Leo at Two

The good news is that he made it to two.  And me too.

Just after turning two while in Transylvania, the family picked up the Rotavirus.  It hit Leo the day before we flew from Budapest to Boston.

The night before his well-visit at two-years-old with his pediatrician we were in the Emergency Room for dehydration concerns.  They treated him with anti-nausea medicine and he seemed to respond and perk up.

The next morning at his check-up he measured thus:

Ht.  34.5 inches, 52%

Wt.  24.5 pounds, 11%

HC.  48 centimeters, 32%

Later that morning we got the call from the hospital that he tested positive for Rotavirus.

That evening I carried my waif to the car and returned to the ER for an IV line to rehydrate him.

That makes four trips to the ER this summer.  Iza, 1.  Leo, 3.

Our local ER at Newton-Wellesley Hospital, where Leo and Iza were born, is wonderful.  Can't say as much for Budapest!

Rotavirus is terrible.  Yes, there is a vaccine.  No, he wasn't vaccinated.  His sister was.  (That requires a longer post to explain.)  In short, if there is a third child, that child will be vaccinated.  Rotavirus compounded by international travel and jet lag creates a surreal 3 - 8 days.  We are on day 4.

Observed in the Park

There is a large wooden gate designed for a kid to open and close and open and close to pacify a manic-obsessive heart's content.  A toddler of the boy variety is doing just that.  His father warns him to stop because he will pinch his fingers. The warnings turn to shouts.  The father stomps over, yanks the offending fingers away from the door, and again reprimands the crying boy.  He pulls the kid away from the door and leaves him standing there in tears.  And then.  The father reaches over and pinches the already sobbing little boy on the chest.  Hard.  See, if the door won't pinch you. I will. And the father walks back to his bench.

By the way, as far as I can determine, the door is designed in such a way that it is nearly impossible to pinch little fingers.  

Top Ten

Turkish Delight

wide-brimmed straw hats in summer

jasmine pearl tea

eyewear

outdoor fruit and vegetable markets

tepertős pogácsa

freshly ground peanut butter

baking bread

being in my body

pockets

Széchenyi Fürdő

my mother's dumplings

rocking chairs

giving books I love to people I think might love them too

The Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter

diners

grandma Kelley's rice casserole

home made play dough

Le Mans Hall

midwives

baking muffins

Spencer Tunick

wool socks, knee-knigh, with stripes

Coin-Operated Boy by the Dresden Dolls

bread and butter

pumpkin

church bells

African chicken and peanut soup from the New England Soup Factory

martini with blue cheese stuffed olives

1059 Riverside

singing the ABC's as a lullaby

gesztenyepüré

yogurt

sneaking away from a sleeping baby

bodza

Book Club

Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins

Rome

sunflowers

avocados

Indigo Girls

dandelions

sleep

Warren Dunes State Park

french fries

blue

the fact that baking bread is so simple

clean pressed sheets

walking by a lilac bush in bloom

holding hands

playgrounds

NPR

Prairie Home Companion

PBS

hard wood floors

freshly squeezed ABC juice--apple, beet, carrot

handmade afghans

Jeune Homme Nu Assis au Bord de la Mer, by Jean- Hippolyte Flandrin

And Then

And then Leo stepped off the curb.

I reached for him, grabbed his arm. I pulled him back and then

I jumped in front of the car to push it away from him.

And then I thought:  it's okay that I have my hands pressed into the grill. when I hit the pavement bones and muscles might give way.  A second birth.  And then

I screamed, My Baby, My Baby, My Baby.

His nose was bleeding, he cried.

I shouted, Leo too? The car, Leo too?  (In broken Hungarian)

I knew the car hit me (or I hit the car). I wanted to know if the car hit Leo.

No one could say. Or would say.

I sat on the curb. Leo sat upright in my lap, heart to heart. His blood soaked my shirt.

I reached for Iza.  She came and stood next to my, stroking my back.  She took care of me. (That's not her job.) She never cried.

Later a witness said the car's front tire hit Leo in the head.

And then the ambulance came. The police.

There was no fault. Except mine, of course. I am the mother.

It is my job to keep them alive, 
at minimum.

The driver:  a young man in a suit. Two other young men in the car, wearing suits. I didn't say a word to them. I wish I would've told them they weren't to blame.
I worry about them too.

People rushed to the scene:  A woman with a child on her hip, a nurse from high school next door, several men. There was shouting and silence. Someone offered me water. 
I refused, but then directed them to pour it over Leo's finger.  It poured over his raw flesh. Iza quickly pointed out that the water was spilling. This part of the story she always repeats, 
when the water spilled.

I took Leo's finger, his right index finger, bloodied, and put it in my mouth.  
I sucked it clean. I was calm.

In the ambulance they bandaged my scrapes, but never examined me. They felt Leo's head, but never took off his shoes or clothes to look for wounds.  Later I will see his elbow is scraped raw.

And then, sitting in the ambulance, the police asked my name.  Janet Kelley, or Kelley Janet?  (In Hungarian they say the family name first.)  Birthdate?  11/18 or 18/11?  (In Hungary they offer the day first, then the month.)  In my head I shout:  absurdity!  who the fuck cares!  Drive us to an x-ray machine!

Laszlo had left that morning for Zurich.  I had no cash, no phone (it was in the apartment), and no passport.  I didn't know our street address.  I knew the street, but not the house number.

And then the ambulance was driving quietly, sedately through tree-lined Budapest avenues toward a hospital.  Leo fell asleep in my arms.  I checked to see he was breathing.  

The x-ray technician was hostile, to say the least.  She wanted me to hold Leo a certain way and I didn't understand.  And then when I did understand, I tried to say I couldn't hold his face that way because my hand was in pain. Her response, if you don't do it we can't take the x-ray.  

So what is a little more pain?

The x-ray showed no damage to the bone. And they released us. We took a taxi home, no car seats.

The accident happened at noon. We were home by two.

And then, lunch as usual.

And then

I pulled Leo back. I felt him slip from my grasp. 
I jumped in front of the car. You know, to stop it.

I walked away. Leo walked away.

Izabella watched the entire event from the curb. This terrifies me.

And then, again, Iza asks, "Do you wanna tell about it?  Accident?  When the car came?"

I am convinced the car didn’t hit Leo.  I am sure his head injury was caused when I pulled him back and he fell down on the street.

I almost wish I had a broken bone.

And then I was waiting in front of the nursery's large wooden door on a narrow street in Budapest, close to the castle. It was noon. Clear, sunny fall day. The children raced down the sidewalk as they returned from the park. I was there to pick up Iza and Leo. It was their third morning in the nursery. I brought them at ten and then 
was supposed to return at noon.  Two hours. And then

a woman in a car was waving hello (or asking if she could park?) and

then we were all saying hellos--six kids, two teachers, and myself.  
And I hugged and kissed my kids

and then there was small talk or not and hungry kids ready to go inside to lunch and naps and then

Leo stepped off the curb.

"Do you wanna talk about it? Accident?"

Yes, I do. As many times as you do, Iza. And then

again.

Thursday

Iza, we need to wash your hair.

Can we do it on Tuesday?

Iza, let's get dressed so we can go to the park.

In two minutes, mama.

Iza, can you find your shoes?

No rush, mama.  Take your time.

Spring Blossoms

The kids are kids now, not babies.

How is this threshold defined?  They still nurse, both of them.  So that is not entirely part of the definition.  Our nursing days are numbered, however.

An important milestone is definitely their enrollment in ovoda, in our case this means a family daycare in Budapest.  We have opted to send them both three mornings a week.  I stayed one morning with them and they have spent one morning without me.

I don't think that preschool is necessary and my motivation for sending them is twofold:  1) mama needs time sans kids and 2) we want them to be immersed in a Hungarian language experience.  

New Numbers

Izabella

Ht In
38.3

Wt Lb
30.5

BP
99/68

Lenard

Ht In
33.5

Wt Lb
24

Snow Day Notes

Leo, 18-months:

has discovered a new word:  MINE!

will climb onto the dining room table in the time it takes to go to the kitchen and retrieve the butter.

is beautiful.

loves to read Brown Bear or anything Iza happens to be reading.

has yet to have his first hair cut.  (Well, I did take pity on him and trim his bangs while we were in Kansas for Christmas.)

desperately needs a hair cut.

likes broccoli.

is not a fan of playing in the snow.

has decided that pigs are called "Lalalas" because of the book "Moo Baa Lalala."  has adopted a tiny pink pig as his bedtime "Lalala."  sadly this is Iza's little pig.  this causes much sadness and confusion.  for both of them.

has his own word for nursing:  mama.

is currently being night-weaned.  is not happy about that, but is learning.

has never slept through the night.  One time (last week) he slept from 8 pm to 5:30 am.  Usually he sleeps for three hours before he wakes the first time.  He is up at least three or four times a night.

has eyes that still amaze me.

rarely stops moving.

currently is exploring what happens when he shoves Izabella.  he is over the hair-pulling thing, mostly.

starts biting when he is tired.  or trying to bite me.  he is not being mean.  it is a playful nip, but still.



Izabella, three-years-old next month:

loves a good party.

hates to have her hair washed.

went to see her first theater performance:  The Berenstain Bears at the Jewish Community Center.  She was rapt for the entire show lasting almost an hour.  (Leo slept through it, thankfully).

still loves blue cheese, brie cheese, and goat cheese.

likes to pretend that she is going on a trip to New York City.  she packs her monkey backpack with snacks, books, and a bottle of water.

loves to watch "Kids" = Sesame Street on TV.

is extremely tolerant of her little brother. most of the time.

enjoys "Taking Care" of her baby dolls and stuffed animals.

loves to play in the snow. 

understands Hungarian. Speaks Hunglish.

often requests to wear her party dress so that she can twirl.

is observant.

is ready for a big-girl bed.

likes to stick out her "beautiful tummy" and rub it.

makes my heart ache when I put her to sleep and she requests one more ABC or Twinkle Twinkle.

has gorgeous long hair.

currently loves to paint.  our dining room table has been transformed into an art center.

attended her first dance class today.  moms are asked to stay in the waiting area.  the class was an hour-and-half long.  she says that she wants to go back next time.

December Notes

Thanksgiving was a modest affair. A turkey breast, butternut squash puree, cranberry sauce, and homemade bread. The pumpkin pie was a tart, defrosted and my cream had gone rancid.

We used candles. And a tablecloth. It was lovely.

It was just me and the kidlets this year. No husband, no extended family, no friends.

Strange. Not exactly Thanksgiving. But nice. Quiet. Low-key.

November Rain

Well, actually it is hail.

The kids are asleep, for now, and the husband is driving my stepson home.

The house is quiet. (Well, except for the sound of hail.)

A glass of red wine, for my heart.

It is November. Daylight Savings time as arrived. It is dark by 4, almost. This means the afternoon after the nap will be long and often housebound. Winter. Time to order snowsuits for mornings in the park and schedule play dates inside for the afternoon. This will be the winter with two mobile toddlers.

We are now accepting applications for house guests. Extended stays welcome. Grandmas given first priority. Anyone who enjoys food-flinging, splashing in the tub, getting down on the floor, giving airplane rides, and/or preparing hot meals will be considered closely.

The hail has finished.

Now, where are my wool socks?

Grow by Numbers

Izabella

2 years, 8 months

37 inches tall

30 pounds heavy

20 inches around her head

Leo

1 year, 3 months

31.5 inches tall

22 pounds 4.5 ounces heavy

20 inches around his head

Fall

September is here. At last. And with the sudden appearance of leaves on the ground and a bite in the air comes some changes in our household.

Nagymama is coming for a two-month visit. It will be her first visit since our wedding and the first time she gets to meet Leo. I took baby Izabella to see her when Iza was only 5-months-old and we haven't seen her since!

We are also changing our care-giver. A new housekeeper/nanny will join us. Luckily our current employee will stay nearby, literally only a few blocks away. She will be able to visit the kids and spend time with them. I am grateful for that.

Slowly, slowly I am emerging from the chrysalsis of new-mommydom. These wings are sticky wet and tightly furled. Give me, oh say, another two years to stretch them taut. And then I'll need years for them to dry. And then I'll learn to fly.

Milestones

Ms. Izabiza opens the bathroom door, sets her Elmo potty seat on the big potty, climbs the stool, turns around and seats herself. Thank you very much. And she tells Mama and brother Leo to stay out.

She requests "Hallelujah" (by Leonard Cohen).

Leo and Izabella can now walk all the way from our local ice-cream parlor, Freeze, to our favorite park, Lincoln Park. Tata holds Izabella's hand and she holds Leo's hand. The distance is approximately .35 miles. That is a lot of steps when your legs are only about 15 inches long!

We are in the second week of letting Iza go diaper-free as she learns to use only the potty. She still uses a diaper for nap and bedtime. It takes courage to let your little one out and about in public without a diaper. Beside a tiny little dribble on the Starbuck's floor (the bathroom was occupied!), she hasn't had accidents. Luckily the summer weather allows me to put a dress on her. She can pull it up herself when she needs to visit the potty. Today I taught her how to put on her little undies. The little bow goes just beneath her belly button.

Leo can climb and run. I can still run faster than him. These days are numbered.

He imitates Iza constantly. Certainly Iza learned from her peers, but Leo's drive to imitate his sister is incredibly strong. Despite their 17-month-age difference, this is little that separates their physical ability--except the difference in height and thus reach. He wants to go where she goes, eat what she eats, drink what she drinks. He even sits on the potty and reads a book, just like sister.

Izabella's hair is long and thick and slightly curly and completely out of control. Tata is in charge of washing it and giving her a blow dry. She hates the rinsing, but loves to have it dried.

As much I loved the baby stage, I think I will love the two kids stage even more. The potential for fun is greater. They are little entertainers--especially Leo.

Still tandem nursing. Iza only nurses once, maybe twice a day. Leo still loves to nurse a lot at night.

Now, if only they would sleep.

Leo's Gastronomical History to Date

Jan. 12, 2010

Banana

Not a fan

Jan. 17

Sweet Potato

Not a failure

Jan. 20

Banana

Green poop

Jan. 24

Butternut Squash

Take it or leave it, mostly leave it

Jan. 31

Pears

LOVED IT!

Feb. 16

Avocado

No

Feb. 19

Rice cereal mixed with pear

(no comment)

Feb. 20

Prune Juice

effective

Feb. 26

Apple

okay

March 4

Parsnip and Carrot

meh.

Aug. 2

Eats whatever we eat at the table

CORRECTION: wears whatever we eat at the table.

Notes:

--Drinks from straw

--loves to "feed" himself with spoon

--likes marinated mushrooms from Pier 4

--loves freeze-dried strawberries from Trader Joe's

--Nurses mostly at night and before each nap

--Too busy to nurse during the day

Stats

Lenard, One Year:

Ht. 30 in.

HC. 19 in.

Wt. 21.5 lbs.

(7/8/2010)

first word: uh-oh.

"Lenard"

In a few short weeks we will celebrate Lenard's first birthday. As I learned with Izabella's first birthday, this is a big deal--for me. Living through the first year of parenthood was a major accomplishment. Yet there is no bullet point under which to designate such on your resume. So there must be a party. With funny hats. Cake that the little one smears around. Cuteness, etc. Izabella's first year was an eternity. Leo's first year has passed in an instant. Still, he survived us. We survived him. Let's party.

As I ponder his yeardom, I realize that I have yet to write about the fact that he is "Lenard." By now calling him Leo is natural and I like the sound of it, "lay-oh." My little summer tomato. I even introduce him proudly as Lenard, "lay-nard," and give a brief explanation about his Hungarian roots. Still I am a bit shocked to think that I have a son, and his name is Lenard. It is a bold choice, the name. I can only hope he will carry it well. For his sake, I will tell the story of his name. It will be perfect fonder for elementary school essays and therapy sessions, perhaps.

Long before Leo, we were at his future Grandmother's apartment in Transylvania looking at birth certificates from ages ago. There are three male names that have been repeated in my husband's family. My husband has two of those names (long story), and his first son has the other. As we sorted through the birth certificates in his mother's collection there was a Lenard among them. I noticed it because my grandfather and one uncle are named Leonard. I remember thinking at that moment that Lenard would be the right name for our future son. If I only dared--both to have a son and to choose that name.

My husband has no recollection of this event. Clarification: He just said that he remembers looking at the certificates, but didn't have an a-ha, Lenard moment about his future son and doesn't remember Lenard among those ancestors.

You would think knowing for something like twenty-three weeks that it was a boy would be enough time to select a name. Not for us. We would leave the hospital with our little one nameless. It took us one week to return and officially designate him Lenard. In the meantime, we decided on Zoltan. I introduced him as Zoltan to our neighbors to practice with the name. Months later neighbors would ask how little Zoltan was faring.

Zoltan? Lenard? Unless you are Hungarian, you must think us terribly eccentric. Zoltan, however, is as common in Hungary as John in America. Perhaps even more common. Whenever my husband mentions that Zoli (the nickname) did or said such and such, the first question is always: Which Zoli? To American ears, on the other hand, Zoltan or Zoli is (methinks) pretty unusual, even cool. I liked that it cannot be translated to an American equivalent. We settled on Zoltan. One morning we rallied the family to get dressed and loaded up carseats to head to the hospital and sign the papers. As we were going out the door, my husband called a halt to the operation. He just couldn't do it. The baby wasn't a Zoli in his eyes.

To be honest the Hungarian male names just aren't that attractive, at least the ones available to us. The ones we liked were quickly off the list for various reasons. Our first list of names as of February 5th, 2010:

Laszlo
Albert
Lenard
Tibor
Zoltan
Attila
Boldizsar
Gabor
Lorand
Zoran
Istvan
Lukacs
Mihaly
Sandor
Zsigmond
Ferenc

Personally, I was at bat for Zsigmond. Baby Ziggy. Ziggs. Zig-zig. (For the record, I also wanted Izabella to be Izadora or Szilvia.)

As you can see, Lenard was on the first list and near the top. Really it was our best option, we just didn't have the courage for it.

As the pregnancy progressed there was another Lenard who made his presence known, my husband's ancestor from the 16th century. My husband uncovered his story while researching material for his new book, BURSTS. He may have a more recent family connection, but for sure our little Lenard's namesake is traced all the way back to Leonardus Barlabasi, the Latin for Lenard Barlabasi. Lenard was second in command ruling a province in Transylvania. Our Leo's Tata discovered that his letters, which survive in the administrative Latin used in that time, provide a window into the everyday life of that time. While he didn't win any battles or discover vitamin C, he was an top administrator and an avid letter writer. Our Leo may be a man of letters yet.

I would also like to include here a side note on the historical quest for Lenard's letter in the State Archives in Nagyszeben, Transylvania that did not make it into my husband's account in his new book. Yes, I was there with him. And as he mentions it was a sweltering summer day. I am not known to be tough as nails. I like air conditioning. I do. So I wilted next to him, my head resting on the table in utter exhaustion as his eyes nearly popped out of his head with excitement as he actually got to handle a letter written by Lenard in 1507. As it turns out, I was actually running a fever of 101 and would go on to develop a horrible racking cough. Not such a big deal, right? Except that I was eleven weeks pregnant with Izabella. Getting sick in Transylvania is no fun for an American. The Romanian hospitals are, well, creepy. I could go on. I could tell you how the doctor had no idea what I had, but that the nurse wrote down a recipe for onion syrup that she swore would clear up the cough. At any rate, I survived. Izabella survived. And Lenard's name survived too.

A final Lenard factor: Leonard Cohen. My husband introduced me to Cohen's music when he first wooed me. (That should tell you a lot.) Cohen was giving a concert in Boston. The tickets sold out quickly. Long story short, mama procured excellent tickets. I put Izabella to bed and left her with our sitter, that was the one and only date date since her birth. Hugely pregnant in a white summer dress I attended my first Leonard Cohen concert. It was brilliant. A gem. Totally worth every cent. And yet another positive Leonard to make us think that our little one could bear the name with pride.

11-Months: Lows and Highs

Leo has diarrhea. Iza had it last week. It is officially a bug. It is the real poopy deal. I thought I had seen diarrhea before with Izabella. Oh, no. Now I know. We have been eating the BRATY diet for too long--bananas, rice, applesauce, toast, and yogurt.

He also has the front four upper teeth erupting.

And then.

He face-planted on concrete. The blood, the tears.

A cool, wet cloth. A bit of nursing. Five minutes. He was over it. Me. Not yet.

The diarrhea? The good thing(s) about it:

1. I can finally spell diarrhea without resorting to using "die-uh-ree-uh."

2. White rice = really good, damn. Not sure I'll look at brown rice quite the same for a while.

In other news, Leo managed a bright spot on the day he turned 11-months-old: he climbed the stairs! It is the closest he has come to crawling. This one is a runner. Already I am below my pre-first-pregnancy weight (despite a diet that includes entire cartons of ice-cream and no official work-out program), this kid and his sister are going to turn me into a regular waif. Best diet ever: two toddlers.

More Lenard More

Leo is almost eleven months old. Currently he has one little toofer, the bottom front right tooth. But just because he is Leo, he is also working on at least three more teeth at the same time. And boy, oh boy, is he cranky. Poor little spud.

He now rides contentedly in the car seat. Thankfully our screaming infant days are mostly over. Car seats. My babies did not like them. At all. I didn't use pacifiers with my babies, but the car seat is one place that I wish I could have used it. There is just no way to comfort them in that plastic missile hurtling through space and time with mama just out of reach. Torture.

Just last week we had a first: Grandma was taking us to Allandale Farm to purchase our first garden supplies. Iza fussed a bit for snacks or water or something. Soon, however, I realized that the noise coming from the back seat was...giggles from both babies. They were making each other laugh. (I know that the giggling will soon drive me mad, they say.) But it was cool to know that they were communicating without words. And having a ball. I admit, I wanted to know what the hilarity was all about. But, mama, it is none of your business!

Leo is already hiking up his little foot and trying to climb onto the couch, the chair, anything. A climber indeed. (I have scheduled the babyproofing company. Yes, you can hire someone to do that. Yes, it is worth it.)

Leo is not an eater. Just not that into it. Especially not into sitting still in the high chair. He has figured out finger foods, which means he has lost interest in purees. One night, when Grandma and Grandpa were visiting, he sat peacefully and ate and ate and ate. I was amazed! Then he vomited three times. Projectile. Impressive.

Disclosure: I am also just not that into feeding Leo. There is no time to prepare the purees. He eats or not. He eats when we eat or not. He is still breastfeeding. He is fed. He is growing great guns. He will eat when he is hungry.

Leo wants to be exactly where Izabella is. Right on top of her. Preferably holding onto her hair and playing with the exactly the same toy. And when you try to distract him, he doesn't buy it for a second. He gets mad. If you take him across the house and show him a super cool ball, for example, he will calmly march straight back across the house to the super cool spoon, or whatever, that Izabella is using as a guitar. Yowsers. Yes, I have checked out "Siblings Without Rivalry." Would someone like to read it, prepare bullet points, and get back to me?

Leo Potato

Miss Izabella is a girl of a thousand names and a thousand more lullabies. Mr. Lenard, on the other hand, is Leo. And the one lullaby that emerged from my imagination stuck. Leo, Leo, You're my Little Potato / Leo, Leo, Sweet as a Summer Tomato. (Repeat.)

Even Izabella has started to call him "Leo Potato."

And when we tripled his birth weight well before the charts predicted, he was a little lump of spud--hard and hefty despite his diminutive size.

Some Numbers

Leo at 10-months-old:

Height: 29.8 inches (80%)

Weight: 19.34 pounds (18%)

That is right. Supermodel.

Exit Strategy

This evening I left the party early. With two kids in pajamas strapped into car seats. I prayed that they would sleep and that a method for getting them out of their seats and into their beds would appear to me en route. I am amazed to report that it worked. Leo cried intermittently all the way home. Iza was happy and drowsy and then suddenly snoring about fifteen minutes after we left. Both babies were asleep when I got home. When I took Iza out of her seat, she woke up. I managed to get her inside, find her wearable blanket, and get her into bed with a kiss. She didn't look happy about it, but didn't complain either. I then raced back to the car terrified that Leo was out there in full panic cry mode. Nope. Sound asleep. I carried him up to bed and we laid down together and he nursed back to sleep. So what if I missed the lobster. Two sleeping babes. A quiet house. A warm cup of tea. I am good.

All About Leo

Baby Leo is only 9 months, 3 weeks old. Yet I am starting to compile this-and-that for his 1-year-old montage of memories. Not being an over-achiever here. Just being realistic: it will take me at least three months to finish this job.

Context: On Iza's first birthday I wrote a portrait of her (Read it here: First Album.) I would like to do the same for Leo.

So here are some impressions when I think of Leo:

Speed. He came into this world at top speed and hasn't stopped. Well, he did go through that newborn slug stage, which Izabella somehow missed. And then he sat up. And then he learned that he could stick his little chubby paw into the air and someone (usually mama) would oblige him. Two impossibly chubbed thighs floating above two incredibly delicate ankles, would twist and lurch and hop upright. One step. Two. Then, if you held two hands, he would put his head down and run. Run. Lest we forget, this operation usually required the tongue thrust. His pink tongue curled up and over his lip on one side. Really, too cute. And as he started to take steps on his own, his grins would light up the room.

First food: mashed banana.

Bath: splasher. Avid. Gleeful. Not afraid to get his hair wet.

Sleep? I was happy to nurse Leo at night since his sister was nursing during the day. It was a comfort to know that he had full access at least at nighttime. He grew like a weed in the sun. He still loves to nurse at night. This means that he also wakes up frequently. Seriously, a three-hour stretch is a luxury. This kid usually needs a cuddle/nurse about thirty minutes after he goes to bed. Then it may be every hour, sometimes every 15 minutes. Thus, sleep followed by a question mark. Despite the work this entails, it is so delicious to sleep cuddled up next to him. Mama loves when I have my back to him in bed and he snuggles up against me. So warm and alive. So little and so big.

The eyes. The eyes. I have no idea if there is a name to describe them. They are rimmed in navy. The center is a version of brown that wants to be green. When I look into them I think: Earth. As in the earth viewed from outer space, a globe mostly dark blue with flecks of earth floating in a blanket of white clouds. It will slay me to have to fill in a form with one word: they are not just blue, or brown, or green. They are Earth.

and he awakes.....

Since Leo

A New Club

Miss Iza had her second birthday on February 8th. And as of that date, I can no longer claim membership to the 2-under-2 club. I suppose now I am in the 2-2-and-under club, but that doesn't quite garner the same insanity. With an over-2-year-old to my name I should have it all together by now. Parenting should be old hat, down pat, downright easy. Cutting baby nails? Been there. Teething? Been there. Making baby food. Done that.

Raising babies is "easier" with number 2. All that I learned raising Izabella has given me a frame of reference for the second baby. With Iza's every baby first, I would ask my mom, "Is this normal?" The weird newborn eyerolls. The frequency or lack thereof of poops. The list is endless. Now I have a sense of what is "normal," and even more importantly I understand that normal is way overrated.

A big bummer of parenting two little ones: illness. Wow. Does it suck to have a sick baby. Two sick babies are even worse. Worser still, sick babies + a sick mama. Poor me. We are not talking cancer. We are merely in the grip of lingering virus that causes mild fever followed by sinus woes. Leo is taking it the worse-est.

We are heading into night 13 of Baby Leo's fight against the family virus. By day he is cranky, but not too terrible. By night he drowns in his own snot. It is so sad to hear him try to breath. There is coughing, enough to make him gag and vomit. (I know. Sorry. But. Parenting babies is all about bodily fluids.) I have elevated our bed to create an incline. Vaporizer on full. Warm bath to loosen up the goo. I am doing all that I can and still we are up often in the night. I am okay with frequent waking when all that is needed is for me to nurse him back to sleep. But getting up to rock or bounce and walk or sing or all of the above is murder on this mama.

I admit it has led me to mutter quite loudly really bad words. I feel like a sh*t when I do it. But it usually releases some of my negative energy and allows me to refocus on the moment and endure. After so many nights, folks, I am not at my mothering best. It aint pretty.

The good news is that while I am not a patient woman, I do have endurance. And I do have a penchant for suffering bred into me by years of observing Lent and general Catholic culture. I may not be a saint, but I do understand the value of martyrdom.

I do not want my parenting to be defined by martyrdom, however. That seems all askew. I do not want to lose my life. I want to find it, create it in relationship with these little people.

Perhaps the nights of sitting with a suffering child who cries and thrashes and scratches (who seems entirely unappreciative of your love's labor) is a healthy dose of self-sacrifice. A way to die to self. It is certainly a way to wrinkle your skin and grey your hair.

And poor Leo. I can't wait to have my healthy, happy baby boy back.

Mise-en-scène

All the experts recommend that a nightly ritual will ease your little ones off to sleep. The elements may include a bath, a story, getting dressed for bed, dimmed lights, music, a cuddle, or nursing in permutations too numerous to describe.

Our evening ritual starts with dinner at six. After dinner we start the journey toward sleep by collecting our evening supplies: pajamas, the "bye-toe" (a wearable blanket), and socks. We then move through house and start the ascent toward the bedrooms with a litany of goodbyes to various toys and household landmarks. It is often at this point that Izabella remembers that we also need to bring along the monkey, dolly, owl, or the hairbrush.

Tata escorts Izabella and I bring up the rear with Leo. Once upstairs I leave Leo in the master bedroom to squirm on the floor. Tata is busy with Iza, who needs to be undressed (checked for poops) and then led into the tub. I charge around to dim lights, fill the vaporizers, adjust pillows and blankets, and check to be sure my iPhone is handy in Leo's room (in case I need to stay with him for an extended nursing session). Then I return to the master bedroom, undress Leo, and plunk him in the tub with Iza for his chance to splash madly. I exit the bathroom and Tata takes over. I wait outside the door with Leo's towel while Tata deftly removes him and distracts Iza with more water. (She recently started to get upset when we left.)

I then whisk Leo away to his room. I dress him: diaper, pajamas, bye-toe. I am usually singing his lullaby as he vigorously complains. We nurse in bed. If that doesn't work, we bounce on the ball and nurse. Eventually (hopefully) sleep overcomes him. If I can exit his room in time, I can then nurse Iza and put her to sleep. Lately her father has been able to put her to sleep without me, which is a huge relief as Leo has become more difficult to tip over into his dreams.

While I am tending to Leo, there is a drama playing out in the master bedroom. Iza sings her "clean-up" song and gathers her bath toys. She likes to have her stories read while she is in the buff. She leans against the pillows and snuggles under the covers. After the stories (Tata reads one Hungarian story, maybe two), she is dressed for bed: diaper, pajamas, socks, bye-toe. She is then carried across to her room where either mama waits to nurse her or tata puts her down with a final caress. (This room has been prepared with dim lights, music, and vaporizer.)

Repeat.

I know this is not fascinating stuff.

But what fascinates me is the drama of it all. The stagecraft. The nightly ritual is a habit that normally plays out without too much thought. Some nights I cling to it as if it were a magic formula that will culminate in every tired parent's favorite trick: sleeping babies (at least for a few hours) and a chance to breathe without little ones needing you.

My inner thespian geek gets a rush in the offing of it. As if the role I play is more than just stagecraft. It is art. It is transformational. This is the only audience that you want to fall asleep. And making it happen creates the actor's rush of transcendence, when it works. When it doesn't work, despair. The fourth wall crumbles when you are too tired to maintain the scene. Your makeup runs. Your costume constricts. You see your pitiful self attempting to play the role of Mother and coming up short.

I have to laugh at myself when I see my evening ritual as theater. Surely babies all over the world go to sleep with nary an ounce of such emotional/physical fanfare. Why the emphasis on ritual in our neighborhood?

I suspect that it sells products: THE perfect cuddly toy, THE music soundtrack, THE white noise machine, THE ETC. THAT YOU MUST HAVE IF YOU WANT YOUR BABY TO SLEEP (AND BE SUCCESSFUL IN LIFE).

I guess it is also a byproduct of a society that must guard its sleeping hours carefully in order to maintain its rigorous work schedules.

And tired parents everywhere will indulge a bit of drama if it buys more sleep for the entire family.

Not to mention the human craving for ritual for ritual's sake.

Of course you can train your babies to fall asleep with fewer elements to their evening ritual. But not many fewer, frankly. Maybe the babies would sleep without any of it. Maybe the ritual is partly (mostly?) for me too. It gives me a (false?) sense of control over the events of the evening. It allows me to feel like I am parenting.

In time my babies won't need me to direct their evening dramas. They will have their own private rituals, such as reading under the covers or texting best friends. For now I am the show's producer, director, and supporting actor. The kiddoes have center stage. All I can do is hope I've set the scene.

Tandem

Everything is better is twos. Sipping champagne. Sightseeing in Paris. Nature walks. Breastfeeding is on that list too. Believe it or not.

Most people are amazed that I have been nursing my newborn, who is now six-months-old, and my toddler at the same time. Mothers who have nursed think that my stamina--both physical and emotional--must be somehow superhuman. Those who haven't nursed find the endeavor odd and not suitable for dinner discussion. As if nursing is akin to other bodily secretions that might upset the appetite. Fine, do it, just don't talk about it (or do it in front of me), they seem to say.

Not that I am eager to discuss the issue over canapes, mind you. When I have the opportunity to share adult discussion, I am eager to leave the realm of poop and milk too (though not always successful in doing so).

And yet, here in my blogspace, I thought I would try to write about my experiences with tandem nursing. If you fear the topic, turn back. I want to write about it because I am sure that my mama amnesia will set in and I will forget what it is like to handle two babies at the breast.

Soon after becoming pregnant with baby # 2 when my daughter was about eight-months-old, I realized that I may have the opportunity to nurse both of them. My daughter nursed throughout the pregnancy despite lowered milk supply caused by pregnancy hormones. She normally only nursed first thing in the morning and before going to sleep at naptime and bedtime. My water broke while I was nursing her to sleep. When I saw her the next morning with baby Leo in my arms, the first thing she wanted to do was "hammy," (pronounced hummy) her word for nursing. A few days later my new milk came in and she was in milk heaven. So, two babies nursing. One so tiny. One not so tiny.

Miss Iza, who at seventeen months was still not walking, was used to being nursed to sleep at naptime. In fact she had been napping on my pregnant lap while we rocked for the past several months. She happily nursed to sleep and was placed in a crib at night and she had given up night nursings. During the day, however, she would only nap in my arms at my breast. I was pregnant and tired. This arrangement made it possible for me to nap with her. So I didn't try to change the pattern. This dedicated nurser, however, had to learn how to nap without her mama.

The first week I tried to put them to sleep together in one bed. I would lie on my side with Leo nursing on the breast closest to the bed. Iza would kneel and lean over my back to nurse on the breast topside. Talk about gymnastics. Leo was happy, of course. Iza, not so much. Eventually she would drop from exhaustion and nap fitfully by my side. The arrangement was not a success. Not to mention very tough on my back.

At naptime and bedtime I started to take Leo with me into Iza's room. We would all sit in the rocking chair. If Leo was content, he could hang out in the bassinet. More often than not he joined Iza at the breast. Iza would nurse cuddled in my lap. I would lay Leo on top of her at the other breast. When she was ready to go to sleep, I put Leo down in the bassinet and then put her in the crib. Often he would fuss, but not always. Almost immediately she accepted that she needed to go to sleep on her own because mama had to tend to the baby.

After a few weeks (months?) I would nurse Leo in the rocking chair while Iza was having her bath with her father or nanny. When Iza came to me, we would do a baby exchange. And Tata would take the baby downstairs for cuddles until I could come. Iza soon learned this too. And she would tell Tata, "Tata baby." Meaning, "Tata, you take care of the baby now while mama nurses me." A very reliable baby-soothing technique in our house is the bouncy ball. As we exchanged babies, Iza would very seriously tell Tata, "Baby, ball." As in take this tiny fussy person and bounce him into oblivion!

Iza soon recognized that wherever mama was, the baby was there too. If she saw me without the baby, she would ask, "Baby?" After a few months she learned that if baby was not in mama's arms, the better question to ask was, "Hammy?"

In the first months, Leo nursed almost constantly and Iza jumped in there whenever my arms were open. She definitely wanted to nurse as much as possible, more than before Leo was born. Often they nursed at the same time. This called for invention. Our "favorite" position for a while entailed me sitting in a child-sized chair. Iza would stand and nurse while I held Leo across my lap. This allowed Iza to come and go as she wished. (Of course this only developed after she learned to walk on her own. Leo was born June 30th, and Iza walked by herself on July 4th).

For the first four months or so I would nurse Iza and put her sleep around 7:30 while Leo was in the care of his father or the nanny. Then I would come downstairs and hang out with Leo until he was ready to sleep again. I would put the little one in a Moses basket and take him upstairs to our room when I was ready to go to bed myself. Usually around three hours later he would wake for the first time. I would then take the basket and move into his room where I would sleep with him the rest of the night on a queen-sized mattress on the floor.

Around five months or so I started putting Leo in the bath with his sister. I wanted to start a nighttime ritual for the both of them. This mostly involved plunking him down for just a few minutes before taking him for pijamas and nursing him to sleep in his own room. He now loves the bath and splashes like a madman. Iza likes to wash him with a washcloth.

By about six months or so we had established a pattern that looks like this: dinner at 6, bath 6:45, then Leo off to nurse to sleep while Iza plays and reads stories. Both babies asleep by 7:30. Okay, it looks something like that. In theory. That is the plan. The reality, of course, is much more "entertaining." This pattern requires two people. Minimum. There has been one night that I did the evening ritual alone. It was not pretty.

Little Leo wakes up to nurse several times a night. I wanted him to nurse at night because his sister was still nursing during the day. Happily he has gained weight like a champion and I am no longer concerned that he is getting enough milk. So it would be convenient if he didn't nurse as much at night. Yet at this point I am happy to nurse him as much as he wants at night. I am dealing okay with my decreased sleep, so far. Izabella effectively weaned herself at night by about 9 months. She just started sleeping longer and longer stretches without waking. So far Leo is not heading in that direction. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, it is fantastic to sleep next to his warm little body. Some nights I could swear that I can see him literally growing in front of my eyes.

All this nursing requires support. Tandem nursing is possible for me because I have a supportive husband and a nanny who does housework. I know that mothers do it without such help. But I don't know how.

I have also learned to listen to my own body and limits. Sometimes I just can't nurse Iza. I need a hammy break. But I can't explain that to her. So I silently count backward from 100 for each breast and then end the session. Or we do a "quick" nursing where I count aloud back from 10. She has learned this game and even laughs and tries to jump back before I get to 1. Or I offer her a book or a cuddle or goat cheese instead.

All this begs the question, why do I do it? Why put myself through the intense commitment when there are other options? I don't have a clear answer to this worked out just yet. I suppose I tandem nurse because I can. I can afford to stay at home. I can afford to hire someone to help me with the house. And I enjoy it. I enjoy the intensity. I enjoy the physical connection. It is not easy, but it is pleasurable. I want to forge this physical intimacy with my children when I can. Later they won't need me in this way. But hopefully somewhere deep in their skin and hidden in their brains will pulse the knowledge that love does not require language. Love can be purely a physical presence, a touch. A closeness that needs no explanation or justification. A love that is possible because that is how our bodies are configured. Simple. Perhaps it can be the beginning of a narrative about love that does not involve the drama of star-crossed lovers, the fiction of white dresses, or the delusion of white picket fences. Love is touch. It is presence. It is physical closeness. If love is created in this way, it can be sustained over long distances, and over time.

Izabella and Leo are siblings. They are nurslings. It feels like a good start.

(Ultimately I can't know if tandem nursing is good for my children. But I am interested in the idea that my experience as a mother who tandem nurses is perhaps an even more crucial part of the equation. Parenting should change us. It should. How? I'm not sure about that. But we shouldn't be able to cruise through our children's infancy without some encounter with what it means to be human, to be alive on this planet. I am thinking a lot lately about how our culture has set up parenting such that parents are no longer needed. Baby tending has been outsourced. The feeding, the touching, the being touched. How would our society be different if our legislators had nursed their babies at home for one year or longer? More on this later....)

I wax, or wane. Or whatever.

Leo wakes.

And so.

Both babies are sleeping. Laundry mostly done. Dishes can wait. Showered last night. Bills paid yesterday. Christmas shopping on order (online). And so. I have time to blog.

Entire essay-length entries have been composed in my head while nursing, bathing, changing little diapers. And so the pressure is on, well, to say something. You know, all profound and such. Reflections on mothering in the modern world. And all that.

Mostly I am grateful that we are healthy. And happy, often. And when the babies cry, I now know to take the long view. When Iza was little her cries flipped deep genetic/hormonal switches in me and I would heat up and melt down and become convinced that I, her mother, had ruined her chances at a happy life. Now when one of them, or both of them, cry I try to breathe and go Zen. And if that fails, I mutter a few really bad words.

A bouquet of thoughts here:

Having one child, my love for her was a romance. Drama. Intimacy. Longing. Elation. Devestation. Wonder. Fear. Repeat. Having two, my love is now parental. Wonder. Respect. Awe. Frustration. Joy. Humility. Repeat. Much less fear, much more willingness to wait and observe as the person emerges.

The best things I never did this time around: write down every feeding, poop, pee, and sleep. Reread parenting books. pump.

Revelation: Every home should have a good rocking chair. This is an entire philosophy ready to be expanded and expounded. More to come.

Another Revelation and nascent philosophy: Every home should have a bottle of sparkly stuff (champagne for me) chilled and ready to celebrate.

Mothering is beautiful. Yes. But it sure ain't pretty much of the time.

Hooray for online shopping and groceries delivered to the house. Hip Hip Hooray for my nanny, who sadly is leaving us in January.

Hooray for carrying two babies: Leo in the Bjorn on the front and Iza in the Ergo on my back. This way we could go for a long walk on the nature path, where strollers couldn't go. Although with Leo growing so quickly, I think those days are over.

And then there was the day when I realized that my two-baby-wearing adventures caused a bit of discomfort for some New England types. A neighbor happened to cross our path as we all headed to the Starbucks. She casually commented that, well, you could use a stroller....And I heard it in her voice. She was embarrassed for me. And I was amused.

Feeding a toddler is slowly forcing me to learn how to cook. As in put three meals + snacks on the table a day. I used to cook for dinner parties. This is totally different. I can make a decent pork roast. Chicken in various permutations. Cous cous is my new favorite side dish. Izabella loves blue cheese, hates mashed potatoes. Leo still only nurses. I am a casserole queen. I may never be a great cook, but I am working my way toward being a good mom cook.

Lots of thoughts about tandem nursing. That I need to write about.

Things that get me through the day: jasmine green tea. Napping/nursing with Leo while Izabella sleeps. Facebook.

And Leo wakes....

Size Matters

Izabella was born 6 pounds 12 ounces.
At 6 months, she reached 15 pounds.

Lenard was born 6 pounds 5 ounces.
At 3 1/2 months, he reached 14 pounds 11 ounces.

ps Still tandem nursing.

Lullaby

Leo, Leo

You're my little potato

Leo, Leo

Sweet as a summer tomato

Confession

I have a birth narrative in progress for baby Leo. It is difficult to find time to sit down at a keyboard. Izabella takes two-hour naps in the afternoon and generally goes to sleep for the night by 7:30. As soon as she is down, however, I can't wait to fill my arms with new baby Leo. Facebook and email I can do from my iPhone. Blogging requires the rare moment when both babies are sleeping and I am not. Here is one of those moments....

First, let me clarify my entry regarding how rested I feel despite two babies to care for. As soon as I posted it and logged off, I knew it required emendation. Supermom, I am not. It does help that Leo and I share a bed. Though he wakes every two or three hours to nurse, he is a highly efficient nurser and usually finishes in about ten minutes. So I barely have to wake up to offer him my breast. Sometimes I fall back asleep while he nurses. I can't say enough about how great it is to co-sleep. Not only does mama get more sleep, I get to sleep with the sweetest gurgles and grunts as a soundtrack. More important to my sense of well-being, however, is my caregiver. Let me just admit it: We have a live-in nanny. I never thought that I would have a nanny, but I do. And it is wonderful. She is wonderful.

With two-under-two, not a relative nearby, and a partner who works many and long hours, I knew that I needed someone to help me. It has taken almost six months and the birth of my second child for me to really yield to the virtues of having another caregiver. As one of six children in my family, I never had a babysitter. Never. So I didn't grow up with the idea of having help with raising children. I was resistant to the idea. Especially as a stay-at-home mom (for now), it seemed ridiculous.

My attitude toward the issue is that my nanny is here to help me parent, not parent. Thus she cleans the kitchen, does laundry, tidies the toys, takes out the trash, etc. She sometimes cooks. These tasks are essential for a family. When I come downstairs from putting big sister to sleep and am ready to sit and nurse (or swaddle and bounce) little Leo for hours, the dishes have been down and the kitchen cleaned. The playroom is tidied. This makes a tremendous difference is my ability to parent two babies. Our caregiver is also wonderful with big sister, taking her to the park, reading to her, and happily pretending to be scared at least fifty times a day when Izabella squeals, "boo."

I wish grandma and grandpa lived down the street. I wish my college girl friends lived across town. I wish my women friends could drop by for coffee and cuddle time with the babies. The truth is that we are relatively new to the area, our families are nowhere close, and all my new women friends also have babies to tend.

I know families (and women) who manage on their own. I am not one of them. I have a nanny. And I am extremely grateful to have her by my side. (And a bit worried about what will become of us this fall when she will work for us on a part time basis.)

I'll keep plugging away at Leo's birth narrative.

(It feels good to write.)

Now I just need a haircut.

Notes After Leo's Birth

Baby Lenard, whose birth certificate was left unsigned for one week while we deliberated about his name, was born at 2:01 am on June 30th, 2009. As I begin to compose the story of his birth, he is soundly asleep on our couch. He is four weeks old today. He is a beautiful baby. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Leo's birth story starts with his sister. I was nursing his sister, Izabella, to sleep when my water broke at about 8:30 pm on a Monday evening. It was a small leak at first and frankly I wasn't entirely sure that it was my waters. I continued to nurse Izabella until she was drowsy and almost fully asleep. I became entirely calm. Just as my doula had told me, my body needed to know that my seventeen-month-old baby was deeply asleep before I began to labor.

I put Izabella down to sleep knowing that the next I held her she would be a big sister. I crept out of her room and went downstairs to speak with my husband and babysitter. I had requested that our babysitter, Nikki, who had moved in with us a few weeks earlier, and my husband wait for me so that I could explain to them my wishes regarding Izabella's care in the event I went into labor. I proceeded to explain to them my directions. Only after I had made myself clear about my wishes did I mention that my waters, I suspected, had broken.

At about seven that evening I had noticed some bloody show, blood streaked mucous, indicating that labor might be near. It was beginning to look a lot like labor. I was thirty-eight weeks plus several days into the pregnancy.

Soon after telling my husband that labor might have begun, the waters began to gush. I text-messaged my doula. I called the midwife on duty at the hospital to give her a warning that I would be making my way there sometime in the near future. At first my husband and babysitter stayed near me. Contractions had not yet started. So we turned on the TV and watched "Ice Age." At least it played while we all sat there "relaxing." Finally at about ten pm I sent them upstairs to bed. I needed to be alone. Still no contractions.

A few weeks earlier I had learned that I was Group B Strep (GBS) positive. (This means that I tested positive for a normal bacteria which is nevertheless potentially harmful if passed on to the baby during delivery.) If you are positive, you should receive two doses (four hours apart) of antibiotics by IV before delivery. My midwife informed me of this disappointing news as my husband stood there with two broken arms. Yes, that day he had a bicycle accident which would result in two plaster casts. Needless to say I was a bit confounded. My husband couldn't lift my toddler. Not to mention change a diaper. And the GBS meant an IV in my arm during labor and a need to "rush" to the hospital to start the medication before I delivered.

As it turned out, however, I would not be rushed by anyone else in labor.

When I spoke to the midwife on call that night she made a comment that drastically changed my birth plan. I had planned to rush in and start the antibiotics. If I failed to get the proper dosage, then the protocol meant that my son would have to have blood extracted within the first hour of birth and stay for observation for twenty four hours. I did not want him to be subjected to an avoidable blood test so soon after birth and I hoped to get home sooner than that. When I mentioned my GBS status to the midwife, she said something like, "They like to induce mothers who are GBB positive." What? Did she mean, "they" as in other people and not me? Or did she mean that she was obligated to be part of the "they" since we were at the hospital? All I know is that I weighed the risk of passing GBS on to my baby and the reality of being induced. And I stayed home. (I never did get a chance to ask her for clarification. Later my midwife who gives me regular care told me that I would have had the right to refuse an induction. But I didn't know that at the time. And it is so very difficult to refuse medical care especially while in labor.)

I am not sure when the contractions really started. I do recall that at 11:30 pm I thought that I should start recording the time for each one. By midnight I thought it was time to go to the hospital. The contractions were strong and coming at three minutes, then five minutes, then ten minutes apart. I just knew it was time. My husband drove me to the hospital. It should be noted that he drove me with two broken hands. We drove slowly, ever so slowly, because each bend in the road was painful for him. Picture that.

It was after regular hospital hours and so we had to enter through the emergency room. They moved me directly to the delivery room. I asked them to fire up the bathtub. Quickly they began to insert the IV to administer the antibiotic. I was in active labor and the contractions were strong. I would have felt sorry for the poor nurse who had to insert the needle if I wasn't upset and resistant that it had to be done. Somewhere in there the midwife did a vaginal exam to determine dilation. It must have been done before the IV, but I would have to check my doula's notes. I do remember that I tried to refuse it and that it hurt like hell. The midwife told me that I was dilated at about four to five centimeters. That shocked and panicked me a bit. It was a long way to ten, so I thought. I know the IV went in at 1 am, because I remember thinking that I had until 1:20, a twenty minute wait, until the antibiotics were in and I could be disconnected from the apparatus. I was violently shaking.

As soon as the antibiotics were in and my IV taped down, I got in the warm bath. The contractions were coming fast with little to no time in between to get all "I am Woman / Hear me Roar." Frankly I remember thinking that there had to be a better way to give birth, one that involved less intensity. My midwife was alone with me and began to help me relax by stroking my arms, saying soothing words, and offering aromatherapy. Then my doula arrived. I needed her there. I was glad to realize that the IV, which I was worried would bother me because it was still taped to my arm, provided no major distraction.

Together with the soothing water and my doula's arrival I was finally able to "let go" and relax. Labor is all about letting go. Turning off the mind. Giving in to the muscles and liquids that make up your corporeal self. You must yield. Your instinct is to tighten, to flex for the fight. To control. To hold on to your dignity. The key is to relax, release, to submit, to discover the dignity of the flesh.

I remember one moment: darkened bath room, on my knees, fully bare, hands on the tub's edge, warm water streaming down my shoulders and back as I stretched up and moaned through a powerful contraction. That felt right. It felt powerful. It felt true.

I also remember feeling like I needed to vomit.

I remember looking down and seeing a dark spot ooze from my vagina and shouting out to my doula and midwife in concern. It turned out to be blood (and normal), but in the darkened room it was hard to identity.

Then I needed to push. How did I know? Your body knows. The nurses hustled me out of the tub. (Water births are not allowed at this hospital.)

I moved to the bed and climbed up on all fours. I pushed with my contractions probably about three times. And then he was almost there. The midwife instructed me to lie on my side, which felt awkward to me. I agreed to try it for one push. But one push was all it took. It was a mighty one. My midwife told me not to scream, and my doula instructed me to take that screaming energy and push it down inside, making more of a grunt. It worked. He passed through me and into the world. He was quickly covered in a blanket and set on my chest. They didn't even check the sex, just placed him on my chest while the placenta was delivered. So fast. So very fast. Yet no tears, no stitches needed. He latched on perfectly and didn't let go for two hours.

As I "finish" this entry, Leo is sleeping in the swing. He is three-and-a-half months old. His sister is out with their father shopping for a new car. I am sipping my jasmine green tea and waiting for him to wake up so that I can take him in my arms and breathe deeply again.

Truly I can hardly believe that this little guy, who is growing at a tremendous rate, is here. He arrived so very fast. And he is growing so very fast. And I can't believe I named him Lenard. I am sure that he will carry it well.

(finally posted on October 13th, 2009)

Ripe

American Life in Poetry: Column 227

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Jane Hirshfield, a Californian and one of my favorite poets, writes beautiful image-centered poems of clarity and concision, which sometimes conclude with a sudden and surprising deepening. Here's just one example.


Green-Striped Melons

They lie
under stars in a field.
They lie under rain in a field.
Under sun.

Some people
are like this as well--
like a painting
hidden beneath another painting.

An unexpected weight
the sign of their ripeness.


American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c)2008 by Jane Hirshfield, whose most recent book of poems is "After," Harper Collins, 2006. Poem reprinted from "Alaska Quarterly," Vol. 25, nos. 3 & 4, Fall & Winter, 2008, by permission of Jane Hirshfield and the publisher. Introduction copyright (c)2009 by The Poetry Foundation.  The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

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American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column  featuring contemporary American poems. The sole mission of this project is to promote poetry: American Life in Poetry seeks to create a vigorous presence for poetry in our culture. There are no costs for reprinting the columns; we do require that you register your publication here and that the text of the column be reproduced without alteration.

Catching My Breath

Baby Leo is three weeks old plus one day. This is the first occasion I've had to sit down at a laptop and try to compose both my thoughts and a few words. This is not because I have been the frazzled, sleep-deprived mom of lore. In fact, I feel well-rested! Baby # 2 has made his arrival and has found a niche here in our family. As my midwife had told me, he is the easiest part of having a new addition. Being a new mom for the second time has been "easier" or at least incredibly less fraught. Poor Izabella was my first pancake. I have so many mama skills now that I can use and this baby is a.....

oops...be back soon.