Leaving the Nest

3 months in now and while we've been celebrating such milestones as sleeping through the night, blowing bubbles, and face recognition, there is a lurking thought in the back of my mind. The countdown has officially begun in my mind as there are only 2 weeks left before I must return to work. Altough Diego keeps me busy and there are still a few things to tend to before my return, I'm finding it hard to enjoy these remaining moments.

It's a form of empty nest syndrome, only the person leaving the nest is me, and I don't want to. I would give anything to be a stay at home mom. Sadly, the recession will not allow me to. I have a mortgage and bills to pay as well as new goals to save up for which will benefit my little DD.

To make things worse now that my husband has been pulling out all the stops at work since DD was born, he has come to the point where he wants to take a vacation. He wants to fly somewhere, and I explained to him that I was not planning on flying with DD until he was much closer to a year of age. He doesn't seem to mind flying with a young baby, which is not surprising because I basically do all of the care-taking. Nonetheless, he is adamant that we deserve a vacation, and I do not disagree. However, this idea means a worse empty nest syndrome due to the fact that we will be leaving DD with his grandma and aunt for at least 5 days in early June. How will I survive? I do not know.

So I bite my lip and stare at my little DD. Knowing that this afternoon, I will likely be booking a flight to leave him. I will be grudgingly flying from the nest... to the Bahamas.

Normal Boy

During a previous post, Baby Genius?, I discussed how although Diego is not yet a super genius, he is still developing at a normal pace. Therefore, I have no lack of faith at his developmental progress. However, there was a loop that needed closing regarding his development. Last year, while I was still pregnant, an ultrasound found that Diego had Isolated Mild Ventriculomagoly. Instead of re-describing this since I already have in past posts, I will just say that Diego's results were inconclusive with regards to whether or not they would impact him anywhere from something similar to down syndrome, to developmental issues later in childhood, to nothing at all.

Although we were offered various tests, results from which would ultimately help my choice of birth vs. abortion, we only took a couple and let fate handle the rest. There was NO way after years of trying to get pregnant that we were going to let a little isolated mild ventriculomagoly get in our way.

So we continued to get a monthly ultrasound to monitor the issue and although it did not get worse, it did not get better either. During our last prenatal ultrasound, the doctor suggested a post-natal ultrasound to see how his development was after he was born.

And so I found myself back at the ultrasound center, but this time skinnier and with a stroller. The technician performed Diego's ultrasound with him still in his stroller. Even though we thought it would be more comfortable for him, it made no difference because as soon as the gel touched his head, he began crying like he was being abused. The crying continued for about 10 minutes. The technician asked me if I had a pacifier. I explained that he was "over" his pacifier because as soon as I tried to make him take it, he would scream more. But we tried anyway. I wondered who we were trying to pacify him for. His screaming made no difference to how the photos came out. Was she stressing out with his cries?

When she was done, she walked out of the room to show the photos to the doctor. As she walked out, she let out a great sigh... I know my son is a cryer and it stresses me out, but I had hoped it only slightly bugged external people, not stress them out too. So after that, I was feeling even more self-conscious.

The doctor came in the room to examine Diego herself. Then she blessed me with good news, Diego's results were good. There was no longer an issue. Everything appeared normal. My baby is a normal boy.

My heart lifted. You don't know how many hours I had been on the internet last year trying to find out what the probability was that this issue would just go away on its own. We just left it up to fate, and everything worked out.

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At 2 1/2 months I also finally got around to fingerprinting Diego. It would have been cute to have gotten his hands and feet when he was first born, because he has naturally long fingers and toes like me so they are already big. I bought some special scrapbook paper for the background, and my mom and I discussed what our strategy would be to get his prints. The feet were a piece of cake, but unfortunately the hands were quite the opposite. It took us hours. We would ink his hand, and he would immediately start crying and clench his hands or try to touch his face with his inked hand. We tried making him fall asleep and do everything while he was unconscious, but he wasn't falling for it. Finally, with plain brute force, we finally got the prints.

Easter Super Hero

I'm woman enough to admit when I've misbehaved or have acted like a biatch. For example, let's take yesterday. To be specific, it was Easter and we had absolutely NO plans, and were glad for it.

It was a dreary rainy and windy day. Javier had been working all week and was in no mood to do anything but hang out, rest, and watch some TV. We hung out upstairs to keep Mokee company while my sister and Will were in Hawaii. The day progressed delightfully uneventfully, and it was really nice to see him bonding with Diego now that he had an extra minute.

It got dark a little after 7pm, and that's when I heard Javier calling me after he had gone downstairs. I asked him what he wanted, and he told me to come downstairs because there was a flood in our bathroom that had soaked through the bathroom walls and into the office and garage. I went down right away.

At first we surmised that the leak had come from the bathroom, which we had recently remodeled. Maybe a pipe had begun to leak? Javier was surprised because he had professionally installed all the plumbing. He went to shutoff the water while I donned on rainboots and grabbed our wetvac to begin vacumming up the puddles of water. After about a half an hour of vacumming the bathroom, I proceeded to the office to begin cleanup there. Our wonderful and expensive area rug was soaked and I had to move the printer off the floor before we would have a short circuit on our hands. I had to move heavy furniture to make sure that we got all the water out. As I vacuumed a spot by a wall where a piece of our furniture had been propped up against, I noticed that every time I sucked up water, a new puddle began. Maybe the leak was NOT from the bathroom after all? Maybe it was rainwater seeping into the house.

To test my theory, I must have vacuumed the same spot 10 times, and each time got the same results. I called Javier to relay my scientific findings. He went outside in the dark to take a look at our sump pump, and came back to report that the pump had indeed failed.

It was futile to continue vacuuming because water would continue to flow into the house. Additionally, the weather forecast showed that it would continue to rain tomorrow. Javier's best advice was to somehow channel the water so that it would flow in a "safe" path through the rooms and into the garage where I could sweep out the water.

I believe my response was, "I'm not creative enough to build a channel, I'll just continue cleaning up water until it stops." But he knew, and I knew that I would be there all night if I followed through with my plans.

Still, we argued. I hated to see our house and stuff flooded, and I wanted an instant solution to this problem which I obviously wasn't finding. Javier told me to relax and go upstairs, and he would build the channel. So I went upstairs only to accidentally drop and break a glass jar of spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen floor.

"F!cK!!!!" I yelled in exasperation. Javier came and told me very calmly that it was OK, and that we would solve this problem and not to stress out.

"I don't handle stress very well, you know that." I responded sullenly. I was done.

Javier built a channel out of an old sheet and bags of concrete that he had in the garage. Then he went back outside to look at the pump once again and see why it may have failed. He left the front door open and in a few minutes I could hear water swishing outside. Oh please, oh please, tell me that Javier got the sump pump to work, I thought to myself.

And he came up the stairs to the front door with a big smile on his face. I was so happy when he told me that he got the pump to work. Even though we will still need to replace it, the emergency was abated for now. I told him I wanted to go back downstairs and attempt to clean the mess up again. After a half an hour, I told him it appeared to be OK.

The rest of the night, Javier kept mentioning proudly how he had managed to solve the crisis. And I was very thankful that he had not given up on that old sump pump. Being a contractor, this was an area that he knew like the back of his hand, and I could see the joy in his face when he felt that he had been exceptionally useful. There was no denying how grateful I was that he stuck by me while I was spazzing out. He deserved an honest apology from his damsel in distress, and he deserved to be treated like a superhero receiving his accolade that night. He got what he deserved which he humbly accepted, as any super hero would.

Baby Genius?

Since I haven't had too much exposure to babies in my life, I have no idea the many stages of life that they go through. Because of this I decided to watch Youtube videos of other babies that were two months old, in hopes of being able to benchmark Diego's progress.

There were a lot of videos, but mostly of parents swearing that their child was some kind of genius or ahead in the development game. Take for example the hundreds of videos uploaded by parents that claimed their babies could already talk at 2 months old. There were many videos of babies saying "I love you", which was about as convincing as the videos of dogs saying "I love you" that I've seen in the past. The funniest talking baby video I found was one of a little girl named Allah, who just happened to be able to say her name. The reason I personally found this funny is because Diego has been crying "Allah" since he was born (and better than this chick if I may compare). That's just how he cries: "Allah! Allah! Allah!" My family joked that I may have accidentally brought home a middle eastern baby, however politically incorrect that joke is.

In that case MY baby is the super genius, having said his first words at 0 months old. Not only is he a super genius, but he's also a super grumpy genius, having said his second word at 2 months old. It's no surprise if you've been reading my blog posts, that my baby cries every waking moment and has perfected the frown. His nickname is "Grumpy old man". So it is that when I took him to his 2 month pediatric appointment, he began his grumpiness with the doctor. She tried all different positions to get him to stop crying. One position was the sitting position, and he only cried stronger.
"Ohhh, you don't like that position very much, do you?" the pediatrician asked.

Diego screamed and gargled (because he is now starting to coo), "Nooooooooo!" and gave his cutest frown yet. And the pediatrician looked over at me and just started laughing at his impeccable timing and response.

"It figures my grumpy old man's first word would be 'No'," was all I could say in response to this charade.

But truthfully, I believe we may have gotten through the hump because now he is crying less. Don't get me wrong, he is still a grump (I have yet to catch an elusive smile on camera). But it's so nice to have time enough to be able to make my bed in the mornings without him screaming like he's being abused. Now he lasts more time awake without going into an instant tantrum, he seems to have obtained better vision as if overnight, and he's begun his cooing and baby babble, which I think attributed to the scene with the pediatrician. He's just where he should be in his development as far as I'm concerned, and that's why my baby is a super genius (and I don't have to post any video proof on Youtube).

Shadow Boxing

They say once you have a baby, it will change your life. I must admit although I wanted children, I also rather liked my life, pre-baby. Maybe I'm mental, but my goal might just be a double-edged sword for I am fighting the inevitable all the way through. My goal is to be the best mom, but I don't want being a mom to define who I am. So far, I am indeed failing miserably.

This blog was originally not intended as a motherhood or baby blog, but looking through recent posts, it seems to have morphed into such. I'm also not sure how this blog site works, but as I browse through random blogs, I am directed to other mommy blogs. It makes me wonder if this is truly random, or have I already been boxed in as a "mommy blog"? I know that mommy bloggers are all the rage right now, so I am holding on to this hope that it's all just coincidence. My FaceBook status updates have also taken a hit, and I find myself being more cautious about what I write so that it is not too mommy-centric for my non-mother friends.

I'm hoping that it's because I'm currently on maternity leave, so I have nothing but time right now for my newborn. Maybe once I return to the working world, and socialize with upright humans that have a full set of teeth again, I will be better at my goal. Who am I kidding though? My life has changed, and I am amazed at the ease of which Diego fit right into the position. It's as if I was meant to have a child, and yet I am fighting with myself about how to deal with it.

Last month, I felt like I had woken up and had an instant family. Let me set the scene for you. Night time: driving home from a Tahoe snow trip with my husband and his 14 year old son, Mac, visiting us from Peru. Although Diego was not there, the "instant-family" vibe was. Driving in my Lexus SUV (not a mini-van but close enough) with the light glow of the new GPS system showing us how to get home from our family day trip, and a baby car seat in the back. I felt all I needed to complete the scene was one of those stick figure family window stickers (which I really want) and a DVD player playing cartoons. Trust me, the scene will be complete eventually.
It's not just the car though. The house too, has been "baby-tized". I tried really hard to only buy that which I needed for the baby, so that the house would not be overrun by baby things. Apparently, "that which the baby needed" is more than I first assumed. I slowly see myself fumbling towards rooms filled with hardened plastic toys decorated in all the primary colors. Not yet though.

I will still fight this futile fight all the way. I love Diego though. So I know I will lose.

Which reminds me of my favorite song by Fiona Apple, Shadow Boxer:

"You made me a shadowboxer, baby
I wanna be ready for what you do
I've been swinging all around me
'Cause I don't know when you're gonna
Make your move...

So Darling I just want to say
Just in case I don't make it through
I was onto every play
I just wanted you..."

Barbie and the Misfits

A few weeks ago I had a dinner with two of my grade school friends, one of which I hadn't been in contact with in over 15 years. The reunion was made possible because of the modern marvels of Facebook, the online social networking site. Bonnie had moved to Florida many years back, but she always held a special place in her heart for me and Kimi, the other grade school friend. Bonnie was back in the Bay Area on vacation.

As we reminisced, I realized what a different person I had become. I could barely remember a lot of the things that they brought up; things that they held near and dear. They were both so vocal about how much they loved "us" and how we were the only "real" friends both Kimi and Bonnie had. I smiled, wanting to reciprocate the affection and proclamation, but never really thought about it before.

I had many friends of all types throughout high school and grade school, and if I had to classify my clique with Kimi and Bonnie, I would call us the "misfits".

My "friend" adventures all started even before kindergarten, meeting my childhood best friend, Michelle, who happened to be my neighbor. Once kindergarten started, it was apparent that she was going to be the beautiful, and popular white girl, while I would be the far from popular skinny nerd. She made popular friends that somewhat accepted me, so I tried to make it work, but it just never felt right with the excess company around us. And let's not even talk about how mean the boys were.

A couple of her friends accepted me more than the others, but reflecting on the relationship, I now see that it was more of a tyrannical relationship. As long as I put up with their "sh!t", we had a good relationship. Or maybe it was my own fault, for never sticking up for myself. Nonetheless, there were some good times, though few and far between. I was never really myself 100% around Michelle & Co.

Meanwhile, apart from Michelle's popular clique, I met Kimi, the Barbie doll of junior high. She was exactly what you would imagine Barbie would be like if she were morphed into an actual human: blond, buxom, svelt, chipper, friendly. All the things I would never become. Her congeniality and harmlessness attracted me. That, coupled with the fact that we had a significant number of classes together made our friendship inevitable.

Right off the bat it was obvious that like Barbie, Kimi was living in her own oblivious world of innocence. She spoke her mind with no reservations, and I found some of the clueless things that would come out of her mouth to be hilarious. Being friends with her provided me free entertainment, exactly like watching an over-animated sitcom on the Disney channel. Unfortunately, I could tell by the look on others' faces, that they found Kimi's spunky personality more annoying than anything. This didn't bother me though; Kimi was my friend.

Kimi and I had two friends, at different times, that infiltrated our friendship of two. Bonnie was the first. A buxom, yet nerdy japanese girl with punk rock tendencies and a mouth like a sailor. You'd probably wonder how Kimi and Bonnie got along so well. Here's the likely answer: they had one thing in common, no reservations, they just spoke what was on their mind good or bad. Bonnie was into reading science fiction, and reminded me of this as we talked over our reunion dinner. She inspired me to pull out the science fiction series books that I bought because of her, and that I loved so much.

While looking for my dusty books, I came across one of my journals. I've always loved documenting my life, no matter how boring it was. For some reason, I stopped writing around the time that I met my future husband. I read an excerpt of my old journal. As I finished the entry, all I could think of was "damn, I was a good writer!" I had a point to my entries, and tied all the topics together so nicely for a finishing touch. I had to get that back! Maybe taking up reading again would help me in this cause?

I was a member of a few more friendship "cliques" after Kimi and Bonnie, including a clique of latinas, where I felt that I finally belonged at the time. The truth is that cultural similarities can only get you so far. There was still something missing though I still consider most of them "good" friends.

I've become aware that this reunion dinner of the "misfits" wasn't just to re-acquaint myself with Kimi and Bonnie. It was also for me to remember who I was back then; and I liked her. So it was that I decided, yes, Bonnie and Kimi were the most "real" friends that I had because they brought out the best of who I really was. We were the perfect misfitted clique: the buxom Barbie, Japanese punk rocker with a sailor's mouth, and me the introverted, happy-go-lucky Peruvian. Somehow in this crazy world, the combination fit, and these three misfits just fit together perfectly.

"Moms" & "Dads"

I'm an "any way the wind blows" kind of person and so it's no surprise that I've been winging this whole motherhood thing. If you ask me what it feels like to be a mom, I can't really tell you yet because even now 6 weeks later, it still hasn't sunk in. I'm a natural nurturer, worrier, and helper and with Diego I feel that these traits, along with my extreme patience, have increased exponentially. So if that's what it feels like to be a mom, coupled with lack of sleep and sore arms, then I guess I do have an answer for you.
My sister told me that she asked her boyfriend Will if he thought she would be a good mom. He said that she would probably have a lot of rules. She admitted that she was bit offended with his response (this coming from the woman that banned me from eating fast food during my pregnancy, and who won't let Will play his video games unless she is asleep, resulting in 3:00 am video game sessions). Will explained that it's because I'm very casual and don't care. In my head I thought that maybe her original question hadn't been answered. What constitutes a "good" mom? Honestly, I think we'll both be good moms in our own special ways. As long as you care about you child and want only the best for them, the rest is just technique.
Not only have I been hashing out what kind of new mom I will be these past few weeks, but I've also played step-mom for a bit. Javier's 14 year old son, who lives in Peru, came to visit us for a few weeks. He's reached a rebellious age, and he is not getting along with his grandfather in Peru. Javier's original intention was to bring him here so he could see that the grass is not greener on the other side right now. Unfortunately, I think it backfired. Once Mac was actually here, it was a different story. Javier behaved as any parent separated from their child might act; he wanted to make up for lost time.


Unfortunately, he has also been putting in long work hours, which left me to be the one hanging out with Mac during the weekdays. Having a newborn made it difficult for me to be able to focus on the new teenager in the house. Since he is a skater, I took him to a couple of skate parks and drove him to the Haight in San Francisco to buy a new board. Mac is very mellow for a 14 year old skater and we got along fine. However, I keep an invisible line drawn because I am not his mother, so we are more like friends. Sometimes I wonder if he would like me to treat him more "motherly" but it would be awkward to outright ask. Though as Diego grows older, and Mac sees our interactions, the last thing I would want is for him to feel alienated. It's hard to gauge our relationship since we don't see each other much, but I imagine he needs nurturing since his mother only calls him about once a year.

Mac did what he could to plead his case to stay in the U.S. behind closed doors to Javier. If Javier was better off financially, I'm sure he would've entertained the idea. Mac painted a picture of turmoil in Peru which tugged at Javier's heart strings. Unfortunately, instead of helping, it caused Javier to grow angry with his own father. On the day that Mac flew back to Peru, after an emotional goodbye at the airport, Javier's guilt and helplessness as a father increased his anger towards his father for causing the turmoil. In his mind he had given his family everything, including a house, and yet it still wasn't enough to make a happy, peaceful family. While we were struggling here in the U.S., they were given everything, and yet they still couldn't get along.
Javier let his emotions rule while speaking to his father over the phone, and it did not go well. After hanging up, he felt really bad having spoken to his father the way that he did.
He entertained the idea of bringing Mac here next year once he finished high school. I would never say no to Javier regarding his son, but my initial thought was that I was just getting used to being the mother of a newborn, how would I deal with suddenly being a full-time step mom as well?
Things seemed to settle down now, and Javier apologized to his father. I believe that the initial plan to have Mac complete his University in Peru is still on, but continued drama can prove to change things again. Since I'm an "any way the wind blows" kind of person, I take things one day at a time. I can't really imagine if I'll be a full-time step mom a year from now, but then again, I couldn't really imagine being a new mom a year ago either. Time changes everything.