Therapy.

I have one thing to say to anyone who is struggling with anything in their life at this current moment: Go outside!

Life builds up crud.  Crud clogs up our life-force and keeps things from functioning properly.  Whether that crud is built of relationship stress, financial stress, worries about final exams or trying to get your child to poop after too many days, we've all got it.  Does it build up quicker around the holidays?  Yes.  My Thanksgiving week started with a pediatric well-check, three shots which put the kid out of sorts for a week, cooking, cooking, cooking (the fun part, though exhausting), followed by a hasty eating of the delicious food while the kid cried the entire time.  Finally decided she must be allergic to cats.  Then my busy week caught up with me, and I was reminded that I am in fact growing a human being whilst caring for said crying child, attempting to keep the house from piling up with mysterious messes which smell like funk, and then all of a sudden, my child stopped sleeping.

That's right.  When I finally realized that I ran myself into the ground having too much fun, my child (who I might remind you has slept through the night every night since two months old) decided she needed to wake up at 5 am, simply to wander the house in a defiant, though sleepy stupor and cry.  Day one, I rolled with it, and did prenatal yoga while she drank milk and watched.  Day two, if she was going to be miserable, you best believe mommy was going to be miserable too.

To say the least, after these eventful and tiring weeks, I spent last night bawling my eyes into my pillow, telling my husband about every single thing that wasn't perfectly organized, arranged and dusted in the whole house, how the world would end because there's dirty dishes in the sink, and how the dog poop is the main reason why my life is horribly intolerable right now.

This morning the girl cried out at 5 am.  I immediately began to beg Heavenly Father to solve her problem so I wouldn't have to.  Does that sound like horrible parenting?  Say what you will, but if faith can move mountains, it can certainly keep a diaper dry for longer, right?  Well I tested my faith by staying in bed, and four and a half hours later, I counted the miracle.  We slept until 930 am! And she was still quietly, happily sleeping!

I had the energy to clean.  I could have done all the dishes and started some laundry before the girl even began to stir.  I could have organized the piles of junk on my husband's desk, and finished installing the cabinet locks in the kitchen.

No.

I could have spent my time and energy fixing all the problems that have been built up by daily life with a kid, but I would have ignored the problems that have been built up by putting everything else before myself.  Having a clean carpet makes me feel accomplished, but does it nourish my soul?  Does a shiny, empty sink encourage me to ponder the beauty of life?  Is breathing in the yummy scent of Swiffer cleaner equivalent to a literal breath of fresh air?

So this morning, I brushed my teeth and went into high gear!  I packed pb & j, milk, cheese and an orange for me and the girl, threw her into a pair of shoes, and we were gone.  We met a friend at Sabino Canyon, and hit that little dirt road, with a cold bottle of water and a cup of milk.  The sun was perfectly warm, with a cool wind on our skin.  Juliet kicked and giggled as her hair flew in every direction.  We made it to the bridge, and there was water running!  Both of the babies loved it! They got to hear a bubbling stream, not a usual experience.  Juliet tasted all the rocks, sand and sticks, and even made two ducks very happy by sharing her cheese.  She absolutely loved them, as she gestured for them to come closer to her, she bubbled with excitement.  And as I wanted to run for my camera, I realized that I left my phone in my car.

So here's my second suggestion to anyone who is struggling with anything right now: Leave your phone.

I love taking pictures of my kid.  As a photographer, I can't help myself.  But in this moment, the first true interaction my child got to have with a duck, on the sandy edge of a stream, with the brisk wind encouraging her to truly experiment, and try, and live, I had no choice but to be 100% present.  No worries about focus or filters or composition.  I got to be there with my daughter for a few minutes, with nothing else that mattered in the whole world, and just live.  And of course I had to continue tricking the ducks with rock "treats" after we ran out of cheese.  Eventually they realized I was being cheap, but my daughter loved it.  And I loved being there with her.  And these are the moments that remind me why I stopped my education, gave up being the star of the class, to get poop under my nails, and peanut butter on my shirts.  And seeing her clever grin as she attempted to also trick the ducks into eating a rock made me realize why, in all of my craziest ideas, I decided to have a second child so soon.  Because I love this one so much.  How could I resist having another?

Soon we checked the time, and realized that we had places to be, and people to see, and we rushed back down the trail to our cars, and the magical moment was over.  But we took the time to clear out the crud that was blocking up our souls.  I may be sitting on my couch which is stained with dog snot, surrounded by piles that smell like funk (oh, and those dishes are still in the sink), but I am breathing fresh air.  The edginess that grew with my stress has smoothed over, Juliet was smiling wider, and is now sleeping sounder.  I have an inspired idea about how to treat a Christmas with no money for gifts.

My day is better.  My pregnancy is better.  I am better.  All because I decided to go outside.






~Compliments and thanks to my new-found friend Lorraine, who helped me realize that it's okay to make time for me.

Brave.

Two days ago my daughter discovered my belly button. Who knew a belly button could harbor so many minutes of curiosity, hypothesis, experimentation and conclusion after conclusion? She attempted to remove it. She checked to see how much of her finger could be swallowed in the abyss. She even tasted it, and attempted to NOM it over and over and over when she realized it made mommy laugh.

These are the moments that make me proud that I put aside my education to create a person, and for several years I will be the sole educator of this person. It is up to me to encourage her to explore things, to test them and to make the decision to laugh or ponder or move away.

As my little girl moves from infant hood to  the insane world of toddlerism I am bracing myself constantly yet pushing her to discover. I already am telling myself to let her figure things out herself. It's terrifying, and inspiring. I didn't realize at only a year old it is now my job to step back. I am happy to say that after just a couple weeks of this attitude, my daughter no longer cries after face-planting into the carpet. She gets back up, stands back up and tries again. It is the best thing I could see my daughter do, and I know if I can continue to be strong and let her question, test and discover the world on her own, that she is going to be alright.

The Love of a Mother.

Yesterday was one of those days.  Frustration began from the first moment, finding the dish washer still waiting to be started, full of soured baby bottles.  Check for sippy cups: also all used.  Discovered one clean cup with a straw, this will do, then discover the baby's filtered water is empty.  Cold milk.  Through a straw.  She can take it.  All the while she cries from her crib, "Mom! Don't you hear me? I'm awake.  I did so good and slept 8 hours, and I'm so hungry now! Please feed me?  Why aren't you coming?"

I've been awake for two minutes.  Hair in my eyes, plaque in my teeth, undressed, hungry, and desperately needing a potty break, I rush in to let my nine-month-old daughter know that her cries are not in vain.  I hear her.  I always hear her.  I hear her every moment of my day.  Even when she hasn't said a word, I hear her needs echoing around my consciousness.  It doesn't turn off.  I won't allow it.

Famished, she dives into her breakfast, and cries with each breath.  She shouldn't have to work this hard first thing in the morning.  Cold milk.  Through a straw.  Every other sip pours down her bib.  Necessary calories soaking into a cotton knit kitten.  Each mouthful rejected makes me sink a little lower, knowing my moment of neglect, my refusal to take a moment to wash a bottle and warm the milk is going to make for a very unhappy morning.  She finishes the bottle with a heart-wrenching scream, as if the milk was snatched away from her.  Knowing she only drank half of her usual and necessary breakfast, I reach for the snacks.  Freeze-dried fruit.  Pureed fruit.  Cereal bites.  Crackers.  Also considering the amount she slept the last few days, I realize I treated this growth spurt with complete neglect.

Eventually she begins lunging for toys instead of food.  Sweet relief, we did it.  Forty minutes later, hair uncombed, still undressed, plaque still in place, I finally get my potty break.  Mommy disappears into the bathroom... the world must be over!  I hurry the process as much as I can (all moms know we actually have no power over this, we just hope someday we might), wash my hands and rush back out, to find my child's sweet face sodden with tears.  Red eyes implore me to fill the hurt with love, and we wrestle a couple teething tablets under her tongue, and snuggle.

This is the first hour of my day.  The rest of the hours were not unsimilar.  At some point I had breakfast, and rediscovered the power of good hygiene, located clean clothes.  Somewhere in between it all I even found a free moment to let myself cry.

When my husband returned home I melted into his arms, told him about my struggles, inadequacies, insecurities, annoyances, frustrations, how we giggled and played, explored, exercised, discovered, tasted, laughed, learned the dog's name, daddy's name, and even took her first independent steps holding onto the couch, without mommy.  I smiled through my tears, laughed between sobs.  My heart swelled.

This was my day.  A day to try my patience.  A day to test my strength.  Knowing at any moment I could leave this infant alone to cry in her crib, and choosing to rock and sing instead.  It was a day to choose my daughter over myself.  It was a day to rediscover the love of a mother.

Hummus.

Hummus, hummus, hummus, we all love hummus! Here's a website with a dictionary of hummus recipes, including "Hummus with Tahini" and "Hummus without Tahini."  Good stuff!

Click Here for recipes!

Focus.

So today was overcast, and beautiful, but as I prepared for an the engagement shoot of a very cute couple, my baby was dying for my attention.  I have to make sure everything is working and ready to go, so I figure I'll give her attention from behind the camera, and make her be my model (again).  I'm working with my flash on slave mode, and I'm so absorbed in trying to decide if I should even TRY to use the flash today, off, on, off, on, off, on.  Not paying a bit of attention to the beautiful and perfect girl in front of the camera, besides studying how the flash treats her skin tone.  Im in the zone.  And then I see the most hilarious and sad image pop up on my LCD screen.

Snap... snap.... snap.... AH!

Don't worry.  I rescued her.  hehe.

Solids.

Solid food.  It has begun.

At two days old my precious little girl was holding up her head, to everyones' surprise and pleasure.  Two months old she was sitting up with assistance.  Four months old, she began sitting up on her own. Yes, I got my Christmas wish!  But... somewhere in there, somewhere along and between all these beautiful and exciting accomplishments, those adorable, itty bitty little hands began to get grabby.  Oh the mischievousness that happens when little hands learn to grab.  

Thanksgiving day, I sat at what used to be the kid table, until all the kids grew up.  I had my little girl in my lap.  The experience of sitting among young people with a child is new.  There's all of a sudden a new perspective, as I leave the table to change a diaper, miss out on pie because I simply forgot, or realize I'm the only one that's no longer a student.  Knowing that a few months ago I was in the young-person boat of worrying about rent, and getting hours at my job... and now I consider the life of a child in my arms, and her eternal destination is entirely on my head.  How quickly priorities change.  

As everyone laughs and coos at this little girl, whom I hold with one hand, I am waving my mashed potato laden fork through an obstacle of what seems like hundreds of flailing baby hands, to my mouth.  This is also new.  I read all around to introduce food, "When she starts to show interest," and I wondered (as all new parents wonder and worry) how I would know if she was showing interest.  Today was that day.  There was no doubt of this little baby's new interest in food, as I looked down and discovered her tiny fingers covered in the contents of my paper plate.  

At that time she was only three months old, so we waited the proper amount of time, and the day she turned 4 months, we pulled out a jar of apple sauce.  This little girl was bred to ingest.  She was so in love with that apple sauce, not a drop hit her bib.  For the next week I spent a small amount of time each day allowing her to taste, and practice with the spoon.  By day two she was grasping the spoon and bringing it to her own mouth.  I thought, "Wow!  I have a little eating prodigy on my hands!  She's doing everything perfect!"  So then we moved on to different types of foods.  Peaches, Pears, Peas, Potatoes, Prunes, everything she could reach, she would eat.  Amazing!

Then somewhere along the line, the bib started to get a little messier.  And the baby started getting a little wigglier, until not only would the bib, the burp rag, and my hand towel be dripping with goodies, but so would I be.  So we stopped the food for a while, and started shopping for high chairs.  This was when I realized my completely vulnerable, tiny baby was not so helpless anymore, and definitely not so tiny.  We shopped around, and looked for sales, and compared website prices, and blah blah blah, until I decided I wanted to feed my baby foods again!  She was so sweet and perfect when she ate, and I just wanted to have that back.  So I went out and bought a high chair!  No sale, no coupon, straight out, paid with cash, completely committed I went home, strapped her in, got her apple sauce and.... 

We now start each meal with three spoons, and the dogs sit, waiting beneath the table.  As soon as this rainy weather has passed, I will be investing in suction-bottom bowls.  We have already invested in a few more bibs.  My little eating-angel appears sometimes, but the majority of the time, there is a little beast, who though she cannot reach beyond the tray, somehow still manages to get the spoon out of my sight, and somewhere... somewhere.... somewhere on the floor.  

And did I mention that she's been learning to cry for what she wants?  

To say the least eating solids is great!

Meat.

I went through this weird stage about a year ago... two years ago...?  (I've recently grown and born a child, don't judge.)  Where my uncle declared that my family lineage is not Mexican as we always thought, but that we're actually Jewish.  Some smarty-pants DNA study threw off everything I ever knew!  Of course, as a child, growing up in South Tucson, I always wondered why I didn't look like all my little Mexican friends.  They had thick black hair, and mine was fine and brown.  They had beautiful brown skin, and I was white, but with patience I could tan to a beautiful olive.  Even though, I was never the same color.  I had these circles under my eyes that I've fought since I learned what foundation was.  Oh, and did I mention they all had BEAUTIFUL, envy invoking eyebrows?  Yeah, mine are straight, and wimpy, and the shape is just over all wrong. Oh yes, let's not forget that bump on my nose.  Thank my Irish mother that at least my nose is small!  So you can imagine, that the moment my dad said, "Jew," I suddenly looked in the mirror and my cosmetic world made sense.

Oh, how I embraced it.  I embraced it with such excitement, that my perfect Mexican Spanish accent flew out the window in about a second.  All my aspirations to speak the perfect fluid Spanish dissipated.  I regret that now, of course.  I had sat through two years of college Spanish in my desperation to prove my Mexican lineage, that I had never been able to properly connect with.  And all of a sudden, I was free.  Also, I stopped caking cover-up under my eyes, and embraced my new-found lineage.  (After all this spiritual-soul-searching-where-did-I-come-from-who-am-I business, my baby was born with a specific Hispanic birth mark.  So my daughter proves to me there's a little Mexican in there somewhere.)

So why do I bring this up now?  BECAUSE I JUST MADE MACHACA AND ITS SO STINKING YUMMY I FINALLY FELT MEXICAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIIIIIIIIFE!

Granted, the recipe came from SkinnyMs.com, so that tells you right there that it's far from truly Mexican.  BUT MAN IS IT GOOD!  Click here for the recipe.  Just a note, I changed a couple of things to work from my 10pm kitchen.  I used Shallots instead of a small onion.  I don't even know the difference, but Shallots are cuter, and sound fancier, so I had some.  I used powdered Garlic, instead of cloves.  I was going to risk the whole operation and attempt it without Jalapenos, when I discovered a can of Jalapenos in my pantry!  Thank you Mother in Law for planning to attempt a Mexican recipe who knows how long ago.  The canned Jalapenos are teensy, so I used a whole bunch, instead of one (Though my husband would tell you that I just like to suffer).  Also, for my canned tomato sauce, I buy low sodium.  Since the pregnancy, any significant amount of sodium easily removes my wedding ring from my finger, so I eat to avoid sausage fingers.  Even with less salt, the seasonings in the recipe (including my absolute favorite, Cumin) are so devine, you'll never miss it.  But I imagine if you follow this recipe to the T, you'll get a nice, strong punch in the face.  It's that good.