Printed in The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, a mom interprets her baby girl's cries:
Sophia: Waaaaaah! STARVING BABY! HELP! HELP! DOESN'T ANYONE CARE? CALL UNICEF! HELP! HELP!
Me (scooping up one angry lump of baby): Hey there, sweetie. Hungry?
Sophia: OH, MOM, it was SO AWFUL! I woke up in that PLACE? You know that one? Where no one is holding the baby? And there isn't any milk? IT WAS THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED IN MY WHOLE LIFE!
Me: Here you go.
Sophia: SO HUNGRY! (butts mom with her face)
Me: You have to open your mouth.
Sophia: WILL NO ONE THINK OF THE BABY?
Me (tickles her lip): It's okay, sweetie.
Sophia: SO HUNGR--oh. Snarf. Nom nom nom nom nom nom. MAN, that's the stuff! Nom nom nom nom nom nom. SO GOOD. Nom nom nom nom. I almost DIED, you know. Nom nom nom nom.
Me: Zzzzzzzzzz
Sophia (head lolling back, mouth slack and dribbling milk): Duuuuuude.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Gratitude and Community
I've been writing thank you notes again.
I can tell because I'm in the euphoric haze of bliss in which I bear good will toward all mankind. Guy who cut me off in traffic, rejoice. I cannot hold a grudge.
It wasn't always that way. Growing up, thank you notes were the typical chore. My mom had a rule that we had to write as many sentences as our age. Therefore, when writing a thank you note for your eighth birthday, you had to come up with eight sentences to say how much you liked the plastic horse or the Lisa Frank rainbow folder.
Which I did like them. But not eight awkward sentences worth.
In college, I did a lot of thinking about the community. About what it means to be a community. About how our transient culture makes community difficult to sustain. About the individual's need for community, and how the lack of one can result in a detached individual grasping for roots, a context greater than himself.
And in the midst of this, I was planning a wedding. And the gifts poured in, and as I wrote thank you notes, I had an epiphany.
I wrote a post once on the meaning of weddings. I always half-jokingly said that I would elope, because I'm not really a party person. But then I realized what a wedding really is: an outpouring of support from the community, a group of witnesses welcoming a new family to be the cornerstone of society.
Gifts are a symbol of that love. A wedding gift is a way of saying, "Yes, we are here to help you form your family. We welcome you into our community, and we will support you and be your friend and give you a context in which to raise your children."
The gift isn't the toaster. It is the promise that, just as the toaster meets a physical need, the community is there to meet the emotional and spiritual needs. And I found that I could write thank you notes "with the air of a traveler who knocks at a strange door, and, when it opens, finds himself at home."
Multiply that relief a hundred times when you have a child. We have been so, so blessed and at times surprised at the love and support and excitement from our communities. Just...wow.
My mother's heart is thrilled, because to me, all these gifts are a reminder that my little boy will never be lonely in this world. No matter where we are, there is always a community of people who love him and who cherish him. The constant sound of the UPS truck was like a refrain saying, "Welcome, little guy. We're here to love you and support you and help your parents when they need it. Because we want to see you grow and thrive into a happy little boy, and a strong young man, and raise a family of your own someday. And even though we've never met you, we accept you."
Talk about comforting to a young mother. Because there will be days when I need help, advice, or just support. I will need reminders that my baby boy is precious even when he won't nap, that the little menace refusing to do his schoolwork has a soul, that even if dinner that night is lacking in nourishment, nothing can compare to the time I take to nourish his spirit.
And my community is there to do that for me. For us.
And what if something were to happen to either Josh or me (or both)? I know that as a single mother, I would never be in need of protection or support. As a single father, Josh would never need to fear that Kekoa wasn't being nurtured because a host of loving female hearts would accept him as their own. And should the unthinkable happen and neither of us survived, I know my little boy would find the doors to a thousand homes ready to receive him.
So I write thank you notes, which are entirely inadequate to capture the appropriate thanks, and my heart is filled with confidence and joy. And when a wedding invitation comes, I go shopping. Because being part of a community means not only being accepted, but extending that acceptance to others.
I can tell because I'm in the euphoric haze of bliss in which I bear good will toward all mankind. Guy who cut me off in traffic, rejoice. I cannot hold a grudge.
It wasn't always that way. Growing up, thank you notes were the typical chore. My mom had a rule that we had to write as many sentences as our age. Therefore, when writing a thank you note for your eighth birthday, you had to come up with eight sentences to say how much you liked the plastic horse or the Lisa Frank rainbow folder.
Which I did like them. But not eight awkward sentences worth.
In college, I did a lot of thinking about the community. About what it means to be a community. About how our transient culture makes community difficult to sustain. About the individual's need for community, and how the lack of one can result in a detached individual grasping for roots, a context greater than himself.
And in the midst of this, I was planning a wedding. And the gifts poured in, and as I wrote thank you notes, I had an epiphany.
I wrote a post once on the meaning of weddings. I always half-jokingly said that I would elope, because I'm not really a party person. But then I realized what a wedding really is: an outpouring of support from the community, a group of witnesses welcoming a new family to be the cornerstone of society.
Gifts are a symbol of that love. A wedding gift is a way of saying, "Yes, we are here to help you form your family. We welcome you into our community, and we will support you and be your friend and give you a context in which to raise your children."
The gift isn't the toaster. It is the promise that, just as the toaster meets a physical need, the community is there to meet the emotional and spiritual needs. And I found that I could write thank you notes "with the air of a traveler who knocks at a strange door, and, when it opens, finds himself at home."
Multiply that relief a hundred times when you have a child. We have been so, so blessed and at times surprised at the love and support and excitement from our communities. Just...wow.
My mother's heart is thrilled, because to me, all these gifts are a reminder that my little boy will never be lonely in this world. No matter where we are, there is always a community of people who love him and who cherish him. The constant sound of the UPS truck was like a refrain saying, "Welcome, little guy. We're here to love you and support you and help your parents when they need it. Because we want to see you grow and thrive into a happy little boy, and a strong young man, and raise a family of your own someday. And even though we've never met you, we accept you."
Talk about comforting to a young mother. Because there will be days when I need help, advice, or just support. I will need reminders that my baby boy is precious even when he won't nap, that the little menace refusing to do his schoolwork has a soul, that even if dinner that night is lacking in nourishment, nothing can compare to the time I take to nourish his spirit.
And my community is there to do that for me. For us.
And what if something were to happen to either Josh or me (or both)? I know that as a single mother, I would never be in need of protection or support. As a single father, Josh would never need to fear that Kekoa wasn't being nurtured because a host of loving female hearts would accept him as their own. And should the unthinkable happen and neither of us survived, I know my little boy would find the doors to a thousand homes ready to receive him.
So I write thank you notes, which are entirely inadequate to capture the appropriate thanks, and my heart is filled with confidence and joy. And when a wedding invitation comes, I go shopping. Because being part of a community means not only being accepted, but extending that acceptance to others.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Time flies by...
From a molasses crawl during the last few months of pregnancy to the warp speed of infancy. Time is a cruel bully preying on the vulnerable minds of sleep-deprived moms.
This is Kekoa at one week old with his bear.
One month old. Same outfit, same bear, three weeks later.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
These are a Few of My Favorite Things...
...This outfit, and little men who grow.
The above picture is from one day old, and the next picture is from three weeks. There's nothing like watching a baby literally grow before your eyes...and nothing like knowing that it's your body allowing him to do so.
...naptime.
...these little beauties:
 |
| I mean, seriously. No one will ever be able to tease Kekoa by saying that he was adopted or switched in the hospital because he might as well have been born with his last name stamped on his forehead. ...and these guys. <3 
I can't believe it's been almost a month already. Time just flies on by, and my little sleepy newborn is an alert baby with a definite personality. He loves to face the world and is happiest in the sling, facing outward so he can see everything; he loves to be carried because there's a better view. He's found his fingers already, and only puts up with swaddling as long as we leave one hand out so he can suck on them. If we commit the unforgiveable and swaddle both arms up, then he demonstrates some pretty incredible Houdini skills. I have a feeling that once he's mobile I'll have my hands full for sure.
I'm reminded every day that parenthood is challenging, but wonderful, and that while there's lots of good advice out there, only we can determine what is best for our baby and for us. There is no "magic formula." Even his birth showed that to me...I studied up on labor patterns, and had a completely non-textbook labor. I was told to go light on the newborn clothes and diapers, and that's all he's worn for the first month. And despite all the advice on how to put your baby to bed, reflux changes everything. So we pray, and we remember that every day requires a special sort of patience and heaps of flexibility.
Because just when we think we've got it..everything will change. And that's okay, because every day is a new adventure. |
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