BALLET MORNINGS

Monday mornings are exciting mornings. We wake a bit earlier than usual and go about our morning routines, eating our oatmeal and drinking our coffee and brushing the tangles from our hair.  As the minutes tick on, the excitement grows.  We pack our bags and dress in the carefully selected outfits that we laid out the night before, squeezing into our tights and pulling on our boots.  Then we pile on our coats and hats and mittens, and we're off.  Off to ballet.

On monday mornings, Biet authoritatively tells her Papa, "Papa, we're going dancing.  Papa and Baby Lou stay home! Mama and Biet go to ballet.  We're going on the train and we can't be late!" Then she kisses him over and over, and squeezes her brother a little too hard, and calls out, as we're walking towards the door, "Byeeee! I love you toooo much!".  We walk to the station, sans stroller, deep in conversation all the while, and hop on the train to the west village.  It's all very ceremonial.

Often times, Biet takes off her coat on the train and just sits on the hard plastic subway seat in her tights and leotard. She points her little legs straight outwards towards the subway bar and and whispers to herself, while practicing diligently, "point, flex, point... flex."  She tells me that today she's going to listen to the teacher and she's going to try. I tell her that trying is the most important part, and I tell her how proud I am of her when she tries.  Giddy with anticipation, we step off the train.  We ride the elevator up to the street, and hurriedly walk to the ballet school.

Biet's first few ballet classes were traumatically disastrous.  Her heartbreaking tears and tantrums and self-inflicted time-outs in the corner had me this close to giving up on the whole thing.  If it weren't for another Mom in our class confiding in me that her daughter, a little girl a bit older than Biet who seemed to thrive in the class, was the exact same way when she first began, I likely wouldn't have continued.  But we tried again, and again, and one week, everything clicked.  Suddenly, instead of feeling embarrassed or scared, Biet took my hand, and began dancing, and laughing, and making friends.  I was overjoyed.  She began to take pride in trying and in listening to her teacher.  She began to really love it.  When she started proudly showing off her ballet outside of school to our friends and family, and "teaching" baby Lou her moves, I knew that she was really coming into her own.

Now Monday mornings are one of the most exciting mornings of the week.  When we get to class we sit on a little wooden bench outside of our room and Biet takes off her boots and puts on her tiny ballet shoes.  The piano drifts through the halls of the old school and actual professional ballerinas rush about from room to room.  Sometimes we peek our heads in to the big studios, lined with statuesque pillars and giant windows, and watch the dancers rehearse.  As we watch them gracefully leaping and moving, I can sense that Biet feels the camaraderie, like she's really a part of something.  To her, those professional ballerinas rehearsing The Nutcracker for the winter performance are no different than her learning first position in her toddler class.

We've both grown to cherish our ballet mornings together.  I feel so privileged to be able to watch my baby grow into such an amazing little girl.  She makes me such a proud Mama.

DEAR BIET

Dear Biet,

Next week you will be 17 months old. Before I had babies, I used to think it that it was ridiculous to measure your children's ages in months. I would think, "if she's one and a half, why not just say one and a half?? What is all of this 13, 14, 15 month mumbo jumbo??" Now it all makes sense, which is what often happens with time and experience and wisdom. You are not the same baby that you were a few months ago. Actually, you are no longer a baby at all.

Biet, my wild-haired feisty little girl with crystal blue eyes and big smiling lips, you are my beauty, my jewel. At nearly 17 months, you are still not walking, though not for lack of ability.  We've seen you walk- many times in fact- when you are sure that there will be someone or something there to catch you if you fall. Usually you don't fall, but sometimes you do. And I think that until "sometimes" becomes "almost never," you will continue to use crawling as your transportation means of choice. My darling, it turns out that you possess great caution. This discretion and prudence will prove to be very useful throughout your life, I'm sure, especially when balanced with your ever budding boisterous ways.

You exercise this caution when you meet new people, and you meet quite a lot of people in New York City. You love being in crowds with the noise and the energy and the faces all around, but when you initially meet someone new, you keep a straight face. You feel them out, make sure they are ok, and then open up. It reminds me of something that my Dad used to say to me growing up: "Whomever you meet, approach them with an equal level of respect and disrespect." It took me a long time to understand what in the world he was talking about.  But I have a feeling that you already know the meaning of his words.

Your favorite foods these days are black beans and quinoa. You like everything in teeny tiny pieces so that you can pinch each bean or grain between your fingers before plopping it in your mouth. This certainly drags out mealtime, but I don't mind.  As of yesterday, your favorite book is no longer Subway, but instead Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. You like it best when Papa reads it and uses his crazy voices.  As he reads, the chuckles rumblings up from your belly get so loud that you look like you might fall over with laughter. Sometimes in between the laughs you even throw in a knee slap for good measure. We have never seen you react like this to a book. It is adorable.

You understand everything that we say, and often speak back in english-spanish-babble enthusiastically. You're learning signs faster than ever before and are eagerly communicating with them too. Your tooth count is seven- four on top, two on bottom- and I'm pretty sure a bunch more are on the horizon.  Your connection to music seems to be truly extraordinary, and only intensifying. You dance to everything, have your favorite records, and seem to have a strong emotional connection to certain songs. You won't sit for dinner without music in the background. You won't begin your day happily until you have heard Papa play an album and pick up his guitar. These days, you're even trying to play along with him. And although most of the time you just end up losing the pick inside of the guitar, you have already learned to strum.  Here we go.

You love to give kisses all of the time- to Mama and Papa and Nico and new friends who you meet in the subway. You blow kisses to passing strangers and to other toddlers. You'll kiss your Little Prince doll- who it turns out is the only stuffed toy that you're not frightened of these days- on the lips and then hug him tightly (perhaps you are practicing for when there is a real baby in the apartment??).  Sometimes when you fall asleep in my arms, you'll even lean over in between snores and smooch my shoulder in your sleep.

I often wonder what you will be like in a few months as a big sister. If you are half as good at being a sister as you are at being a daughter, then my guess is that you'll be the best big sister in the world.

We love you dearly Biet Luna.
Love,
Mama

HAPPINESS

For one little girl, happiness is waking up in the morning and seeing her parents' faces peeping over the edge of the crib as they lift her out to start the day.  That always brings the biggest grin to her face. Happiness is a freshly-peeled banana all for her.  Happiness is when Nico "cleans" the food off her face over and over with big wet sloppy kisses, and she sits there patiently enjoying every second of it.  Happiness is that beam of freedom and pride that washes across her as she clutches to a wall or a table and takes jagged little steps.  Happiness is a summer afternoon on the front stoop with Mama, practicing standing on those chubby little legs and holding on to Mama's arms.  Happiness is dreaming of the very near day when she will no longer need Mama's arms to brace her, when her strength will shine bright and she'll do it all on her own.  She's almost there, almost a toddler.. and when that happens, happiness will be found in the adventuring and the tumbling and stumbling through her newfound world...  

And for one Mama, happiness is that light in her daughters eye and that wonder in her smiling face as she slowly discovers all of the greatness that she is capable of.

//handmade diaper cover c/o BARREL & A HEAP//

//handmade leather shoes c/o ALL ABOUT HEIDI//

 

WHAT A PARTY. WHAT A DAY.

A few babies, a few kids, a ton of friends, some family, some great music, homemade food, and a lovely little cake = a perfect party.  I really feel that Biet's first birthday party was a smash hit.  It was such a cheerful and relaxed afternoon.  All of our friends and family who came were nothing short of wonderful.  We listened to records and caught up with old friends, munched on tea sandwiches & watermelon & cookies fresh from the bakery, sipped our lemonade as the kids ran around the apartment, and sat back and enjoyed the afternoon.

I was a bit worried that we wouldn't have our home together in time for the party, having just moved a few weeks prior, but somehow it came together just enough. There may not have been curtains hung or pictures on the walls, but my sisters and I managed to pretty the place up so that no one really noticed (I am so grateful for those two lovely crafty ladies!).  On the morning of the party we found out that all of the streets around our apartment were closed for a big music festival in Prospect Park, and that traffic was backed up for hours all throughout Brooklyn!  It could have spelled disaster, but all of Biet's guests toughed it out and figured out how to make their way over.  It means so much to us that they went through all of that hassle for baby girl's birthday party (it really does. some of them traveled for hours. thank you so very much for making it out!).  By the time everyone arrived and the party got rolling, it was a couple of hours past when we had planned. But it ended up being a blast nonetheless.

Biet took turns opening gifts with her Mama and her Papa. Each present we unwrapped was so thoughtful- she has a slew of amazing new books and toys now.  She was ever so delicate blowing out her candle and tasting her cake. No baby face covered in frosting for this little girl, oh no! She preferred to dip one finger and one toe in the frosting, and that was it.  She was so funny. After the celebration, we walked through the neighborhood with a few friends and stopped in for coffee at a little cafe.  Nico lounged in the sun and a violinist played on the sidewalk outside. We thanked all of our friends for making the day so memorable and let Biet eat a chocolate croissant as the music drifted in through the open windows. It was such a nice way to wind down after all of the festivities.  It was a beautiful day (for a beautiful one-year-old girl).

ONE YEAR OLD

My darling Biet,

 Here you are, one year old. I plopped you down on the bed on the afternoon of your very first birthday and snapped these photos- for you to have always. One year ago, just one minute shy of seven in the evening, the sight of your round little face looking up at us through the water brought your Papa to tears. And then you were lifted out into the air of our tiny kitchen and I touched you with my hands for the very first time. And you were ours.

 As you cross this line into years alive instead of mere months, I see in you a certain spark suddenly brighten & come alive. Your eyes now have a twinkle and your voice an excitement and your movements a gusto and sway which enliven the whole room. Its almost as if you know that it's your birthday, and you are (rightfully) proud to have made it, so effortlessly and healthfully and happily, to this milestone. Suddenly, you seem to understand everything that's happening around you. You turn your world into a series of games- complete with concentration and comtemplation and a big belly laugh when you win. Whether its making breakfast or putting the leash on Nico or folding laundry or eating dinner, you seem to see a game in each of our daily tasks. It fills my heart with joy to see you so interactive and happy.  I really must say that you are one smart cookie, my little one year old, and I am proud of you.

And I could say that you aren't my little baby anymore, but that's not true. In a way, you will always be my little baby, just as all daughters are to their Mothers. And in a way, you were never really a little baby. Since your first breath on your first day, you have held a soulfulness and a seriousness that is anything but infantile. Your eyes, those peircing bright blue knowing eyes, have never been a baby's eyes. When I look into them I see a strong and willful and mischevious and wise little person. On that rainy evening one year ago, in the water, a tiny and complete little person was born. A person to whom we opened our hearts and our home and our souls.

 And so I do not lament the passing of time or the loss of babyhood. Instead, I feel like we should fly to the moon and back in celebration. Because here you are- a new life, a new person, growing into who you need to be. And there is nothing more beautiful, my daughter.

 Happy Birthday Biet.
 Your Mama

ELEVEN MONTHS

Eleven months ago today, I woke up and cooked a delicious spinach & tomato omelette and made fresh apple-carrot-ginger-beet juice. Gaby and I sat down at our little round wood kitchen table and excitedly enjoyed our late breakfast. We then proceeded to move that little round kitchen table out of the way, and replace it with a birthing tub. At the end of this day, eleven months ago, I laid in bed as Gaby went to answer the door. He paid the delivery boy and carried the burgers and fries back to the bedroom, where we all rested and ate. In between those two meals, eleven months ago today, she was born. And then we were three.

Fairytales + 10 Months Old

Biet and I have been reading up a storm. While the baby books are still in heavy rotation, we've begun to delve into the real children's' books and novels now, and she loves them. It's funny how much fun it actually is for me to read through her collection of fairytales too. It brings me right back to being a kid and living through those magical stories. Biet so enjoys turning the pages, looking at the pictures, and feeling the paper in between her little fingers. Occasionally she gets a little excited and rips a page out, but this- this is all worth it.

Oh and by the way, today Biet is 10 months old! {here she is at 19 days old, 8 weeks old, 3 months, 5 months, & 6 months, if you want to look back}. I feel that every day she is less of a baby and more of a little girl. My, do I love her.


*SIDE NOTE: You can now follow me on Pinterest! The button is on the top of this page**

8am ... 8pm

A day's beginning and end for one little baby girl..

8am- potty time with her Papa (I'm usually still in bed) and a good book.  She's getting used to it pretty quickly and I'm happy to say that we're definitely making some progress!  I'm so glad that we chose this potty for her- the tall backrest is really helping her stay comfortable and seated upright. **For those of you wondering, we {mostly Gaby} are practicing a very mild form of elimination communication, trying to get her comfortable using a potty from a very young age**  

8pm- after a hearty meal and a long walk with Nico, Biet is ready to turn in. She will usually make it until 9 or 10 before passing out, but today she was exhausted (we had thrown a feverish dance party earlier in the day, just us two). She fell asleep in her stroller as we walked through the neighborhood in the warm{ish} evening breeze.  There's just something about that stroller when baby girl is tired- it works like  a charm every time. 

*and the rest of the night was grown-up time, whoopee!*

A Restful Night

Biet has yet to "sleep through the night," and I'm ok with that. She wakes every few hours, cries out for the warmth and satisfaction of a midnight snack, and then falls back into slumber. I plan to let her wake as much as her little body needs until she's able to sleep for a good stretch, and I try not to complain about it. I figure that a new, slightly less comfortable, sleep schedule sort of comes with the territory of parenthood. Being her Mother, and the only one in the house capable of nursing her, I am always the one to run to her (or roll over in the bed towards her) when she cries, and help her get back to sleep.  I was certain that this was the only way to soothe her. Until Gaby swooped in with his amazing Papa skills.

I was up working the other night after Gaby and baby girl had gone to bed (I often use the end-of-the-night hours to squeeze in a bit of "me time") when, right on schedule, a sleepy high-pitched wail began to ring out from the bedroom. She was hungry, or so I thought. I quickly put away the laptop and headed towards the bedroom door. But before I could open it, I heard a deep sleepy Papa voice speaking in spanish. Then a spanish lullaby, and then... silence. Impossible! I couldn't believe that, for the first time, baby girl had gotten back to sleep with neither nursing nor rocking. I peeked in, and this is what I found:

Two sleeping beauties, snuggling together like a puzzle. Gaby had gotten her back to sleep like a pro. Looks like my nights may soon become a bit more restful. I had to sneak back in with a camera. It took all I had to refrain from waking them, squeezing them tight, and telling them how much I loved them both. I really love these two to pieces. 

6 Months

My darling girl, you are six months old. Each day I witness your personality building & shining through more and more. I am in love. You are one strong baby, baby. Your voice is loud. I awake each morning, not to your wailing & cries, but to your lovely voice singing. You lay next to me and sing and sing, songs without words in a secret language I used to speak 27 years ago. What a beautiful voice you have. Your tiny hands have also grown strong over these months. You look at the world with a quiet contemplation, and then, when you're ready, you reach out fearlessly with curiosity and wonder. And when you grab ahold of something you like, well- oh my- is your grip tireless! And then there's the eyes: your Mama's eyes (& your Grandpa's & your Great Grandpa's before him, & so on & so on). Those bright crystal blue eyes capture the attention of every soul in the room. I know that when you are older, those shining eyes will demand the respect of everyone in the room, too. You are slowly discovering what you like, my love, and what you dislike as well. And you show us, with every cell in your body, which is which. And with all of your strength and stamina, you carry with you an equal fragility. Your facial expressions, so delicate and doll like, cannot be coaxed. You, with all of your six months, maintain a quite serious demeanor most of the time. And then, when I least expect it, you turn to me, look me in the eyes, and curl your lips into a cheeky cheshire smile. That is when my heart feels heavy. Not with sorrow, but heavy with life. I can feel our connection to one another, I can feel your innocence and your joy.  When your perfect little head (which you held up from the day you were born) rests against my shoulder, I feel complete. When that feeling comes over me, I carry you to the living room, put on an old song, and dance with you.  You are too small to ever remember these dances, but we have had many. Sometimes, in that moment when your smile turns to a grin, I can see, for a split second, the face of the little girl you will one day be. Sometimes, also, I can see the faces of both of your late Grandmothers there too, layered delicately within your beauty. Always, I can see the face of your Papa. You certainly got a lot of him in you.  I am so proud of you, my daughter. You have been alive for six months, my little warrior, my little doll. And I love you.
-Your Mama

first Airplane ride

Biet took her first flight on a jet plane! We three dropped Nico with our dog sitter and headed out on our first family vacation to... California! It turns out that our little baby girl is quite a spectacular traveler. She slept through most of the flight, and ate through the rest. By the time we arrived to the west coast, she was smiling and drooling and full to the brim. Gaby and I, on the other hand, were a bit exhausted (its tough to rest on the plane when you're holding a sleeping baby). The California sunshine perked us right up though. And who was there to pick us up at the airport? Auntie Lala and Grandpa! Biet finally got to meet her Grandfather (he'd been waiting to kiss her chubby face for five months!). I think she approves.

Sickly Girls

Biet and I are sick as dogs. Or, rather, one mamma dog and one puppy. It breaks my heart to see my baby so achy & stuffy & cranky. As she struggles to breathe through her snotty itty bitty nose, I yearn to sweep her into my arms and explain to her that her suffering will pass, and encourage her to be strong. Instead, I can only snuggle and nurse, nurse, nurse her through her coughs and sobs. I'm reminded of the helplessness that overtook me during Biet's mandatory heel prick at her first visit to the pediatrician. No one had prepared me for how emotionally difficult putting my darling baby through that would be (it was rough), just as no one has prepared me for the joys of our first cold.

We caught this cold together, Biet and I (and I thought breastfed babies never get sick!), so at least we can keep each other company until it passes. Luckily, we have Gaby to take care of us- and oh what a magnificent nurse he is (especially considering that he's a bit sickly too!).  We will all get well together by drinking lots of water (for me) and milk (for her), watching movies, reading books in bed, and dreaming of all the beautiful days we will have in this new home of ours.  And Chicken Matzo Ball Soup, of course- the most important medicine. I learned how to make it for my matzo-crazy husband, and now it has become our go-to comfort food for all occasions: sick days, rainy days, snowstorms, holidays, sundays. I sit Biet in her bumbo seat on the kitchen counter and let her watch me work as I explain to her how we chop the vegetables, sweat the onions, season the chicken, and make the matzo balls.  She'll probably be able to whip up a pot in no time by the time she's three.

The occasional hour-long phone call to my sister Emmy for parenting advice helps me through these headachy sneezy days too. When my concern over Biet's struggling little body begins to turn to panic (like, for instance, when her nose was running so badly that she stopped breathing for a few moments {!!}, or when she began projectile vomiting all over my friend Erin), Emmy calms me down with stories of her son's babyhood.  And then I remember how lucky I am to have my sisters.  It feels like just yesterday that Emmy and I were sharing stories of our schooldays and memories of our Mother.  Over the years, those turned to tales of our relationships & ambitions, as we adventured together through New York City. Now, all of sudden, we are giving one another advice as Mothers. I find this evolution really beautiful.

Even on her sick days Biet is my tiny beauty. Here are some photos of her little face & little hands & sickly little feet. Still smiling and curious though the hard times, that's my girl.