If I had to describe myself in two words, this is what I would say: risk averse. I am afraid of heights, can't stand driving and loathe casinos. It's amazing I have any friends given how much fun I am.
Any of you who have children, or have spent more than 5 minutes with a toddler, can probably guess where this is headed: anxiety ridden mom + dora the explorer = oh good god, I've become that person.
Ironically, (or maybe fittingly), Geno and I have spent a fair amount of time discussing helicopter parents. Working in secondary and higher ed, we both see our fair share of overly involved, can't let your kid do it on her own, types of parents. (Yes, even in law school.) It's pretty good motivation for trying to escape becoming one of the parents bemoaned in articles like this.
Given my self-admitted risk issues, however, it's going to be particularly challenging for me to stand back when I see Mateo headed towards something that makes my palms sweat. But in the interest of being a good mother, I'm going to make like Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly and try get over it.
What the heck are you talking about, you may ask... Well, here's a nice summary of his thoughts pre-risk-is-good epiphany. (And pretty hilarious if you imagine it's me saying this to Mateo.)
"I know that I have a .013% chance of being hit by a car on my way home. Or a one in 46,000 chance of falling through a subway grate. So I try to manage that risk by avoiding danger and having a plan and knowing what my next move is. And I guess you don't exactly live your life that way. Yeah... which is great, but I'm not gonna ever be a dirty dancer, and I don't eat food with my hands, and I really like you, but I just don't think this is gonna work out."
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Loss
For a Lenten pick-me-up, let's talk about death, grief and loss!
Watching Glee last night I got to thinking about something that oh so wise Mr. Shuster had to say, which was basically, "The songs that move us most are those that talk about pain." Often it takes someone else's emoting to help us face our own sorrow.
I know that was especially true for me when I had a miscarriage the year before I had Mateo. Unlike the death of a grandparent or the end of a relationship, a miscarriage is something that happens privately. There is no public decree, no email that goes around your workplace, no formal ritual of friends and family to say goodbye. It can be an intensely lonely place, and in my case, I needed to hear and read about other women's experiences to help me process my own. It was helpful beyond words to be able to talk with dear friends who went through the same heartache, who understood how confusing and painful it is to say goodbye just as you have started to get your mind around saying hello.
And so, for that reason, amidst all the sharing I have done about the absolute joy of parenthood, I want to say that there was struggle in getting there. I want to say that grieving in private, even if that private includes close friends and family, is really hard. And I think it's crucial to say that no matter what your politics are, there is hope and potential and love bound up in the dream of a child.
If these words can bring any comfort, support or solidarity, I'm grateful. If you would like me to sing them to you, let me know. :)
Watching Glee last night I got to thinking about something that oh so wise Mr. Shuster had to say, which was basically, "The songs that move us most are those that talk about pain." Often it takes someone else's emoting to help us face our own sorrow.
I know that was especially true for me when I had a miscarriage the year before I had Mateo. Unlike the death of a grandparent or the end of a relationship, a miscarriage is something that happens privately. There is no public decree, no email that goes around your workplace, no formal ritual of friends and family to say goodbye. It can be an intensely lonely place, and in my case, I needed to hear and read about other women's experiences to help me process my own. It was helpful beyond words to be able to talk with dear friends who went through the same heartache, who understood how confusing and painful it is to say goodbye just as you have started to get your mind around saying hello.
And so, for that reason, amidst all the sharing I have done about the absolute joy of parenthood, I want to say that there was struggle in getting there. I want to say that grieving in private, even if that private includes close friends and family, is really hard. And I think it's crucial to say that no matter what your politics are, there is hope and potential and love bound up in the dream of a child.
If these words can bring any comfort, support or solidarity, I'm grateful. If you would like me to sing them to you, let me know. :)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Gimme a Head Start
Did you know that in 2009, Bank of America paid ZERO dollars in income taxes? Seriously. Not bad for a corporation that made $4.4 BILLION in one year. I don't know about you, but that is so crazy to me that I can't quite get my mind around it.
What I can get my mind around, however, is the fact that from Wisconsin to Connecticut to DC, and everywhere inbetween, politicians are asking for shared sacrifice. I'm good with that; we tell our kids that sharing is good, so let's practice what we preach. In a world where corporations are treated as persons under the law, why not get a little personal and ask them to pay taxes just like you and I do?
That's exactly what people across the country did today through an amazing organization called US Uncut. That's exactly what people in Hartford did today through the organizing efforts of an amazing mother/professor/activist, Andrea Dyrness.
Geno, Mateo and I weren't quite protesters, (more like protest groupies, thanks to an extended morning nap), but we made a showing to publicly say that if corporations paid taxes, we would have enough money to fully fund things like (click on this link, you owe it to yourself) public television, Head Start, programs for pregnant women and all those great family values!
What I can get my mind around, however, is the fact that from Wisconsin to Connecticut to DC, and everywhere inbetween, politicians are asking for shared sacrifice. I'm good with that; we tell our kids that sharing is good, so let's practice what we preach. In a world where corporations are treated as persons under the law, why not get a little personal and ask them to pay taxes just like you and I do?
That's exactly what people across the country did today through an amazing organization called US Uncut. That's exactly what people in Hartford did today through the organizing efforts of an amazing mother/professor/activist, Andrea Dyrness.
Geno, Mateo and I weren't quite protesters, (more like protest groupies, thanks to an extended morning nap), but we made a showing to publicly say that if corporations paid taxes, we would have enough money to fully fund things like (click on this link, you owe it to yourself) public television, Head Start, programs for pregnant women and all those great family values!
 |
| Elmo, Monika, Fahd, Me, Mateo, Andrea, Andrea's sign, "Cut Wall Street, Not Sesame Street" & Enrique |
 |
| The sign says it all! |
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| Let me translate: This is sidewalk chalk for "Mateo says Uncut" |
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Birth Day
Querido Mateo,
The day you were born was the most amazing day of our lives. You weren't slated to show up until March 12th, but in the dark, early hours of Tuesday, March 2nd, you started making your way into the world. When your dad's alarm went off at 5am, I woke up too and got up to use the bathroom. I'm sure this will embarrass you someday, but you gotta know, I was not clear on whether or not I had stopped peeing. So, I went back to bed. Three changes of clothes and the beginning of regular contractions later, it became pretty clear that my water broke. (I had always thought that my water breaking would be this big dramatic, totally identifiable thing, but as it turned out, not so much.)
After calling our doctor, Dr. Kenia Mansilla Rivera, and agreeing to meet at her office at 8am, your dad and I had breakfast together and watched the sunrise. It was a sunny, clear, beautiful day and watching the sun light up the world was such a perfect illustration of how we were feeling: full of hope and illumination.
By mid-morning we had been admitted into the hospital and my contractions were starting to get stronger and closer together. Early in the day it was basically just me, your dad and our nurse, Gina, spending time together, but by mid-day your aunt, Deborah, had arrived from Vermont. (We called all your grandparents, aunts and uncles, and everyone started making travel plans.)
As labor got more intense, I rocked in the rocking chair, walked around our room and had your dad rub my back. Finally, though, circa 2pm and 7cm, after almost accidentally knocking out your dad when a particularly strong contraction left my arms flailing, I called in the reinforcements, aka the anesthesiologist. Getting an epidural was great in many ways, as it allowed me to rest, but it definitely slowed things down.
Throughout the afternoon I was checked, checked and checked, and finally at 6:30pm, Dr. Kenia said that it would soon be time to push. By this time, the sun had set, and our room was lit only by soft lamps. We brought music with us, and it was truly one of the most relaxing, homey experiences I have ever had.
Finally, at 7:45pm, it was time to get the show on the road. Gina, our nurse, had her shift end at 7pm, so a new nurse, Kim, arrived, and with her brought all the positivity and warmth you could ask for. It was actually a very full room- in addition to me, your dad, Titi Deborah, Abuela, Kim and Dr. Kenia, there were also two medical students and another doctor, Dr. Elissa Freedman. Despite the crowd, it actually felt intimate, and the energy in the room was perfect.
So, once everyone assembled, I pushed and pushed and pushed for over two hours. Thanks to having the epidural, it was hard work, but not painful. As each contraction came, the med students held my legs, and in between we laughed, joked, and I regaled them with stories of Kourtney Kardashian's televised birth. (Don't ask.)
You definitely weren't in any hurry to head out into the world (btw, thanks for leading with your head,) but FINALLY at 9:50pm, with one final push, you were born! I can barely describe the adrenaline, emotion and pure JOY of that moment. I had always thought that I would sob, given that I'm perhaps one of the easiest cryers in the world, but believe it or not, I did not shed a single tear. (You should not be shocked to learn that your father, the world's most dedicated non-cryer, did not cry either.) Please don't think that means anything though- as we could not have been more emotional in that moment.
As Dr. Kenia lifted you up, Kim covered you in a blanket and handed to you to your dad, who then handed you to me. This moment, is one I will treasure forever.
Thank you for coming into this world and being exactly what your name means, a gift from God.
Happy birthday beautiful boy,
I love you,
Mami
The day you were born was the most amazing day of our lives. You weren't slated to show up until March 12th, but in the dark, early hours of Tuesday, March 2nd, you started making your way into the world. When your dad's alarm went off at 5am, I woke up too and got up to use the bathroom. I'm sure this will embarrass you someday, but you gotta know, I was not clear on whether or not I had stopped peeing. So, I went back to bed. Three changes of clothes and the beginning of regular contractions later, it became pretty clear that my water broke. (I had always thought that my water breaking would be this big dramatic, totally identifiable thing, but as it turned out, not so much.)
After calling our doctor, Dr. Kenia Mansilla Rivera, and agreeing to meet at her office at 8am, your dad and I had breakfast together and watched the sunrise. It was a sunny, clear, beautiful day and watching the sun light up the world was such a perfect illustration of how we were feeling: full of hope and illumination.
By mid-morning we had been admitted into the hospital and my contractions were starting to get stronger and closer together. Early in the day it was basically just me, your dad and our nurse, Gina, spending time together, but by mid-day your aunt, Deborah, had arrived from Vermont. (We called all your grandparents, aunts and uncles, and everyone started making travel plans.)
As labor got more intense, I rocked in the rocking chair, walked around our room and had your dad rub my back. Finally, though, circa 2pm and 7cm, after almost accidentally knocking out your dad when a particularly strong contraction left my arms flailing, I called in the reinforcements, aka the anesthesiologist. Getting an epidural was great in many ways, as it allowed me to rest, but it definitely slowed things down.
Throughout the afternoon I was checked, checked and checked, and finally at 6:30pm, Dr. Kenia said that it would soon be time to push. By this time, the sun had set, and our room was lit only by soft lamps. We brought music with us, and it was truly one of the most relaxing, homey experiences I have ever had.
Finally, at 7:45pm, it was time to get the show on the road. Gina, our nurse, had her shift end at 7pm, so a new nurse, Kim, arrived, and with her brought all the positivity and warmth you could ask for. It was actually a very full room- in addition to me, your dad, Titi Deborah, Abuela, Kim and Dr. Kenia, there were also two medical students and another doctor, Dr. Elissa Freedman. Despite the crowd, it actually felt intimate, and the energy in the room was perfect.
So, once everyone assembled, I pushed and pushed and pushed for over two hours. Thanks to having the epidural, it was hard work, but not painful. As each contraction came, the med students held my legs, and in between we laughed, joked, and I regaled them with stories of Kourtney Kardashian's televised birth. (Don't ask.)
You definitely weren't in any hurry to head out into the world (btw, thanks for leading with your head,) but FINALLY at 9:50pm, with one final push, you were born! I can barely describe the adrenaline, emotion and pure JOY of that moment. I had always thought that I would sob, given that I'm perhaps one of the easiest cryers in the world, but believe it or not, I did not shed a single tear. (You should not be shocked to learn that your father, the world's most dedicated non-cryer, did not cry either.) Please don't think that means anything though- as we could not have been more emotional in that moment.
As Dr. Kenia lifted you up, Kim covered you in a blanket and handed to you to your dad, who then handed you to me. This moment, is one I will treasure forever.
Thank you for coming into this world and being exactly what your name means, a gift from God.
Happy birthday beautiful boy,
I love you,
Mami
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