Why am I proud of you?

Once you were born, your Dad was on a mission to get me the things I occasionally enjoyed - enjoyed very much - but could not eat while pregnant. These included sushi, oysters, beer, and Scotch.

As evident from the pictures taken at the hospital, we celebrated your arrival with sushi. When you were four days old we went to Perla's for oysters and beer. This was our first social outing together. We asked to be seated outside and had some oysters as we enjoyed the strangers' gazes and complements on your cuteness. Your Dad made the observation that I looked very proud of you. I didn't think about it until he mentioned it, but he was right. It was the weirdest thing. I couldn't figure out why I was so proud of you. You looked very cute to me, but so do most babies to their own parents. Plus you were just born, and you haven't accomplished anything yet. So why was I, and still am, so proud of you?

Everywhere we go I want to show you off and tell people "hey, look what I have, look what I've made." Is it because you came right on your expected date with no complications? Because you grew to be the perfect size, although you had a single umbilical artery in stead of two? Because you automatically knew how to latch on and eat despite all the horror stories I read about the difficulty of breast feeding? Do I interpret all of the above as proof of your survival skills, and thus, I'm proud of your strength and ability to live? Maybe because you are ours and we chose each other to make you, so you embody the things we view as special about each other? Maybe it is all the potential I see in you, and automatically imagine it realized? I don't know. I wish you could see yourself smile and laugh; with your toothless mouth. Even your eyes smile.

Mommy.

Birth Certificate

I'm keeping a list of places to avoid at all cost, such as the Office of Motor Vehicles, the Post Office, Consulate Generals of all countries, yes, even the poor ones... and now, the Office of Vital Records. This is where you and I went today, to get your Birth Certificate. I'm pretty sure this list is not unique to me. In fact, in spite of all the ethnic, religious, and racial differences, and all the wars, vendettas, and jokes they inspire, one thing that unites us all, worldwide, is the fear of the above places. Mention that you've been to one, and you'll trigger empathy and understanding that you had a shitty day.

Here is a re-cap of our day: We drove East, as the number of fast-food restaurants and run-down ethnic eateries increased, separated by used auto-part shops. We kept driving until we reached the middle of nowhere. I knew how to get there because I already got lost looking for the same location last week. The building looked like it was brought in and put there as one unit. We entered a room covered with people wall-to-wall. No air conditioning or a fan. Mind you it was 104F outside. The main language was Spanish. How come there are barely any white people in these places? Don't white people need to show proof of birth?

You were quite the entertainer. You started your usual crying fit, so I took you out of your car seat and bounced you in my arms. The black couple further down the line kept turning back and looking at you with affection. I heard the man say "I miss having them that small." The woman behind me started playing with your hands, and told her partner that she wanted one too. You are so cute and love-inspiring.

Finally it was our turn. I nervously waited for the clerk to tell me that a document was missing. I pictured us driving home, accomplished nothing, coming back next day, carrying the same load- car seat, the diaper bag, you- crying, me- sweating, waiting forever... But we had everything. The clerk asked me if I wanted the big certificate or the small one. I looked around the walls for samples, to minimize verbal exchange. There weren't any. They were the same price so I asked for the bigger one. I figured it wouldn't be inconveniently big. She handed me your birth certificate after having charged $23. I used Discover Card for the 1% cash-back advantage. I brought it home to show your Dad. It has the names of all three of us on it.

Your first overnight trip

My precious little planet,

Not counting the drive from the hospital home, your very first trip was to Walmart; like it should be, for every American. You were two days old. I don't remember for what purpose, but it might have been to buy a laundry hamper. Next day we took you to Whole Foods for grocery shopping. So very early on, you were exposed to a wide socio-economic landscape.

This weekend we took you on your first overnight trip. We went to Dallas, TX. It's not so exciting compared to places we went while I was pregnant with you - Peru, Italy, California... But it turned out better than anticipated.

Unlike what Austinites think, Dallas actually has a few nice things to offer. Beware the opinions of those with local pride. We were too late for the Museum of Modern Art, but we got to see the Nasher Sculpture Center and the Crow Collection of Asian Art. Below is a picture taken at Nasher. Stealing a reference from your Dad, here is Cabassi's "Zoe", putting Rodin's "Eve" to shame.We also tested your and our ability to stand the steaming heat at the Arboretum and the Botanical Gardens. A beautiful place, but we had to cut the loop a little short to make sure you stayed alive. I think J.R.'s oil money goes to buying water to maintain the place so green, the pools full, and the bunnies so big. But you won't know who J.R. is...And here you are, stealing the gaze of the Sun from the rest of the world.

The highlight of the trip was the Sixth Floor Museum at the Dealey Plaza. This is the building from which J.F. Kennedy was shot in 1963. It was awesome to have a piece of history at our fingertips. We were at the exact spot where the assassin stood, as he took aim. You let out a very noisy poop, which made the young woman next to your Dad turn her head toward you in disgust. She was too stupid to know that you had special rights. They even admitted you to the museum for free. Here, I saved your ticket. It says "Child. $0.00"

Soon we'll have to teach you that sometimes natural means inappropriate. I think we'll know that the time has come when museums start charging you to go in. Until then, enjoy your freedom.

Love,
Mommy.

Classical Sundays in Texas sun

Last two Sundays we took you to Concerts in the Park - an outdoor classical music concert series that takes place every Sunday evening throughout the summer. It's free and open to all. An attempt to bring classical music to the masses. Luckily the attempt has been failing, so it doesn't get too crowded. People are welcome to bring food and drinks.

Last year your Dad and I used to pack a picnic basket and bike to the event. You are still too small for the bike carrier, so this year we are driving. We would love to walk, but believe it or not, Texas heat can kill the tiny you. Every time we take you outside, people tell us that we are very brave to take you out. We try to put you in the shade, keep the outing short, and put cool water on your forehead and feet. I tried to take you for a walk a few times, but you became scary lethargic. The rest of the day you were fussy, sleepy, and more fussy, and you pooped a lot. I mean more than usual. So I learned quickly not to go on walks with you until the weather changes.

Here is a picture of you and Daddy at the Sunday concert.


A few minutes after this picture was taken, you started an aria. Only that we weren't at an opera. You were inconsolable, and as loud as the orchestra. Your Dad and I exchanged a look of confusion and embarrassment. We have become one of those families that used to disrupt our pleasure with their babies. It was not your feeding time, but I read that nursing calms down the baby, even when she is not hungry. Your Dad wrapped your blanket around my chest, and you went quiet as you drank your milk. Of course I had to relinquish my beer to your Dad who had to make a big sacrifice and drink it. See delicious beer in picture, leaning against the cooler. We are not sure why you were crying, but we think you got bit by an ant, although we sprayed you with bug repellent. Ant bites hurt. It must have been horrible for you to experience that. My little baby Zoe.

Party time!

Baby Zoe,

You attended your first social gathering yesterday. I took you to work, to introduce you to my colleagues. You passed a loud gas and slept the entire time we were there. Some of my colleagues already saw you at the hospital the day you were born. Aunt Bernadette also visited you at home.

We had some refreshments, snacks, and a pretty cake, decorated by Angie. The cake was sage green, with pink baby booties. Angie is the same person who did our wedding cake. She is very nice, reliable and talented. I hate to see her work at HEB. After the wedding I stopped by to give her a wedding candy and tell her how beautiful and tasty the cake was. Her eyes teared up. She was happy to do your cake too. Here is some Motherly talk to you: Always show your appreciation to people, no matter what level they are.

My colleagues were delighted to see you. Here is Paula holding you, while Debra is waiting for her turn. You were only 22 days old. One day you'll be 22 years... I wonder how you'll be like.

Sleep-alikes

Little Zoe,

Not to say that you took after me, but the picture your Dad took this morning reveals that we sleep alike. Notice the heads angling to the right, and arms thrust overhead, with the right one leading. If the audio was on, you'd hear us both snore.

Pediatrician's visit

When you cry I don't always know what you want. I might well be sticking a nipple in your mouth, thinking that you are hungry, while you are having gas pain. It's tough to be a baby. But at the doctor's office the other day, you expressed yourself loud and clear. So loud in fact, that the doctor could hardly use the stethoscope. You reminded me of our beloved cat Odysseus, after whom you are partially named. Yes, I know you will accuse me of this when you grow up. Normally a mild and loving cat, he would morph into a wild beast at the vet's office.

The examination revealed that you have grown since birth. I already knew that of course. Here are your new specs:

Weight: 3.52kg or 7lb 12oz
Height: 53.3cm or 21in.

For American standards, this makes you tall and thin, like a model, or like your Dad. Your height puts you in the 75th percentile and your weight in the 25th in the US.

Waiting to see you grow.
Mommy.

Wild little Zoe

Little Zoe, living in a pond, on a lily pad. The frogs are your friend.
One lazy morning a ray of sun disrupted your slumber.
In rage and anger, you punched the water, awakened the gator.

Email from your Grandfather

Little Zoe,

Your grandfather Avram asked me to post the below email here on your blog. He is very excited to have you with with us.

My Beautiful Zoe,

Unfortunately I have to learn how to live far from you. And there is only one way to vince that! To be in contact with you... But just in this point I have two other difficulties. 1:I am technologically stupid. (Since 45 minutes I am trying, without any success,to put this comment on your blog.)Now I will ask from your MAMA to do it for me. 2:My English. I am not using this language since 1969. Any way it was never perfect...

When the feelings are very strong,words are not enough to spell them! (And in English?!) But let me tell you that your arrival and your presence gave me a happiness that I did not taste since the birth of your MAMA and your uncle Can. (And never before)

I am sanding to you a poem of Rudyard Kipling.I learned it in Turkish and French. This poem occupied always a special place in my life. When you will be big enough to read and understand it, probably I will be much more far from you. And I wish, to remember this poem, will be more important than remember me for you...

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -which is more-you will be a (PERSON MY ZOE) I hope Rudyar Kipling will forgive me this correction.

Butt wash took care of butt rash

Dear Zoe,

By the time you were one week old, you had a diaper rash that could put a baboon in shame. We figured the wet wipes were the culprit; although, I spent hours researching wet wipes to make sure I got the kind that was super gentle on your skin.

For this, I'm going to disclose the brand name that did this to you: Nature Baby. Fragrance-free, chlorine-free... The less things they have, the more they cost. And yes, I know... when you grow up, you will hate me for posting this picture for all to see.

You were in pain, screaming away each time we would wipe your butt. We tried different brands of rash creams, and even exposed your bare butt to sunlight... to no avail. Next, we decided to eliminate wet wipes completely. At the hospital, I was sent home with a Sitz bath, which is basically a portable bidet, to relieve the soreness and swelling due to labor. Luckily, I was too lazy to ever used it. We started washing your butt in it at every diaper change - as seen on picture below, and tapping it dry with a towel. In a few days you were rash-free.

To keep you calm in the Sitz bath your Dad wrote a song for us to sing while "you" shake your butt in water, as we wash it until all poop residues are gone. It goes like this:

A koochie koochie koochie
A koochie koochie koo...

As we shake your butt around, you stop crying, and your face assumes an expression of confused pleasure, as if to say "I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm kind'a liking it..." We have to teach this technique to the grandparents since they will be changing your diapers when I'm at work. You are too young to know what work means. I will soon try to explain it to you in another blog entry. For now, suffice it to say that work is an unnatural game that adults have to play. In many cases they leave their home - yes, also their babies - early in the morning, and spend daylight in a small cell. When it gets dark, they come back home, after having left the last piece of patience in traffic.

Until next time,
Mommy