humble beginnings.

This week I'm thankful these things. 

beginnings :: They are all new, if not particularly shiny. We've been in the States 4.5 months, yet I'm barely beginning to feel arrived. The heart of me has caught up with the body of me, almost. It's funny how often those two are out of sync. I am a poorly timed clock; tick tock.

Yet here we are again, the pieces of me and my newly family. We get to start our lives here however we want, though it's been difficult deciding just how we want to do that. I suppose everything will fall into place at some point, right universe?

bloggin' :: I'm happy to be back, to be connecting... 

{a la village}

measures :: These milk bottle measuring cups from Anthropologie make me happy. Maybe it would be weird to say I am thankful for them. But I am thankful to be able to window shop and find items and window displays that are pretty cool just about everywhere. That definitely didn't happen in Puerto Natales. 

{via twig & thistle}

spring :: It's been crazy green since we got here. I honestly don't remember California being so green for so long, ever. But then, memory has never been my strong suit. Now I'm just happy that warm sunshine is mostly accompanying such greenness. 

{looking at papa}

hikes :: More specifically green spring hikes with the family. Rowan went on his first longish and beautiful hike yesterday. He's done a fair amount of walking since he was born, but he's never felt so far away from the city. Cows, lizards, woodpeckers, waterfalls, poppies and that sudden breeze he loves. 

What are you thankful for right now?

time, i don't believe in you.

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I haven’t written in a long time, not the blog or anything else. So sparks of birth and motherhood come to me in the middle of (seemingly) other writings… but I feel those sparks are really their own story apart. So I set out to compile a list of what they don’t tell you about birth and motherhood. Or what they do tell you, but is just so damn hard to remember. 

{from our more recent stash of photos, reminders -- with a sneak peak of our book shelves, which i love}

I compiled said list and realized that they don’t tell you that stuff, because it all sounds so dreary, so heavy. And at least in western culture, there’s enough fear about giving birth already. Women are fed so much rubbish throughout our lives, we tend to doubt our strength, our bodies already.

I will say quickly that I think, aside from having someone to prepare you nutritious food (preferably someone other than hubby. hi friend food tree, you are a good idea!), the most helpful thing you can give yourself is to talk with other women who have recently given birth. I was lucky to be one of the last of my friends to have a baby, so I had lots of support in that area. But even strangers, as in a new mama group, would be wonderful (maybe even better because they are going through it right along with you and listening to others who are in it now can help you feel more normal). OK, that was another long digression I hadn’t intended to take.

Anyway, I imagined the list to glitter a little with its shimmering insights. But that didn’t happen. (Of course not, because I knew how the list would end--what its emotional charge would be--before I had even taken the journey. All authors commit such presumption, sometimes.)

So, let’s get to what they do tell you. Enjoy every minute.

We left the hospital one day earlier than recommended. We arrived home to my aunt’s house, greeted by a clean-sheeted welcomingly pulled-down bed. A baby photo album topped the bed, and inside the album, a simple card. It said: Enjoy every minute. Bawling, I tucked the card back into the album. I decided to pass this message on via every baby shower card I’ll ever write.

I think it may take a while to be able to enjoy every minute. Pain and sleep deprivation damper it all. Add hormonal cliffs, crying baby that you’re supposed to know how to soothe, insecurities, sensitivities, and holy ferociousness you’ve got yourself a hurricane on your hands.

And yet, no fancy rhyme could say it better. Enjoy every minute. Be there, then; be here, now. 

{enjoy, mama!}

Because babyhood really does happen as fast as they say it does. Baby’s papery skin plumps up. The downy hair (lanugo) on baby’s back disappears, like magic. That new baby scent fades. Diapers that swim on baby, too soon tighten. One by one, you transfer the onesies to storage. Meanwhile you grow with your baby. Ultimately some shimmerings can’t be captured a la list.

for now.

Let's just say.

I can tell it's going to be a red wine and coffee ice cream kinda night. Or day. And I won't complain about that.

{etsy}

Wishing your week's off to a happy start!

how fast.

They say it happens fast; I'm prone to say that it's heartbreaking. Every day Serkan or I moan about how heavy Rowan is getting. Tonight I started weeding through pictures. And even if it's not heartbreaking in any traditional sense, it still chokes me up. I'm past that super weepy stage called the baby blues, though I'm not sure I'll ever have the same stamina against tears.

Digression: The baby blues are blue, but they aren't all sad. Sometimes those tears are a form of happiness. And mostly those tears bubbling up from the depth and yet out of nowhere are the body's way of healing and dealing with the trauma of labor and birth. Add a storm of hormones, caring for a tiny life (especially if the closest you've ever come to caring for babies is watching classmates take care of their baby egg in grade school), little sleep and (maybe) the near inability to walk or stand up straight, and yeah, of course there'll be tears.  For the first few weeks after Rowan was born, I couldn't see kids having fun without bawling. As we left the pediatrician's office after Rowan's first visit, school was just breaking. Little people walked hand in hand with their parents toward home, or else they skipped or looked up at their mommies talking about their day. I thought of how someday those little ones would be Rowan, and I couldn't stop crying. I was crying so much, I couldn't even try to explain why I was crying. We had to go for a longer drive so I could cry it out. And let's just paint a clearer picture. My face was wet, yes, but real boo-hoo bawling was impossible post op. Crying, laughing and just about everything else in this life requires lots of tummy muscle.

So, Rowan used to be small. His arms and legs spindly. Now his legs are just rolls of plump happiness.

{r's first full bath at home, 17 days old}

He had lots of hair. A few weeks ago I thought, Man, he's losing his hair. Then I thought maybe he's not losing it, just getting a little bald spot from where he thrashes his head from side to side when he wants to eat or needs to poop. Looking through photos proves he lost lots of his strawberry blond hair (no idea where the strawberry came from).

{asleep, he really looks like hubby}

I still can't get through the pictures of him before we met without tearing up. His mouth in a howl, his fingers in his eyes, and his legs stuck by his ears from trying to come out butt first breech. Baby wanted to eat! But dad was there to snap photos and hold him after his hospital bath.

{papa and a swollen rowan before i met him, 1 hour old}

Fast forward to tonight. Rowan and I are at home, spending our first night alone together since birth. Papa is doing some white water rafting for work, apparently in the snow. While I try to put Rowan to sleep next to me and look at him and at photos from two months ago (bugger is two and a half months old now), I can't believe how big his cheeks are or how many chins. I can't believe that his onesies used to swim on him and most don't even fit anymore. Even looking at a belly pic a couple days after his due date is laughable; it doesn't even look real.

{2 days after the due date, and 3 days before rowan}

Now his smiles are expansive. He cracks up when he sees himself in the mirror--as of today. He's laughing in his sleep as I type this. It doesn't make sense to cry at these developments, I know. But it's the part about it happening so fast. Everybody tells you how quickly it all passes; I feel this life whooshing by trailing its colorful streak, and yet... It just happens all too fast.

p.s. I do know what's missing. Recent photos of Rowan's pudginess. I'm behind with photo organization and just about everything else. Will have more recent pictures soon. In the meantime I'll be figuring out a good photo sharing method or reinstate my Flickr. Until then, I'm Facebooking it. Feel free to friend me.

peace. what's different?

When you leave and return to a place, you notice things. Aside from the higher bridge tolls and higher sales tax. Almost 10%, really? New fangled ways of living.

• Everybody owns an iPhone. 
• (yet) It's illegal to talk on said iPhone while driving. 
• The highways don radio signs (which slow traffic), advertising child abductions and the approximate times to various locations. 
• Sometimes the radio signs mention that texting tickets can be $159+ so they aren't worth it.
• There are texting tickets.
• Pedestrians have to stop, push a button and wait for the green walky guy at random sections of sidewalk/driveway. 
• Finding apartments is treacherous and include none of the utilities (not even sewage, people!)
• Cell phone plans count the minutes of incoming calls in addition to outgoing calls.
• You can have internet at home without owning a home phone.
• Light bulbs. What can I say, you are completely different!

• Meanwhile 880 is still a potholed ghetto highway, to be avoided (even though I live right off of it now).
• Those precarious radio stations, like 92.3, still change every other week, while KFOG still thrums acoustic sunrise and sunset on Sundays and KZSM goes crazy about the blues every Friday night.
• Happy revelers fly kites, play music and dance in the parks of San Francisco to celebrate spring.
• My old good friends are still my good friends, even though it's been years since we've kept in touch regularly.
• Peaceful moments are still peaceful moments. 

{via}

Right now the sun's setting in our living room, streaking it shades of yellow and deepening orange. Rowan's asleep in his swing, which swishes rhythmically. Kids squeal in play and kick around a soccer ball down at the park across the way. Blackbirds and wrens chirp. I'm rocking in the glider and typing, about to get myself some tea.