Want your daily dose of awesomeness? Check out this time lapse video created by a stay-at-home dad for his wife. It is seriously sweet and awesome at the same time!
Makes me melt, and helps me know that Potamus has been in good hands with Boof all this time. Now to have a time lapse daycare video showing such love, and I’ll be set! 🙂
Don’t let these lovely photos fool you. The Christmas festivities with my adoptive family were fraught with emotion and tensions and I might have yelled and slammed the door a few times. I threatened to leave. Because my parents were micromanaging every move, saying things loudly like “watch that plastic bag, babies can choke,” as if A) I don’t know that, B) that plastic bag is stalking my child, and C) I’m such a shitty mom that I’d let him put a bag on his head, tighten it and sit there for 5 minutes until he dies. I mean, seriously.
But more than the micromanaging, was the pressure I felt for Potamus to perform a certain way during present opening time. They were generous and overwhelmed him with every version of the B. toy brand from Target. They love giving gifts, but sadly for them, he was more often interested in the bows or wrapping paper or dancing to Manheim Steamroller. Which Boof and I LOVED to witness. The Christmas magic was alive in his eyes, as he danced and napped with grampy, and got to experience snow for the first time. But my parent’s jealous comments about his other grandparents, paired with the pressure they put on Potamus to react a certain way with the toys, was so frustrating that I wanted to (and sometimes did) scream. UGH.
At the rate they’re going it’s going to be a self-fulfilling prophetic path of 2nd class grandparentdom. Right now Potamus is a flaming ball of pure love toward everyone, but at some point he will notice that he can’t quite fully be himself with them, or he’ll have to react or act a certain way when they give him a gift or ask him to do something just for an arbitrary memory, instead of just being himself. And I don’t want him to resent them for that.
The Potamus weighs in at a whopping 21lbs, putting him in something like the 25th percentile for weight. Doc said its cause our stubborn little champ refuses any liquids (which is also contributing to being backed up). He has grown 4 inches since last time, which puts him at 30 inches tall, which seems long, but is only the 55th percentile. No medical worries and the little guy took his shots like a champ. Fingers crossed we won’t have to see our doc again until the 18 month check!
For the most part, my in-laws are on-board with this whole breastfeeding until whenever idea, but sometimes even their comfort zone is stretched. Like last night, when we were out to dinner at the fancy Columbia Tower Club (read, tallest building in Seattle). All of us were fancified in our finest Christmas garb, and dinner started out past Potamus’ early bedtime. He was holding up like champ, mugging for photos and throwing Chex all over the fine carpetting, when he started to get a little cranky. Boof had been feeding him some asparagus, but he looked tired and maybe like he wanted a nursing snack, so I threw my hooter-hider on and hoisted him into my lap (after quickly shovelling the bison steak and mashed potatoes into my mouth, YUM!). After going through the routine of unhooking the nursing bra and whipping it out, while struggling to hold his wiggly 1 year old legs, I looked down to see his smiling face happily munching on asparagus and totally ignoring my exposed breast. With a laugh I squeeled, “ahaha, he’s eating asparagus under there!” The whole table giggled, too, and then they said “well, I guess it’s about time to wean, eh?” To which, I agreed.
But later, it got me thinking, about how the general public views weaning. Because, truthfully the weaning process was begun a few months ago. At this point he’s down to a few times at night and maybe, maybe once during the day, if I am home, and we’re going down for a nap. But weaning is a relationship, ESPECIALLY since young Potamus doesn’t take liquid in any other form, that I’m not about to cut cold turkey. And Boof is even protective of my time with Potamus, acknowledging that it is the quickest, most effective, way of calming a fussy tired cranky needy sad little growing baby. The incident was funny, even downright hilarious, and there is truth to the whole weaning comment, but I wish that overall people saw weaning as a process and not a light switch to be turned off when one leaves the room.
Any funny weaning stories that you might have? Share here!
Yesterday Boof and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. It almost got lost in the hullabaloo around Potamus’ first birthday, but my mother-in-law swooped in at the last minute and offered to babysit while we went out to dinner. But THAT plan almost backfired when we called the pediatrician to ask about the late night crying jags and fear that it might turn into an ear-infection as we travel over Snoqualmie Pass this weekend.
The pediatrician had an opening in his schedule at 4pm, so we bundled up and headed out. But, in true doctor fashion, he was running late…by an hour! This waiting and waiting and waiting is SO annoying in the waiting room, but once he is in the exam room with us, and giving us his full undivided attention and never makes us feel rushed, it is worth it…which is why we keep going back. After a thorough exam, it turns out that my previous suspicions were confirmed: Potamus is constipated. The introduction of a little bit of whole milk, paired with his lack of drinking anything else but scarfing down tortellinis, has caused some backup issues. We were prescribed pear juice to help, and wowee, so far it has been doing its job! (but that’s another story for another time).
Boof and I managed to race him back to grandma’s and squeek in to Anthony’s for their “sunset dinner” special (aka, earlybird with the old folks) with two minutes to spare. You can’t go wrong with a $19.95 appetizer/salad/entree/dessert special, ya know? Especially on our tight budget and paying with a gift certificate. The night was lovely, and gave us a chance to really talk and try to get back on the same page. I told him that my massage/growth coaching session by Courtney Putnam of Rising Bird Healing Arts had focused on my intense emotions and my discovery of the 3 parts of myself that are in conflict: Individual, Mother, and Wife. And how wife is the one that gets pushed aside because it is the one that I can ever go back on. I cannot stop being myself and I cannot stop being a mother. Once Potamus was born, I now, forever will be a mom.
We talked about that struggle and trying to do things as a “we” instead of making an individual decision and getting the other person on board with it. There was tough, honest, brave comments and tough, honest, difficult reflections on observations. I think I was hit hardest with the observation that sometimes Potamus seems confused by my struggle between Individual and Mom, in the moments where I seem a little bit cold and don’t attend to his needs, that Boof notices the confusion in his face and posture. That hit me hard. Not that I will be a perfect mother, but that confusion resonated with me, as there were so many moments growing up that I thought I was the problem, when it was really my adoptive mother having difficulty regulating herself. I want to minimize that as much as I can, which means being more mindful that that is happening.
And we’re going to start looking at things as a couple to do, and have already thrown out the idea of a 5k walk/run together sometime in February. We’ll see how “training” goes, but it’s sort of exciting to think about doing something like that together!
Happy Birthday Potamus! Today you turn 1, and I couldn’t be happier that you are my sweet little boy.The moment you were laid on my chest I said, “I love you, and have waited so long to meet you!” It was an early morning, 6:29 am, but I felt so much love and energy that I couldn’t stop smiling and snuggling you. After about an hour, your daddy had to ask if me if he could have a turn! This year has been filled with so many adventures, from family reunions all over the state, to a wedding in Oregon, to local fun events like KidsQuest Museum and a concert for your favorite musician, Caspar Babypants. You are my little adventurer, happy unless hungry (or tired or poopy or sick), and social. You love spending time with your grandparents and aunties (both biological, and non) and especially love 4 legged creatures like our pup Scrummy. You are also always on the move! You started crawling at 8 months and haven’t looked back, since. You currently enjoy throwing the ball down grammy’s stairs and going to chase after it! And you love to eat, tortellini with marinara sauce is your current favorite, which makes me happy because I love it, too!
I wish so many more wonderful things for year 2! I am excited for you to begin walking unassisted, and for you to sleep longer stretches at night in your big-boy bed! I am excited to take trips to the zoo and the aquarium and for all the friends you’re going to make at “school” when you start in January. I miss some of your babyness, but am loving the little boy you are turning out to be! I hope your birthday was a happy and special day! Know that your mama and daddy love you very much. We are so happy that your are in our life!
Potamus has been sleeping in his floor bed for approximately two weeks. This means that mama monk-monk has been sleeping in Potamus’ floor bed for approximately 1.5 weeks. There are better nights than others, like two nights ago where he slept for 5 hours in a row there (but this was AFTER a 2 hour struggle of crying and moping around carrying his tambourine and banging it on the floor). Last night was rough, to say the least, with an almost 3 hour crying/whining jag from 3-5:45am. Sigh. Sometimes I end up sleeping next to him for blocks of time, and other times I’m able to creep away unnoticed and curl up in our luxurious king-size memory foam heaven. Because, lemme tell ya, a twin mattress from your parents’ old bunk bed, placed on hardwood floor, is…less than comfy.
But these moments, where he’s in dreamland by himself, or curled up next to me, seem SO worth it (the next day, because in the moment where he’s thrashing around crying, I do tend to want to pull my hair out).
While Potamus isn’t officially 1 until Thursday, we celebrated this weekend with some fun festivities. As my parents found out, when I turned 1 (and NO other time), Potamus was not a big fan of birthday cake. He did enjoy being passed from guest to guest, though, flirting with all of the ladies.
There is nothing like celebrating one’s 30th birthday, than with a Russian tragedy, er, love story. At least that’s what I convinced myself, and Boof, when he pressured to know how I wanted to spend today. I am usually terrible about thinking of celebratory things (especially things that don’t involve spending $100 on filet mignon at Daniel’s Broiler in Lake Union). But Anna Karenina is one of my favorite stories, a thick Russian love story/tragedy that occupied one good summer while I was lifeguarding and dreaming of someday being in love and married and possibly a mom.
I remember being confused at first, with a huge list of characters to memorize, and the Russian way of using nicknames and surnames that change, it was quite a challenge, and yet, I was drawn to the story, the woman: Anna. Tolstoy had this beautifully magic way of making her come alive on the page, and it was almost as if he was telling a story that was buried inside my soul, which shows his ability to not only relate to the greater human condition, but somehow understand a little about what goes on inside the hearts and minds of women. And the fact that I believed and knew and related so much to this beautifully awful complex woman made the ending that much more tragic.
But not so, in the movie.
The movie failed to capture the complexities of Anna, instead, the beautiful cinemetography and lack of substantial dialogue or even an omnipresent narrator given the task of explaining her innermost thoughts (they could have done with more actual quotes from the novel, I think), left the character of Anna more on par with that of Glenn Close’s character in Fatal Attractions. She seemed mad with love, and yet it didn’t seem pure or good or anything explainable other than lusty desire and…madness, in the film. The character of Vronsky was also flat, and gave me, the viewer, little insight into what made him tick (besides his penis picking Anna) and failed to leave me with any reason why Anna would have picked him, even if it was with her ‘heart.’ If looks were the reason that brought them together, then character casting could have done a better job, at that. Because I knew the ending already, I was almost looking forward to her suicide, thinking, “when will Anna finally jump in front of the train,” which was a thought that caught me off guard since I so understood her in the book.
Because of my preconceived notions from the story, I was actually surprised that I felt a compassion and empathy with Anna’s husband, who appeared in the film as a man who had done nothing at all to deserve the roller coaster ride that she put him on. I wonder, is it age or wisdom or simply the movie-maker’s take on the story that has changed my experience of Alexei Alexandrovich Karenin.The setting, filmed as if this were a play, added confusion to the storyline and I felt like it was trying to hard, though the actual filming of the scenes were beautiful.
In the end, though, I am happy I saw the movie, even if it was only a pure escape for two hours. I so rarely get to sit in a theater and enjoy myself, so that was a real treat. And I am happy that I laid my fantasies about the story aside and got to see a different view of the same old tale of love and loss.
But I’ll leave you with a quote from the book:
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Tomorrow I am turning the big 3-0, which means that I have been kickin’ it on planet Earth for three decades! Whew!
I normally get crabby around my birthday. It’s happened ever since I could remember, and I didn’t really understand the correlation until I was an adult and in support with other adoptees. I wrote angsty journal entries as a teenager that would often ask my diary the question, “is this because I am adopted?” and now, as an adult, I can unequivocally say, “yes, it is.” For most people, birthdays are celebrations of birth, but for me, a celebration of my birth is also a bittersweet reminder that my birth resulted in a separation from my mother, father, and all my extended family. For the longest time I didn’t really feel born, more like I had simply somehow poofed into existence here, like an alien arriving from a different planet. And, until I was 25, I did not have any pictures of me, as a newborn. There was a few taken a few days later, but none of that moment, the one where I took my first few breaths and was held by my parents. But, when I met Father J, one of the first things he did was pull the two pictures of me that he had, out, and gave them to me. Two pictures. That’s all I have. One of me in my mother’s arms, she is not visible, except for her iv marks, which is strangely appropriate and sad, as a foreshadow of things to come and come and come. And one of him holding me. It’s been doubly exposed, though, as it was either taken over previous film or vice versa. Which is also appropriate…a life captured and then gone to be replaced by something different.
So, this week, I’ve managed to oscillate between feeling excited about my upcoming joint birthday party with Potamus, and pissed off. I’ve mostly felt pissed off. I’ve sulked and tromped around and thrown mini-internal tantrums. Because, I didn’t really understand the importance of a birth day or a birth story until I gave birth to Potamus. I wonder if I should simply start celebrating his birth as my own, since the day he was born, was the day I became a mother. Maybe in the future I will simply start celebrating my birth on the 2oth, as it was both the day I became a wife (anniversary) and a mother (birth of Potamus). Hey, I kinda like that idea.
But here I am, an individual, who was earthly born out of my mother’s body on December 13th. In Scandinavian tradition, the 13th is St. Lucia’s Day, typically thought to be the darkest day of the year, which is celebrated with children wearing crowns of candles and bringing their parents hot coffee and cinnamon buns. I think it appropriate that I was born on this day, and have loved the tradition and symbolism since I was a child. In fact, I created elements of this tradition in my wedding, with a red sash and crown and wedding favors of Norway Spruce.
But in so many ways, 3 decades have gone by quickly. I’ve gotten to meet lovely people, and have had many many adventures. From spending a year barefoot, to river rafting in the Ganges, to riding in the Fremont Solstice Naked Bike Ride. I have a lovely group of friends, a comfortable home to come home to, and a sweet little family that I have created with Boof. I have so much to be thankful for, and am looking forward to the next 30 years. But growing old and looking back is still hard.
boof & monk-monk 