A year ago, after a quick 3 hour labor, our Djuna was born. I have been thinking about that birth experience all day. After weeks of waiting and getting increasingly tired of being pregnant, I was joyful to finally be in labor. I felt powerful, so different than when I gave birth to Stella. Giving birth isn't easy, but looking back I can remember starting to push and thinking I can do this, my body is strong, I can do this...
In some ways that ease and assurance has carried over into Djuna's first year. She is very much the second child. There is less intense one-on-one time with her because our attentions are always so fractured.
I hear myself say "she'll be fine" all the time after falls, face-plants, and crying jags. It's a nonchalance that only comes when you've seen a first child survive the mishaps of the first year and beyond. "Let her figure it out," is another phrase I find myself repeating.
She's showing signs of being more independent than Stella was at one. Part of this is due to the fact that she's been walking for two months already (a full 3 months sooner than Stella).
Djuna (Djunes, Djunie, Djuna baby, Pooms) loves greeting people with a smile and a wave, watching dogs, and gazing out our front windows. She is generally pretty content, but is quick to tell us when she doesn't like or want something. She likes swinging and exploring at the park. She spits out a lot of foods, but seems to dig cherries and sausage. She loves Stella but usually wiggles away from her hugs. She blows pretty sweet kisses.
We are headed to the south of France and Berlin for two weeks, so the old blog will be neglected for a bit while we are away. I am excited to get away with family, and visit with dear friends we haven't seen in awhile, but I'm totally dreading the flights and traveling with a newly-walking toddler. When do vacations with kids become relaxing?
One
of my gifts to Jordan this Christmas was a beer tasting. I contacted
the great folks at Hog's Apothecary, a newish beer hall in Oakland, and they loved the idea of select beer flights with food to highlight the beer flavors. Last night
we went in for our tasting and food pairing and the beverage director at Hog's provided a little backstory and commentary about
each of the beers as they were brought to us. We loved the interesting bits of beer information and hearing about, and then tasting, the flavor notes of each.
Beer highlights included the Heavenly Hefe (Craftsman), and for us hop-lovers Simcoe Galaxy
IPA (Cellarmaker) and our favorite of the night, Double Tap
(Berryessa). We also tasted Craftsman's Holiday Ale (a nice red ale with spruce tips) and Old Ale (an oak-aged ale that tasted too much like a sour wine for our liking), and the 2013 Smoked Porter (too smoky for our taste) from Alaskan Brewing Company.
Food highlights were the Hog's Head Terrine, an Avocado and Citrus
Little Gems Salad, Marrow Bones with toast and tomato jam, and Smoked Ham Hock Collard Greens.
We had such an awesome evening, and we can't wait to go back! Next time I'm trying the Lamb Poutine and housemade sausages for sure...
Sarah Coglianese, a friend and old co-worker, was diagnosed with ALS last year. She recently wrote this lovely and heartwrenching piece for the New York Times Motherlode blog about teaching her daughter that she can do anything, physically and otherwise, as her own body is failing her and she is physically able to do less and less. Sarah's blog, The Scarlett Letters, is also a wonderful read.
During my absence I turned 35. We celebrated with the ice cream cake of my dreams and my cousin Richard's delicious pecan chocolate pie, a potluck feast, 25 friends and family and kid mayhem. Everyone who came went home a little bag with the potluck recipes. My friend Devon designed the cards, collected all the recipes ahead of time, and printed and stuffed the burlap bags. Such a treat.
Birthday potluck recipe bag
As I enter year 35, I feel so very lucky. I am surrounded by great friends whom I love and respect and admire. My parents are so close that we see them every week for dinner and farmer's market meetups and coffee dates. I have two sweet, funny girls who make life wonderfully meaningful. I am married to my love. And in spite of my blossoming crow's feet, I still feel the bloom of youth in my heart.
Meet Djuna Sulise! We named her Djuna (pronounced JOON-uh) after writer Djuna Barnes. It's a name I've loved ever since reading Nightwood in college, and Jordan and I agreed after we had Stella that if we ever had another girl we would call her Djuna. We wanted to capture the love and admiration we have for both our mothers; Sulise is an homage to them, Suellen and Malise.
Djuna made a speedy entrance into the world early last Thursday morning. After days of pre-labor contractions that left us wondering "is this it?," I never imagined I'd have such a different birth experience from the one I had with Stella. With Djuna, there was no doubt when I actually went into labor. Going to bed Wednesday night she was very active and I kept feeling her head moving and turning against my cervix. At 1 a.m. her movement broke my bag of waters and I woke Jordan up and called my Mom who was at our door in 20 minutes. Because I tested positive for Group B strep this pregnancy, my OB requested that we head to the hospital sooner rather than later if my waters broke so that I could be given a dose or two of antibiotics. I had my first serious contraction, one that stopped me in my tracks, right before leaving our house.
We arrived at the hospital and were admitted into the labor and delivery department. At this point I was excited and chatty with the nurse and with Jordan. After weeks of waiting, I was ready to be past the labor and meet our girl. I felt so happy and not at all scared or apprehensive. At around 2:15 a.m. they checked me and I was 3-4 cm dilated. They moved me into a room and we met and talked with our attending nurse. I was still smiling and laughing, easily breathing through the contractions with Jordan rubbing my back and offering encouragement, and eating fruit popsicles.
The nurse drew some blood to run tests and ended up poking through the other side of my vein, which, I learned as the blood started to pool in my arm and Jordan almost fainted, is called a blown vein. I started shaking after that from the rush of adrenaline and was light-headed from having my blood drawn badly. Another nurse came in to insert the IV drip into my other arm.
By 3:40 a.m. I felt the urge to pee and afterwards found I couldn't sit comfortably on my birthing ball anymore. Our nurse had left the room and as I leaned over the bed I told Jordan to go get her because I could feel Djuna moving down the birth passage. At 3:50 a.m. the doctor checked me and was astonished that I was already 9 cm dilated. The attending nurse was surprised as well because I was managing the contractions without much discomfort. At that point, however, I started moaning, open-mouthed (thank you Ina May!), through the contractions because I could feel the urge to push coming on and I was told to wait so they could quickly prep the room for the delivery.
The nurse hurried to get the antibiotics in the IV for the Group B Strep prevention (much too late), and at around this point I looked at Jordan and told him I didn't want to do it anymore. I quickly stopped myself from saying it again, and started repeating "I can do this."
I started pushing at 4 a.m., and after 3 intense pushes, Djuna was born. I felt ecstatic. And relieved. As they put her on my chest I said with great joy "I did it, Sweets! I did good..."
A love story that spans decades is made poignant in this short video. In
the late 1970s, Marina Abramović and Ulay fell in love and created art
together. As they ended their relationship, they created art in that
too. With Marina walking from the Yellow Sea and Ulay from the Gobi
Desert, they each walked over 1000 miles to meet on the Great Wall of
China. They hugged for a final time and left each other.
"At her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is
Present’ as part of the show, where she shared a minute of silence with
each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing
and this is what happened." (via zen garage)
I don't know about you, but that interaction made me cry...
There was a time in my life after grad school when felt the lack of good close friends acutely. I had lost my closest girlfriends to distance, misunderstandings, and best friend break-ups. I felt their absence everyday and was at a loss as to how to make new friends. And not just new friends, but good friends. I feel so lucky that I have all of those ladies back in my life now. Most of them live far away, but there is no lack of love in the distance between us. And I feel doubly lucky that I have a cadre of amazing friends whom I see, if not every day, every week.
This article by Alex Williams, Joanna Goddard's husband, about the difficulties of making friends as we get older struck a cord.
As people approach midlife, the days of youthful exploration, when life
felt like one big blind date, are fading. Schedules compress, priorities
change and people often become pickier in what they want in their
friends.
No matter how many friends you make, a sense of fatalism can creep in:
the period for making B.F.F.’s, the way you did in your teens or early
20s, is pretty much over. It’s time to resign yourself to situational
friends: K.O.F.’s (kind of friends) — for now.
She is everywhere, getting into everything, and in a second she is gone. Walking has turned into running, and she loves to just take off. Yesterday we took Stella to a mall (gah!) to pick up something for my Mom and she was pulling clothes off shelves, wending her way through shop mannequin legs, and then she was gone. After looking frantically for her for all of 30 seconds, a lovely older woman said, is this one yours? Stella walked towards me grinning and baring her teeth. Yep, she's mine.
Stella's vocabulary exploded about two weeks ago. One day Jordan came home and all the sudden she was saying 10 new words. Some words in Stella's repertoire: car, bus, cheese, pitz (pizza), water, bee, up, no, yes, dog, hi, bye, Pappap (my Dad), ball (this is a big one, any round thing in the world is BALL), woof, please, book, boo, cracker, choochoo train...
Oh, and Stella's favorite word: boobies. This is a word Stella says many different ways. In the middle of the night it's "boooobiieees." After falling down it's a short, demanding exclamation "boobies!" If she's been sitting too long in the car it's a unending novel of "boobies. boobies. boobies. boobies. boobies. boobies. boobies." In public, it's just plain, nonchalant "boobies," usually accompanied by a hand reaching down my shirt.
Stella's hair is finally long enough for pigtails. In pigtails Stella looks like a big kid. I love putting adorable (hand-sewn felt animals, and colorful pom pom) barrettes in her hair, though they are fast to disappear.
A few things Stella is loving right now: Kaikai (my parents' dog...the first thing she said this morning was "Kaikai!" and when she woke up from a nap it was "kaikai!"), Marzano pizza, saying "hi!" to everyone, putting her head on the ground (illustration above), "Taitai" (her stuffed Tiger has been a favorite for awhile now), looking at and requesting to look at "pics" on the old iPhone, baked trout, Fairyland, being chased by her Dad, putting shoes on by her self, crawling through her yellow tunnel, music class, dancing (this song always gets her booty moving), tickles, helping out in the garden, stickers, and strawberries.
We got all fancy last Saturday to go to a fabulous wedding in the city. There was a pizza truck and a Kara's cupcake truck (the banana cupcake was heaven), and dancing, and mint juleps, and a photo booth situation. It was awesome.
Happy Mother's Day to my Mom. I love you very much and so appreciate your curiosity, your warmth, your generosity, your wellspring of strength. You continually amaze me.
Being a parent is hard work, and being a mom is especially hard... But endlessly rewarding. So Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there. You too amaze me.
The week before last we flew down to Southern California at the last minute to support my Mom and visit my Dad in the hospital and where he was undergoing test after test for issues with his heart. The worst part was the not knowing, not knowing what the problem was and not knowing if it was treatable. Luckily and thankfully he is on the mend with a cocktail of meds to keep his heart beating at a regular pace and keep everything else in check. Phew.
And then last Sunday we flew to New York for the week. While Jordan worked I visited with my sister and various friends, explored Carroll Gardens (hello beautiful brownstones), took Stella to the park and Central Park Zoo, and took lots of walks. Some highlights: the current Blue Bottle fruit buckle (carrot and coconut) and the saffron snickerdoodle (always a favorite), lunch with my sister at Prime Meats, a trip to the Central Park Zoo with friend Caroline and her daughter Thea, Rouge Tomate food cart burgers with my sister in the park, delicious dinner with my sweets at Frankie's Spuntino 547, Jack Tilton gallery show opening with friends Anna and Kambui followed by an evening stroll through Central Park and dinner at Kefi, amazing challah french toast at Watty & Meg, browsing through the lovely clothes et al at Bird, catching up with friends Sam and Andrea over brunch at Clover Club, and discovering Bengali Tiger (Sixpoint Beer).
Now we're home. This morning I'm looking forward to a well-crafted coffee from Subrosa, enjoying the warm 80 degree weather, and making some yummy food for Stells who came home from New York with a runny nose.
When I started having contractions a year ago I thought it
was indigestion. It was 9pm on December 5th and I was in such denial
that when J got home from dropping some friends in the city I told him that I
thought I’d eaten something off, that I had a stomachache. He raised his eyebrows in that “are you
kidding me” kind of way, and said as I was almost a week past my due date I was
probably having contractions. When he called my parents at 10 pm to tell them that
I had gone into labor, I’m sure they heard me in the background telling him
that maybe I actually wasn’t in labor. Because a (big) part of me didn’t want
to be in labor. As uncomfortable as the
end of the pregnancy was, labor was going to be even more uncomfortable. And I
wasn’t sure I was ready to go through it yet. We decided to go to bed and try
to get some rest.
I was up every 10 minutes at first. The only place I wanted
to be was squatting on the yoga ball in the door jam of our bedroom. With each
contraction I pressed my forehead into the wood of the doorframe and practiced
the deep breathing exercises I’d learned in prenatal yoga. In through my nose,
out through my mouth, over and over until the contraction eased up and I could
get back into bed. Jordan got up with me most of the night. He timed each
contraction and rubbed my back and stroked my hair.
My parents drove through the night and arrived around 5:30
on the morning of the 6th. I had held it together up until their
arrival, but when I heard my mom walking up the stairs I started to cry. I
cried to think that she had gone through this to have me. I cried because I
didn’t want her to see me in pain, but, in pain, I wanted her to comfort me. I
cried because I realized that I couldn’t concentrate through contractions with
her near me. I didn’t want anyone talking or asking me questions. I wanted
silence and Jordan rubbing my back.
At around 7am my contractions were coming every 3-4 minutes
so we decided to head to the hospital. The car ride only lasted about 8 minutes
but was one of the longest car rides ever. I had two intense contractions and
sitting in the car felt like the least comfortable place to be in the world. We
arrived and were sent into triage, the holding area of pregnant women where the
staff determines whether you’re dilated enough to be admitted.
So we sat there. And we sat there. They didn’t seem to be
too concerned about me. I was managing the pain okay. I wasn’t screaming. I
wasn’t moaning loudly. I wasn’t causing problems like the two other pregnant
women who were also in triage. One wasn’t even in labor; she was at 37 weeks
and demanding that the hospital take the baby out via c-section, that she was
“done” with being pregnant. The other woman was actually in labor. That was
clear by the screaming. She was a teenager, in triage with her mother who kept
demanding that the nurses give her daughter drugs for the pain. When the doctor
came in to check her she was only dilated 2 centimeters. Hearing that girl
screaming for two hours was not only distracting but also frightening. If I was
managing the pain and I wasn’t screaming did that mean I was only 1 centimeter
dilated? Would I be sent home? Was that screaming pain in my future?
When the nurse finally got around to checking on me it
turned out I was already 6 cm dilated. I was moved into a birthing room fairly
quickly after that.
For the next few hours I sat perched on the edge of the bed,
breathing deeply through contraction after contraction. To focus the intensity
I visualized openings: flowers opening, doors opening. I ate fruit popsicles.
I had hoped to have my parents in the room with me, but it
turns out all I wanted was J and silence.
At around 1pm they checked me again and I was dilated to 8
cm but my bag of waters still hadn’t broken. Stella was low in the birth canal,
the nurse could feel her head when she examined me. The nurse gave me a choice.
She could break my bag of waters and the birth would hopefully progress quickly
after that, as no doubt I would dilate to 10cm and have to start pushing. The
other option was that we could wait for the sac to break on its own and
continue at a slower pace. I chose the first option.
Having my water broken was a strange sensation. It wasn’t
painful, but it felt like being pushed over a precipice, like a loss of control.
I felt a sudden shift in the center of my body and the urge to push soon
overwhelmed me.
The two hours I spent pushing were the hardest thing I’ve
ever done. In between contractions I wept. I wanted to fall asleep. I wanted it
to be over. I told J I was tired, I was scared, that I didn’t want to do it
anymore. He reassured me again and again. He told me I could do it. He gave me
juice to drink and he wet my brow and hair with a towel. The nurses told me I
was having a great labor. A fast labor. I was doing it without drugs and I was
a champ. They told me not to worry about tearing, that when the next
contraction came to push down, that she was coming. The space in between
contractions was almost harder than the pushing itself. There was no forward movement,
nothing to do but rest and feel my body splitting open, feel that loss of
control. But the two hours went quickly. I have to idea how many times I pushed
or how I suddenly found the strength to push harder than before. But all the
sudden she was there, on my chest. Our screaming, wet, pink little Stella.
A year later I am emotional just thinking about that moment.
The first moment I got to see the curve of her ears and the color of her eyes
and the expression on her face. How I was excited to examine her tiny nails
feel her breathing steadily on my chest. In the periphery of that moment, my
belly is being pressed to expel the placenta. And as I try to guide Stella’s mouth to my breast for the first time, I am being stitched up.
The memory is still so vivid, at once terrifying and amazing. But mostly amazing. Happy
Birthday to my girl.
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