Viviana - 8 months old

Peace Love Baby

It’s amazing how many times I can fall in love. With each day that I lay eyes on Viviana, my heart dissolves into my soul and I am filled with a happiness I never thought existed. My need to protect her, to nurture her, to love her, to teach her and even learn from her twist all within my veins from the tip of my hair down to the tip of my toes.

I haven’t put into words lately how much she has grown. How she now sits up all on her own, how she has learned to get down from her little chair by tipping over, flipping on her back, kicking her feet and sliding down. How she babbles and how a couple of days ago she said “Quack, quack” When she watches her Baby Einstein DVDs, how Cesar and I know her favorite scenes and how we watch her face light up, her smile widen and her legs kick in delight. I haven’t written how even though she has been very fussy at night, fighting her sleep, how I love how she doesn’t want to leave us. How she likes to be in bed in between Cesar and I, Olivia resting her head on her lap. The other night Vivi was snuggled into my chest when she turned her face and placed her hand on Cesar’s chin and caressed it until she fell asleep. Nor have I written about how she now drinks juice and water out of her sippy cup, how she splashes in the bath tub and tries to catch the falling water from the faucet, how she pulls at Olivia’s lip and ears and how when Olivia nibbles on her chunky fingers, how she laughs.

All the days are one big blur, growing into one another, becoming inflated with life. Days full of self-doubt of whether I am the best mama I can be, of trying to fulfill my promise to her that I will be a better person, so she can be proud of me. Days full of that darn parental-guilt. Should I be taking a class that keeps me away from my baby all day every Wednesday? Should I even be thinking of grad school? Why didn’t I just become a vet, or an FBI agent or write my novel before she came, so I could be at home and watch her grow? I feel like I am missing all of it and what I am witness to, seems to come out of no where. When did she get long enough that her feet now touch the floor when she is in her walker? When did she start shrugging her shoulders as though to say, “I don’t know.”? When did she outgrow all those clothes?

I am so happy to see her healthy and happy, growing and yet it makes me sad as well because she is growing up so fast. Yes, she is only 6.5 months, but time doesn’t slow down for anyone. Life moves at a fast pace and you either ride the wave, fight the wave or drown.

Mornin' Love

The roundness of her face, her cheeks like a doll's, pink blush in perfect circles, highlighted as she smiles. She sits on my lap, the sun creeping through the blinds, lying sweetly on her face, enveloping her in the morning glow.

"Good morning, Vivi cakes", my hand carefully supports her back and yet her head bobbles a bit, bouncing quietly from side to side until it settles forward, the drool form her chin, running down her onesie. I lean my hand back, her head lifts and her olive eyes meet mine.

"Good morning, my love" My smile must seem gigantic to her, all teeth, and she slowly blinks, her long eyelashes that curl like upward like sunflowers, briefly touch her cheeks. Her mouth opens wide, her pink gums, teeth hidden underneath, glare in the sun, her tongue, a patch of white from her food, sticks out, her eyes shrink and she giggles.

She begins her baby talk, words of gurgles and babbles and various sounds, conversing with me. Breaks filled with smiles and laughs, or sucking on her miniature fingers, her eye brows rise and fall, tighten and relax, as if strings were attached to them and controlled by a puppeteer.

"I'm going to miss you today" I say to her, as I bring her up to me, and give her a kiss on her cheek. She grabs my hair and pulls. I kiss her again and again, knowing that the day is long.

A Newborn, A Newport and a New Rack

Vivi 2 1/2 weeks old

"It's gas," she said as I held Vivi in my arms. The cool air in the room, enveloped my newborn and made her quiver. Her bottom lip trembled and I wrapped the blanket tightly around her. Dr. Newport would now be in my new mommy circle of contacts along with the Poison Control Center, recall websites, and babycenter.com. She was a tall woman. Lean with a shag of blonde hair that sat quietly and looked like it had just been cut. The bangs perfect. She was good with Vivi. When she checked her, placing the cold stethoscope on her bare chest and back, Vivi whimpered and began to cry. Dr. Newport quickly picked her up, bounced her in her arms and Vivi fell silent. Her big gray eyes checking this new person out. It was at this moment, that Vivi smiled her huge smile, revealing pinkish gums, hidden gems yet to appear. She closes her eyes when she smiles, her defined, thin eyebrows, raise a bit adding character to her already vibrant personality. "When she smiles, is she really smiling or is it gas?" I asked. Dr. Newport reported that it is most likely gas, but that many mothers like to believe that when babies smile, they are smiling at the angels. A much more romantic way of looking at it.

I have not two, but four girls now in my life. Vivi, Olivia and the two that sit at attention, ready to salute, in my shrinking bra. I was asked how they are (yes, girls talk about stuff like this). I answered, "They hurt like hell, but they look fabulous." They have grown to a D cup and during the last few days, it feels more like I have enormous DD batteries coming out of my chest. Solid lumps, sharp pain as if I am being stabbed from the inside of them, was all I felt for the last few days. This is called "engorgement" when the milk is finally coming in. I am a walking Oberweiss factory. I suddenly feel for all the cows out there, who get pumped over and over again, day in and day out. When I pump, I feel like eating some hay and putting myself on display at the farm exhibit at the zoo next to the incubator with the chickens being born.

I wish they would stay looking this way. I am of average size before all of these changes and they will go back to that size when I am done using them as a source of food and I will say this - they will be missed. Not the pain part of course. I have woken up in the middle of the night to find myself holding on to them and not in a good way. With my bra soaked through because I leaked, with the lumps ramming into each other, as though someone is inside of my breasts playing marbles during recess. After pumping with a very loud yet effective pump, that sounds like I am flying a double engine B-25 aircraft, they feel much better and they look even better. Not that I stare mind you, but imagine waking up to find a body part of yours is much bigger than you had always known it to be (don't tell me what body part you are thinking of, please).

Trust me, you would stare too.

Labor of Love

Viviana Veronica Vargas
Born: March 29th
6.5lbs

My contractions began Saturday afternoon. Pain so sharp that it sliced itself through my lower stomach, reeled its way around my back and made my face grimace. There was no question. I knew it was time. I tried to relax like all those books said to. "In the early stages of labor, relax, play cards, watch a movie." A man must have written those books. How can I play Texas Hold'Em when a human being is beginning to descent further and further into my pelvis, knocking at the cervix door with a commanding, "Let Me Out!"? After 7 hours of this (none which included cards) I couldn't take the pain anymore. My contractions were not 5 mins apart, but I called the doc anyway. "Well, we like to wait, but come in and let's check you out" Lucky thing because after 13 hours of labor, our daughter was born.

When she was out, I cried so openly and with such intensity that all the doctors and equipment disappeared and all I could see was Cesar and Vivi there in the room. None of the labor mattered. None of the pain could take away the love that exploded in my heart like fireworks and confettied itself over my soul. Look at her. Look at what God gave us. This being of love and hope and innocence made of Cesar and myself. Of our love for each other, for life and now for our daughter.

"You did good," Cesar said while the docs were getting her ready for us and leaned over and gave me a kiss and I knew that my family was complete. How could I have ever thought I knew what it would feel like? I knew I would be happy, I knew that I would cry, but the tears that treaded down my face were filled with such emotion I could never have imagined. They placed her in my arms and Cesar and I told her how we felt. Her eyes opened, she looked at each of us as though making sure we were hers. At the moment that our eyes met, we each knew that we were each other's.

It's been five days since that moment, five days and nights filled with feedings, diaper changes, lack of sleep, but none of it matters. To see her sleep, to see her smile, her big gray eyes looking at us when we speak to her, to catch those memories of how wonderful of a father Cesar is, melts my heart into a river of peace and love, that I will happily swim in forever.

Johnny Cash Never Had This Kind of Ring of Fire

39 w 6 days
4:01AM

Two days till my due date. Not only is that one of the reasons I cannot sleep, but also the fact that my hips feel like they are be cranked with a pair of pliers; pain that keeps me awake. I decide to check my email and look at what I read and the picture they provided:

"As your baby's head crowns, you will experience a burning or stinging sensation, often referred to as the ring of fire, as your baby stretches the vaginal opening. As soon as you feel this, stop pushing! If you continue to push and bear down, you increase your risk of tearing or needing an episiotomy. The burning or stinging sensation only lasts for a short time and is followed by a numb feeling. This is due to your baby's head stretching your vaginal tissue so thin that the nerves are blocked. The result is a natural anesthetic."

Oh, yeah that is going to help me sleep. Why do they feel the need to provide this photo of a woman that seems to be experiencing the most horrific pain she has ever felt while she seems to not only be pushing, but also trying to get out of the bed as in a "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" and her gown is falling off and she doesn't care because she has a multiple of people walking in and out of her room, looking at her stretched and torn private place, so why would a little flashing of her milk makers make any difference?

I am getting a tad more nervous everyday. I know I can do it. Billions of women have given birth, hey cave woman gave birth with no drugs right? In a cave of all places, with dinosaurs pacing back and forth outside, waiting to hear if their next meal was going to be a girl or a boy. Ok, slightly morbid, I know, but hey I am lacking sleep here. Women have given birth in trains, planes and automobiles. In the woods, in villages with no electricity or fresh water, in their own homes. My main concern is that I will not know when I am in labor and then I will end up with no drugs, delivering my own baby in the checkout lane of Baskin Robbins as I wait for my sherbet on a plain cone. Well, that would give them press, and then maybe they would give me free ice cream for a year, but then again, I am trying to loose all the weight I put on, so maybe I should give birth at the gym or at a weight watchers meeting.

Look, I am going to put it out there for all of you to know something. Something I have not brought up at all this entire blog. Something many woman refuse to comment about, but it's time to come clean. Ah, how do I say this? I have stretch marks. Yes, there it is. Look, I used lotion, I tried to gain weight at a steady pace, but I guess I have to come to terms that I can't wear a bikini anymore. Damn there goes my Hawaii Tropic Suntan Lotion contests. I will have to wear a one piece. And you know what? After reading what I read above about tearing and stretching and all that jazz that is making one of my brows rise so high, it's lost in my hair and my lips purse tightly that I can feel the creases in them crack, I welcome stretch marks with open arms, or skin.

People use the phrase of jumping through hoops. How about through a ring of fire?



Yeah, I am huge and what?

Ready or Not

37 weeks
Picture taken of me at 36w

The day approaches quickly yet quietly. Time is no longer flying, rather it is jetting by, taking with it all that I know as my life now. The pick-up and go moments to go eat, watch a movie or go shopping. The silent nights where the only noise is the humming of the heater and the ice maker making what else, but ice. It is going to go away shortly. There will be a little one, my little one to think about. We won’t be able to go somewhere without taking her along or getting a babysitter. And those silent nights? Replaced with cries of hunger, wet diapers, nights where she may be sick and feeling bad.

When I walk into her room, painted a dark purple, her name on the wall, butterflies all around, her bookcase filling up with stories that we will read to her and one day stories she will read to us, I welcome time to take those other moments away. For they will be replaced with so many firsts. The first day we bring her home filled with excitement and uncertainty, hoping that the maternal instinct does kick in. Watching her sleep, caressing her hair, giving her a bath, making her smile or shall I say she will be mirroring my smile, as I look at her in awe. At how beautiful she is. At how she is part her father and part me, and yet her own little being. She is not an empty canvas, she will have her own personality, but Cesar and I can help paint her life. We can can add some vibrant colors, add some powerful images, some in the background, just as important and less obvious. She will do the rest and we just need to provide her with the proper brushes, enough paint of all colors and let her create – herself.

I am asked often if I am ready. I am as ready as I am going to get, I say. I have prepared for all that can be prepared for. We took the childbirth and CPR classes, we have all the furniture, the clothes, the bottles, the stair gate, the paperwork, everything tangible. We are ready in that aspect. When it comes to being ready as a mother, well I hope I am. I have read many books, spoken to many mothers, but it won’t be until I have her in my arms, will I be ready. Will I know. The moment I become a mother.

I'm Pregnant?

34 weeks (6 to go!)

Today, I realized that I am pregnant. Yes, I know I have been pregnant for the last eight months, but I just became aware that I am PREGNANT! I can't walk any faster than a 9 month old learning to walk, waddling around clumsily, tripping over their own feet or nothing at all. My stomach is gargantuan and stretched and I can't comprehend how its suppose to get any bigger as it feels like a brand new leather couch, with no wrinkles, just smooth and clenched, or like a balloon that someone keeps rubbing on and you scrunch up your shoulders in anticipation because you know that its going to pop with all that pressure. My hair is now lax and lackluster, once lustrous and shiny, it has been enveloped by a cocoon of frizz that reach out like branches or pygmy antennas out toward the skies. I have so many bags under my eyes, that my bags have purses and those purses have wallets. My legs throb and feel like feeble tree trunks after a hurricane and at night they become more painful than hearing about my co-worker's stomach problems. My hot flashes so overpowering that I want to pry off my clothes and vault into the lake, I only sleep for 20 mins at a time like a paranoid cat waiting for the dog to attack and my feet and ankles swell up to the size of Don King's hairdo. Mind you. I am not complaining. It's just that, as I get closer to my due date, my body is changing more than my mood swings and I have lost all control. I am not used to slowing down. I can't even jog, do the jive or breakdance anymore. I walk so slow that pigeons land on me to take a rest. I try not to waddle because from behind, I look like I didn't make it to the bathroom in time and I had an "accident" in my pants. I hear so many more conversations too. There were these two young guys, drinking beer at 1 in the afternoon and as I shuffled on by, a young woman in her 20s zoomed past me. "Did you see the rack on that chick?" the one with the dirty blond hair asked (and it was dirty as in dirt and lint and an ant farm living in there not as in sexy, dirty blond hair like Robert Redford). "I'd like a feel of her rad-a-tats" I looked at both of them, my thin eyebrows raised high in question saying, "Rad-a-tats? Is that a new sour candy or a Nickelodeon cartoon?" Then, these two business men walked my way. Both in expensive suits, shoes shiner than a teenage boy's forehead, dusky sunglasses that made me question where they left their BMW motorcycles. Their serious striped ties secured around their necks, they seemed serious in conversation. Talking about the stock market perhaps, the stimulus plan, that all-important client. As they passed me, one said, "I have to take a leak," Ah, insightful.

Into the Night

31 Weeks Exactly

2:19AM

Enveloped by night's silence sprinkled only with the shuuuuu of the heater and the chup chup chup of my dog smacking her lips as she sleeps, I awaken to find myself at the foot of my bed, staring off into nothing. My expanding belly feels tender and a headache begins to take form, crawling from the nape of my neck, squirming along the right side past my ear. Nine weeks. Nine weeks until moments like this, of stillness will be nothing more than forgotten time. When there will be a miniature being crying, sleeping, suckling, needing me. I dreamt of her last week. There she was standing herself up with the help of her daddy, laughing. Her soft knees bouncing, black hair with tips of sunlight, dark brown skin, and a smile wider than the sky. She looked just like her father and I stood there, awing at how beautiful they both were together, taking in each drop of joy they radiated.

Tonight was slightly different. My headache slightly worse, took me to the living room where I sat in the moonlight that came through the skylights. Passing cars and trucks whoosh passed, the streetlight flickered through my gold curtains. The dreams I just had twisted in the crevices of my brain.

I am sitting on the bed with Cesar. My puppy begins to cough. I pat her on the back and look at Cesar. Olivia coughs up blood. Two small puddles like liquid licorice. I quickly scoop her up, take her carefully to the bathroom, her body becomes weak. I turn on the water in the sink, cup my free hand, fill it and I make her drink some. I do this a few times and place her on the tile floor. I kneel next to her and ask, “Are you ok?” “Yes,” answers this small polish boy who stands before me in just his underwear. His dirty blonde hair, dull and thick on his head. His face covered in light pinkish rashes as though he has dry skin. “My birthday is coming,” he points behind me to a calendar posted under the sink on the cabinet doors. “Which day?” He points again. “April 3rd?” “Yes,” he says. He is very happy. “How old will you be?” “Eight” he smiles. I smile with him. “Yeah, your birthday is coming!”

The cars had stopped and the baby began to kick. I could see my stomach wave in the dim room and rubbed it in circles. It was memories’ turn to bring the other dream I had to light.

I just can’t get my hair right. These bangs won’t do what they are suppose to and this mirror is going to fall off the wall I have it propped up against. The night has fallen heavily and I need to finish getting ready. But this hair! What was that? I ease my way to my bedroom door, and peek out. The living room and kitchen are in a blanket of night. I walk over to the other side of the living room and switch on the light. Nothing. The lights aren’t working. The goose bumps begin to pop along my body, my hair salutes to the fear that begins to pump in me. I walk quickly, but not quite fast enough back to my bedroom door, where the only lights escapes from. My hand is near the doorknob when the door slams. I am grabbing on to the knob with both hands trying to push the door. Something won’t let me in. I have to get into the room. I place the side of my body on the cold wooden door, push and the door cracks enough where I can see my uncle on the other side. Stopping me from coming in. He is wearing his signature black leather jacket, gray sideburns and serious expression. He just stares at me. My uncle died five years ago.

I finally made my way back to bed. Found Cesar and Olivia knocked out just as I had left them and hoped for the same restless sleep.

Rick James, Spike Lee and The Mean Doctor

29 w 3 d

Rick James is Not Pregnant
On one of my hormone-induced sad days, I got ready to go out to dinner, looked in the mirror and cried. My hair has gotten wavy lately and I like it, but on this particular day, the waves in combination with how huge I looked and felt, compelled me to walk up to Cesar and say, "I look like a pregnant Rick James," needless to say he wanted to laugh and he felt bad at the same time. "You do not look like Rick James," he replied. Then I continued with the tears and between those I mumbled, "I am big." "Nothing fits" "I have three chins" "I have a laundry butt" Let me put something out there. I LOVE being pregnant. I am excited, but am I not entitled to have blue days here and there, especially when my hormones are the driving force behind them? So, that whole night, I was down. Felt like hiding in the fridge or the pantry like I was some kind of super freak.


Spiked Punch
Nightmares have found their way into my mediocre, mini-sessions of sleep. Between the leg cramps, my trips to the bathroom and my shifting from one side to the next, I don't sleep longer than an hour at a time, but somehow, these horrid nightmares find a way to invade the only rest I do get. The worst of them all was when I dreamt I lost the baby. It was so real. I was at the doc's office. I went to give a urine sample and when I was trying all that came out was blood. It was in blotches all over the bathroom and I began to freak. I ran out and asked the nurse where my doctor was. When we finally found her I showed her the urine sample that was all red. She told me to lie down and then the nurse began to yell, "The baby is dying inside of you!" I lost it. I sobbed, and screamed and repeated, "But I am 29 weeks! I am 29 weeks!" I collapsed. I then woke up, crying, my head throbbing and it took me a few minutes to realize all was really ok. I have also had nightmares about being kidnapped, violated, lost, and any other word you can find on a true crime show. I know its just anxiety and my mind's way of letting that all out.

The baby woke me up from her kicks and punches for the first time. Once while I was dreaming I was making a film with Spike Lee and when I suggested he "Do the right thing," he punched me in the gut twice real hard. I woke up immediately and realized it was the baby.


What's Up Doc?
It has been said that pregnant woman are a beautiful sight. That the roundness of her body makes her more feminine than at any other time in her life. I have felt pretty good about myself and my ever-growing belly until Wednesday. The day I woke up with a hormone-induced sad mood. The day when people said, "You are getting so huge! You are ready to pop" it effected me more than the days before. I had a doctor's appointment. It was with my regular ob's partner. He wants me to meet all of them. So, I am waiting in the room, hot, slightly sad, and very tired when she walks into the room, looks right at my chart and exclaims, "Wow. You are already over what you should gain for your whole pregnancy. You have to work on this," and then went on to tell me I CANNOT gain more than 5lbs in my last 11 weeks. Stunned, I just nodded. I have gained 33lbs and my regular doctor (who is the head of the practice) said I could gain anywhere from 25-40, so with him I am fine, but this other doctor who can't even bother to wear a lab coat, tells me I am fat. I wanted to cry. I couldn't look at her. After her 5 min checkup, I took the elevator 12 floors down. With each, "ding!" of a passing floor, I heard, "Fat!" "Fat!" "Fat!". I exited the building quickly, and as soon as the frigid air slapped me, I began to cry. Tears escaped only to morph into icicles on my cheeks, small glass sparkling on my face for all to see. I didn't care. Of all the days, why today? Why tell me I am fat today? During my 5 block sobbing session to the bus stop, where people looked at me and then quickly looked away, "Oh, Oh. Pregnant woman crying, don't make eye contact or I heard they can turn you into stone," I wondered what type of mother I already was. If I can't take care of myself now, with my baby in me, will I be able to when she is out? I cried from guilt, I cried from shame, I cried because I was really hungry and I wanted pancakes with whip cream and I was just told I was too big. I returned to work, cried in the bathroom stall before I went to my office which I share with 3 other people. I sat down, began to type, had to get up again, go back to the bathroom and cry again. I cried more because I couldn't stop crying. After a really good cry, I was able to go on with my day.

That night I dreamt with Dr. Spock who kept telling me sadness was an earth emotion and kept referring to me as "captain", Dr. Seuss who recited, "In your jeans, in your shoes, with your waves and chins, there is nothing that you can no longer fit in," and Dr. Huxtable who had the best line. "Have some Jell-O Pudding". Anyone have any?