The Dog Days of Summer

what’s on your soundtrack?

This evening, as my daughter was entertaining herself in, what I like to call, the Under the Sea seat,

I tuned in to hear it playing Pachelbel’s Canon,

which was, as it is for many people, one of the songs played during our wedding ceremony.

The flautist played that most beautiful Canon in D,

As the people most important to us walked down the aisle.

It is a song that will forever be on our soundtrack.

When it came time for me to walk down the aisle, my own quivering elbow linked with my dad’s strong arm,

it was a saxophone, playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”,

that serenaded us down our path;

a road not paved in bricks, nor yellow in hue, but one that lead me to my new place called home.

But, I bet you could have guessed that.

Another song in our sacred list.

When I made my way back up the aisle,

after the vows were recited, the glass broken, the lips kissed,

my arm now linked with my new husband’s,

it was “All You Need is Love” that filled the room.

And now, the words, “All You Need is Love–Love is All You Need” hang in our home,

on a painting,

that we look at every day.

Another song on our mix.

Of course, there’s Sweethearts Together,

which has been in our soundtrack for as long as we have been an us.

And, our beloved This Will Be Our Year,

which served as our solace in the past,

and is now our precious nighttime serenade.

There are so many more songs that have filled our lives,

given color to our days,

and lulled us to sleep;

as well as the sweetest sounds of the baby’s voice,

her coos and new laughter,

that are now, and forever, part of our most sacred soundtrack.

The world that we’ve created and the family that we’ve made has always been filled with music.

And now, everything sounds just a bit lovelier,

as we listen to the songs that have played us down the aisle,

and under the sea,

as our hearts sing,

louder and louder,

with each passing

day.

Simple Things

Last night, as I was rummaging around in my linen closet, I came across the bag of toiletries that I had packed as part of my hospital bag.

I guess this is the time when I admit that I have not yet unpacked my hospital toiletry bag.

Oh well, it’s only been 15 weeks, right?

I hadn’t been looking for this bag, but when I spotted it, I couldn’t help but to take a peak.

Inside, I found bobby pins, a few hair ties, a bar of soap, an aerosol bottle of hydrating water and several small tubes of body lotion.

When I saw what was left in the bag,

What had survived our arduous hospital stay, and had come out unscathed,

Unused,

I couldn’t help but to smile.

It was funny to me

To think of what I thought I’d need post-partum.

I so vividly remember packing my hospital bag,

Weeks before I’d actually need it,

Making sure that everything was organized,

Just so.

I was sure I’d be the most together pregnant woman,

And the most well-equipped new mom.

Well, at least when it came to bath and body products.

Little did I know that hypoallergenic, extra-sensitive moisturizing body lotion would be the very last thing on my list of priorities during my 3 night stay in the maternity ward.

When I packed my bag,

I did not know that I’d have to lug that case to the hospital three times before I was allowed to stay.

When I packed my bag,

I never imagined I’d undergo a C-Section,

Making it impossible to brush my teeth, wash my face, shower or even stand up without assistance from the nurses, my husband, and an IV drip of round-the-clock painkillers.

When I packed my bag,

I didn’t understand that, in the coming weeks, moisturizing would rank just as high on my list of priorities as a diamond studded door-knob.

When I packed my bag,

I could never have dreamed how I’d be leaving the hospital,

Lighter in toiletry,

Heavier in love-filled heart.

It’s funny—in preparing for a baby,

You can never actually prepare.

You know things will be different, but you can’t actually know how your priorities,

Your life,

Your everything,

Will change.

Before my daughter was born, I stocked up on big, fancy, flowered hats.

Just what a baby girl needs.

Or so I thought.

For the first 6 weeks of her life, my daughter basically lived in the same, ratty, free, pink hat that was given to us at the hospital.

It was the softest, it fit her head snugly, and it was the most comfortable.

It may have been threadbare,

And a bit of an eyesore,

But it was the best.

Before my daughter was born, we thought she’d love the new, fancy, high-tech baby gear items we registered for.

As it turns out,

Her most favorite things are actually the tried and true hand-me-downs that we have received.

They may be threadbare,

And a bit of an eyesore,

But they are the best.

Before my daughter was born,

I thought I’d be a together mom.

I remember thinking, “How can it be that hard?”

And then, I endured the days of labor, the grueling recovery, the endless nights, the “witching hours” and the frantic calls to the doctor.

I may have stopped moisturizing.

I may have forgotten to brush my hair for a few hours,

Or a day,

Or two.

I may have been threadbare,

And a bit of an eyesore,

But I became the best.

The very best me I have ever been.

And although I may be a bit rough around the edges,

It is my skin that my daughter sinks into as she nestles into my nook for a nap.

It is my tired eyes that she gazes into, as she lights up, from deep within.

My reflection in the mirror may be different than it once was,

But I can assure you,

I have never before loved

the me that I see,

As much as I do today.

So, last night, I tucked the hospital bag back into the linen closet, not ready to unpack it’s contents.

Not quite yet.

I may not be so together anymore,

But, at the very least, my little bag is.

And if I ever need a reminder,

Of how life has changed,

For the better, better, better,

I know just where to look.

Go Nuts!

The following conversation may or may not have happened this evening:

Me: Do you know what’s a shame?

Husband: What’s that?

Me: That you don’t like peanut butter.

Husband: I know.

Me: Like, seriously. It’s a problem.

Husband: I know. Seriously. It makes no sense.

Me: Seriously! How could you not like peanut butter? It’s amazing.

Husband: I know. I love peanuts, I love butter, I don’t know why I don’t like it. What’s wrong with me?

Me: You have to try it again. It’s soooooooo good. Peanut butter desserts are the BEST.

Husband: I know, I bet peanut butter makes things so much better. I have to like it.

Me: Tonight, I want you to take a spoonful.

Husband: No, I’m not ready.

Me: Come on. Buck up.

Husband: No. But how about a Reese’s.

Me: MMMMMMMM Reese’s.

Husband: How about Reese’s Pieces?

Me: I need them. NOW. Can you go out and get them?

Husband: Really? Ok.

[Husband pauses to think]

Husband: Do you know what we should totally do? We should do a Top Chef style candy bar taste test challenge.

Me: No, we can’ do that. Can we?

Husband: We’re doing it.

Yes, we are adults.

Yes, we are parents.

Yes we have impulse control.

Allegedly.

I don’t care.

He had me at Reese’s.

So, I will give you one guess as to what we will be doing as soon as our daughter falls asleep.

I’ll give you a hint:

It’s nutty.

I know, I crack myself up, too.

Get it?

Crack?

As in “nut”?

Okay, enough. Candy bars are a-callin’.

Judge all you want.

But I’m the one with the candy.

Here is the recipe for making 2 tired, new parents ridiculously happy:

Take 1 boring Thursday night.

Add a boat load of candy.

Throw in a dash of competitive spirit.

Live sweetly and enjoy.

California (baby) Girls

Should I feel guilty that my daughter and I watch this video,

and both stare at the screen,

mesmerized,

with smiles plastered to our faces?

Or, should I feel proud?

I think I’ll go with the latter. My girl knows some good choreography when she sees it.

That’s just something  you’re born with.

Oh, and as a side note,

I used to watch this little ditty last summer,

in my early pregnancy,

and let me tell you,

when I see it now,

a wave of nausea comes over me.

Not because I don’t love this video,

because I do,

oh how I do,

but because my body has a physiological response to it,

that tells me that the Fire Island video must come with a side of morning sickness,

no substitutions.

I still love it, anyway.

goodnight bunnies

“Before you were conceived
I wanted you
Before you were born
I loved you
Before you were here an hour
I would give my life for you
This is the miracle of life.”
-quote by Maureen Hawkins

Going by the old handy-dandy pregnancy calculators,

it was exactly one year ago today

that my daughter first made her grand entrance

into my womb.

I remember that day well,

as we saw a family of rabbits dancing next to our front porch.

This is not a euphemism.

On the day I conceived my daughter,

A group of rabbits hopped and scampered in a circle, as we sat outside, eating dessert, and laughing,

amazed,

at their beautiful recital.

Now, talk about a metaphor.

Maybe those little bunnies were, in fact, a sign;

a harbinger of the tiny dancer who would soon be making my heart skip with her small, amazing kicks,

felt by me,

and me alone,

for so long.

Happy Anniversary,

baby.

I’ve loved you more and more, each day.

Happy Anniversary,

bunnies.

I hope that you are somewhere,

hopping and dancing,

by the light of the summer moon,

and the twinkling fireflies,

whose glow will guide you into tomorrow.

and she did Tell Me More

“You know what’s sad? I’m in the slow part of Summer Lovin’ right now.”

-the baby sis

from the mouths of babes…

…and baby sisters.

As I may have mentioned before,

my sister is a summer intern at the White House.

What I may not have mentioned is that she has been dating someone,

a chap from somewhere overseas,

and he will be returning home this week.

So, just this afternoon, I got the following text from the baby sis:

It read,

“What if [insert name of foreign mystery man] and I are like Grease. We will go back to school and people will ask about our summers and we will spontaneously break out into “Summer Lovin’. ‘Took her bowlin’ in the arcade…”

Well, all I have to say about that is,

Tell me more, tell me more,

like, does he have a car?

There’s nothing like some good musical theater,

or a message from my sister that makes me actually laugh out loud,

on a quiet, hazy Wednesday afternoon.

This Thing Called Love

Believe it or not, when my daughter was born,

I was, instantly, the calm,

low-key mom that I had dreamed of being.

I didn’t fret when the nurses took her for her routine check-ups.

I did not ask about her weight,

Or temperature,

Or level of cuteness.

Actually, that is a lie.

I did ask about her cuteness,

Meaning,

When anyone new came into the room,

I asked, “Isn’t she the absolute cutest baby you’ve ever seen?”

They all said yes, of course.

That’s because she is.

Anyway,

I was so relaxed that the nurses actually had to come in and remind me to nurse her.

I was so relaxed, that I let my baby sleep in the nursery overnight,

Heeding the recommendations of the hospital staff.

I was so relaxed, that I actually slept,

Until the nurses wheeled the baby back in to my room at 6am,

So that I could feed her.

Oh, and yes, my baby slept through the night in the hospital.

Actually, if I’m being completely honest,

I’m convinced that my baby slept through the night in my belly.

What have I been telling you all this time?

Genius, she is.

I was so relaxed, in fact, that when we got home from the hospital,

I felt perfectly fine about allowing our Doula to help me to take are of the baby,

While I focused on my C-Section recovery.

And then, inexplicably, something changed.

I got scared.

I don’t know when it happened, exactly.

I don’t know why,

But suddenly,

I felt fearful.

Was she breathing?

Was she happy?

Bored?

Lonely?

Hurt?

(oh, let me mention, these were all things that I was worried about when she was not crying.)

Could she be picking up germs?

Was she being exposed to enough germs to help boost her immune system?

Was she eating enough?

Was she gaining too fast?

And then, later,

Too little?

Is this poop normal?

And those were just the things that I didn’t have to worry about.

The first weekend we took the baby to the beach,

I struggled with my fear.

I was scared about,

Well,

Everything.

Should people be holding her?

Should I keep her away from the crowds?

Is it too hot outside?

Has she slept enough?

And then, despite all of my worries,

She got hoarse.

Now, her hoarseness was not something that was perceptible to everyone,

But I heard it.

And, so, I freaked.

She was 6 weeks old,

And I was a wreck.

I don’t think I will ever forget,

That Sunday night,

At the shore,

When my husband, my mom, and I crowded into the small bathroom at the beach house,

Baby in our arms,

As we let the hot water run in the shower until the room got nice and steamed up.

We stayed in that room, so that the baby could breathe in the warm, moist air,

Until the three of us were literally drenched in a mixture of sweat and condensation.

My husband and my mom wear glasses, and their lenses were so fogged up that neither of them could see anything,

But in that room, we stayed.

Of course,

I took the baby to the doctor the next morning, after racing home as early as we could get out the door.

He said that she was fine.

He was not worried.

Yet, for some reason, I still was.

It never stopped.

I would lie awake at night,

And watch her breathe,

As she slept in her nest, in the bed, next to me.

My husband stayed up late one night, and the next morning he informed me that I had gotten up approximately 8 times to check on her, in the span of just a few hours.

What was wrong with me?

Before my daughter was born, my husband and I worked hard creating some original artwork for her nursery. You may have read about the enchanted garden we grew.  In addition to the big dugout project, we also took our favorite quotes from songs, and children’s books, and plays, and stenciled them onto painted canvases.

We have everything from “I’ll eat you up, I love you so” from Where the Wild Things Are to “Crazy little thing called love” from the Queen song by that name. We created a space in which my daughter could be embraced by our love, as well as our favorite love-ly sayings.

However, to this date, my daughter has yet to sleep one night in her own room.

It’s not because she doesn’t love being in her nursery.

It’s because I’m scared.

Being a parents is all of the things that all of the people say,

And more.

It’s magical and breathtaking.

And, it’s also scary.

I feel so responsible for this tiny human,

And I can’t seem to shake my fear that I will do something wrong,

Or that something will happen.

Does it make me crazy?

Maybe.
It also makes me a new mom.

But, I am trying.

Right now, my daughter is resting in her nursery.

I am in the room next door,

And I can see and hear her on the monitor,

But I still worry.

I don’t worry about her missing me,

Or being scared,

Or being eaten up by Wild Things.

In fact, at the moment, I don’t know I’m worried about.

But, I do know that I’m trying to breathe,

And stay calm,

And to stop being so nervous.

I guess we were smart when we chose “Crazy little thing called love” to adorn her walls,

Because this kind of love can, in fact, make you a little crazy.

But, if while being a little crazy,

I also get to experience this kind of love,

Then lock me up,

Because this love is crazy amazing.

Insanely rich.

Wildly rewarding.

And true.

So, every day, I’ll continue to work on regaining the sense of calm I had in the early days,

In the hospital,

When everything was so new,

So pure,

And, in many ways, so much simpler.

Less crazy.

And, in the meantime,

I’ll try to

Be Cool

Relax,

Get hip,

and

keep enjoying this crazy little thing

called love.

Over the Rainbow

Somewhere, over the rainbow,

way up high,

there’s a land that I heard of,

once in a lullaby.

If the Sex and the City ladies are my best adult girlfriends,

then Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz gang were my dear childhood playmates.

You see,

for me,

The Wizard of Oz was more than a film.

More than a musical,

or the first colorful movie to light up the screen.

When I was a toddler,

The Wizard of Oz was my life.

I watched this movie every day,

twice a day.

My mom was no longer “mom”.

She was Scarecrow .

My dad was no longer “dad”.

He was Tin Man.

And, of course,

I was Dorothy.

Ms. Gale, if you nasty.

You see, not only would I watch the movie,

I would live the movie.

I knew every song by heart,

and would spout out each line from memory.

Naturally, when I was pregnant,

my husband and I took my daughter to see the ruby slippers at the Smithsonian.

She was in my belly, of course, but I’m sure she stared,

with wonder,

nonetheless.

She is my daughter, after all.

And now, it comes as no surprise that her favorite song just so happens to be “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.

How do I know this,

you ask?

I mean, she does blab, and all,

but it’s not always so easy to translate.

I know that it is her favorite, because not only does she smile and coo and kick her legs when I sing this song,

but she opens her mouth wide, cranes her little neck, and tries to actually sing along.

And no, this is not just me being crazy.

She tries to sing.

Which makes my heart sing.

When I watch her eyes light up,

as I sing her this story of my childhood,

I can’t help but to picture a future of dress-up and dancing and Dorothy, Oh My!

It feels right.

It makes me so happy that I could just click my heels.

I think you get the picture.

I look forward to many trips to Oz together.

Although, does this mean that now she gets to be Dorothy?

Oh well,

as long as I still get to wear my ruby slippers,

it’s all good.

Apple and Tree, How Close You Be.

So, yesterday morning, my mom and I had our typical check-in phone conversation.

It went a little something like this:

Me: I wanted your advice. I’m nervous. I woke up 2 nights in a row and found the baby un-swaddled, with her arms out. Her hands and arms felt cold.

Mom: OK.

Me: No, but seriously, she was sooooooo cold. It was only, like, two hours after we went to bed, but still.

Mom: Alright. No biggie.

Me: Really? I mean, her body was definitely warm, but her hands were, like, freezing.

Mom: OK. She’s fine.

Me: Are you sure?

Mom: Absolutely

Me: Are you positive? What kind of permanent damage could it have caused?

Mom: None. I promise.

Me: Mom, I’m serious. Her hands were so cold.

Mom: Some babies live in igloos, don’t they?

Me: Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re right. OK.

Mom: I think she’s fine.

Me: You think?

And this went on,

and on.

What are the chances that insanity can skip a generation?