shokufeh is…home

A few weeks ago, I started playing a “sleep” CD when I put MrMan down to… well… sleep. The album usually plays on repeat, broadcast to other rooms via the baby monitors, until I stop it. Not surprisingly, I now think of this music as the soundtrack to every book I’m reading and have read recently.

Update: Kristi asked about the name of the CD. Funnily, it’s called “Sleep CD,” from Basic Wellness. I found it around the house one day and saw “Sleep” and figured it was worth a whirl. As I look at it more closely, I think it came free with something from JCPenney. The three songs on it, by Hans Peter Neuber, last almost forty minutes and sound like a cross of classical and new age.

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Today marks a year since the storm, the event that most people outside of this area call Hurricane Katrina. As Governor Blanco said earlier this evening, at an interfaith prayer service I attended, it’s been the longest year of our lives. I think there’s a truth to that. Even though I visited just a couple of weeks before the storm, it’s hard to remember when life didn’t revolve around the storm and its effects. Time is measured in terms of before the storm and after the storm.

Last week, I stepped out on the porch in the morning. For a brief moment, there was no storm. Things were normal. I couldn’t see the nearby houses that are abandoned or being renovated. No bus, many of which were donated by other cities, was passing by. The neutral ground was tidy. Then, I turned just so, and my eye fell on something – I don’t even know what – and I remembered that this is life post-storm. That things are not normal. It reminded me of when I was pregnant and would wake up in the morning and would forget that I was pregnant. Until I tried to move.

There are days when I wonder at how much progress has taken place in this year – that so many people have moved back and are in their own homes with lights and water, that we have public transportation, that we have so many intersections with functioning traffic lights, that we can buy things and eat out, that we can go through the day with a semblance of normalcy. There are other days when I wonder at how much is left to be done – that so many people are living in other cities or in trailers or in limbo, that there are areas of the city where the water is still not potable, that our pipes are hemorrhaging more water than we are consuming, that power outages are not a rare occurence since we have no backup, that our buses display destinations to which they are not actually going, that traffic signs and signals are still missing or not functioning in some neighborhoods, that some of my favorite shops and restaurants are not open – yet we still can go through the day with a semblance of normalcy. This is the power of human adaptation, of our resilience.

I think part of what gets us through is knowing that we’re all in this together. No matter how bad we have it, we all know someone who’s had it worse. We have to believe that it will work out, that the city will rebound, because it’s the only way to keep going. Recently, I watched a few short videos looking at our city after the storm. The words of one guy really stuck with me:
“New Orleans is fine. She just got a bad haircut. It’s gonna grow back out.”

Six months after the storm:

One year after the storm:

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I got a piece of advice, some time ago, from a couple of more experienced mothers. Now that I’ve tried it for myself, I’ll pass it on: when you’re on a little road trip and nursing seems to be in order, sit next to the carseat and lean over so that your boob can reach your wee one’s mouth. As one of the moms said, this becomes a little easier with each additional child. [For the same reason that an old woman might discover that the lump she felt on her breast was her belt buckle ] I tried this last night on the way back from the outlet mall, and it worked great – MrMan even fell asleep.

Speaking of breastfeeding, last weekend, I was nursing MrMan on a bench at the crowded mall. We were sharing the bench with another woman, whose friend showed up with her daughter in tow. The friend thanked me for nursing in public, expressing some of the sentiments I shared a few weeks ago. It was nice, I thought, for her to thank me, and made me feel like I might do the same to other nursing mothers in the future.

Speaking of last weekend, Sam and I celebrated our fourth anniversary. Four years and one month after our wedding, since we weren’t together on our actual anniversary. We went out for fondue – it’s something I’ve wanted to try, and the only meal I could think of that we definitely wouldn’t take a baby. (Need to take advantage of free babysitting while we can.) It was a good experience. I’d like to fondue (assuming it’s a verb) in the future, but maybe at home, where I can have more say about what I’m eating. You know, I enjoyed dessert, but could have done with a little less sweetness. We had intended to then go to a movie, but dinner took longer than anticipated.

Speaking of sweetness, one of my eating fixations these days is Whole Food’s 365 Sandwich Cremes. Basically like Oreos, but I like the filling better. I enjoy the kind while one vanilla side, one chocolate side. I also enjoy saying “creme” as “krem,” not “kreem.”

Speaking of creme, I’m also enjoying Whole Foods’ Orange Creme soda.

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Number of children my parents have: 3
Number of said children lacking health insurance: 3
There’s something wrong with that.

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Dear MrMan,

A few days ago, you turned nine months old. While that’s amazing, it’s today that gets me a little more teary-eyed: you have now lived outside of me as long as you lived in me. There’s no going back. Not that there really ever was (thank goodness, because I was pretty uncomfortable there toward the end and I can’t imagine another thirteen pounds of you inside), but there’s something about this point in your life that really moves me. For nine-plus months, I had the honor of growing you, of carrying an extra soul within, doing my best to prepare you for this world. In that time, you went from a bean to a little person – one who could eat and communicate and move some of his parts…. While you still depend upon me and others, you now take a very active role in growing yourself. You went from that little person to another one, who can help feed himself, communicate more clearly, assert himself, move himself and things around the house…. I feel like today is your graduation day from infancy.

There are now five teeth visible, to different degrees, in your mouth. I guess all these months of drool were a way to prepare to push out the teeth as quickly as possible. Your hair has grown so much that you are starting to look shaggy and in need of a haircut. But I am afraid to bring the scissors close enough to your head to change your appearance. You often have a bit of grime under your nails and on your knees and shins. You have little interest in having your diaper changed, and are in the habit of flipping yourself over on the changing table, as we attempt to hold you down just a little longer. Thank goodness you’re still enthusiastic about bathtime, to the point that you try to dive in to the tub as soon as you hear the water running.

New skills of late are many. A few weeks ago, you started waving. You’ll often do it almost furtively, sometimes after the other person has waved and then turned away. But you know how to use it when you really want to, like to greet a big kid. Oh, how impressed you are by those a year or two older than you. And you sometimes use it to say goodbye. Then, about ten days ago, you started clapping. I love watching you clap and how pleased you are with your new skill. You often start the morning by sitting up in bed and smiling and clapping.

You continue to crawl and cruise around the house. (Yes, around the house – your comfort zone has expanded. Mine, we’re still working on.) You are not content to just pull up on and cruise around the furniture, however – you feel compelled to move the furniture. Chairs, small tables, play structures, none are stationary in your path. Some we’ve tied down, others we’ve removed, yet others we secure as the occasion calls for it. You get very frustrated when the securing entails an adult sitting on the furniture, since, as strong as you are, there are limitations to how many pounds you can move. Another favorite activity is chasing a ball/cup/other-rolling-thing: you bat it with a hand and then crawl quickly (or, as I sometimes like to say, rawl) after it. It looks kind of like you’re playing soccer on your hands and knees.

Last week, you had your first snowball. From Plum Street, of course. You loved it! With each spoonful, you scrunched up your face, as if the cold and the tartness, of the unsweetened apple juice, was too much to bear. But then you’d open your mouth again. And you were so content, sucking the cold juice up the straw. I thought it would be several years before I’d have the pleasure of sharing with you the delights of my childhood. But here you were, enjoying my long-time favorite snowball stand. I guess this is actually the second thing I’m getting to share, as we go to playgroup at the same facility that I went to more than thirty years ago. Along with one of my classmates from then, and her daughter. I hope that I’m able to provide for you the strong feeling of home and belonging that I often feel.

You love to drink water, and sometimes use the cup as a finger bowl. You drink directly from the rim of the cup, and really like to drink from a straw. You enjoy avocado and pluot and pancakes and potato and carrot with tofu, among other things. But no meal is complete without your beloved Os. At some point during every meal, you start making sounds of wanting something, but nothing in sight is what you want. It’s only the Os that content you. Recently, you were so intent on having Os that you were able to indicate to MamanJan to get you out of your high chair and carry you into the kitchen, so that you could stare at the box of Os. You weren’t able to teleport it into your hands, but we were able to pick up the box and serve you your treat. I don’t think it a coincidence that one of the sounds you like to make is O-o-o-o-o.

Speaking of speaking, last week you said, “Hi!” It hasn’t been repeated, so we chalk it up to coincidence, but you really threw me, Daddy, and Ameh Meisa for a loop. You probably thought we were really goofy that we kept saying, “Hi,” to see if you’d repeat the sound. You do like to repeat sounds and sometimes initiate the game of repeating the same sound back and forth to each other – usually fake coughs, raspberries, and O-o-o-o-o.

Now that Daddy is here, the two of you have jumped back into your relationship. You go exploring, both in the house and outside. You spend time tapping the doorknocker on the front door. Time outside is followed by drinking water together. He builds towers of toys which, when you spot them, you rawl over and promptly knock down. You fall asleep for naps on his chest and tummy. The first night or two was a little bumpy, as the bed was more crowded, but you are now used to my sleeping on your left side, Daddy on your right. So used to it that, when we switched places on a recent night, you became very agitated, especially when no milk would come out of Daddy’s arm.

MrMan, I love you more and more with each passing day. Happy graduation!

Love,
Mommy

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My brother… the 2005 National Poetry Slam Champion… has done it again!

Those of you in the Seattle area can check out Anis Mojgani, two-time National Poetry Slam Individual Champion, at Bumbershoot.

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Thank you, thank you, for welcoming Sam home. You guys sure know how to send warm fuzzies through the ether.

How is it that a whole week has passed Sam’s arrival? What have I been up to?

In the next week: welcoming my brother and his girlfriend, and Meisa. A full house, in a house with no beds. Okay, I’m exaggerating when I say no beds, but we currently have no extra beds. Welcome to our house, welcome to our couch.

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The wait is over. My honey is home. Hurray!
Thanks, everyone, for your sympathy and good wishes. By the time I went to bed last night, I felt better: when my dad came home, I had a cry, followed by dinner. The funny thing was that MrMan joined in my crying, even though my dad was holding him, and I wasn’t very loud in my crying. Those babies, they’re so connected to us.
I felt even better this morning when I awoke and had less than twelve hours to go. But, of course, I feel the best now, now that my little family is all together in one home. MrMan is even warming up to Sam.

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Single parenting is not something I can recommend. Even the luxury version, where you don’t have to worry about rent, and there are other adults in the house, is hard. Harder than parenthood should be. You have the joys of parenting, but you have them all to yourself. You also have all the pains of parenting all to yourself. I think that both benefit from having a partner with which to share them – the former because it magnifies them, the latter because it minimizes them. For the past five months and one day, I’ve held on, usually held it together. Over the past month or so, I started to wonder how much longer I could hold on. Most days, it was good. Some days, it was great. But other days, or usually just moments, it became apparent that the thread to which I was holding was wearing out. That I was wearing out. That the days, and nights, of parenting without a partner needed to end soon. I needed a shower. I needed a haircut. I needed a moment to myself. I needed to eat until I was full, not until my son lost his patience. I needed a partner. For the past month, the thread, while wearing out, held fast. It was held by the knowledge that at 6:05 pm today, a plane carrying my husband would land at the New Orleans airport. But, while that plane may have landed, my husband was not on it. He called this morning to say that he’d missed the plane last night and would have to take the same set of flights 24 hours later. So, instead of a day filled with happiness and anticipation, it’s been a day filled with crap. And the thread broke. There were a few tears shed by me, though I was too numb to have a good cry and move on. There were more tears shed by MrMan, likely in response to my inattentiveness. There were wardrobe changes several times over, due to vomit and poop. There were violent rings of the doorbell from a neighbor who just needed to know if the mail had come. Yes, but I don’t know if it was worth breaking the spell of a verging nap. The dishes are still in the sink. Dinner is unmade. I watered the plants and then it rained. I’m in a foul humour, to say the least.

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People may not guess this about me, but I’m passionate about breastfeeding. Not in a yoo-hoo-watch-me-whip-my-boob-out kind of way, but in a what-a-perfect-way-to-feed-my-child way. There was never any question in my mind as to whether I would breastfeed. It was only after I became a mother that I really took notice that maybe, while my actions were normal, they’re not necessarily the norm. There have been times, early on in MrMan’s life or when he was going through a growth spurt, that my boobs hurt. There have been times when I felt frustrated by needing to serve as his power pack and by stray leaking. There have been times when I felt awkward nursing in public. But I persevere.

Of course, the main reason I persevere is to provide the best nutrition for my son. But, beyond that, I breastfeed because I feel it’s my responsibility. I am fortunate enough to have had breastfeeding role models in my life. And now, I hope I can serve as one, too. Maybe my breastfeeding MrMan at the mall or in a restaurant today will give another woman the courage to do so as well. Whether in a week or in twenty years. My hope is that the next generation of women will be better supported in their breastfeeding efforts. There are so many ways in which that will be manifested, but I think the simplest way to state it is that I hope that we will make at least as many provisions for breastfeeding as we currently do for smoking.

It’s World Breastfeeding Week. Support your favorite breastfeeder – give her a glass of water, help feed the next generation. Pretty amazing, isn’t it?

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