Vivi on Film

The Vivi Channel

Seize Each Day

Viviana is now two. I had this long blog written in my mind about how we went to Chuck E. Cheese, on Saturday and Sunday, of her birthday weekend, how she pointed to herself and said, "Birthday Girl" and answered "Two" with enthusiasm when we asked her how old she was.

I had that all in my head and then time took over and it was washed out, like rain pouring down a letter of inked words, black running down the pages like mascara.

Last Friday, Vivi was sick. Had a viral infection that caused blisters and a fever. Friday night after her bath, Cesar and I hoped that she would have a good night sleep. We had just put her diaper on her, a long white cotton shirt, her wet curls around her face and then her back curved and she looked like she was having the chills, she began to convulse and then her eyes began to roll into the back of her head. Cesar picked her up and I screamed and called 911. Cesar carried her to the living room and my ma who was with us, was screaming and crying and praying all at once, and cries of "Why?' and Olivia barking and my mother sobbing. "I can't understand you." the woman said and I looked and our girl was limp and we thought she was gone. "Put her on her side and don't hold her." and I told Cesar and he did and then she slowly began to respond. "Hi, baby" we said stroking her hair, the wetness on our fingers mixing with my tears and I asked, "How old are you?" because I knew she knew the answer to that and would she still know it? "Two" she said softly and we exhaled and then she said, "Chuck E. Cheese" and those were the sweetest words.

Her fever had gotten too high and the ER doc informed us that we should be giving her both Tylenol and Motrin and for the next two days we did so as the fever hesitated to leave like an uninvited guest.

Monday came and fever went and she is getting better, still fighting the viral infection, but much better. Doesn't remember her daddy and mommy about to explode with sorrow, with guilt of being helpless, with me thinking I delayed care because I couldn't calm down fast enough to say our address.

We thought she had left us. That's the only way I can say it because the other words don't want to nor will I allow them to escape my mouth. My girl who talks and talks and sings and colors and hits and loves and bites and hugs and knows her mommy and daddy and puppy and grandmas, my girl whose big eyes blink in awe when seeing the moon or fish or stops to smell the flowers,literally, my girl we thought wasn't here anymore.

Perspective. That's what I got from all of this. What's really important and not just because some email forward, or some quote or some over used line of "Think about what is really important" was dished at me, but perspective that smacks you in the face and pulls all of what you know from you, like gum, out and stretched and you aren't ready to let go, your teeth hold on and the gum wants to rip and all you want to do is savor it once more and make bubbles and have it be yours, sweet and flexible and with you.

That seizure may not have caused any long term effects for her, but it created long terms effect for her daddy and me.

Seize each day.

Two

Vivi's going to be 2 in less than two weeks. Two. My girl who I can still remember being inside my stomach, with her butt always pushing against me, who's heart beat I heard through a monitor, who had me in labor for 22 hours, that girl who just last year didn't have teeth, who didn't run, who didn't talk, is turning two. Now, she runs, she says, "Good morning, daddy" "Help me, mommy" "No no no, Olivia." who when we asked her yesterday, "Vivi, do you want french fries or yogurt?" replied, "Cake." When did that happen? When did she start opening and closing doors, drawing pictures, climbing on and off our bed, saying "Park" and going up and down the slide - by herself? I know all parents say, "Enjoy it. They grow up so quick." and they are right. I really don't remember her being so little when she was too small in the highchair that she would lean and slide to one side that Cesar and I had to put towels around her to prop her up. I can hardly remember measuring formula and carrying around water and holding the bottle for an hour just so she can drink 3oz, I almost forgot how she couldn't go into the bath tub herself, how we bathed her in a baby tub, propping her up with one hand. I mean it's not like I forgot really, but it's like the memory game. All the memories of her on the back of small cards, flipped over and Cesar will say "Remember when?", flipping a card, and that will trigger that memory for me and I will flip the matching card and then we laugh and add our own remembrances and the memory unfolds for us. Two. My girl. My Viviana.

Here's Another

Vivi 20 months

Lists. That has been my life for the last four months. A list of Vivi’s doctor’s appointments, dermatologist, ENT, pediatrician, after her surgery to remove her adenoids and tonsils it was a list of medications and times. A better list is all the things she is now doing and saying: watching Pixar movies of her choosing everyday, expanding her vocabulary to include words like “never mind”, “I don’t know” and “Vamanos”. Lists of all the homework I have to do, lists of work events and night meetings that add more than 40 hours a week to my work schedule. Lists that include dates with my hubby that we will actually go out to dinner and a movie and instead we end up eating in bed and watching a movie on cable which I actually enjoy quite more. Lists filled with times and subjects and items and dates and when one is crossed out another is added. Lists. The unwritten list of smiles and laughter and warmth when I do get to spend time with my family. Unwritten list of crying spells and doubt when I am not, intertwined with the other invisible list of wonderment and passion and awe and growth in my writing and myself. I crossed off my list my worry that my girl wouldn’t remember her mama because she does. She asks daddy “Mama?” when I am not there and lifts up her small palms and shrugs her shoulders. Broken heart. When I see her she snuggles with me now, and pets me like she does Olivia and she knows. She may not have the vocabulary to tell me or even the understanding to realize it, but she knows mama is doing what she is doing for herself and for her and for Cesar and even Olivia. The list of guilt is still there on a post-it note, but in the corner where it flaps with deep breaths and sighs and yawns, but it isn’t dead center anymore. On that list are doubt and some sad clouds that like to hang over me now and again, but that list, is at the bottom of my lists of lists. At the top of every list is my family. Bring on the lists. I am a writer. I have plenty of paper and ink.

Vivi Dancing to the Black Eyed Peas

Guilty as Charged

From the moment I saw those two pink lines this time two years ago, to the moment when I gave birth and all the moments in between, I have felt love, bliss, awe and that one small emotion that started out as a seed and has grown into a field of unkempt guilt. Mother guilt, parent guilt, however you politically want to say it - I have it. Guilt. Yesterday was rather hard. I received some mail regarding my graduate school orientation. I felt excited and then by the time I was on the blue line on my way to work, as the train was stuck on the tracks midway between Damen and California, I began to tear up. I was excited because school was fast approaching, but so are the months where 3-4 days a week, I will only see Vivi for 90 mins in the morning. Not counting work events and hours I need to spend on homework, Vivi won't be seeing much of her mama and that makes me quite sad. She is the reason why I decided to take a risk, make my dream of being a writer an actual goal and this very goal is what is taking me away from the being that motivated me in the first place. I told Cesar that I am going to put a picture of myself on the fridge, so she won't forget me. He said, "How is she going to forget you?" and I said I was going to do it anyway. Cesar understands why I am doing this. He is my other motivating force. He supports me and loves me and we have been through this before. He used to work nights and Saturdays, I used to work days, so we only saw each other on Sundays for about 2 years. I missed him terribly, but we both understood that is what we needed to do at the time. He understands that, but how do I explain that to our 15-month old? He tells me not to worry, that she is young and better now than later, that she loves me. He also knows he is married to a true emotional Pisces who's so sensitive that I cry at corny, sentimental commercials and when I hear sad stories about people I don't even know. So, there I was on the train, not bawling, but tears hopping off the rims, hoping no one in car 2246 noticed the woman with the wild frizzy hair and quivering bottom lip, wipe running mascara away from her eyes.
I love my girl. I won't ever stop feeling guilty for not being there for her. Her grandmas and Cesar will see or hear many of her firsts and I won't. She will be closer to them than the lady on the fridge. Sure, this is sounding super ultra dramatic, but my heart aches for the time I won't be there. I can't fail. I won't fail. I will give my all to being a mom, to being a wife, to being a writer, so at least I have no regrets. I never want to look back and say, "I should have tried harder." So, I give myself my own kick in the ass. Yes, I will allow myself my down moments. I will allow myself some tears, but I am putting a time limit on it. The more time I spend on feeling guilty and sad, the less time I have to put towards the positive people and blessings in my life. The guilt will never fade, but for the next three years, I am locking it up the best that I can.

What Time Is It?

It’s been months since I have written about Vivi. I keep saying I will make time, I will find time and yet time seems to be playing “It” with me and the harder I try to catch it, the more I run to take hold of it, the quicker it gets away from me. Time is everything and yet no where. The second hand on a clock can only be heard if you stop and listen. There in a silo of silence, as the world keeps moving, if you stop and listen you can hear the seconds tick by, one by one, one right after another. Do you hear it? That is your life – moving. Most of the time, I don’t hear it because I try to make it conform to me. To my work schedule, to doctor’s appointments, family gatherings, birthday parties, running errands and I don’t hear it, until I carry Vivi in my arms as she snuggles into her favorite blanket, her daddy and I saying we love her, good night, kiss her forehead and lie her down. There in her crib, her face illuminated by the moonlight sneaking through the blinds, I hear it. Time. Time circling, reminding me to stop. I don’t remember when Vivi didn’t have teeth and now she has six. I don’t remember when she couldn’t walk, because now she runs and climbs everything. I don’t remember when she couldn’t talk because now she says hi, agua, plane, doggy and 20 other words. I don’t remember when her hair wasn’t long enough to put into pigtails, when she couldn’t chase Olivia around the house and pull her tail, when she didn’t say mama and cling on to me tightly as we dance on Saturday afternoons. I need to stop and enjoy every minute with her even the ones that result in timeouts. She is all the seconds and minutes and hours, my calendar, my life and my world. She is time in its ultimate form. I can’t let her pass me by either.