Second Act

Baby # 2 has been making her existence known lately. What started as graceful fluttering movements are now jolting acrobatics in my expanding belly. It's as if with every kick and fist pump, she's saying "I'M HERE!" I don't even remember wild LO kicking this much. Scary. 

Why? Because I had this vision of my second baby girl being a sweet, tame creature. A snuggly, sensitive soul who would be more of the "clutching Mama's leg" type at school drop-off than LO's "C-ya Mami" wave. Of course it's impossible to assess a fetus' personality. But if all this movement is any indication of the energy of this little one, we're in for a wild (wilder, rather) ride!

I can't deny that I have worried about the attention that Numero Dos will get. LO is just such a tour de force. She came into this world as a bolt of energy. She has always demanded attention and received it by the boatloads. Recently I opened LO's baby boxes. The baby swing and Little Lamb vibrating seat are in mint condition. LO demanded warm arms. We rarely put her down. P and I took turns bouncing her on the exercise ball. It was a life saver. It soothed her every time. (Note to self: find that ball.) 

But this approach will be impossible with LO running amuck asking for constant snacks and for yet ANOTHER game of hide-and-seek. (Why does this game not get old? She hides in the same spot every time! ) I know I will be dividing myself and hopefully not going crazy in the process. See, the only experience I have had with a baby was with LO and that was not easy. Not in the least. Some babies seem to fit seamlessly into their new parents' lives. These are the rested mothers that proudly say "I have such a good, calm baby." I never ONCE uttered these words. Of course LO was "good" in the usual definition of the word. She was not an evil baby (do those exist?? no!) but what people usually mean when they say "good" baby is that their baby: SLEEPS (LO did NOT) and generally requires little attention other than diapering and feeding (HA!). LO required enormous amounts of attention and she did not fit seamlessly anywhere (except our hearts). She turned our world upside down and inside out. And continues to do so. 

So the idea of another experience such as this seems daunting to say the least. Yet, I do believe that one never gets more than they can handle. Is this not true? Please say yes. I see the moms at LO's school, rocking the Baby Bjorn while holding their toddler's hands (and the lunch box and back pack.) They're doing it. So can I! (right??)

And while some of you may be reading and thinking "What a wimp; I did all that while _____(insert any scenario which is more difficult - and there are many- like "working 4 jobs" or "raising 7 other kids"), to me, my situation still scares me silly sometimes. It's just the way it is. But I applaud you and ask you for tips. Although please don't say "All my babies were good and calm and slept through the night at 4 weeks" because if history repeats itself, that won't be the case.

LO will be a hard act to follow in many ways, but it seems as though this baby is ready to hold her own and claim her position in the family. FIST PUMP!

Nature

My favorite pastime used to be people watching. Actually this activity was not limited to people - trees, the sunset, a dog, the perfect foam on a cappuccino.  Anything and everything did not escape my watchful and engaged eye. Now, a bus full of trannies dressed like Cher could disembark right in front of me and I wouldn't even notice.

When I had LO, this pastime became part of my past. Somehow that oxytocin (the "love" hormone that bonds you to your baby) came in doses that I was not prepared for. I only had eyes (and ears) for her. I never tired of looking at her. If she was in the presence of other humans, they took on the form of an outline, a shadow almost. I just couldn't help it. This is how motherhood hit me...like a bus full of trannies. 

Now that LO is (slightly) more independent - she still follows me to the bathroom and never fails to ask (even in public restrooms!) if I'm going POO or PEE - and can entertain herself anywhere from 8-13 minutes at at time, I see all that I've been missing. At the coffee shop the other day, she sat enjoying her chocolate milk and cookie (it was treat day for both us, my decaffeinated pregnant body begged for a latte) while I actually looked up...at the world. It was fascinating! There was so much to see. The old handsome man at the corner table reminded me so much of my Grandpa, with his gold watch and "guayabera." The Goth Girl barista was flirting relentlessly with her Jock Boy coworker. A dog took a serious dump beside the outside table of his owner. He embarrassedly struggled to clean it up before anybody noticed. But I did! I noticed because I had a few moments to engage with the outside world. The world where people are quiet, relaxed and not throwing pebbles at each other (like a scene we had just witnessed at the park). 

When you have little kids, you just miss everything. Or at least 98% of everything. You are more concerned if your toddler is going to bolt out into the street than if the clouds look like they'll bring rain. At the grocery store, while picking out oranges, you must keep an eye that your tot doesn't pick one from the bottom and that the entire triangle sculpture doesn't come tumbling down. Say goodbye to scanning a tabloid in the checkout line because you're more than likely keeping your kid's hands off the M&M's that are so conveniently placed right at her eye line.  Then you'll spend the rest of your time in line explaining that it's not time for candy because it's 9 in the morning. Over and over again. Unless your kid just has a tantrum, in which case you will move on to other tactics...distraction, whispering threats (only if your kid is old enough to care) or just buying the dang candy to make it stop (I don't recommend this tactic or you'll be buying M&M's every time you buy milk or anything for that matter. Why does Lowe's have candy displayed at the checkout!?! Cruel.)

Nature is a calculating, conniving force with altruistic motives. Nature wants us to care for our young and keep them out of harm's way to insure mankind's propagation. It blinds you with this love potion that forces you to become an obsessive, possessive psycho. Brilliantly it does it in such a way that you don't even realize it. You think you're normal, that you're unchanged. Not true. It's just Nature pulling one over on you, on all of us. 

So if you ask a mother of young tots, "Did you see that??" Chances are she'll say "What?" Unless her kid has a giant chocolate chip cookie in her little hands. Take that, Nature! We too have tricks up our sleeves - Dora, Yo Gabba Gabba, Ipad's and cookies. And I will not feel guilty. Those minutes are precious. As are the other 1,276,2093 minutes you spend eyeing your offspring. 

Heartbeat

Hearing a heartbeat has to be one of the most soothing and melodious sounds in the world. Especially when it confirms that a life is growing inside of you. Each voracious "TA-TUM, TA-TUM" increases your own heart rate as it pumps equal parts excitement and love back into that vital organ. I never tire of hearing that sound at my OB's office. I wish I could download it to my Ipod.

It's official. I have an extra heartbeat inside of me, along with an additional set of arms, legs and eyes. I am growing a baby and we are growing our family. As LO so accurately stated today, "Mama, we are going to be 4 now" all the while swinging four fingers up in the air. She has a new fascination with counting and numbers. She must have gotten that from her father. I was always more interested in words. I wanted to know where she was going with this, so I asked "What do you mean?" To which she very matter-of-factly answered "It's Papa, you, me and baby...4 of us." I was in shock. I had no clue she grasped the whole concept to this extent. She looked equally as puzzled at me for being so slow on the uptake. As if she was thinking, "DUH, Mama! Don't you get it?" And then she picked up a Cheerio from the ground and ate it. 

There are times, like at the OB hearing our nugget's heartbeat, when I truly marvel at the miracle of life. When I feel blessed for having the privilege of nurturing a human being from an infinitesimal zygote to a full-blown beautiful baby! But most of the time I do not. 

I don't because I have a child in my daily presence whom I marvel at constantly. Another person for whom I care for, clean for, cook for and comfort. And occasionally lose my cool at. So I am not as preoccupied with the one inside of me as much as the one on the outside. I know it sounds cruel and even unfair but it's the truth. See, the one walking the Earth needs my constant attention while the other one thrives with very little upkeep. Baby-in-Belly is very low-maintenance, needing just a few things: nutrition (which I'm a champ at, I'm never one to skip a meal), exercise (I get that everyday chasing LO around the kitchen island), a prenatal vitamin and a ton of affection from Big Sister. This baby is getting its share of loving from LO and hopefully that will continue when Baby is out of the womb. LO loves to kiss my belly, pat it, put her blankie on it and loves to plop right on top of it while we read books. Oh, and also touches my belly when we're crossing the street because Baby needs to "holds hands" (ironically, a rule LO herself has a hard time following).

Despite what the dusty pregnancy journal on my nightstand might indicate, Baby is already deeply loved and a full-fledged family member. Spoken about daily and always included in the daily rundown with P. "I felt Baby flutter today." "Can you believe that if Baby is a girl she already has all the 3 million eggs she'll have throughout her ENTIRE life?" (Insane, right?!) "Baby wants a Whataburger...and onion rings." Baby is most certainly loved and the entire family is itching with anticipation to meet him or her. Especially LO, who proclaims that Baby will arrive Tuesday. Maybe on "A" Tuesday but not "THIS" Tuesday, I try to explain. She stares blankly back at me. And says "No Mama, on TUESDAY." I should let this one go.

Recently on a plane ride to Disneyland and Vegas for our family vacation, I had a moment of deep marvel, gratitude and pure love. The kind of moment which involuntarily produces tears in your eyes and tugs at your insides in a really good, yet weird sort of way. Not unlike every time I watch "Love Actually" (specifically the airport scene where everyone embraces their loved ones). Maybe "Flying High in the Sky" as LO triumphantly calls an airplane ride, puts us all in our place, perspective-wise.  We're tiny beings in this universe yet we're capable of such intense emotion and love. Anyhow, back to  my moment: LO fell asleep on top of me, which only happens on airplane rides or when she's very ill. So I only get to hold my beautiful toddler creature like this 4-6 times a year....tops. Thankfully, she doesn't get sick often and sadly, we don't get to travel via airplane as much as I'd like. So this is a moment I'd cherish anytime. But it wouldn't warrant tears or gut-wrenching sentimentality. I'm not THAT much of a cornball. Yet this time, I realized that I was holding my TWO babies. For the first time. My belly held one, my arms held the other. Our three heartbeats palpitated within inches of each other. For a few precious minutes we were almost a sole heartbeat.

Then we all slept. Which I'm sure will be the last time that happens in a very long time. Unless we catch another plane before January.

Bon voyage everybody!

3 Months...

It's barely one quarter of a year. Only one trimester of a pregnancy. Less than a football season. 

It's a blink of an eye, in terms of a lifetime. 

Sometimes, though, it can be an eternity. Three months without hearing his contagious laughter. Three months without seeing his eyes light up at the sight of his grandkids. Three months of not enjoying his presence. It feels like an eternity because it's final. Death always is. 

While saying LO's bedtime prayers, we remind her of Abuelo - her Guardian Angel. She often says that "Abuelo is up in the sky." Yet tonight she expanded on this, saying, "Abuelo is a butterfly and he can fly down into my room." P and I stared at one another. Where did she get this from? This is not part of the usual script we rehearse in an attempt to explain death to our two-year-old. 

But LO is absolutely right. Abuelo is free and majestic and lovely - just like a butterfly. 

We do not know who may flutter away next. That is the fragility and mystery of life. So tonight, in this moment, love entirely with your whole being. Hug your kids. Kiss your wife. Call your mom. Pet your cat. Smile at that stranger. 

Let us not live in fear of what tomorrow may bring, knowing we have loved fully today. 

Thank you, Abuelo Gerardo, for loving very fully.

Nap

It's that blissful time of the day when I can actually think and demonstrate some productivity. Yet I usually spend it scarfing down my lunch while rotting my brain away on whatever I have on Tivo. These days it's a lot of Bravo and HBO with the occasional independent flick to stay "cultured." I call it recovery therapy. Recovery from what, you ask. Here it goes: day in the life of LO (and me...her sidekick, for she clearly runs the show).

Wake to "MAMA, MAMA!" I cheerfully (how cheerful depends on how late I stayed up reading or more often - watching Bravo) enter and open the curtains. She gets annoyed that the light comes in and bothers her precious eyeballs. Once over this shock, she jumps up like a lizard and holds onto the crib rail and continues to jump, up and down, up and down, like this for a good 3 minutes. Her grin so wide it almost grazes her ears. Suddenly she stops and breathlessly exclaims "I'm hungry. I want to eat." The first of 8,674 demands of the day. How a person can wake up so famished is beyond me.

As I attempt to wake myself with coffee, I am bombarded with "I want blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and banana. Please. With flaxseed and cinnamon." She adds, "Make it rain Cheerios." I shake Cheerios onto her high chair and sing "It's raining Cheerios, All-e-lu-ia. It's raining Cheerios, A-MEN." That's my pathetic attempt at humor this early in the day. Silly, I know. But my two-year-old audience loves it. Thankyouverymuch.

The downpour of Cheerios also serves as a distraction while I try to round up the aforementioned berries...every berry under the freaking sun. I've created a monster. I used to get a Pop Tart for breakfast! At least she understands that when a certain berry costs too much green, it's off the menu. She'll say: "We don't have raspberries today, Mama, because they are too 'SPENSIVE'." That's right, the girl is learning the value of a dollar.

After breakfast (which almost always involves several rounds of milk and berries), we retire to her bedroom to engage in some sort of educational activity; like a puzzle or flash cards or jumping like a lizard. I then announce that we'll be departing in T-minus 30 to the park, gym, library and/or grocery store (it's usually one or two stops...on really ambitious days it may be 3 or 4). We're lucky if we leave the house one hour later.

During this time, we take several trips to the bathroom. I follow her to her potty, she follows me to mine. Sadly, when you're a stay-at-home mom, there are no boundaries. I attempt to look "put-together" and not let on that I'm a stay-at-home mom, yet I rarely succeed. Yoga pants are a dead giveaway. I comb my hair, I comb LO's hair (yelling and/or crying often ensues.) I pack enough snacks for a Mexican family of 10 going to a Dodgers game. Water bottle, check. Wipes, check. Purse, check. Keys, check.

Even after all these mental checklists, I always manage to forget something. Very often that 'something' is the entire reason for the outing. Like forgetting the books on the "Return Library Books" run.

Once out the door (AT LAST!), I clench onto LO's wrist while I, for the 80 millionth time, explain the importance of not running onto the street. I just do not trust my child. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She's a bolter. Bolts when you least expect it. So for now, I clench. We get into the car and listen to whatever soundtrack she's obsessed with. Yesterday it was "Pumped up Kicks," today it's the "Yo Gabba Gabba" CD which is not as bad as it sounds. Music usually makes her happy and fulfilled as she so cutely jams out and sings off key (like mother, like daughter).

When we get to our destination, whichever it may be, the common denominator is GUIDANCE. As a mom, you are constantly gently guiding or, at times, tightly tugging your child in the right direction. At the park: "Be careful coming down the slide head first," or "WAIT! First ask the owner if you can pet the huge St. Bernard." At the store: "Yes, please help me pick out apples, just don't pick from the bottom of the apple sculpture so that they all come tumbling down (that was a close call). At the library: "Let's whisper so these nice people (and few sketchy types...there is an eclectic mix of peeps at the public library) can read peacefully." At the gym childcare: "Please don't scare the babies so that Mama doesn't get paged during yoga class (hasn't happened but it's a real fear. LO likes to go up to babies and scream "MEOW" at them. Just because.)

It's not that I'm jumping out of planes or even doing anything remotely exhausting, per se. It is not the activity itself; for me the draining aspect is the PARENTING part! The loving, laughing and goofing around comes easy. That's the FUN part. The other part is work. And like any other 9-to-5'er, there are easy(ish) days and hard days. Good days and bad days. And this is why I still feel entitled to a drink or two at Happy Hour on Friday afternoon - in my living room during "Yo Gabba Gabba."

***I am aware that I did not finish detailing the riveting events of the rest of our day. But I suddenly realized that they are not, in fact, riveting at all. I apologize for the half-day you endured.

Flirty Thirty

In honor of feeling so grateful for my 30 years on this magnificent Earth, I have made a list of things I have learned and another list of things I hope to learn in the next 30 years.


Lessons Learned:

Track & Field is not for everybody. No amount of practice was ever going to transform me into Marion Jones. This skinny Mexican girl was never going to be successful at jumping hurdles, triple-jumping or any  other nonsense that comes with T+F. I found soccer to be a much better fit. I loved the physical contact and the lack of guns going off. Lesson learned: Try. And if doesn't work out - get out and find a better fit. Like when I left my torturous first PA job at a famous director's office. It took me 3 months of sobbing commutes and hating my existence, but when I finally got the courage to admit to myself that it wasn't working, I left and immediately stumbled on a costumes assistant job. This led to a happy 5 year career. See, track and field ain't the only sport.

Love is everything. Now maybe it's because I just came back from a holistic spa retreat with my mom and had a very meditative and spiritual experience, but isn't this truth? REALLY. Wealth, status, work, even health, pale in comparison to LOVE. Without it, who cares if you have money or even health? Why does any of it matter if you don't give and get love? Splurging on the spa weekend with my mom was worth every penny. Yes, the massage and fluffy pillows were a treat - but the REAL treat was making memories with my mama. I cherish my good health because it allows me to get on the floor and give LO airplane rides. My arms quiver on the 20th ride but seeing that toothy grin fills my heart. It all comes back to love.

Expect the Unexpected. And embrace it. Did I ever in my wildest, nuttiest dreams think that I would be a "homemaker" and damn happy at it. NEVER. EVER. ever. Yet I am. Who would have thought that I, the eternal dreamer and wanderer, would marry at 22 and that at 30 I would be playing house and raising a kid? I did not. I envisioned myself in some foreign country, doing something completely unconventional like working at a museum, a consulate, a winery. Definitely not doing the oldest profession of all time (and no, I'm not a prostitute. But I'd like to make a case for "homemaking" as being the oldest occupation. Who took care of those bambinos while the men hunted and gathered??) So here I am, living very conventionally and loving it. Go figure. Maybe it has a little to do with the previous lesson - amore?

Hold on to friends. Tightly and don't let go. If she was there to hold your hair back while your head was in the toilet of some seedy bar bathroom while angry girls pounded on the stall door, eager to relieve their bladders - that's a friend. If she attended 5 bridal showers and then went to your bachelorette party in Vegas and later flew to El Paso for your wedding - that's a friend. If she knew you when you were a serious fashion victim and saw the diamond in the rough that you were - that's a friend. If she thinks that you're smart and funny and good, especially when you're not feeling this way about yourself - that's a keeper. In my experience, it gets increasingly difficult to make true friendships the older I get. Opportunities to bond with somebody are limited due to the "grown-up lifestyle" i.e. work, family, chores, sleep…repeat. Sleepovers or a semester in Europe are hard to come by these days. Super sad but true. So if you made some great friends during these less hectic times in your life, when booze and boys were your interests and not babies and baking - hold on to them. Forever.

Ok, so I know I must have learned more things. But I can't remember. Is "30 the New 60" for me? Oh no.

Things I still hope to learn:

Don't seek Perfection. It is a losing battle. Why waste my time? No, my house will never look like a page out of Architectural Digest. No, my abs will never be…well, ABS. It'll just be a stomach - a flat one, if I work hard. But with no signs of ripples or six-packs. No, my daughter will never behave perfectly and calm. Even on my birthday…urggg! No, I will never read all the books on my "I Should Read These Books To Be A Decently Smart Person" list. And do I really want to read Proust's seven part essay when instead I could read some Brit lit that really lights me up? Life is short…read what you want.

Love Thyself. At least as much as I love others (or even more, according to some Buddhist teachings I've been reading). I tend to be quite compassionate towards those I love. I empathize with LO if she's angry or frustrated and therefore acts like a she-devil. Yet if I'm a pain in the arse, I tend to embark on a self-loathing journey that usually ends with tears and poofy eyes. Lately it has occurred to me that if I directed some of that compassion towards myself, I would get over my pissy mood faster and spare myself the self deprecation. Perhaps I could be kinder to myself. Become a real pal to myself. Take it easy on me.

Embrace Aging. I'm starting to see wrinkles on my forehead. Crap. I got one grey hair on the right side of my head. Boo. I see some varicose veins creeping up on my legs. Yikes.  I love short shorts. What to do? I'm not delusional. I know that 30 does not classify me as old. Not even close…right? Of course not! Yet, one can not deny that some things do not look like they used to in their more youthful state. I plan on battling this by BOTOX, what else? No, not really (not yet). My plan is to remind myself that I will never be this young ever again. Each day I only get older, so I may as well appreciate it for all it is. Tiny varicose veins and all. Because one day, my legs may look like one of LO's crazy sketches - blue lines haphazardly intersecting eachother. At least today, I am quite firm and wrinkle-free. So I'll wear those shorts.

I hope I learn much more than these three things. But it's a good starting point. Plus, LO woke up from her nap and there is a birthday to celebrate, after all.

Lots of love.

J

New Year - New You

"We wish you a Merry Missmas, We wish you a Merry Missmas, We wish you Merry Missmas and a happy new YOU!"

This is exactly how LO sings, err... dictates, the song. No matter that we're well into January, she still insists on bestowing upon us her new lyrical mastery of this classic number... as well as Jingle Bells. It is difficult for a two-year-old to grasp the concept of passage of time and the disturbing reality that the "Missmas" tree can't illuminate our lives all year long. And although I let her get away with entering the kitchen with her plastic pink pumpkin in hand and joyfully yelling "Trick or Treat" until December, I had to put the kabosh on keeping the Christmas tree up past the second week of January. I have my limits. So singing these songs may be her way of holding onto this holiday until the next one comes.

Speaking of holding on...
Do you ever want to make a copy of your life (or at the very least, the best moments) for posterity? Wouldn't it be amazing to be a Kardashian only for having access to footage of all those moments that will eventually get lost in the minutia of daily life (having access to all that moola wouldn't be bad either)? Tonight, P (in a navy blue Adidas soccer shirt) and LO (in her zebra pjs that say "need my zzz's") had the sweetest, most tender, yet most insignificant and quite forgettable moment. She sat on his knee, her feet dangling off the ground, giving him kisses on the cheek before bedtime. It wasn't Christmas morning, a birthday, or her first day of school. It was just a regular old Saturday night. But witnessing the embrace filled me with such joy that it may as well have been my freaking birthday - circa 1992 when I went to Roller King and rocked out to Kris Kross "Jump Jump." Now that was a good birthday.  Anyhow, I ran off for the camera, intent on not letting this moment dissolve, only to return to LO pulling P's hair and giggling. Tender moment gone - replaced by the more customary goofy moment. So I instructed them to do it again. Take 2. But it just wasn't the same. So I missed it after all.

Or did I? I was there. I felt the sudden and immense rush of love that only these two people can evoke in me. And although I may never remember the exact pjs LO was wearing or what day of the week it was or anything about it for that matter - the memory is imprinted in my soul.

With that, this new year, the new me will try to live right now. I will trust that my life is in the now and that the past is gone and the future ain't here. So all I have is now....which amounts to a whole damn lot!

Happy New You, everybody!