A Buddy Story

Remember last summer when we almost lost the Monkey cat?

The poor thing was at death's door, suffering from a lymphoma that rendered her unable to eat. After the surgery and the feeding tube and the chemo (well, we'll never be done with the chemo), I am thrilled to report that the Monkey is her old frenetic, insanely social self. Not only that, but my fondest hope in that area has been realized -- the Monkey and Gabby are fast becoming buddies.

From the day we brought Gabby home from the hospital, the changing pad has been Monkey's favorite roost. Tonight, we also caught her snuggling in Gabby's folded up play mat, clearly relishing the smell of her little companion.

And Gabby has become aware of the cat as well. Although she has been smiling and laughing for a while now, Gabby let out her very first genuine shriek of delight when the Monkey jumped up onto the bed. Now she looks for her, and giggles like crazy every time she sees her furry little buddy.

Thank you, oh cancer gods, for sparing our Monkey, even for a little while. Every moment we have her with us is precious, and every smile she brings to our baby's face is a blessing.

Who's Trippin' Down the Streets of the City

. . . smiling at everybody she sees?

Everyone knows it's Gabby!

I don't whether it's just babies generally or whether it's Gabby's penchant for making eye contact, laughing and smiling at everyone, but everywhere we go people smile at us and strike up pleasant conversations.

We toodle around town with Gabby strapped to me in her carrier, facing outward. She almost never fusses when she's in there -- she's too busy looking around at stuff and charming the pants off the folks at the produce stand, the bus driver, the baristas at Starbucks, and random pedestrians who catch her eye. She can't see me behind her, but she clearly knows I'm there as she confidently greets her public.

The other day an elderly woman approached us on the street. A soft, wistful smile spread across her face. She said a few words in Chinese, and touched Gabby's hand. Then she said a few more words and walked away. I suppose she could have been asking for directions to Fillmore Street, but something in her tone sounded like a blessing.

Later on, we got on a crowded bus during rush hour. A woman immediately jumped up and gave us her seat -- something that never happened during my pregnancy. We started chatting, and then another woman joined in the discussion, all the while cooing and smiling at Gabby. Standing between us and the women was a young gangsta-looking guy, with the baggy pants and the gold grill -- the whole nine. He, too, looked at Gabby and busted out a very ungangsta-like smile. He said, "Oh, they grow up so fast. My little girl is nine now, and it feels like she was just born yesterday. Enjoy this time."

Pretty soon half the passengers on the bus were chatting together and cooing and coochie-cooing Gabby, and she was eating it up, giggling and "talking" the whole while. It was wonderful to see this tiny girl bring people together.

I'm just happy to be a member of her entourage.

The Ties That Bind

The Peanut is the spitting image of her father. Same eye shape and color, same complexion, same round head. I joke about how I don't know who her mother is, since she doesn't look a thing like me.

And when I make those jokes, I wince, because a little more than a year ago I didn't know whether I would ever have a child with a genetic connection to me, and that was breaking my heart. I truly believe that it would have made no difference in terms of how much I love my child or how I parent her if she had come to us via adoption or an egg donor. Yet, at the time we were considering these options, the possible loss of that genetic link felt like a pretty brutal narcissistic injury.

Some of my desires and fears in this area stemmed from my mother's experience. When my mother found her five birth siblings after years of searching, we were all amazed at how much she was like them. Despite having grown up in two very different families, on opposite coasts, my mother and her birth relatives shared not just a physical resemblance, but similar tastes, gestures, vocal intonations, even hobbies. (Who knew that mah jongg was genetic?)

In the eleven years since, we have all remarked on and rejoiced over those similarities. We have celebrated the genetic ties that bind us together and make us a family despite our lack of shared history.

And now there's a new kid in the family, one who shares my DNA. Who knows what genetic traits she has inherited from me? I certainly hope not a propensity toward obesity, diabetes, ovarian or breast cancer, and it would be nice if she were spared the nearsightedness as well.

I have no idea whether she will come to resemble me in any way. At any rate, at least right now, she doesn't look like me.

The weird thing is, that is totally ok with me. When I look at my daughter, I don't find myself searching for myself or my husband. I find myself gazing at a unique individual. She is completely and only herself. She looks like Gabby. Which is exactly as it should be.

And Speaking of Milestones . . .

Guess who did a complete 360 degree roll last night?



Gabby has (knock wood) been a pretty good sleeper since she was born, but the last few nights we've had a really hard time getting her to sleep. I said to Atomic, "I bet she's fussy because she's working on doing something new." Lo and behold, she was.



She flipped back to front, and then front to back, and then looked up at us as if to say, "Hey, check me out!" Huge, toothless grin.



I know, I know, it's not like she suddenly stood up and started reciting the Gettysburg Address, but still. I'm proud. I can't help it.



Does that make me boring/lame/typical? Yeah, probably. But who knew boring/lame/typical would be so much fun?



*** Update as of 4/12/08: since her magnificent initial performance of said roll, Miss Tish has shown absolutely no inclination to repeat the feat. She's content to rest on her laurels (and on her mommy's shoulder) for a while, I suppose.****

Milestones

Funny how new moms obsessively keep track of their children's milestones. There are shelves and shelves of books that will tell you when your kiddo should be raising her head 45 degrees, when she should be rolling over, grasping at toys, and smiling.


But no book can tell you all of the new things that your child will do, or when she will surprise you with them.

Gabby is three months old now, and she can:

• lift her head,
• hold her head up,
• sit supported,
• put weight on her legs when supported in a standing position (oh, she loves that one),
• roll from side to back and from back to side
• smile
• laugh
• giggle
• titter
• squeal with delight
• grab for toys
• grab Mommy's hair and pull. Hard.
• find and chew on her hands
• draw soft toys to her mouth and try to eat them

She also does things that are not in any child development book. For instance, she has now discovered her hands and sometimes doesn't quite know what to do with them, so instead of just holding them out there all willy nilly, she folds them in front of her when she's feeding. She has also learned how to raise her eyebrows independently of one another and does so to great effect. She blows milky bubbles (and seems to know how funny that is).

Every day is a wonder.

Almost every day is enormous amounts of fun.

Here she is with a diaper cover on her head and socks on her hands:

Thanks for being such a good sport, sweetheart. You make even laundry fun.

I hope everyone who celebrates it had a great Purim. Happy Easter to those in that camp, and happy Persian new year to us all!

A Mostly True Fairy Tale For My Daughter

Once upon a time, there was a couple who desperately wanted a child. They had waited a long time with no success, and they were very sad. The couple spoke to each other and said, "Let us visit a healer, so that we may have a child that way."

So the couple went to a great healer. The healer said, "I will help you. But my potions and ministrations will do nothing for you if you do not have Belief. You must seek a spiritual path to your child, not just a physical one."

So the couple visited a priestess. The priestess instructed them to find a beautiful, ripe melon, cut a hole in it, and place their wish inside. They were then to bring the melon to the ocean at the full moon and leave it at the water's edge. "The goddess Yemaya will accept your offering and grant your wish," the priestess said, "but only if you have Hope in your hearts."

When the couple heard this, they were frightened, because their journey had been long and they were not sure how much hope was left inside them. So they visited the Wise Women of the Desert, with whom they had been long acquainted. The Wise Women lived in a Magical Dome where miracles often took place.

The Wise Women embraced the couple and peered into their hearts. They saw small embers of hope there, just barely glowing. So they blew on the embers and put kindling around them and said to the couple, "You shall have a child, and that child shall be precious beyond imagining. But you must have Love in your hearts in order for that child to grow." They kissed the couple on their foreheads, gave them blessings and powerful amulets, and sent them on their way.

On their way home, the couple encountered another couple. The young man and woman were on their way to be married, but they needed someone to solemnize and bless their marriage. "We will do it," the couple said, and as they blessed the young lovers, their own Love was magnified a hundredfold. The young couple thanked them, not knowing that they had given a far greater gift than they had received.

And at that very moment, a child began to grow inside the woman. The following winter, she bore a baby girl, who was indeed precious beyond all imagining. They named her Gabriella.

The couple brought Gabriella to the Magical Dome in the desert for a blessing. When they entered the Dome, they found there not only the Wise Women, but all of the spirits, healers, priests and priestesses, and others who had helped them on their journey. They formed a circle around Gabriella and each one presented her with a gift: one offered Wisdom; another the power of Healing; another Solace. Curiosity and Music, Compassion, Laughter, Self-Knowledge, and Courage -- these were all laid at her feet.

And Gabriella looked around her, looked deep into the eyes of her father and mother and all of the godmothers and godfathers gathered there, and knew that she was loved indeed.

Ordinary Miracles

Gabriella is a miracle. Her very existence is improbable, long sought, but against the odds. I think about that every day when I wake up and see her break into a huge toothless grin.

She exists. That's a miracle.

What's wonderful about our lives now is that against the backdrop of the Big Miracle, there are all these other, smaller wonders taking place. The kind of tiny, quotidian miracles that are just part of having a baby. The smiles. The growth. Seeing her focus her eyes on a toy, and then reach out for it. Watching as she squeezes a stuffed animal and tries to stuff it in her mouth. Hearing her learn how to laugh. Watching her raise her head and push at the floor with her feet.

Her little brain is developing so fast, and her wee body gets bigger every day. I swear, if I'm away from her for an hour, she looks different when I next see her. Compared to what happens around here every single day, the miracles I heard about in church growing up seem, well, kinda lame in comparison.

Walking on water? Whatevs. Gabby's wiggling puts that to shame.

Turning water into wine? Yawn. Gabby turns her parents to mush whenever she smiles.

Parting the sea? Yeah, yeah, part, schmart. My kid is grabbing at toys and she's not even three months old!

I'm overcome with a sense of wonder, and a strong feeling of gratitude. And, I must confess, not a small amount of maternal pride.

I can't help it. My kid's a miracle.