tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44937682801372595022024-03-05T06:22:36.679-05:00Brooklyn Sweet BrooklynLaurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-80781385886729563492014-03-19T18:01:00.001-04:002014-03-19T18:01:37.100-04:0010/52, 5/52: Sleep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my oldest son once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
10/52</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my youngest son once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
5/52<br />
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Levi: He is so two. Levi is experiencing some major sleep regressions. He wakes up a puffy eyed curmudgeon and requires either prolonged cuddling or a meal immediately to satiate his out-of-sorts feelings. I understand completely because I am exactly the same way. I am not a good napper and feel this same way when I wake up from my naps, be it 15 minutes (advised by well-meaning people) or an hour. We emerge exhausted from trying to put him down to sleep. Last night it took two hours and two frustrated parents to get this two year old to sleep.</div>
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Wyatt: This aging newborn sleeps so much. I have so many photos of him sleeping, but so few of him awake. When I stagger from a darkened room and a sleeping toddler, I am greeted by a very hungry and sleepy baby. I am very grateful that he sleeps solidly and soundly in the night, waking only once or twice to feed. Once in the dark I reached out to feel him. My finger was met by something warm and soft and it was only after he grasped me I realized it was his hand holding my finger. A delicious moment in the dark.</div>
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-75556384454777644272014-03-19T18:01:00.000-04:002014-03-19T18:01:20.181-04:009/52, 4/52: Focus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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4/52</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my oldest son once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
9/52</td></tr>
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Wyatt: Quiet boy. He lies there, still and rapt, inviting me to gaze into his eyes. The other day Levi made an observation about his brother's eyes. He said, "The eyes are bright." So right on. Wyatt's eyes are the color of zinc. They mirror everything, reflecting light and whoever he focuses on. <br />
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Levi: This photograph was taken by Douglas, not me. I have been frustrated lately, unable to document our lives the way I want to. I cannot get my camera to focus on Levi the way I want to; he moves continuously and quickly so many photos are out of focus. Then again Levi has been slightly out of focus for me lately--he remains in my peripheral view as I spend time recovering and nursing Wyatt. I miss Levi.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-27587209371682014402014-03-19T18:00:00.001-04:002014-03-19T18:00:40.911-04:00Pop and Wyatt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our hat project continues. As explained in another <a href="http://brooklynsweetbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2014/02/552.html">post</a>, we took Pop-and-Levi photographs, documenting Levi's growth with hats each month during his first year of life. Now we are doing it on a yearly basis. And what about Wyatt? We debated how to set it up--all three of them together, or one each? For Wyatt's first hat photograph with his Pop, we decided to do it with just the two of them. For the next 11 months, we aren't sure. But let me just enjoy this one, for now.</div>
<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-3771424635401393222014-02-23T16:24:00.004-05:002014-02-23T20:22:10.802-05:008/52, 3/52: Hands and Profiles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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8/52</td></tr>
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3/52</td></tr>
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<i>Levi:</i> Still rosy-cheeked from his nap and clutching his little animals, Levi ventured a look outside. We attempted to coax him into coming out to build a snowman, but he stood his ground. He was excited just watching the babysitter add some prunes and a carrot to create a face for the snowman. The light fell on his face in such a soft way. "Need a snow girl," he said, still sleepy and completely oblivious to the fact that his mama could not take her eyes off him.<br />
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<i>Wyatt:</i> He slumbers most of the time, waking only to feed or to look about for a few wide-eyed minutes, looking absolutely astounded at the world around him. Wyatt is still a slender newborn, although his legs are gaining strength (oh, those little kicks that sometimes propel him away from my body). He has outgrown most of his newborn clothes. I keep dressing him in this wonderful fleece cardigan because it's one of the few new clothes that he can claim as his own, not a hand-me-down. <br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-23645837237565238472014-02-17T13:25:00.002-05:002014-02-17T13:25:39.504-05:007/52, 2/52<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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7/52</td></tr>
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2/52</td></tr>
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<i>Levi:</i> The second week of being a family of four has seen some challenges. Levi misses his mama terribly. I know that Levi will understand, eventually, that we will rediscover our balance and rhythm as a family. He is growing more independent each day, simultaneously enjoying and bemoaning his status as a big brother. Levi told me that I needed to move the book I am reading aloud so Wyatt could see it too. Yet he needs his mama more than ever and tells me that too, frequently through words and actions. I have never been more frustrated with Levi yet I love him more fiercely than ever.<br />
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<i>Wyatt:</i> Yesterday my mother pointed out his symmetrical features and his asymmetrical ears. Each day is a day of discovery--I have learned that Wyatt can be soothed by seeing his brother's face. He fixates on Levi once Levi moves into his view. It is so different the second time around--I have a glimpse of grandparents' ease around babies. I can stop and smell <strike>the roses</strike> this baby. I am relishing this lovely new stage of life. Wyatt smells so good and whoever holds him finds it very hard to let go.<br />
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-79939844129862414672014-02-13T16:28:00.001-05:002014-02-13T16:28:54.580-05:00Mama's Stomach Broke: Wyatt Che's Birth Story<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container tr_bq" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Joanne Scott</td></tr>
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The best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray. --Robert Burns</blockquote>
I bought a delicate, tissue-thin kaftan (okay, a glorified muumuu) specifically for the day of the birth. I had an idea of what the birth would look like:<br />
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Floating about the house in my kaftan, I would stop every now and then to breathe in and out the contractions. Once the contractions got more visceral, Levi's grandparents would come to pick him up along with my mother. Before sending him off, I would hug my only child of two years and give him one long meaningful look--the next time I saw him, he would be one of two children. Then cue the midwife--dressed in her scrubs, calm and collected. Then as the time got closer, Doug would hunker down with me and help me navigate the baby underworld to meet the baby.<br />
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I thought it would take an entire day and night, perhaps.<br />
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Nope, nope, nope. My plan was way off track. The kaftan remains unworn in my closet. I did not float around the house--I rolled around. Levi never left. I didn't hug him; he hugged me and looked at me with a kind smile. My midwife, still in her jammies, came about 25 minutes before the baby arrived. She ran from the door to me. Levi and my mother guided me through that no-man's-land while Doug did his doula duties.<br />
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Wyatt was born in a New York minute, which is what three hours felt like. Not an entire day and night.<br />
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At 3am my water broke and the silliest thing was while the water gushed out, I impulsively tried to hold it in by squeezing my legs shut. I texted my midwife who was just about to retire for the night and advised me to do the same--sleep and get as much rest as possible. I went back to bed but at 3:20 am the first contraction hit. And it felt quite like active labor, not the every-ten-minutes-sigh-and-smile-<i>gee-can-you-believe-it</i>? kind of labor.<br />
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Sleeping became futile so I went upstairs so Doug could get some shuteye. The rushes kept on coming. I rocked on all fours. I swayed a bit on the birthing ball. Turned on some lights in the living room, thinking it would help slow down the contractions, but soon enough I realized I was running out of tricks and needed my Doug. At about 4:30 am I went downstairs (stopping once on the steps to roll through a rush) to tell Doug it was time.<br />
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He nodded and went back to sleep.<br />
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I shook his feet with urgency. Doug was up in a flash, adrenaline coursing through his body. As we went back upstairs, Doug held my hips together, a maneuver the doula showed him last time. He blew up the birthing pool, waking my mother up. My contractions were one minute apart, one minute long but it felt as if they were piling upon each other, giving me very little time to rest. <br />
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I collected some pillows and placed them between my knees, under my belly and under my head while lying on my side. Alternating between that and rocking on all fours helped me ride the rushes. I told Doug to text the babysitter not to come--it was obviously not going to be a regular day for Levi.<br />
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At around 5:30 Levi woke up unbeknownst to me. Someone made toast with butter and honey. After I took a bite and couldn't swallow, I knew birth was imminent. I saw Levi looking down at me inquisitively, munching on toast. <i>Baby soon born</i>, he said. I didn't think; I only felt. I felt mildly concerned that Levi was still here and then I just did not care--my insides were squeezed compact.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff</td></tr>
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I wanted to labor calmly and peacefully so Levi could see that this was not a traumatic experience--this was his baby brother coming. My mother, on the phone with Kimm, asked me if I felt pressure. This question was overdue. Way. I answered with a very zealous <i>YES! Tell the midwife to get here! </i> No room for niceties. Later on my mother told me that Kimm was a bit confused because I was smiling when answering questions.<br />
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At one point I found myself hugging the birthing pool from the outside. Levi had his face up close to me, smiling gently. His hand hugged my cheek just as gently. <i>Mama</i>, he said. <br />
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I tore my jammies off, clambered into the warm pool and slipped into that murky soft mama underworld. The lights were gentle. My eyelids became heavy and I felt as if my pupils were dilated. My body took over, kicking in a natural self-made brew of feel-good hormones.<br />
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At 6 am the midwife swooped in just when my body switched to ejection mode. I was trying not to push, but when I looked down I could see the upper part of my stomach caving in. Kimm listened to the baby's heartbeat. Then she told me to push and checked the heartbeat again. Push, listened. Push, listened. Then she told me to get out of the pool in a way that shook me wide awake. <br />
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It was outside the pool where, in Levi's words later on, Mama's stomach broke and baby born. <br />
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Wyatt Che ushered into a dark February morning at 6:25 am.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff</td></tr>
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Our beautiful boy Wyatt Che was suddenly here with us. We were all stunned. That's it? Doug blew up the air bed in the living room and I was escorted by Kimm and her assistant Michelle to the bed with our new son. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Joanne Scott</td></tr>
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Levi climbed into bed with us to watch the midwife do her usual duties--weighing, measuring and checking. Levi watched and Wyatt scored a 9/10 on the Apgar score.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Joanne Scott</td></tr>
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Levi watched and fed me some felt sandwiches while Wyatt nursed under the covers. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Joanne Scott</td></tr>
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My mother in law shared with me one of her mother's favorite sayings in Yiddish: Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht. Translation: Man plans while God laughs. On this cold February morning, He laughed and planned something even better.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Douglas Ridloff</td></tr>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-74468450642295416592014-02-09T15:39:00.002-05:002014-02-09T15:39:55.878-05:006/52, 1/52<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLb8PlE0FEc/UvfCdVNcLfI/AAAAAAAARL8/35db11vNXaI/s1600/IMG_7194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLb8PlE0FEc/UvfCdVNcLfI/AAAAAAAARL8/35db11vNXaI/s1600/IMG_7194.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my son, once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
6/52</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my son, once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
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Two children, two boys, two sons, two loves.<br />
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Levi woke up an hour before Wyatt was born, so he became witness to the birth. Ever since then, he asks, "Where baby?" whenever he wakes up. Levi has stepped into his new role of big brother with grace, with patience and with amazing resilience. We are so proud of him.<br />
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Wyatt is a sleepy and voracious newborn. We take turns gazing at him, wondering the same thing: who are you? Each day we learn a little bit more about this brand new human being. I look forward to witnessing him grow and prosper with his brother. Douglas said to me, "I feel full." I nodded. I, too, feel so full of awe, of love, of family. It's a lovely feeling.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-46473524108385165302014-02-02T21:23:00.000-05:002014-02-02T21:23:07.565-05:005/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Levi and Pop. We began this hat photo project when Levi hit the <a href="http://brooklynsweetbrooklyn.tumblr.com/post/16434821762/1-month-old-levi-and-pop">first month</a> mark of his life, and took photos each month (missing a month here and there) with the same hat. When Levi turned one, we agreed to continue doing this every year around his birthday for as long as possible. This may be the last photo of just Levi and his Pop, with the new baby coming any day now. <br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-34307230152847515812014-01-28T10:18:00.000-05:002014-01-28T10:18:00.036-05:00My Sister and The Hungry Dog<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Borrowed from Cristin Carole via Facebook.<br />
I'm 13, Cristin is 21. She often took me to bars for photo booth snapshots.</td></tr>
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I have three sisters that span two families and two generations. My oldest sister could easily be the mother of my youngest sister. In fact I could also be the mother of my youngest sister. My oldest sister is not related in any way to my two younger sisters; people may call my sisters <i>half-sisters.</i> But that makes no sense to me at all. They are my sisters, through and through, wholly. <br />
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Cristin is older than me by 8 years. We share the same birthday month, which played a factor in my decision to move to New York City (we agreed to meet in the Big Apple for a birthday weekend celebration; I flew in from California and fell in love with the roaring city; she did not even though she loved exploring the insides of the buildings). </div>
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I digress. I am writing about Cristin and a hungry dog.</div>
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We are polar opposites in every way imaginable--I love cats and she's allergic to them. She loves dogs which I am allergic to. But we both crave the bucolic life despite living in big cities. Last October Cristin drove from Chicago with her son Winter to Tennessee to pick us up from the airport. From there we drove further south for an hour to nowhere with a name: Woodbury. </div>
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When we got to the house we were staying at, there was an emaciated dog sniffing about. Someone had abandoned the dog (with grotesque jutting hipbones) earlier and took off. We were nonplussed by this guest who had arrived just before us. It looked as if it would collapse and expire any minute.</div>
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Instead of luxuriating in nowhereness we were consumed by the weight of the skinny visitor and oppressed by a heavy, continuous drizzle. </div>
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Winter named the dog Spike while the Tennessee adults discussed the details of "taking care of the dog" (taking it out to the woods and shooting it). Overpopulation and deserted dogs are commonplace; the county did not even have an animal shelter. </div>
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I hovered over Levi out of fear--the dog was extremely affectionate with Levi, licking his head every time he stepped outside. This mama did not like it at all. Was Levi protein potential?</div>
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Cristin fought for the dog's life. She called around, finding the nearest pet shelter while Winter fed him. The Tennessee folks shook their heads at Cristin, thinking that she was wasting her energy. She contacted friends if they wanted to take the dog in. She even contemplated adopting the dog herself, despite having dogs at home already. It weighed on her that weekend, causing some tension with the host. Conversations kept turning back to Spike and his clearly defined ribcage.</div>
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By the time we had to go back to the airport, the car was packed full with our baby gear and her stuff and one very hungry but friendly dog. Much to my dismay Cristin wanted to swing by a pet shelter out of the county in hopes of getting help for the dog. The animal shelter was not that easy to find, and Levi is no fan of the car. I did not object because what Cristin was doing was right.</div>
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Rejected by the shelter, Cristin dropped us off and drove for eight hours with Spike on the brink of death and found him a new life with some neighbors. I think Spike is now Rocket, or maybe Blue? I assume his ribcage and hipbones are no longer visible. I suspect he's still excellent with young children.</div>
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Cristin is big. She is taller than me by a couple inches. She has a big personality and trumps me in many ways--figuratively and literally. As a little girl I adored her for her blazing independence, beauty, smarts and confidence. Now that I am older, my adoration is not blind but more acute than ever--it is her big heart that I adore.</div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-11914923254082937452014-01-26T20:33:00.001-05:002014-01-26T20:33:20.631-05:004/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my son once a week, every week in 2014."<br />
4/52</td></tr>
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It is one of those things Levi just has to do. Balancing precariously on the table with one foot tipping the chair back, a very dangerous endeavor for someone still somewhat unsteady on the ground. I remind him of the possible consequences every single time. He squints his eyes and says, "Sit down better. Don't want to fall, hit head and cry." Sometimes he sits down, but he always springs right back up and does the same thing again. And once he did fall. Levi knows. This toddler just cannot help it--curiosity and thrill trumps all.</div>
Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-27149761490110601952014-01-24T20:57:00.000-05:002014-01-24T20:57:23.766-05:003/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my child once a week, every week in 2014."<br />3/52</td></tr>
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Levi tells me what I need to buy. "You need buy orange balloon." "You need buy new bus." This time he told me I needed to buy some chocolate. I happened to have a box of brownie mix in the pantry so I didn't have to buy him chocolate. After being confined to my bed and being a less fun mama I wanted to spoil him, my little budding consumer. Just a little bit. So we made brownies and he was much more interested in the batter once again. This photograph makes me realize how much time we spend in the kitchen, be it making brownies, making homemade play-doh, watering the plants or watching the snow fall. <br />
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<span id="goog_1180577235"></span><span id="goog_1180577236"></span><br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-70387236709627089942014-01-24T12:53:00.000-05:002014-01-24T12:53:29.246-05:00My Gollum<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidm2aFHFBUoIUmVjrGfMN6BEuHS-x2u3Ay4rMKf8wydchPI6BkCSX9AhU9Hypo4oErgrM5B1ACGVlU8NvygtSq29_1FEYN180NSMKbRa_EdT4ZfQ9uSLIv6gYTfoIqayCuEv_q_faEJ3po/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidm2aFHFBUoIUmVjrGfMN6BEuHS-x2u3Ay4rMKf8wydchPI6BkCSX9AhU9Hypo4oErgrM5B1ACGVlU8NvygtSq29_1FEYN180NSMKbRa_EdT4ZfQ9uSLIv6gYTfoIqayCuEv_q_faEJ3po/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Douglas Ridloff</td></tr>
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Paris was the pinnacle of 2013 in many ways.<br />
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Including our breastfeeding journey.<br />
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This photograph sits on our shelf in the living room and elicits compliments; little do people know exactly what we were doing. <br />
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Levi had just woken up from a nap in front of the Eiffel Tower and as usual he was ravenous so we nursed while I snacked on cheese and crackers. I remember those moments in Paris fondly because that was when Levi broke free from the sling. He preferred to either roam freely or, when tired, nod off in the stroller. So nursing was my opportunity to cuddle with an active toddler who wanted to spend as much time away from me physically as possible.<br />
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I am not out to make a statement. I chose to breastfeed Levi like my mother did with me. I do not judge other mothers for their choices. Not at all. In a way I see myself as a lazy, minimalist mother; the less equipment I need to feed my baby, the happier I am. I envisioned nursing Levi until he looked up at me and said, "Mama, I'm done."<br />
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So the demise of our nursing journey came as a surprise to me.<br />
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When we announced my second pregnancy, one of the most frequently asked questions was "Are you still nursing Levi?" Their reaction at my affirmative answer got to the point where I was tempted to say that it was none of their business. But I continued to answer honestly, even when the next popular question was "But what will you do when the new baby comes?" I was open to tandem breastfeeding (which is the act of feeding two babies).<br />
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In September I was 5 months pregnant and Levi was 21 months old. Nursing slowly became difficult. It was almost as if Levi was doing it wrong but I could not quite put my finger on it. <br />
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By October it was a toe-curling, creepy-crawly, nausea-inducing experience for me. I thought I was losing my mind and confessed to Douglas. Was it a physical sensation or more psychological, I questioned myself. Gradually it got to the point where I dreaded every time Levi asked for milk. I grimaced, gritted my teeth and batted away the image of Levi as a little Gollum. This strong sensation came only when we nursed--not before, not after. During. I did not want to nurse my son. I saw him looking up at me questioningly so I began to look away whenever we nursed.<br />
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I could go into detail about the whole mess of conflicting feelings, exacerbated probably by pregnancy hormones but I will say this: I was miserable. The breaking point was during a redeye flight. I broke down crying when I realized I could not endure it any longer and cut the session short, making Levi cry. I felt like the world's worst mother because I could see that he understood that I did not want to do it; he did not understand why. So there we were, both crying hysterically with people looking at us. Doug paced up and down the airplane with Levi trying to pacify him. Remember, this was a redeye flight.<br />
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I googled it up and much to my relief I found out I was not crazy nor was I the only one. Nursing aversion, breastfeeding aversion, breastfeeding agitation are all terms that have been used to describe this phenomenon I was experiencing with Levi. Resources were scant on <a href="http://www.llli.org/llleaderweb/lv/lvaugsep03p90.html">La Leche League website</a>. Aversion strikes some mothers during pregnancy when nursing a child--it is commonly seen in nature. Dog mamas growl, nip and push their puppies away. It strikes roughly 1/3 of mothers, according to Kellymom. <br />
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There were tips on a Facebook group recommended by an Aussie friend of mine. I laughed and cried while scrolling through the comments--one mother wrote, "I want to rip off my breasts and toss them at my baby. He would scoop them up like Gollum and say, 'my preciousssss...'" Yes, yes, that was it! I realized we had to stop.<br />
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We tapered off excruciatingly slowly. I shortened the sessions slowly, counting to myself. I held Levi's hands while he nursed, not out of affection but to remind myself that this was my son I was nursing. When I pulled away, I'd say "Milk is all out. Want water?" <br />
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We got a cup with a straw (Levi was drinking from regular cups; I got this "special" cup because I imagined it offered something somewhat similar to suckling). Offering snacks worked too. The day feedings were easy to stop--it was the night nursing that was the most difficult to stop. I continued to shorten those sessions, offering water at the end. <br />
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On November 10, while nursing Levi asked for water before I offered it. He drank some, snuggled up next to me and fell asleep. The next night he asked for water before we began nursing and fell asleep. The next night the same thing again. And the next. That was the end of our breastfeeding journey. Levi was 23 months old, just a month shy of turning 2. <br />
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It makes me cringe when people say "Oh, good for you!" when I say I no longer breastfeed. The act of breastfeeding is much more complicated and meaningful to me than I thought. I miss those days and feel disappointed that our journey had to go through a point of heartwrenching inner turmoil before it ended. In spite of those feelings, I love our new relationship now filled with hugs, cuddles and kisses. Our nighttime routine looks completely different and Doug is an equal part of it.<br />
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I look forward to starting all over again with the new baby. I really do.<br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-4648284958997165752014-01-21T14:03:00.000-05:002014-01-21T14:03:56.888-05:002/52<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Levi is unlike me. He hankers for sweet things, asking for cookies and cake. I found a recipe off <a href="http://weelicious.com/2013/12/06/soft-and-sweet-molasses-roll-out-cookies/">Weelicious</a>, choosing it for its simplicity and <i>relatively</i> healthy recipe. Levi kept on eating pieces of batter, saying "What happened?" each time I caught him. Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-48375142313374495382014-01-20T18:15:00.000-05:002014-01-20T18:15:15.621-05:001/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2014."<br />1/52</td></tr>
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Levi sits on a little chair while he discovers the joy of water play. A polar bear, a measuring cup, a bottle and a Hot Wheels car are the toys in the water bin. He stays there for a long period of time, alternating from pouring water into containers and watching his toys sink.<br />
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I discovered the 52 project via practisingsimplicity.com. Jodi, the blogger, began taking photographs of her children every week for three years. The results are absolutely breathtaking--not only in its beauty but in its accurate recordkeeping.<br />
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While I photo Levi daily, I want to choose a photo once a week as a way to bring meaningful organization to the hot mess of photographs I have now. <br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-73323100141648700322014-01-20T17:23:00.000-05:002014-01-20T17:23:17.322-05:00Loosey Goosey<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">38 weeks</td></tr>
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I stood in the kitchen stirring turkey chili ignoring a succession of Braxton Hicks until I felt a severe burning sensation in my hips. I put down the wooden spoon and went to lie down with Levi in the living room hoping that playing with him would diffuse the pain. It didn't. After half an hour of squirming uncomfortably I texted my midwife.<br />
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It turned out to be loose joints gone too loose. I have not been formally diagnosed (hopefully I will be tomorrow), but my midwife confined me to my <strike>prison</strike> bed until I received all three treatments (medicine, pelvic support and physical therapy. <br />
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Today is day four of bed rest, no thanks to the long weekend. Sorry, Martin Luther King Jr.--you are still greatly appreciated.<br />
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I feel no pain. Just soreness. But what I do feel is completely wrong--a clicking sort of sensation in my hips when I get up. As if the bones in my hips are loosely attached, bumping into each other when I walk. Not a pleasant feeling at all.<br />
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I was surprised. Me? Incapacitated? No way. Never. I still have two weeks and half before the due date. My midwife called it denial; I call it surprise.<br />
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The first two days saw me in a sour mood, restless and disappointed. Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Most of all I was worried about the dwindling quality time I had left with Levi before the new baby comes. <br />
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I googled up SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction) and learned about the other name, PGP (pelvic girdle pain). I realized that I had symptoms way back, while I was pregnant with Levi and seeing an obstetrician. I learned that there are no obvious explanations or causes, except that there is an increase in diagnoses, possibly correlating with the increase in maternal age. <br />
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I did not know what to do. Then I began to make to-do lists and emailed them to Doug, my mother and my mother in law. I realized I had to catch up on emails. Then I thought, hey, why not hit up some friends and family for a long overdue phone chat? And knit I did. I folded freshly washed baby clothes and relished the sunlight in my bedroom.<br />
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Day four and I got it. My mind is the clearest it has been in eons, and I feel well rested. When Levi comes to join his supine mama, he is greeted with hugs and kisses and returns them. I feel caught up on life. <br />
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Being forced to stop and lie down reminds me that the world will go on just fine. Loose joints help loosen my soul.<br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-25113098027151492562014-01-15T13:27:00.001-05:002014-01-15T13:27:23.228-05:00The Zen of Knitting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is irony in knitting. <br />
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Slipping one smooth needle into a knot, looping the yarn around the needle and then pushing the new loop off the needle only to start all over again becomes one seamless movement. Again and again. One tiny movement leads to a new knot, another completed row. <br />
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I find that repetition satisfying--my head bobs with the knitting, shaking my thoughts free. It is during this activity I come up with ideas (like baby names), answers, and remember forgotten details. I love the squishiness of the natural wool. The colors make me think of the past; the project makes me think of the future.<br />
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The irony comes with the aggravation stemming from the slowness of the project. One stitch at a time. One tiny knot excruciatingly adds up to one row, then two rows, then a ridge and so on. I clutch tightly onto the needles and yarn out of fear that I'll drop a stitch. I knit at a snail's pace. I knit like a left-handed person because I first watched a left-handed person knitting. I do not knit prettily.<br />
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When I stop and examine my progress, I cannot help but feel disappointed--that's all I did? I even google up tips on how to knit faster and come up with nothing particularly helpful. I look at some knit porn that spurs me on. I knit on with determined doggedness, and there is nothing zenlike about that. <br />
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Knitting is calming and aggravating. I love it. I get nothing done; I get so much done. <br />
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It was while knitting my baby's blanket that I came up with this blog post idea. <br />
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Life became busier last fall, when I began teaching two college courses without all the curriculum materials in place. Commitments seemed to accumulate at an astounding rate. Levi's grandfather was severely ill all fall; Douglas spent time at the hospital visiting his father on Saturdays and on Sundays went to rehearsal for Xavier Cha's performance piece. We began preparing for my mother's move in, rearranging the guest bedroom. One of our tenants got a job promotion and had to end his lease earlier than expected. Levi and I ended our nursing time together and he began transitioning to his toddler bed.<br />
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During this trying time, I felt tired and cloudy all the time. I dropped a few stitches, including this blog. </div>
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My semester of teaching has ended. Levi's grandfather returned home a few weeks ago, and came to visit us for the first time last week. Douglas performed at the New Museum and I sat in the front so incredibly proud of him. My mother moved in with us. We signed on new tenants. Levi's tantrums have subsided and we're tentatively calling him "an easy kid." He loves his new bed and occasionally tells me that my milk is "all out, but soon have milk again for baby."<br />
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Now that the due date is just three weeks away and all those loose unraveled ends are knitting themselves up, I feel ready to face this blog again. Yet I'm overwhelmed. Where do I start? Should I post photographs from the past months gone, or do I just start from now on? <br />
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I'm taking my baby blanket's lead. Just pick up the dropped stitch and keep going on.<br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-19889994454052465632013-09-20T08:30:00.000-04:002013-09-20T08:30:01.986-04:00Officially Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I try to remember what we did for play this time last year. It was September and Levi had just said his first word: bird. He was crawling and standing without support. That much I remember (in this sleep-deprived state I am..see previous <strike>whine</strike> <a href="http://brooklynsweetbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2013/09/sleep-woes.html">post</a>). But what in heck did we do for play? I know it was not much fun for this adult. Lucky for me just staring at my amazing baby son was more than entertaining back then. Today play is officially fun.<br />
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With the emergence of language, Levi's thinking is coming through loud and clear. Imaginative, funny and all the happy superlatives you could throw in here, put it here--that's Levi. Levi's thing now is retelling simple transportation events such as Pop going to work. Grandma and Grandpa coming from Queens to visit. Levi goes to school. He adds details such as mode of transportation, traffic, signaling street lights and speed. <br />
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Fresh after an afternoon nap and snack, Levi went to his table where I had assembled some buildings. He looked at each building thoughtfully. I pointed at a purple building and said that it was our home.<br />
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Levi then had a question. "Where Anthony cat?" For reasons beyond me, Levi is very concerned about one of Pop's friends' cat and asks that frequently. I took a dog out of his little people collection and placed it next to a green building and said, "That's Anthony's cat. The cat is at Anthony's house." <br />
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That was it. Levi took over the diorama. He took a train from his train set collection and put a little boy in it, saying that was him going to his Grandma and Grandpa's house. Then he asked me where school was. I pointed at another building, and he added two female figurines: Avigayil and Michelle, his teachers. "Wait wait Levi school wait wait," he said, and moved a red car to the school. Slowly I stepped back (actually plopped back on the couch) and let him do the talking. <br />
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This is so much fun, watching my son's mind unfurling. <br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-32436716225254551502013-09-19T09:16:00.001-04:002013-09-19T09:17:02.806-04:00Sleep Woes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I want to sleep. At 5:30 am in the morning when I get up as an attempt to get things done early before Levi wakes up, I want to sleep some more. At 9:00 am, when Levi has been up for three and a half hours already (yes, he woke up shortly after 5:30), I want to sleep. Come lunch, I would forego food gladly and sleep. But Levi is raring to go. </div>
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By 3:00 pm, I am weary, more weary than anything ever experienced in my entire life. It is not a pretty feeling. This feeling of tiredness weighs heavily on me throughout the day. Every single blink is a struggle to complete. By nighttime when Levi is asleep and I am in my pajamas, happy to surrender to my elusive slumber, I get blown away by that second wind I had been searching all day long. </div>
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I cannot sleep. </div>
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I am 21 weeks along and halfway there. Levi is 21 months old and is developing new passions: popsicles and smoothies (HA HA, Levi, HA HA! GOTCHA! YOU'RE CONSUMING VEGGIES AND FRUIT!). He also likes the rocks from Nice and my mother's African beads. He loves to describe Pop's commute to work: Pop leaves. Pop walks. Train. Pop boards train. Train zooms. Pop gets off train. Pop walks to work. </div>
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His naps are swinging from one end to another: they range from three-hour marathons to piddly half an hour catnaps. Those half-an-hour catnaps are coming out in the lead. When Levi naps, I nap (no more blogging). I call those naps "cheap naps." </div>
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It's an ongoing disagreement between Douglas and I. I tell him I barely sleep when I nap, but he says I am out like a light, dead to the world. I still feel conscious while napping. I don't feel as if I am deep under.</div>
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I don't wake up feeling refreshed. I want to look as bright-eyed and rejuvenated as Levi does when he gets up in the morning. He wakes up with the most delicious grin, as if he spent all night devising an awesome plan and is now finally able to execute it.</div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-21731873024691763752013-08-28T21:34:00.000-04:002013-08-28T21:34:57.775-04:00Changes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo Credit: Tate Tullier)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
Lately it has been darn near impossible for me to post something. My camera is not quite working--it will not focus. Maybe it's the lens? I have to take my camera to the shop and see what's up with that. But I have plenty of photos to choose from.</div>
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Being pregnant with a toddler who suddenly MUST walk whenever we go out (no strollers, Mama, and absolutely no carrying!) is no walk in the park. I am tired. Most of the time I feel as if I closed my eyes long enough I could fall into the deepest, the most delicious slumber ever. Unfortunately that does not happen, not even at night when in bed. I am not sleeping well.</div>
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I think it is the changes in my body as well as the air. Summer is ending; fall is coming. This family of three is turning into a family of four. The cellar still is not finished so our second floor is still in upheaval. I am going to teach a couple courses starting tomorrow. </div>
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Changes are also coming to those close and dear to us. Doug's father, my mother. For a long time we talked about those changes as if they were a distant possibility; now they are imminent and real. </div>
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I am so sorry to be cryptic; some of those changes are not mine to share yet but sooner than later those changes will manifest themselves in future posts. </div>
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Douglas and I are purging the contents from the cellar, including our photo albums. He came across this photograph of my mother and left it on my bureau. The photograph of my mother reminds me that changes are always happening, right under our noses. It is just every now and then that those little shifts in life add up to a completely new direction that cannot be ignored and must be taken.</div>
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-75852234065413515682013-08-22T21:51:00.000-04:002013-08-22T21:51:49.951-04:00Facts of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Since returning from Paris, I felt disillusioned with New York City. Even the Chrysler tower seemed duller than usual.<br />
<a name='more'></a> My first thought upon returning was about how ugly and unkempt New York City looked. Despite being blessed with weeks of gorgeous weather and skies, I still could not help feel that my love for the city was waning. <br />
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Our brief stint to Indiana (we were there for just one night) left me missing the Midwestern feel: wide open skies and wide open smiles. Levi was able to walk with us around town without us worrying about that pile of dog poop, that cigarette stub or the deadly street, all facts of New York City life. <br />
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Luckily for me I got some more of that Midwestern fix a couple days after we returned from Indiana. My family came from Chicago at 2 am in the morning: Abuelo, Nana, Lucy and Isabelle (my two little sisters) dragged their pillows and bags in. We hugged, talked over some pizza and one by one went to sleep.<br />
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For five <i>short</i> days we went around town each day and I fell back in cahoots with the city. My city. Empire State Building. Fifth Avenue. The Guggenheim. Coney Island. DiFara's (wonderful pizza, excruciating wait--do NOT go there hungry). The Hamptons. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo Credit: Unknown sweet passerby)</td></tr>
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The only days I took photos were when we went to Coney Island and the Hamptons. I am aghast at the lack of photos I took while they were staying with us, but what can I say? I was busy falling in love all over again. I also was busy watching Levi with his bevy of young ladies--his two aunts who were absolutely wonderful with him. <br />
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We almost ruled out the Hamptons. The two hour long drive seemed daunting for just a night's stay, but Lucy's mysterious desire for a Surf n' Turf meal (which she never got, bless her) and Abuelo's opinion about the drive being an experience, tipped us over. We went.<br />
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We went for the bay instead of the ocean and managed to stretch a short day into a slow sun soak. <br />
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Then my family had to leave. Abuelo had go back to work on Monday. Lucy's boyfriend was going away to college that Sunday, so Lucy had to say goodbye.<br />
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So they left at four-thirty in the morning, while we were sleeping. Levi woke up and said, "Pillow white. Door white. Aunt Lucy left. Aunt Isabelle left." Facts that he knew. <br />
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I am proud of this city, where the coolest rides sit right smack on the beach, amazing architecture loom above all, and where people put the garbage out on the streets, stinking to high heaven. Facts that I know.<br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-74019834776191593032013-08-21T08:00:00.000-04:002013-08-21T08:00:04.883-04:00Yep!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-6362742761126205222013-08-14T23:06:00.004-04:002013-08-14T23:27:59.963-04:00Levi's 20 Month Snapshot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Levi is on the verge of running. Someone called it "powerwalking." Exactly. This is a snapshot of our powerwalker at 20 months.<br />
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Likes:<br />
1. Painting on himself<br />
2. Going out<br />
3. Exploration walks<br />
4. Foot massages<br />
5. Playdates<br />
6. Making toy cars fall/crash/flip (he doesn't watch television. I am amazed he does this anyway)<br />
7. Breakfast<br />
8. Train sets<br />
9. Swimming<br />
10. Water play<br />
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Dislikes:<br />
1. Cheese (he used to like it)<br />
2. Veggies and fruit<br />
3. Bathtime<br />
4. Sunscreen<br />
5. Being tapped on the shoulder from behind (he gets startled!)<br />
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Does:<br />
1. Plays the feeling game (he names emotions; I make the faces. When it's the other way around he either grins or buries his face)<br />
2. Kisses Mama and Pop when asked to<br />
3. Says "go!" when traffic light is green; "stop!" when red<br />
4. Plays Hide and Seek (hilarious to see what he considers "hiding")<br />
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Can:<br />
1. Recognize/sign most of the alphabet (not in any particular order)<br />
2. Count one-to-one<br />
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3. Go up and down the stairs with help<br />
4. Go down the slide independently on his stomach<br />
5. Walk tippy-toe and backwards<br />
6. Drink from a cup<br />
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Says:<br />
1. What happened?<br />
2. Where? Levi search<br />
3. I want yes<br />
4. Soon fall (when balancing toy truck on the edge of a surface)<br />
5. Up, down, up, down<br />
6. Zoom!<br />
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Eats<br />
1. The crust (bread, pizza)<br />
2. Rice<br />
3. Annie's crackers (the cheesy kind)<br />
4. Kashi cereal<br />
5. Yogurt<br />
6. Chicken<br />
7. Salmon<br />
8. Tomato sauce<br />
9. Banana pancakes<br />
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Drinks:<br />
1. Water<br />
2. Mama's milk<br />
3. Orange juice<br />
4. "Nut" milk (almond milk)<br />
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Sleeps:<br />
1. Once a day at around 12:00 for an hour and half<br />
2. Sleeps at 7:30 pm, wakes up about two times a night<br />
3. Wakes up at 6 am<br />
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Wears:<br />
1. Harem pants<br />
2. Black Converse sneakers and red Saltwater sandals<br />
3. American Apparel shirts<br />
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Vital Stats:<br />
Height: 31 inches, approx.<br />
Weight: Unknown (at his 18 month check-up, he weighed in at 21 lbs.)<br />
Shoe Size: 5<br />
Clothing Size: 18-24m<br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-17562183594978753532013-08-12T16:13:00.000-04:002013-08-12T16:13:14.111-04:00Mirror, Mirror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mirror, mirror, who is like me?<br />
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Over the weekend we went to Indiana for the RID (Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf) conference. Their mantra during the conference was DOABLE. Short for doable action.<br />
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I participated as a panelist for their community forum with the word "doable" in the back of my mind. We, a diverse group of panelists, Deaf, hearing, CODA, parents, teachers, interpreters, sat together for four hours sharing our thoughts on three open-ended questions pertaining to the preservation of American Sign Language. We talked of human rights, linguistic rights. A panelist shed tears when she talked about not being accepted. Sitting there in front of hundreds of people I could not help but feel relief.<br />
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This was my ASL mirror. It is not often I get to sit with people who share common experiences, joys, fears and frustrations living life as a linguistic minority. I felt as if it had been some time I got to peer into this mirror and even though what I saw was far from perfect, what I saw was human.<br />
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When the forum wrapped, I took a good long look at my Deaf Mama of a Deaf Child mirror. I talked with another panelist about the tribulations and triumphs of finding the right school for her Deaf daughter. I met another set of parents who have two Deaf sons who are very articulate and intelligent. One of their sons is the subject of <a href="http://www.audacitytoexist.com/">The Audacity to Exist. </a> I saw my reflection once again when we talked about finding playmates, our amazement at their language development (those little grubby fat fingers forming perfect signs!!) and the moments of hesitation when we think, "Did we make the right choice?"<br />
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I live in New York City where individualism is holy. There is no way I can compare myself with other people in my daily life; I don't even want to become a comparison junkie. I am just glad to be reassured from time to time that there are mirrors out there so I can get a good look at myself. Call it a reality check. <br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-5069805069107685182013-08-09T08:00:00.000-04:002013-08-09T08:00:03.689-04:00July 23: Au Revoir, France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Three weeks had gone by. It was time to return home to our responsibilities and must-dos. A friend of mine once wrote that "to travel was the best excuse to do nothing."</div>
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We planned to grab the city's best croissants before heading to the airport from a bakery that was a bit of a walk, or a couple train stops away. We debated whether to leave our suitcases, go get the croissants and return, or split up (one stays, the other goes to get the croissants). Come Tuesday morning, we looked at each other and decided the city's best croissants weren't that important. We wanted to slow time down. Our flight was not until later in the day, but we had to check in three hours early.</div>
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Instead we walked down the corner for some weak coffee and ate breakfast at Olivia's flat. Levi played outside on the balcony, aware we were leaving for home. I packed slowly, played with Levi and breathed in the hot Parisian air. For a long time he stood with one foot outside the flat, one foot inside, alternating looking inside and outside.</div>
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I love to travel. I get to see things in a different context. I get to think in a different context. I get to live life differently for a bit then I get to return home where I feel good and can test new things in a familiar environment. </div>
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I hope that our travels together will instill in Levi the ability and desire to have one foot planted comfortably outside in the world, one foot inside home sweet home, looking outside and within.</div>
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4493768280137259502.post-11048070070802008062013-08-08T12:35:00.000-04:002013-08-08T12:35:36.076-04:00July 21: TA-DA!<br />
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Museums are excellent retreats from rainy days and sweltering days. <br />
<a name='more'></a>With temps nearing 95 degrees, we opted for Center Pompidou, a museum of modern art with a revolving interactive exhibit for children. Anxious to cool off, we got to the museum before it opened. <br />
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He surveyed the scene before getting a chunk of modeling dough out of this box. The crowds were growing within the museum, but not inside the children's gallery, so I was grateful for some space to roam about and touch things.</div>
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The piles of pizza boxes reminded us that we were going home in a couple days. I felt wistful.<br />
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Levi stood at this center the longest, mesmerized with the magnetic objects clumped around the table.<br />
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Levi wanted to count all the dots. Seriously. He pointed at one dot and looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to start counting. It was cool inside the museum and we had an early start. "One..." I began.</div>
<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623754627759570783noreply@blogger.com0