understand and ask questions about the mountain growing out of his abdomen, I will simply tell him the truth. That it's an umbilical hernia. That it's not pretty, but it's also not that big a deal because it doesn't hurt him or prevent him from executing any of life's major functions. That it should go away with time. And that if it doesn't, there's a lot of money to be made in the ant tourism business!

Show me the money!

2009-09-08T12:15:00.007-04:00

So it looks like our son may not have to get a part-time job after all. Recently, Ton Ton and I have noticed a remarkable and unprecedented change in our checking account: the numbers are black instead of red! How could this be, you may ask? After all, I recently popped out a ~~money sucking machine~~ baby. Well, Luki hasn't been that expensive yet. He eats for free at McBoob's, and our amazing friends and families are constantly showing up with new outfits and cases of diapers.

While we're on the subject of diapers, I'd like to take a moment of personal privilege to say: I got pooped on yesterday. No, not sharted on...full blown pooped on. It's like Luki said, "I mock you Pampers Swaddlers and your super absorbent diaper gel, you can't handle my poop bombs!" Yes, the missiles have been replaced by bombs and we are at war.

Anyway, as I was saying, the boob milk and free cases of diapers are fabulous, but that doesn't explain the extra cash in our account. Ton Ton and I have been scratching our heads about this for a few weeks, and we finally figured it out over lunch on Sunday. (We've been leaving Luki with his grandparents for a few hours on Sunday afternoons, in part to have some couple time, but mostly to give Big E and Uli some uniterrumpted time with their grandson with the hopes that it will limit their visitations. It hasn't worked. By Sunday evening they're already calling, asking if they can come over to see the baby...but that's a whole different blog post.)

Ok, we're at lunch, in a restaurant, where you have to pay for your food, and we realize that it had been a while since we'd participated in that kind of transaction. And then we thought about how we used to go to the movie theater twice a week, and that certainly hasn't happened since our son arrived. But our biggest savings come from another little habit we've had to let go of: afternoon cocktail hour. Now, we are not drunks, but we do enjoy a good beverage more often than not. Well, we did...right now we are so tired all the time that drinking would probably put us in a coma. And we were particular about our cocktails, Ton Ton won't touch anything that hasn't been aged for at least 12 years, and I refuse to drink domestics. Who would have tought that booze had been making us poor all these years?

We're rich!! Allow us to bask in our new wealth while it lasts, because once I start work and we have to pay for childcare, it's ramen noodles for Ton Ton and I, and straight to the sweatshop for Luki!

It's our monthiversary! Part II

2009-09-01T16:30:00.008-04:00

Yes, we are going to do this every month. Remember the annoying girl in high school who was always like "ohmigod my new boyfriend and I have been together for two whole months and we are so in love, we are totally going to be together forever, I got him this teddy bear holding a heart shaped box of chocolates to celebrate"...remember her? I am totally that girl and Luki is my high school boyfriend, except we really are going to be together forever.

Our son has made it through his second month of life! The premature baldness he was so upset about last month is a thing of the past, and there are new hairs sprouting on his little head. For years, men all over the world have been trying to find a cure for hair loss and my kid discovers it in a month. What can I say? I gave birth to a genius. He is currently negotiating a fair price for his hair growth secret with his grandpa Uli. A genius and a great businessman.

Other milestones from this month include: pulling mommy's hair, being full for more than two hours at a time, and discovering that those two things fluttering in front of his face are actually his hands. But his greatest accomplishment this month is his newfound ability to sleep 6-7 hours straight at night. Go Luki, Go Luki, Go! Don't stop 'til you get to 12!

Ton Ton and I also survived, and we barely got sharted on! We finally figured out that we should stand to his side when we change his diaper and not directly in front of the firing cannon (clearly, he gets the genius genes from us!).

So like ohmigod, I totally have a 2 month old! I've been doodling I heart Luki all over my notebooks...

Becoming abuelitos...

2009-08-26T22:03:00.005-04:00

When I was in college, I spent a year ~~drinking beer and going to clubs~~ studying abroad in Chile. One day, a group of friends and I decided to go skiing; after all, the Andes were practically our backyard. Having never skied before, I did the logical thing and decided to skip the lesson; fly down the mountain at full speed forcing the other skiers to swiftly move out my way; and throw myself unto the ground in order to stop because I couldn't figure out how to hit the breaks. As I laid in the snow waiting for a kind soul to help me up (the skis were bigger than my body and I couldn't get up on my own), I thought to myself..."What the hell is a girl from Cuba trying to ski for? I am from the tropics, I have no business being on this damn mountain!" And on that day, I vowed to limit my interaction with nature to the beach.

For some reason, I had to have a near death experience to realize something the rest of my family had long ago figured out. We are all beach bums. Yet, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, loves the beach as much as Uli, my father. Put that man near some water with a cold beer and a towel, and he is in heaven. So, you can imagine his frustration and disappointment when Big E refused to go to the beach throughout my entire pregnancy because: "Our little girl can go into labor at any moment, we can't abandon her!" No, it didn't matter that I had a completely normal and uneventful pregnancy -- Big E was convinced that if she left the city, I would go into labor, even at 20 weeks gestation. When I suggested they go on vacation after the baby was born, she looked at me with disbelief and said, "What? And abandon my baby? Are you crazy??" Yea, that's right, she said "my baby".

And that is why things got a little bit complicated after Luki's birth. With wonderful intentions and Luki's best interest at heart, Big E and Uli overwhelmed Ton Ton and I with their interventions. They were a tremendous help during those first few weeks; but at times we just wanted our space, and the grandparents just would not leave. We had a talk with them about it, things were said, feelings got hurt, and the situation was tense for a little while.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Big E announced two weeks ago that she and Uli would be taking a last minute trip to the Dominican Republic in a few days. She didn't even ask if she could take Luki with her!

Ton Ton and I took a huge sigh or relief. They were starting to realize that, as grandparents, it isn't crucial for them to always be near the baby...Yay!

Off they went for an entire week at the beach -- my father was thrilled. I think Luki missed them a lot, especially the theatrical production they put on every time they're around him (it involves lots of singing, whistling, and talking in funny voices with fake accents). And, upon their return, they confessed that they too missed him terribly.

But, they realized that it could be done; they survived a week without Luki, and they are better grandparents for it.

Eh...John has always been my favorite Beatle anyway.

2009-08-15T12:11:00.013-04:00

Once upon a time, when waking up before noon on a Saturday was sacrilegious and our shot glasses had not yet been replaced with baby bottles, Ton Ton and I went to Vegas. Shortly after our arrival, as we gazed out the window of our pyramid shaped hotel, we laid eyes on a giant billboard announcing that Paul McCartney would be playing Sin City the very next night. Sir Paul McCartney! Needless to say, my husband crapped his pants. Two minutes later, we were standing at the ticket booth inquiring about availability and prices. Good news! There were two tickets left, yay! Bad news...they were $250 a piece. Ton Ton was willing to pay $500 of money we didn't have to see one of the Beatles, but I refused. In the end, I won, and we didn't go to the show. Instead, we played the slot machines, won about $800 and lost it all before getting on the plane home. Yes, we even gambled in the airport.

Anyway... ever since that trip, the name Paul McCartney can't come up in casual conversation without Ton Ton giving me the evil eye and saying that not going to that show was "the biggest mistake of his life, Paul is old and he can die at any moment." Oh, my Ton Ton and his penchant for overreacting...

Ok, so fast-forward to this past June: I'm thirty million weeks pregnant and we find out that the Beatles' front man will be playing Atlanta on August 15 with much more accessible ticket prices. Ton Ton starts doing his happy dance..."this is great! we can drive down for the day, maybe crash at your brother's place, oh we'll have so much fun!" Yeap, that all sounded great, except for the pronoun, we. He seemed to have forgotten that by August 15, I would have a tiny person permanently attached to my boobs. I could see the disappointment in his face, so I decided to give him a ticket and permission to go to the concert with a friend as his birthday present.

And that is how Ton Ton spent this past Saturday in Atlanta, standing in a park, wiping tears from his eyes as Paul belted out "Hey Jude." He came home ecstatic, proclaiming it the best show he'd ever seen, talking about how wonderful and friendly Paul was, how he played for three hours, the energy, the lights, the fireworks...I just handed Luki to him and told him to change his diaper.

I admit it, I was a little bit jealous. The thing is, Luki has changed our lives so much; we love him in a way that we didn't even know existed before he arrived, and our love for each other has multiplied. Ton Ton, who is even more sentimental since becoming a dad, recently told me that he fell in love with me all over again when he saw me give birth to our son. Yet, Luki hasn't changed the fact that we love to rock, and go to the cinema, and try out new restaurants, and travel. And, I think it's important that we continue to do all those things...they will keep us sane and our son grounded. As much as I care about our baby, I don't want him to ever think he is the center of the universe, not even our small, three person, solar system.

So, in the end, I'm glad Ton Ton got to see one of the Beatles. It's a great story he can share with Luki when he's older. And I know that the day will come when our son's fixation with my boob will be replaced with an obsession with baseball, or playing guitar, or vacuuming WITH HIS DADDY. And on that day...I shall rock again!

There's a new gordo in town.

2009-08-11T15:02:00.010-04:00

My little brother, Ani, is home for a week before he heads off to Atlanta to finish up his undergraduate degree at Georgia Tech. He spent this summer in Boston interning for Raytheon and only came home once before -- for his nephew's birthday. A few days before his arrival, Big E began preparing industrial sized quantities of his favorite foods because, "last time your brother was here we were so caught up with Luki's birth, that I hardly paid any attention to him!" Big E is convinced that when Ani is not home eating her food, he is simply not eating anything at all.

Like any good Cuban mother, Big E has a special kind of love for her only male offspring, her little boy, her gordo (even though he is tall and lean). A love so special that, when I was pregnant, she actually admitted to me that one of the reasons she wanted Belly to be a girl was so that el gordo's place in her heart and our family would not be compromised. Well...I'm sorry everybody, but Luki is here to steal the show!

Now, as much as Big E tries to keep her gordo center stage, she cannot help herself; Luki is just too darn cute! Plus, we've already established that he has magical powers. This is a basic snapshot of what this week has been like so far:

Big E (to Ani): So, you are applying to grad school at MIT and Stanf...DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE? LUKI JUST SMILED AT ME! HE KNOWS WHO I AM!

Big E (to Ani): ...do you think you'll take Raytheon's offer? Well if they are willing to pay for your grad...LUKI IS TRYING TO TALK TO ME! LOOK AT THAT, HE IS TRYING TO SAY ABUELITA!

Big E (to Ani): Are you ready for the GRE? What time is...WHY IS LUKI CRYING? NO, NO, GIVE ME THAT BABY, YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW HOW TO COMFORT HIM...

Big E (to Luki): YOU ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, MOST PERFECT LITTLE BOY I'VE EVER SEEN! ABUELITA LOVES YOU SO MUCH! (to Ani): gordo, I love you too.

Doctor's visit -- our new happy hour

2009-08-07T14:53:00.007-04:00

Luki had his second doctor's appointment yesterday. Finally! Ton Ton and I had been waiting with baited breath for this -- the way we used to look forward to Friday nights out on the town and sleeping 'til noon on Saturdays. At his first appointment, when he was only 4 days old, he was proclaimed in excellent health...but in the past thirty days, we'd come up with a host of questions and concerns. Our excellent pediatrician answered them all to our satisfaction...

How much weight has he gained? Well, babies should gain an ounce a day, so Luki should have gained 30 oz, instead, he put on 45oz. He is an eating machine!

How about length? Should have grown 1 inch, instead, he grew 1.75 inches. Such an overachiever!

Why is his belly button sticking out like that? Because he has an umbilical hernia! Yay! Why does this congenital malformation make me happy? Because I had one too! That is why today my navel is so big and deep, I can fit a nickel in it. In your face Ton Ton! He may have your eyebrows, your mouth, your chin, your skin color.... but NOT the belly button! NOT THE BELLY BUTTON!

Is it normal for the poops to be non-stop, fly out of his butt like missiles, and attack his parents? Yes.

Is it normal for him to be going prematurely bald? Yes.

Is it normal that he constantly spits up a cheese-like substance and tries to eat it? Yes.

So, as you can see, our little boy is amazing! He got a shot at the doctor's office and took it like a champ -- much better than his daddy who, hours later, was still absolutely heart broken to see him get poked in the thigh.

Luki is also really glad he got to go to the doctor, now he can finally update his match.com profile.

Name: Luki
Age: 1 month, 1 week
Height: 22.25 in
Weight: 9 lb 14 oz
Hobbies: sucking, sharting, staring, sleeping, smiling

It's our monthiversary!

2009-08-02T12:54:00.012-04:00

All of our friends with children warned us about this, and it is absolutely true. Time flies when you have a baby! Luki is one month old today even though I just pushed him out yesterday! I guess I need to start packing his bags, because next week he will be heading off to college.

If Luki was our employee, his probation period would be over and we'd have an evaluation. He would totally get to keep his job! Of course, we'd give him a few tips about trying to not shart or throw up on his parents as often, but overall he'd get positive reviews for: sleeping 4-5 straight hours at night, his amazing neck control, and his ability to focus and track objects with his eyes. Oh, and he'd definitely get points for melting our hearts with the ever increasing smiles. We have yet to catch them on camera, but they happen.

Although, the truth of the matter is that we are his employees. I wonder if he'd let us keep our jobs...our evaluations would probably go something like this:

"Mom, thanks for the breast milk; it's really good, but I do not find it amusing when you put your nipple in and out of my mouth just to see my reaction, please, do not mess with my food. And Dad, I really appreciate that you play guitar and sing me to sleep...but could you stop belting out the Christmas carols? Not sure if you've noticed, but it is August, not December! And one last thing everybody, I know I'm going bald, I can see it, you don't have to constantly remind me of it...I'm sensitive about my receding hairline!"

Congratulations on surviving a whole month with us Luki! You are a true champ!

The cost of pushing

2009-07-29T12:01:00.006-04:00

So I got this little gem in the mail a couple of days ago. $9,719.15. That's how much it costs to be in pain for twelve hours; pee, poo, and vomit in front of complete strangers; and have your vajayjay on display for the world to see. And, this is actually less than most births because I didn't get the epidural. Have I mentioned that I didn't get the epidural? Well I didn't, you know, because I'm ~~scared to death of being poked in the back with a needle~~ brave and hardcore like that.

Anyway, I have three things to say about this:

1. Thank God I have insurance, otherwise, Ton Ton would have to sell a kidney in order to afford his baby.

2. How is it that something women have been doing since the beginning of time now costs 10K? For that kind of money, kids should come with some sort of guarantee or refund/exchange option. I, for one, would go to the hospital and ask for a baby who didn't treat my boobs like they were crack. Oh, and while we're at it, can I get one that looks at least a little bit like me and not EXACTLY like his father?

3. I've always been a proponent of universal health care, and now I am even more convinced that this country needs to go in that direction. It isn't just about health, it's about life! Having a baby is a right, not a privilege reserved for those who can afford it or have insurance. Babies are expensive enough as it is; getting smacked with a ten thousand dollar fine for pushing is just outrageous!

Ok, I'm off my soap box now, and I must bid you adieu, my little crackhead needs a hit...

Luki Potter and the missiles of poop

2009-07-16T14:40:00.010-04:00

As I was changing Luki's diaper earlier today, I got some poop on my finger. I finished wrapping up his bottom and casually went to the bathroom to rinse off. There was human feces on my finger, and I remained unfazed.

Babies have magical powers!

In the past three weeks everything and everyone in our house has been peed, pooped, or vomited on. And what do we do? Either ignore it or, better yet, laugh!!

A couple of days ago, Big E was changing his diaper, and just as she had taken the dirty one off...Luki decided to shart. Like a missile, poop traveled at least three feet across the room and landed on the couch, the floor, the cushions, a book; it was everywhere. Fortunately, Big E has good reflexes and was able to save herself. Our reaction? To laugh hysterically.

On Sunday, he did it again...in front of company! Ton Ton was changing him and he fired another massive poop missile. Sadly, Ton was not as lucky as Big E and ended up having to change his t-shirt. Our friend, who witnessed the entire scene, described it as: "amazing, incredible, never seen anything like it"...and, of course, "hilarious."

How has shit gone from being the most disgusting thing ever to eliciting laughter?

I'll tell you how...Luki is a wizard and has us all under a spell.

I, personally, have not been acting like my usual self since my water broke. For one, my level of patience has multiplied tenfold. Despite the fact that sometimes Luki cries even though he is not hungry, dirty, or being mauled by rats; I have yet to throw him across the room. Plus, I've become super organized...I never take off Luki's dirty onesies and throw them on the floor, like I do my own clothes. And...I seem to no longer need sleep to stay alive!

Luki is transforming me into a mom! Must...resist...the...urge..to...buy...high-waisted...jeans....

One week down, a lifetime to go

2009-07-11T12:33:00.015-04:00

Luki has been home for a week and everybody is still alive and healthy...GREAT SUCCESS!

Although...Big E is hanging by a thread. She will either give herself a heart attack if she continues to worry about every minute detail pertaining to the baby, or she will die of sadness when Ton Ton and I begin to restrict her visitations. Big E is a dilemma filled with pros and cons:

Con: Although she hasn't officially moved in, she is here all the time.
Pro: She brings food with her.

Con: She is constantly nagging us about the need to disinfect everything: baby's bottles, pacifier, our sheets, and, my boobs.
Pro: She is always happy to disinfect Luki's butt when he sharts (shits + farts).

Con: She always wants to hold the baby, even when he's placidly sleeping in Ton Ton's arms.
Pro: She always wants to hold the baby, even when he's screaming at the top of his lungs...making it possible for Ton Ton to placidly sleep in my arms.

So far, I'd say the pros outweigh the cons, but if she tries to come at my nipple with a Clorox disinfectant wipe, I am drawing the line!!

Alright, enough about her, Luki is the star of this show and I'm sure you've been wondering what he's been up to for the past week. Well, we have discovered that he is remarkably like his parents.

1. He loves to eat. Basically, I'm a mobile food unit...a taco truck of sorts. Every two to three hours Luki walks up to the counter and orders the breast milk special, which he gulps down with gusto. When we took him to the pediatrician two days after being released from the hospital, he had already gained 5 oz and grown half an inch.

2. He likes the night life. Luki has figured that, if his parents won't take him out to 'get his club on', he will bring the entertainment to them. So, at around midnight, he begins to belt out his favorite musical note... LAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! LAAAAAAAAAAAA! It's so thoughtful of him to want to sing for his parents.

3. Music makes him happy. We play music for him all the time and it has a very calming effect...except for my singing. For some reason, when I sing he gets even more upset; I guess his hearing is just not mature enough for such raw talent. He also began his musical training, here he is getting his first guitar lesson...

And us? Well, Ton Ton and I are tired, but we are enjoying every minute we get to spend with our baby. And, our kid handling skills have improved substantially over the past week. Diapering has gone from a two man, four hand operation to a quick one person job, and last night we bathed Luki without Big E's supervision. Pretty good for two people who had never handled a newborn before!

Week's activity that made it all oh, so real: Rearranging our kitchen cabinets and replacing our wine and shot glasses with baby bottles, nipples, and breast pump accessories.

Welcome home, little Luki

2009-07-07T23:14:00.026-04:00

I made a baby. Granted, Ton Ton collaborated with some sperm, and I believe God supervised the entire operation...but, in essence, I made a baby. A real life human person, with ten fingers and ten toes, lived inside me for 9 months, and I pushed him out of an orifice much smaller than he. I did it!

I really think that moms need to start making a bigger deal out of giving birth. Seriously, we should get standing ovations every time we walk into a room. I definitely plan on trying to get special credit for having a son. Next time someone asks me what my greatest accomplishment is, I will not hesitate to answer like this...

...it all started on Wednesday, July 1, 2009 in the late afternoon. I had arrived home from work, and sat on the couch to catch the last bit of the Ellen show. Ton Ton was in the kitchen making dinner, and we were supposed to go see "Away we go" that night. Suddenly, I felt like I was peeing my pants. I got up and stood in the dining room as, what seemed like a pitcher of water, dripped from my crotch.

Ton Ton called Big E right away, and I got on the phone with my doctor's office. After answering a series of questions, such as..."is there anything hanging out of your vagina, like a foot, or an arm?", I was told to go to the hospital. Ton Ton started to freak out and frantically finish packing our bags. I had no contractions or other labor symptons, so I took a shower and leisurely got dressed. On the way to the hospital, we had to stop at the pharmacy so that I could buy some hair gel (I had just ran out that morning!) and, of course, our car's gas light was on, so we had to fill up.

In the hospital, I got checked in and put on the baby monitor. I started to have very minor cramps, and could see on the monitor that they were contractions. "This is it?," I thought.."pffff...I can totally handle this!" I watched T.V. and chit- chatted with Ton Ton and my parents, a few good friends came by to visit too.

I had to get an IV, and it took two different nurses and three tries on both arms to find a vein. At that time, that was much more painful than the contractions. The nurse asked me what my thoughts were on getting an epidural, and I said I was going to try to hold out as long as I could. In my head, I was thinking..."if it took them that long to find a vein in my arm, I am NOT letting them mess around with a giant needle in my back!".

My doctor, Doctor B, was not on call that night, so instead Thor was in charge of my delivery. (That is his real name, by the way!). He didn't come to check me until I had been in the hospital for a few hours. Big E ran into him in the cafeteria and gave him an earful, something about, "my little girl is in labor, and you haven't even come by to introduce yourself..." He explained that he wanted to let me make some progress on my own. When he came, I was 5 cm dilated...and not in much pain. A very good sign. Thor is the most soft-spoken person I have met, he kept mumbling things, and I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or the nurses.

I continued to have contractions, each getting substantially stronger. I would ask Ton Ton to hold me, then to let me go. I was cold, then I was hot. I wanted to be talked to, and the next minute, left alone. The nurses checked me and my cervix was not dilating fast enough. So, Thor ordered that I get a little bit of Pitocin to speed up the process. It was around 5:00 a.m.

At that point, the contractions were so severe that everything is a blur. I just remember I really wanted to push, and they would not let me. A nurse checked me and thought that I was fully dilated, but then Thor came in and mumbled something. The nurse translated that he didn't think I was fully dilated yet and that he would be back in 15 minutes. I stared at the clock through every contraction and kept asking for Thor. I just wanted to push! When he came back, he mumbled something else about it not being time yet, and that he'd be back in half an hour. I wailed FUUUUUUUUUCCK! Big E was much more offended than Thor was.

Finally, Thor came back and he gave the OK to push. Pushing felt so much better! I looked out my window, and could see that day was breaking. I push, push, push, push, PUSHED, and suddenly had a purple little boy in my arms. He came with the sun, at 7:39 a.m.

After meeting him, I couldn't believe I ever thought Belly would be anyone else but him. He is my Luki, Ton Ton's Luki, everybody's Luki. We love him more than we could have ever imagined.

It's a boy! Let the blue invasion begin!

2009-07-02T20:40:00.003-04:00

Lucas Manuel was born at 7:39 a.m. on Thursday, July 2, 2009. He weighs 7 lbs 5 oz and measures 20 inches. He has giant bird-like claw hands (I knew he was part pigeon!). His momma delivered him without drugs, because she is hard-core like that. More details to come soon!

Forty Weeks...

2009-06-29T11:31:00.014-04:00

Today is my due date and there is no sign of baby; I haven't even had a proper contraction yet. My lazy cervix has stayed at 2 cm dilated and 50% effaced for the past three weeks. Of course, Ton Ton is stressed out -- the way he gets when we have a plane to catch and I'm still doing laundry a few hours before takeoff. He seems to believe that calling every hour, on the hour, to inquire about the state of my uterus, will send me into labor. That technique may work to get me to run errands, but it's not working on Belly!

I too am anxious to meet our baby, but figure that I can use a few more nights of limited sleep before they turn into nights of no sleep at all. Plus, I really want to go see "Away we go"...I got priorities people!

Last time I went to the doctor, he told me that I will be induced on July 8 if the baby hasn't come by then. 41 weeks and 2 days. I do not want to be induced, it is not part of my plan/pipe dream! I saw the Business of Being Born, and Ricki Lake said that all those extra interventions are bad for baby. I am supposed to go into labor naturally and have the kid without any drugs. I even considered doing it at home in a birthing pool, but I care too much about my hardwood floors.

Why I choose to believe in Ricki Lake instead of personal experience is beyond me. In the past few months, three of my friends have had their births induced and they have nothing but good things to say about their experiences (and their epidurals!). They all had beautiful, healthy babies that are thriving. The film also implies that mothers who have c-sections don't bond well with their kids. Well, my brother and I were both born via cesarean section, and I can assure you that Big E had no trouble bonding with us. We are actually still trying to completely cut off the umbilical cord.

Despite all of that, I'd still like this baby to come when he or she is good and ready and not thanks to Pitocin. But I've also decided that if Belly needs to be induced out of me, I will just take it as a compliment to my uterus. Maybe there's a whirlpool tub and a plasma TV in there!

Flexibility -- it's what being a parent is all about, right?

Other plans/pipe dreams that may fall by the wayside: breastfeeding for a year and cloth diapers!

R.I.P. King of Pop

2009-06-25T22:15:00.003-04:00

Ton Ton has been working on a special "labor playlist" for me. A mix of happy, upbeat songs I can sing along to while having contractions in order to, hopefully, ease the pain. Last week he was playing some of the songs he had chosen, and one of them was "Say Say Say", the duet between Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson. I immediately requested he add more of Michael's songs to the list.

Last year, we threw Ton Ton a big birthday party. It was a live karaoke event -- his musician friends played instruments and the rest of the guests sang. Ani and I did a rendition of "Beat It".

If we have a house party and it goes past 2:00 a.m., you can bet "Thriller" will come on the stereo. Ton Ton and I will probably lead whoever is still around in the dance.

The first song Ton Ton and I ever danced to was "The way you make me feel". After seeing him do the moonwalk and grab his crotch, I KNEW I had found the one!

As a college student in D.C. right after September 11, I went to a United We Stand concert with a bunch of my best friends. The headliner was Michael Jackson. We sat in a hot stadium all day waiting for him to come on. At around 11:00 p.m., he took the stage and sang "Man in the mirror". Our seats were very far away and we were disappointed he only did one song, but it was totally worth it.

Belly may be born into a world without Michael, but not without his music -- Ton Ton and I will make sure of that.

I promise, I won't spontaneously combust

2009-06-23T13:54:00.009-04:00

As a local government employee in the greatest, most industrialized, most powerful nation on earth, it is only logical that I not have maternity leave. After all, that's something that only exists in... PRACTICALLY EVERY OTHER COUNTRY IN THE WORLD!

Wow. That Wikipedia article made me cry a little bit. Women in Azerbaijan get 18 weeks at 100% of their salary, and here I am trying to scrape together all of my sick and vacation days so that I can at least have enough time to teach Belly how to microwave milk and call 911 if there's an emergency.

So, at 39 weeks pregnant, and with my cervix dilated to two centimeters, I am still being hoisted up from bed every morning in order to go to work. And I plan to do this until I am physically removed from my office because the yelling from the pain of my contractions is scaring away the customers.

The truth (or what I've brainwashed myself to believe) is that it's not so bad. I feel pretty good for being 39 weeks pregnant, plus, if I stayed home all day, I would just check my drawers every ten minutes to see if I'm leaking amniotic fluid. Working helps me to not obsess about when this baby is going to come. Yea. It's good for my mental health. It keeps me active. Yea. Yea. Going to work every day is just great. I could not be happier.

Big E and Uli, however, do not share my joy. They are convinced that I am going to go into labor and have the kid on the highway on my way to the office. Because you know, babies, especially in the case of first time moms, are born in a matter of seconds. Bam! Even I could miss the birth if I don't pay close attention.

My co-workers, on the other hand, are quivering with the fear that "it" will happen in the office. They've made sure to inform me that none of them know how to deliver a baby. Oh no! Who will help me when I spontaneously combust and produce another human being?

I know that everyone is just worried and wants me to have a pleasant birth experience, but there is no reason to be so alarmed at the sight of a 39 week old bump.

And, maybe if I have the kid at work, the experience will be so traumatic for everyone that it will compel the powers that be to change the maternity leave policy!

Father's Day

2009-06-21T21:51:00.004-04:00

I am very disappointed in my uterus. Father's day is practically over, and it didn't even try to contract once. Not even a Braxton-Hicks. I was really hoping this kid would come today...can you imagine? I would never have to buy Ton Ton a Father's Day present again! I was already planning the conversation we would have next February:

Me: So, Mother's Day is coming up
Ton Ton: It's not 'til May!
Me: Well, I'm just saying...remember what I got you for Father's Day last year. I worked on that gift for nine months!

No such luck. Instead of giving Ton Ton the gift of life, I celebrated Father's Day at home, as we hosted a barbecue for family and friends. We gave Uli a hat that says #1 Grandpa and he LOVED it! He immediately put it on, and made sure everyone at the party noticed it. I just hope the hat doesn't create any problems for him in the future, like in this case...

I can't wait for Belly to meet #1 Grandpa and World's Greatest Dad. That's one lucky baby!

Belly Yankee, the next reggaeton superstar

2009-06-18T14:49:00.005-04:00

I've done the math. Even though we will be getting a tax break for Belly, it will not be nearly enough to cover diapers, childcare, health insurance, food, clothes, etc., etc., etc. So...Ton Ton and I are hoping (fingers crossed, knock on wood) that Belly can get a part time job sometime around age 2. Ever since I got pregnant, we've been preparing to cultivate certain skills in our baby that will make him or her stand out in this very competitive job market. Our focus will be in two core areas: languages and music.

It's a no brainer that Belly will be bilingual. I am from Cuba and Ton Ton is from Venezuela, so our little Cubazuelan-American will definitely speak English and Spanish. For the past nine months, we have been stocking up on all manner of didactic tools in the inglés and español: books, flash cards, interactive games, you name it. (As an aside, there is also the possibility of us giving birth to the next great dictator, another very lucrative career. The name Hugofidel was a close second, after Lucas, for a boy.)

As far as music, as you saw in my last post, I am practically a professional singer; and Ton Ton really is a hell of a guitar player. We hope that Belly will inherit some of his talent, and the rest will be garnered from a constant exposure to good tunes. Ton Ton has been working on a special iPod playlist for baby from the moment I peed on the stick.

Ideally, Belly will fuse his or her language and musical abilities to come up with something really great (and profitable!).

In an attempt to scout out the competition, I recently googled "Latin Grammy's best children's album," and what I found is truly remarkable. The 2008 winner of the Latin Grammy for Best Latin Children's Album was Miguelito with his record, "El Heredero." Allow me to introduce him:

For those of you who do not speak the español, Móntala means "Ride her".
My personal favorite lines from the song:

"Y ya llego miguelito
Como siempre a montarla
Si no abre la puerta pues
Yo voy a tumbarla"

Very loosely translated:

"Miguelito has arrived,
as always, to ride her.
If she doesn't open the door,
I will knock it down"

Looks like Belly has some tough competition to look forward to!

Pregnancy cliffnotes: A brief look at the past 9 months.

2009-06-14T13:08:00.012-04:00

I have officially been pregnant for 38 weeks. Before I cease to house another human in my body, let's take a look back at the most memorable moments of this journey...

First Trimester, in which I peed on the stick
This is me on October 11, 2008. I had climbed on stage to sing with Los Enanitos Verdes. I didn't know it at the time, but Belly was there too...most likely splashing around a pool of Heineken. A couple of weeks later, on my birthday, I peed on three different sticks and EVERYTHING changed. My initial reaction was to google hysterical pregnancy and talk myself into it. In other words, I convinced myself that I had convinced myself I was pregnant. Then, we heard the kid's heartbeat and it became real. While Ton Ton, Big E, Uli, Ani, Mamacita, and everyone else around me did back flips, I was a big ball of hormones who couldn't stomach any animal products. It was not the best of times.
Most valuable lesson learned: How to cry on cue, and use it to my advantage.

Second Trimester, in which the bump made its debut
By week 16, my aversion to animal products had faded and I was putting away industrial sized plates of food, specially ice cream. However, I must insist that my rapid weight gain (9 lbs in 4 weeks!) was due to an abnormally heavy baby and placenta. It was also around this time that we saw Belly on the ultrasound. We took Big E and Mamacita and they tried to bribe the nurse into telling them the sex, but she didn't budge. I spent the next few weeks obsessing over the blurry ultrasound pictures, convinced that I saw a bird-like claw where the baby's foot was supposed to be. Doctor B. assured me that the kid is not part pigeon.
Most valuable lesson learned: How to maximize size and exposure of the bump to skip ahead in line.

Third Trimester, in which I acquired my own gravitational pull
Despite no longer being able to tie my shoes, this has by far been the best part of pregnancy. Ton Ton and I took a fabulously relaxing trip to Cancún (no, we didn't catch swine flu!) that consisted of lying on the beach for hours, eating, taking naps, and eating some more. When we returned, it was shower time! And we didn't have just one, but three fantastical showers thrown by our amazing friends, families, and co-workers. They all featured our two favorite things: food (lots and lots of it!) and free stuff! We cannot thank everyone enough. So...this is Ton Ton, Belly, and me hanging out at home last Saturday night. I'm taking a brief hiatus from singing back-up for major international artists, but having just as much fun!
Most valuable lesson learned: How to go to the bathroom several times a night without opening my eyes.

Like father, like Belly

2009-06-11T09:45:00.013-04:00

I had my 37 week appointment yesterday. At this point, Dr. B is checking my cervix every time I go in. I will spare you the details. I will say that he emerged from his expedition with some interesting news: I am 2 cm dilated and 50% effaced! Upon seeing the look of complete and utter shock on my face, Dr. B asked, "What did you think? That the kid would come a week after your due date?" Actually, YES! That is exactly what I thought. I played July 5 in our baby pool. I was sure I would have a slacker, procrastinating baby...just like mommy. A baby that thrived under pressure, one that executed a perfect delivery right before it was time to induce; after all, I wrote my best papers in college the nights (and mornings) before they were due.

I had failed to factor in Ton Ton's genes.

Now, 2 cm and 50% effaced doesn't mean this kid is coming right away. I could walk around like this for weeks...but things are definitely progressing. And, if Belly is anything like Ton Ton, he or she will be here early or on time. How did I not realize this before? Ton Ton! Who believes in being fashionably punctual, and starts packing for trips three weeks in advance!

I wonder what other traits the baby might get from dad. Will I have a mini-Ton crawling around our home, telling me I can't leave my shoes in the living room? Lighting vanilla scented candles? Talking to our house plants? I guess I could live with that...just please, dear God, don't let Belly inherit his chicken legs!

Remember Elian?

2009-06-09T10:02:00.008-04:00

Upon finding out that Big E had purchased a major home appliance using Belly as her only criterion, Ton Ton became very concerned. He had expressed some mild discomfort in the past, like when she told us to register for an extra playpen just for her, and the time he heard her talking to Uli about adding "Belly's wing" to her house. But this time, he was for real afraid. He even confessed to having nightmares in which he came home from work to find out Belly was staying at grandma's and visitation hours were over.

I reassured him that his concerns were legitimate, and suggested we have a family meeting where he could voice his opinion. I would set the whole thing up, and I would try my hardest not to laugh. I have a problem with inappropriate laughter.

When I told Big E that Ton Ton (and I) wanted to meet with her and Uli, she immediately said, "Why does your husband have a personal vendetta against me? What have I ever done to him?" Then she called my father to tell him they were being ambushed. Uli, the voice of reason, told her to calm down and reminded her of Elian Gonzalez and what happened when his extended relatives overstepped their boundaries. They agreed to the family meeting.

We sat around our living room and Ton Ton started. He spoke about how important it was for us to have grandparents involved in Belly's life, and how much we appreciated how excited they were...and that we just wanted to make sure they understood that Belly would live with us, and that we would be making the decisions about baby. I nodded my head in agreement, and held back chuckles. Uli then spoke and said that he agreed with us completely, and that they just wanted to help and would never want to take our place in Belly's life. Big E remained stoic.

Ton Ton prodded some more, hoping to elicit a satisfactory response from Big E. He talked about how he did not want Belly to witness confrontations between him and her, and how he wanted to get his feelings out in the open before baby, to avoid any future problems. Still no response from her. Uli reassured us everything would be alright.

As they were leaving, Big E asked me to give her more baby clothes to launder in her new special washer and dryer...

A Laundry Story

2009-06-06T15:14:00.017-04:00

Because I'm making a baby with the lieutenant of timeliness, productivity, and efficiency, there is really very little left for us to do except wait for Belly. Our nursery had freshly painted walls and new floors installed during the first trimester and all of baby's furniture and accessories have long been assembled (nursery post to come soon!).

One of the few things pending is the laundry. A little known fact to those who haven't reproduced is that, apparently, babies can't wear clothes off the rack. Their clothes and sheets need to first be washed with a special baby soft detergent. If it were up to Ton Ton, Belly's clothes would have been washed long ago, however, Big E strictly prohibited us from doing laundry until she inspected our washer and dryer. Needless to say, our four year old Maytags did not pass inspection. "These need to be completely disinfected before you can wash Belly's clothes!", proclaimed Big E. "I am going to disinfect mine, and start washing some of the clothes and other things I have bought for Belly at my house."

And so, after several days of cleaning her perfectly clean washer and dryer, Big E began to wash Belly's things. After washing, she refused to dry anything on a cycle that produced heat ("that static is so bad for baby!")...and so decided to use the "Air Dry" function. After having Belly's clothes tumble around for an hour or so, she opened the dryer to find.....completely wet clothes. So, she did what any reasonable person would do: continued to use "Air Dry" for several hours until her dryer broke.

It's alright. Big E had been wanting a new washer and dryer for some time. So off she went to the store with Uli in search for new ones. And what factor do you think influenced her decision to purchase? Price? Color? Brand? Size? Nope.

Big E managed to find a washer and dryer with a "Baby Wear" function. Her mind was made up.

Not only that, but now that she has a front loading washer and dryer that she can stack on top of each other, she has extra room in her laundry. She immediately commissioned Uli to make her a counter with a nice big sink. The perfect bathtub for Belly!

The end result? Baby clothes that have been washed, dried, folded, and individually wrapped in plastic (to keep the dust away, of course!).

And a traumatized and terrified Ton Ton, more about that in a future post....

Bienvenidos

2009-06-04T11:29:00.001-04:00

Welcome to everybodylovesbaby! I meant to start this blog a while ago to document my pregnancy and all the insanity surrounding it, but alas, I am a slacker. Hey! At least I'm still pregnant! I have four more weeks to go. I will write about pregnancy highlights in a future post, but this blog will really be about the adventures of baby, being new parents, and the whole lot of other people involved in this journey. If my pregnancy is any indication, things are really going to get exciting when I pop this kid out.

Let's begin by introducing the main characters:

Belly: is our baby. We do not know the sex. If it is a girl, we will continue to call her Belly (spelled Beli) as her name will be Belén. If it is a boy, his name will be Lucas, no cute nickname yet. Lulo? Perhaps. Currently, Belly's favorite activity is waking mom up at 4:00 a.m. with an insatiable appetite.
**Belly is now Luki! a healthy, beautiful baby boy born on July 2, 2009. We don't know much about him yet, except he has giant hands and loves to eat.

Ton Ton: is my husband and baby daddy. His favorite things are: 1. playing guitar; 2. cleaning and organizing; 3. finishing projects once he starts them. Pregnancy has turned him into a sap. He thinks I don't notice, but he totally gets teary eyed when we read "Guess how much I love you" to Belly. What a crybaby!

Big E: is my mother. To say she is excited about Belly is a gross understatement. Have you seen the 12 year old girls at the Jonas Brothers concerts? That is exactly how she acts every time she steps into Babies R Us. Big E is also Ton Ton's nemesis. They have a love/HATE relationship.

Uli: is my father and a superhero. He can build anything you can imagine, cook the best Cuban food, and make sure Big E's car always has gas in it, all at the same time, and with a smile. Uli secretly wants Belly to be a boy; he has to keep it secret because Big E wants a girl and she will not hear it any other way.

Mamacita: is my mother in law. She lives in Venezuela, but visits often. Mamacita likes to book her trips to the U.S. for three months at a time so that she can have two months to complain about how much she misses home. She will be joining us in October, again for three months. Belly will be her seventh grandchild, but the first from her precious Ton Ton, so she is quite thrilled.

Ani: is my brother and a superhero in training. Despite being quiet and laid back, strange things happen to him all the time. He is excited about Belly, but expresses his feelings in a normal, non-seizure inducing kind of way.

There are many others who will be part of this adventure, and I will be sure to introduce them as they appear.

Now that you know some of the characters, I'll be back soon with stories!