Christmas time

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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"