Tag Archives: mommy

TMLFYI… | Promise Full

Mommy,

I’m excited that you’re actually going to take a vacation. You’ve earned it. For 6.5 months you’ve never been more than a few minutes away from me for more than a few hours. That’s extraordinary. That’s commitment. That’s who you are. That’s one of the things I know Daddy hopes I get from you (as well as your stunning and timeless good looks.)

I know you have some anxiety, also. Maybe I’ll start crawling? Or maybe I’ll say my first word? Or maybe I’ll start freestyling over a wicked beat laid down by none other than Eric B? Maybe I would have, but I want to take the pressure off of you and make sure you focus on you while you’re in Mexico. So here are some of the promises I’m making to you before you leave:

  • I promise not to crawl. If I do, you’ll never know. Because we won’t talk about it. We won’t photograph it. We won’t acknowledge it. So it won’t happen. But even if it does, it never happened.
  • I promise not to say my first word. Now, that means that there’s a high likelihood that my first word will be Daddy instead of Mommy, but I think you’re happy with that trade-off, right?
  • I promise not to immerse myself too much in hip hop culture. It’s a promise I’m making but I can’t be held responsible for Daddy and his desire to start playing those hip hop lullabies he got from his friend at work last night.
  • I promise not to walk. Mostly because you have to crawl before you can stand, and you have to stand before you can walk. Those lessons apply to me but apparently, they also apply to businesses looking to pursue hypergrowth — like where Daddy works.
  • I basically promise not to do anything new until you get back. I got you, Mommy. I totally got you.

The one thing I promise to do is miss you like hell when you’re gone, dream about you until you get back, and smile like hell the second I see you. I know it’s going to be the best and biggest smile you’ve ever seen, because it’s going to be driven by how I’ll feel when that moment arrives.

So go have a blast, Mommy. Have the time of your life in Mexico and squeeze every bit of fun and relaxation out of every moment. Because we’re going to have a lot of firsts happening the moment you get back.

Love you,

Anaiya

Mommy and Anaiya PNG

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TMLFYI … | Tortured

“Devices that produce soothing sounds in order to lull infants to sleep can be loud enough at maximum volume to damage their hearing, researchers reported Monday.” – NY Times

Every modern day toy we have for you is in some form, a new casing for a sound machine. Your MamaRoo. Your swing. Your playmat. White noise machines are everywhere. Your mom has been concerned about their noise level all along. My hearing is degenerating at a very steady (somewhat troubling) clip so the problem for me is that I actually don’t know when I have the machines too loud. Even when I have them cranked to higher levels on the dial they sound reasonable to me, which is pretty problematic.

I should be using more common sense. It’s one of the lessons I learn every day in every walk of life. I can’t expect others to determine what portions of food are right for me. What level of exercise I can tolerate. What sound levels make sense to me in a white noise machine or my headphones (I still think my headphones are pretty sick — Zik? — by the way.) I should simply be using more judgment when it comes to you, my munchkin. This is a place where I could stand to be substantially more like your mom. She questions everything. When it comes to you, I need to let her do that more. I need to get less annoyed with those frequent pauses. And I need to know that it’s all worth it for the times her questions turn out to be the right questions to ask.

I can’t only externalize, though. Last night was brutal.

I don’t have too many truly haunting memories. Seeing your Great Ba’s body before cremation. Your Fua Dada. September 11th (and actually playing back the evening of September 9th.) I’m sure there are a few others from before, but there’s a new one from last night.

20140306_004918Your freaking sniffles. I have no words. I haven’t been able to shake your sniffles all day. You see, you were having a little trouble eating yesterday. You’d get through about an ounce and fight us. It’s all because of your sniffles. You couldn’t breathe. We didn’t quite know until later into the evening though that it was your congestion that was making you fussy. When are we going to learn that when you’re being fussy you’re telling us something very clearly.

You woke up periodically crying. We salined the heck out of your nose. We pumped and sucked gook from your noose. Your mom even tried some humidifier and hot shower tactics to help. You seem better now. You took down 3 ounces a few times. But I will never forget you waking up at 4am and 7am and a few times in-between because you were just having a hard time breathing. Did you know your mom slept on her side literally cradling you from about 4am – 9am?

20140306_003503You’re a lucky lady. And I just hope I can shake those images of you. It’s a hard thing when you’re feeling this kind of love, I guess.

Kind of also makes me regret every fight I’ve ever had with your Dada and Ba-ji. Reflecting on any of those only makes me that much more tortured. A lesson that can never be learned early enough — more specifically, a lesson that no matter when it’s learned, is always a lesson learned too late.

Sleep easy, munchkin.

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TMLFYI… | Valentined

Munchkin, let’s talk about St. Valentine. Specifically, Valentine’s Day. It is about as controversial a non-holiday as you’ll have. Couples reject it because of the unnecessary commercialization of love. The truly romantic go Earth Day, where “Everyday is Valentine’s Day” if you really love someone. You have Gal-entine’s Day for women who embrace their single lives. Even the origins are called into question, from reinforcing the advent of Spring and bloom (literally) to bloody whippings leading to increased human fertility (slightly more abstractly, and dramatically more painfully.)

None of that has ever mattered to me. It all strikes me as trying too hard to avoid something that hurts no one. It’s a day where the world tells you it’s ok to show your love publicly, and where everyone goes out of their way to make it easier for you to do so. Why would anyone want to get in the way of that?

I watched a near parade of 20 something guys at work proudly carrying long-stem roses out of the office on their way to meet their dates for the event. Instead of worrying about where they were going to get BBQ for the day, another group was making a trek to a high-end chocolatier to pick up exquisite chocolates for their loves (no matter how transient or permanent.)

So today my love for you fully embraces the modern, Hallmarked definition of Valentine’s Day. You’re wearing an adorable heart flecked outfit (hoodie on top) that makes you even more

Anaiya Valentineirresistible. And the people around you who love you so much on a daily basis, have added cartoon-ish heart shaped love to their already excessive displays of affection for you.

What’s wrong with a day dedicated to love? I’d be happy to have more days dedicated to love, but does that mean we shouldn’t be happy to even have one? Let’s agree to spend our time debating and discussing things of true value, and otherwise embracing any thing (holiday, event) that inspires us to show how much we love each other. To keep it even more real, I sometimes run out of time to shower, I sometimes forget to eat, and I sometimes (often) forget where I put my glasses. Life gets busy. I don’t do everything I’m supposed to do every single day and I will be honest about it. I welcome any public reminder to make sure I stop and tell you and everyone I love how much I actually love them.

Let everyone else gripe about the value, merit and decision to participate in or reject the commercialization of Valentine’s Day. I see no reason to try so hard to fight momentum around loving you. We’re going to watch Charlie Brown, Snoopy, and Woodstock because they make us laugh, and Valentine’s Day has given them an opportunity to do so in the context of hearts.

Happy (1st) Valentine’s Day, my lovely. I can’t wait for the next one.

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TMLFYI… | Overjoyed

You cried on and off from 5pm to 11pm, with a break from 9:30-10:15 so we could wrap up dinner and enjoy the climax and conclusion of Captain Phillips (awesome timing.) You took in an ounce and a half at 8 and then proceeded to spit pretty much all of that back up in fits and spurts. Your mom and I had to pass you back and forth several times, because every time you got comfortable, you spent the next (few) moments getting uncomfortable all over again. Thank god we have four hands between us.Anaiya Cough

I also had a cough. Everyone said it was fine to be around you so I rocked a mask. From the moment I enter the house until the moment I leave, I’ve got a mask on. And you toughed it out. I’m not even sure you’ll recognize me without the mask anymore.

After finally convincing your mom to try and go to bed (after about 24 hours of caring for you straight without much sleep), I fed you at 11:30. You took down your 3 ounces with conviction, and then you went limp in my Anaiya Drunkhands (let me tell you, one of my favorite feelings is knowing you are fully fed and comfortable, looking completely drunk like you do in the picture to the left, and therefore almost fully malleable in my hands) and were ready for a nap.

So we napped. I tried to put you down, and you wouldn’t have it. So you slept on my chest from 11:30 – 3:45 in the morning. We watched Jay Leno’s last show (his real last show, kind of like watching MJ’s last game, as a Wizard.) We watched an episode of Chopped. We caught some of A Few Good Men. And then we watched an episode of Shameless (don’t tell Mommy.) A little shaking and stirring on your end, enough for sugar and tea but not quite enough for a pisco sour.

I’d spend every night from 11:30-3:45 in that exact position for the rest of my life. Doing so would leave me over the moon … overjoyed.

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