Be still, my beating heart

I suppose I should post this update as it is, in some cultures, marginally significant:

OUR BABY SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT!!!!

 

Yes, that is right, folks. After just over 8 weeks of life, last night, Max Samuel blessed his parents with the gift of 5 consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep (newsflash: in parentland, five hours of sleep is indeed a FULL night.) This morning, when I awoke to the sound of not a baby stirring, grunting, or flatout screaming, but rather of the little birdie family that has made its home outside our bedroom window, I was stunned. I immediately flipped over to the baby monitor situated on my nightstand, and turned on the video to witness the miracle. And there he was: a little black and white baby (the monitor screen shows in black and white, you didn't miss anything), lying snuggly in the middle of his crib, contented with his arms outstretched to the sides, as though summoning his devoted followers to join him in song, or welcoming friends to Sunday brunch, as if to say, "let's eat."

My heart skipped a beat when I sleepily stared at the digital clock and the time came into focus. Wow. I only got up once tonight to feed him.

"The kid's a rock star" I mumbled to Josh as I rolled over and scooted myself down beneath the covers for one last stretch of slumber.

Now, I realize that the mere act of blogging about this event pretty much guarantees that tonight will be a scene out of Night of The Living Dead. Because that's just the rule of having a baby: the moment you settle into one routine, the kid pulls the old switcharoo on you, and it's a whole new ball game.

Guess you'll just have to keep checking in to see what happens :)

                              

Mommy's pacifier

Exhibit A

And-a-1, and-a-2, and-a . . .

Welp, Max has surpassed the pivotal, milestone 7-week mark! Actually, 7 weeks is about as eventful as picking the crusties out of your eye in the morning. However, this means that Josh and I have had 7 weeks to get to know our little booboo, his likes and dislikes (i.e. likes: getting his diaper changed - which, when you think about it, is a pretty sweet deal; dislikes: tummy time for more than 6 minutes), and soaking up his smiley faces like a freakin' Swiffer.

As I said - and if I may speak for him - Max LOVES life up on the changing table. I don't know if it's the view from up there, that he's more eye level with the person who is cleaning his bumbum, or simply the feeling of the velour changing pad cover on his skin that floats his boat. But whatever it is, there is no shortage of boat-floating every time I perch him on that thing. Exhibit A:

Now, I have had a long history with music of all kinds: jazz, classical, pop, rock, blues, choral, country - you name it. I've been in choirs and seen musicals and have listened to the Hairspray soundtrack upwards of three thousand times. Hell, I remember the tunes from Sesame Street from when I was a kid. But wouldn't you know, that whenever my little booger looks up at me expectedly, as though he has just thumbed through my musical repertoire and is waiting for me to whip out my pitch pipe . . . I got nothin'. Every song I have ever known washes away from my brain. Oh my God . . .do I have performance anxiety in front of my infant? Or am I so in need of a tune at that moment, my brain backfires in a "fight or flight" response pattern? Whatever it is, I have found myself digging deep into the crevasse of my vocal collection to pull out something - anything - to entertain this kid as he abuses his Pampers with delight. The following is a list of what I  continuously come up with (this is not a joke):

- "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, mimicking Julie Andrews' accent ('Girls in white dresses all tied up with string' . . . wait that's not right . . .)

- "So Fresh and So Clean (clean)" by Outkast

- "SUpermaaaan!" (that's all. Repeat x 20)

- "Clean Diapers" (Sung to the tune of "Green Acres" theme song)

- The Oscar Meyer weiner jingles (both "My bologne has a first name" and "Oh I wish I were an Oscar Meyer weinerrrr". He seems to especially respond to this one.)

All the songs in the world - the lullabyes, the serenades, hell, even slow jams of the 90's, and I continue to return to this exact lineup.

I suppose the point here is that my little munchkin couldn't care less what Mommy sings to him (Max, I'm speaking for you again). His eyes light up, legs kick out, and giggles ensue. So for all you new moms out there: as long as your voice is happy and calm, you can pretty much sing the material off an airline safety pamphlet, and all he'll know is that he is safe, loved, and has the best seat in the house.

To poop, perchance to dream.

So one of the more exciting updates - about a week ago, Josh and I discovered Max's first social smiles! (read: not of the cheese-cutting variety). After a night of getting up every hour or two to tend to Mr. Max's screaming "requests", Josh and I were utterly exhausted come morning, when Max began to stir in his bassinet. We went over to him and leaned down to find him wide-eyed and bushy-tailed: warm, fed, dry, and SMILING! Our hearts skipped a beat as this was the first time we saw him actually smile out of contentment. As probably many new parents do, we immediately sprung into high-pitched voices, silly faces, waving limbs and tickles to his toes in order to perpetuate the smiles that he was already perfectly capable of accomplishing unassisted. His smile dropped for a minute, eyes widening with a look of confusion and doubt at this pair of clowns staring down at him. But then it returned, all gummy and glorious.

I have tried to snag a good photo of him in his beany state, but my camera's delay in snapping the pic has left me with about 35 blurry pictures in my Blackberry of a kid with his hand in his mouth/eyes closed/mid-fart.

Here's the closest stuff I've got:

 

 

Yes, I know this post has nothing to do with poopies, as the title suggests. But he does it a lot. There.



The Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave

Today marks the 10th anniversary of the attack on America and the World Trade Center towers in New York City. Ten years. As do many of us, I look back today on where I was on that fateful morning in 2001, a morning that our psyches, our spirits, and the world as we knew it, took a major and indelible shift. I was in my dorm room in Palo Verde Main at Arizona State, sleeping snuggly in my tiny, single lofted bed. I woke up to a phone call asking me if I had seen what was happening in New York. As I rubbed my eyes and the room came into focus, I ran down the hall to a friend's room, where about half the floor was gathered watching the events unfold. And everything changed.

I write this account to underscore the dramatic shift that has taken place over the past decade, both in my personal life and in the country and world at large. As I watch the touching, heartbreaking memorials and retrospectives on TV today, I simply shift my gaze a few feet over to my sleeping, 6 week-old baby boy, loving on the business end of his pacifier, dreaming of wondrous things, no doubt. Innocent. And I can't help but wish so much for him, almost squeeze my eyes shut and pray that the humanity he is to grow up amongst  is one that comes together more than defies each other; where the sense of community is practiced and celebrated, not only on the coat tails of tragedies or their respective anniversaries, but even in between.

Hoping, wishing, and praying are all gestures that surely don't hurt in creating a better future for our offspring, but taking action and channeling this hope through behavior is something I know I can do for him today; to model for him behaviors of kindness, community, expression, resilience, selflessness, respect, optimism, and courage. Not just in the aftermath of tragedy, but even when the dust settles. For whatever kind of world it is that our Max is to inhabit throughout his life, I wish for him that he will live with an infrasturcture of qualities that will carry him through in times of adversity; stop to appreciate something simple and beautiful; discover his strengths and use them to help another; to love.

9/11.

"Never Forget".

We see this beseechment on everything from t-shirts to posters, status updates to now textbooks. "Never Forget". What does it truly mean? To remember the events of that day- the chaos, the confusion, the tears? These images are forever captured in our memories. In addition, and more importantly, may we never forget the heroism that occurred on that day; the banding together of forces and the people who lost their lives, and what they represent. The families that pulled themselves off the floor from the shackles of their own despair and moved forward in the face of ineffable sorrow. The courage and the healing that came out the darkness of that day. We must not forget THESE things. For these are the residual images and emotions that we can pull strength from, teach our children about, and use as a representation of what we are capable of as a country and as individual beings. This is what I want to instill in my son, the beautiful gift we've been given who will continue on long after Josh and I are gone, and hopefully living in a world that is stronger, kinder, and more self-realized than we left it.

I love you, Max Samuel.

Blogs n blog. .s . . .zzzzzz.....sorry what?

I sooo should be writing a post about how I only got 1 hour of sleep last night. However, I got only 1 hour of sleep last night. So I've posted a picture of the little dev - er- angel, to wet your whistle.




God he's lucky he's cute.

Josh

My husband and I just celebrated our three year anniversary on Tuesday - the same day that Max turned 4 weeks old. What an emotional snapshot that day serves to be. I couldn't imagine the last three years without my husband, nor can I imagine a single day without him in the next 50. He has infused my life full of colors that I could never see before he came into it. The past three years have been filled with love, laughter, growth, change, and adventure- not the least of which has been the greatest gift parents will ever know - a baby, a child.

He has taken to fatherhood like he was born to do this. He has been my lighthouse in emotionally choppy waters; my exhalation, my comic relief, and my north star. He has gone back to work to provide for our family, then comes home each day to love on his son and his wife with abandon. If there is anything I wish for our son, it is that he grows up to have the same emotional dedication as his Daddy.

Thank you, sweetheart, for adding a dimension to my life that is impossible to replicate in any other way, a love that feels unlike any other, and the sweetest little angel on the planet. If you have outdone yourself as a husband in any way, it has been only by being that incredible of a father.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Happy Anniversary!