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.

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.