baby buddah

Harper's new favorite activity is to do assised sit-ups. We try to do a few reps every day to get her in top crawling shape. We hope to have her walking by 4 months so that she can train and run the Honolulu marathon with Rivers and Jake next fall. Fingers crossed.

on fingertoes and love

Nothing particularly exciting has happened lately, so I've been hesitant to blog. BUT...I have a 40-page curriculum on Media, Conflict and Peacebuilding due in a few days, so obviously I have to find something to blog about. Hmmm. Let's see what's been on my mind lately...

i. I used to hate my feet. Long, bony toes with a hint of hair that crack and pop every time I bend them. And of course they're ALWAYS disgustingly dirty. In fact, I used to be really embarrassed of my feet in general. At parties, I'd either wear socks or try to contort my feet so that somehow the tops would be flush with the floor. Please, try to picture it. Luckily, being a mom has transformed this adolescent shame into pure love. I can basically do everything I need with my fingertoes, so take that all you perfectly petite-footed girls who I envied in high school... Dirty diaper on the floor? No problem. Just a swift flex of the foot and that soggy nappy is in the trash. Boom. Need to put sleeping Harper in her bouncer but the toy bar is attached? Piece of cake. Big toe and second toe pincers to the rescue. Baby blanket fell on the floor and my gluts aren't buff enough to squat with a 14 poound baby in hand? Ha. The swift three-toe-pronged straight-leg up-kick and Harper is all snug. So really, let's be honest Marisa Caruso and Christina Brocollini. Let me know if your beautiful feet can do that.

***and yes, I did go around the house taking photos of my feet in action. That's how much I don't want to write this curriculum.

ii. I really have the best husband ever. I know a lot of people say that, but it's not true. Mine really is. Today I came home from school, and of course I bypassed Rivers and went directly to Harper with a passing "hey babe" on the way. Well, turns out she had gotten greedy and ate a little more than her tummy could handle and vomited everywhere just moments before I came home. Naturally, I blamed Rivers for her gluttony and quickly took her away whispering "Mommy's here now..." Oh boy. Like the good-natured man that he is, Rivers simply put his shoes on and went for a run, leaving me to ponder my irrationality and consequent ways I could make it up to him. When he came home, I was geared up for a raging apology. As soon as "I'm sorry" escaped my lips, Rivers kissed me on the cheek, shrugged his shoulders and said "It's okay". Like it really was okay. Then he proceeded to make and serve me dinner. Need I say more?

the betrayal of Harper: vaccine day

Today was the worst day of Harper's life. Keeping in mind that she was stuck in the birth canal for an hour and a half, received 2 vaccines moments after entering this world, has eaten at least 5 ants and sleeps in a hammock, I think this is saying a lot. We woke up early this morning to take her to get her first "real" set of vaccines at the free clinic down the street. Because she's already been accidently scratched by my nails, hit in the head on numerous occasions with the metal clasp of her pacifier and seems to find amusement in head-butting my teeth, I thought that the pain of a shot would be a breeze for her. Not. As I confidently layed her down on the construction paper-covered bed and firmly held her knee as the nurse directed, Harper gave me a "Yo mom, what's up" look. Like it ain't no thang, just hanging out with the doc's B-word. She seemed cool and collected. When the nurse swiftly plunged the needle into Harper's ample thigh, her expression quickly changed into one of utter confusion while simaltaneously doing the move I call "The Starfish" (arms stretched as far as they can stretch, fingers spread wide apart). As the nurse began the actual injection, her look was along the lines of "What the heck (she's a Mormon baby) is going on here, mom? I thought you said this would be fun?!!" This inaudible assertion was followed by the most hearbreaking, red-faced scream I have ever heard. You know, the kind that has a five second interlude of silence between wails. Her little face scrunched up and her legs drew into her stomach in a display of utter, unprecedented pain. Of course my eyes welled with tears and I quickly scooped her up and held her. The nurse gave me a pathetic look. She's obviously not a mom.

Harper was fussy for a few hours, then slept the rest of the day aided by some good old fashioned Tylenol. The first 2 pictures represent her overall demeanor today, although I have to say that she gave me some nice smiles when I came home from school...

little airplane in the sky...(AKA click the links to get the full story)

Since I can attribute all my sappy emotions to post-pregnancy hormones, I'm going to seize this opportunity to write a somewhat sentimental blog.

I've taken to listening to my Ipod on the way to school in a melodramatic attempt to be a loner and sulk over leaving Harper all day by carefully selecting the music that corresponds with my mood. For example, on the first day of leaving Harper I felt especially sad, so naturally I played an Iron & Wine/Bon Iver (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy3lJIxyZ60) mix to really intensify the anguish. On the second day, I was wearing what was, in my opinion, an unusually "cool" outfit that made me feel somewhat attractive and consequently blared Le Tigre (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqhntKPh2EY&feature=fvst) . It really put a skip in my step, if ya know what I mean.

Today on the way to school I was in emotional limbo. I had had a fun morning with Harper (which makes it easier to leave) and was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Nothin' too sexy. Correspondingly, I listened to Mason Jennings who really exudes a range of emotions. A real good all arounder. Anyways, I was listening away when "Which Way Your Heart Will Go" came on, a song that I've heard a thousand times. Only this time, it was ripe with meaning and emotion. My eyes welled with tears as I thought of my little family and how much better they are than being a scholar, journalist, rockstar or Olympian. As the school bus (yes, I'm in grad school and take a big yellow bus to class) made its way up the windy road towards campus, all I could think of was the triviality of my academic endeavors and that what really mattered was waiting for me at home. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOiYmEPqBHQ

Hasta Luego Nanny, Bienvenido Realidad

There are so many things I should be doing right now other than blogging, but between writing a paper on the Rwandan Genocide, reading the Marxist critique of education and starting my thesis proposal, I think I've made the most sane decision.

Yesterday was a pretty sucky day. First of all, I had to begin the saga of leaving Harper for 5 hours while I go to class every day. Sucky. To compound the torture, I also had to say goodbye to my mum, who has been living with us for the past 2 months. Sucky. And worst of all, I just watched Julie and Julia, which really left me wondering why no movie offer has been made on my blog. Suckiest. Needless to say, I came home to a delicious dinner made by my beautifully bearded husband only to spew tears all over it. Could I be any less like me? (If that statement doesn't make sense to you, then you probably were not a part of my teenage years. Picture facial peircings, tattoos (permanent) (can you do a parenthesis inside of a parenthesis? who cares, did it twice) Doc Martins, arm socks (I actually think I started that. Back off, Avril Lavigne) (there I go again) strange cut-off pants that made me look like I truly believed a flood was coming (at that time, the existence of a worldwide flood was still debatable in my mind), and black eyeliner.)))))

Having my mum here was so amazing. I can't even explain how big of a help she was. I was definitely in a false sense of reality as the laundry was magically done and folded every day, a gourmet dinner was promptly served at 6 and I could knock on a door at 2am, go directly back to bed and miraculously still have my baby fed and changed. It feels really quiet in our house now, which is saying a lot about my mum, since we have a 2 month old. We really miss her.

Somehow I'm sucking it up and facing my somewhat regrettable decision to do my Masters while having a baby, and making it to class every day. Well, it's only day 2, but still...

Below I've posted some pictures from over Christmas break. In one of them, you'll notice that our little daughter has boobs. Way to go, Harp! You'll be the most popular girl in Kindergarten.

Costa Rican Baby Swing Part II

Good news! The hammock works like a charm for my other baby too. Now when he's wailing because he can't sleep, I'll just put him in and rock him into lalaland. What a multifaceted Christmas treasure...

Costa Rican Baby Swing

Harper has an exceptionally tough time getting to sleep during the day. When she gets tired, there's no soothing her, and our sweet lil' babe turns into a wailing monster. Sometimes the relentless "bouncing while whispering sh-sh-sh" method works (see below), but it's never a sure thing. The good news is that somehow, Rivers, my mum, Phil and I all individually and unknowingly decided that what each of our loved ones wanted more than anything this holiday season was a hammock. So, come Christmas morning, there were 4 hammocks under the tree. What we always wanted! (By the way, Christmas trees in Costa Rica are cedar shrubs cut into Christmas tree shapes). Once Rivers strung up our Christmas bad boy in the front yard, Harper's sleeptime problems were solved. As soon as we put her in there, she melted and quickly fell asleep. In the pictures below, it may sometimes looks as though we are abusive to our baby. This is not the case. As we mentioned before, Harper loves smooshed face. Whenever we try to readjust her, she cries and shimmies her way back into smooshed face position. Whatever works, right?

Infant baldness

Over the past few weeks, Harper has started to lose her hair. The peculiar thing is, unlike most babies, Harp has decided to bald from the front in the classic horshoe form. This makes our deliciously cute baby kind of look like a middle aged overweight man named Earl who is unhappy with his accounting job and spends his weekends watching The Wonder Years reruns and eating Cheetos. Not a good look for our 2 month old. We've tried the combover manoever but it just doesn't quite look right on an infant. Luckily, Rivers came up with a great solution and gave her a rockin' new 'do. Below I've provided "before" and "after" photos for the full effect.

Phil

I love my little brother. I've always known him as the shy, gentle boy who loves Nintendo and cries outside my bedroom door because I won't let him play House with me and Marisa DiTrapani. I guess in my mind he's still the 8 year old boy who drives me crazy by singing "Oh Canada, shoot the bow and arrow in da shaaaaaark" when I'm practising piano (not the real anthem lyrics, by the way). Or the pudgy little kid who gets scared at night and crawls into bed with me. Well, Phil came to visit us in Costa Rica for Christmas and I quickly came to the stark realization that that boy is gone. Phil is a man, baby. He's exerted mad charm skills that we never knew he posessed and is now engaged to a beautiful, smart woman. He's pretty ripped, a far cry from the little hacker who would play Diablo until 3am and eat Little Ceaser's Crazy Bread.

Having him in Costa Rica was so much fun. He and Rivers took an adventure to Nicaragua and, judging by their photos, spent 90% of the time hanging out with a braless 60 year old woman and her monkey.

While they were gone, my mum, Harper and I hung out in good old Ciudad Colon and had girl time. I think we went to the mall every day, and Harper even watched her first Soap Opera! (Twilight/New Moon. Oh boy...)

It was bitter-sweet to see Phil leave at the end of the week since it's the last time I'll see him as a bachelor. Weird. I'm so glad he's marrying such an awesome girl, someone who really deserves him. Still, to me, he'll always be the little boy who shared my room and held the other end of a bunny scarf so he could pull it when he got scared at night. Now I guess I'll hand that torch to Tawny. (Note to Tawny: he's especially scared of the toothless old lady that emereges from the bedroom wall)