It's been a year to the day since Lilah's birth. The details of that day are etched into my memory like an intricate design on glass. I remember my labor with her, but it always feels like I was hovering above my own body, watching someone else hurt and labor and fear. Jewish mystics hold that while in utero, the soul of the infant is watched over by the angel Layla - the midwife of souls. Upon the entwining of the egg and sperm, Layla is charged with retrieving the soul God chose for that body from the Vault of Souls and sending it into the fertilized seed. While the body is growing in the womb of the mother, the soul is elsewhere learning the wonders, secrets, and languages of all the world. Upon birth, Layla puts her finger to the lip of the newborn, causing it to forget all the secrets it learned and also causing the indentation on the upper lip that is a universal characteristic of human babies. The soul is then charged with spending its lifetime re-learning the secrets it forgot. In a way, I feel like labor removed me from my pain and I hovered in that in-between, the place for souls who haven't quite forgotten the secrets of all the world. The pain melted away; my fear was gone. There was only me, and yet I wasn't.
The moment my child was delivered from my womb, my soul plummeted downward and collided with my body again. There was a cosmic "snap" and I was wholly myself again. I could hear the people around me. I could see out of my eyes. I could feel again, making the fuzzy numbness I had just experienced feel merciful in comparison. Most of all, I could gaze into the eyes of the alien little person resting on my chest. She was real, and she was beautiful. Our eyes locked in a look of understanding. "I know you," her mind said. "You're my mother." And she was my daughter. People like us get the angel Layla a divine slap on the wrist. We never completely forget what we learned before we were born. Some innermost part of us hides it away, calls on it later, seeks it out wherever we can find it.
Many times this year I have lamented that my tiny, helpless little one fades more with every milestone Lilah masters. She fades from being, but never from memory. Today, watching her playing at my feet, I realize I wouldn't trade her. Yes, 3-hours-old Lilah needed me for everything but breathing, slept in the crook of my arm every night and on my breast every day, couldn't even imagine drifting off to sleep in a midnight world where Mama's lips didn't press softly against her velvet fontanel with Mama's breath sifting through her satin hair. But 1-year-old Lilah can roar at the cat while holding fistfuls of her fur and exultantly chanting, "Cat!" Brand New Lilah couldn't sing "La-la-la-la-LA!" along with Australia by the Shins, or "Badapapapapa!" along with Army by Ben Folds. Helpless Lilah wanted to sleep on me more, it's true, but she couldn't crawl exuberantly to me, stand, hold up her pudgy arms and say, "Mama!". She didn't nuzzle close to me when I picked her up, sucking on her fingers and cooing contentedly and occasionally saying, "Mama," just in case I'd forgotten who I was. She couldn't crinkle her nose and hiss at complete strangers in the grocery store or mimic perfectly the "prawns" from District 9 after watching it. She couldn't belly laugh for no apparent reason or make an unholy mess out of a simple meal. She couldn't use my phone to call and text anyone she deemed necessary, leaving lengthy babbling voicemails. She couldn't fake cough and she certainly didn't think an "epic sneeze" (as we call them in this house) was the funniest thing ever. She didn't like to grab fistfuls of my hair and shove it in my mouth (I could live without this, but it's a strange quirk of hers. Perhaps she's trying to make me appear bearded like her Daddy). She couldn't have a pretend tea party or bake pretend cookies and take so much joy in her parents pretending to eat and drink with her.
All those things made me realize today that I wouldn't go back. It went too fast and I'd love to have an hour for each second that went by this year, knowing I can never replicate it or go back except in my mind. But I wouldn't trade it for anything, and I wouldn't change a thing.
Happy birthday Lilah. Your Mama loves you more than you will ever know.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
You can't always get what you want
I've said it before, and I'm sure this won't be the last time, but I have a very willful child. She's an angel most times, but she's headstrong. When she sets her mind to something, it will happen (in her eyes). She hasn't lived long enough to know anything different.
As many of you know from personal experience, Lilah has commandeered my phone and has learned to dial, change settings, and (believe it or not) text using the preset templates that came with the phone and are unfortunately undeletable. I hate my phone and therefore wouldn't care if it got ruined, and it's easier for me to apologize for her babbling voicemails and erroneous texts stating "Watcha Doin?" and other obnoxious phrases than it is for me to put the effort into keeping it constantly out of reach. This being the case, Lilah has come to the understanding (quite unintentionally on my part) that any object that seems remotely interesting and is within her line of vision is automatically hers. Today I got my camera out to take some photos of her cute pigtails and ribbons. The only ones I snapped were either blurry with her arms reaching for the phone or of her bawling her big blue eyes out because I didn't let her have the camera. She nabbed it a few times throughout the afternoon, but I redirected and distracted her away from it.
After a few more episodes like this, I was getting a little impatient. I struggle with this with the residents at work from time to time. It's always the same cycle - "Behavior. Redirect. Behavior + anger at the redirection. Distract. Behavior + kick you in the shins." It usually never ends well for me. This time I wouldn't get a kick in the shins, only a screaming baby. Lilah and I went upstairs and I put on a Veggie Tales movie. I was going to choose Lyle the Kindly Viking because it's her favorite, but I chose Madame Blueberry: A Lesson in Thankfulness instead. The premise involves a "very blue Berry" who is sad because her neighbors all have nicer things than she, so she goes to the local "StuffMart" to buy her way to a happy heart. On the way, she sees a very poor family celebrating their little girl's birthday with only a piece of apple pie, and a little boy whose father can't afford to buy him the train set he really wants. Instead of being unhappy, the little kids sing, "I thank God for this day, for the sun in the sky, for my mom and my dad, for my piece of apple pie, for the love that He shares, cuz He listens to our prayers. That's why I give thanks every day. Because a thankful heart is a happy heart. I'm glad for what I have. That's an easy way to start. For our home on the ground, for his love that's all around, that's why I give thanks every day."
This is the kind of mindset I want Lilah to grow up with (and I would do well to follow it more myself), so I wanted to get it in her head early. After the movie was over, I sang her "You Can't Always Get What You Want" to really seal it into her brain. She resumed playing and I congratulated myself on a lesson well-taught as I dabbed some mineral powder onto my face to hide the purple shadows under my eyes that I'm learning to accept as a permanent fixture. I saw Lilah's hand snake into my lap for the little jar of powder and I caught her wrist. "No, Lilah. That's Mama's." I handed her a toy. She looked at me with disgust and threw the toy. I raised an eyebrow and went back to what I was doing. Over snakes the little arm again and we repeated the same thing, only I was a little firmer this time. I picked her up sat her down about a foot away and handed her the toy, making it dance happily in front of it. She tossed it aside and made a grab for the jar. I raised my voice a hair. "Lilah, No." She burst into tears and threw herself back onto the floor, then sobbingly held out her arms for me to come get her. I made an executive decision and went back to what I was doing. She screamed and kicked her legs, then came back for the jar again! This went on for about 10 minutes before she accepted that she was not allowed to have something and just cried quietly to herself until I was done. She did not, under any circumstances, understand the lesson from the movie and it's going to be a long, uphill battle if she responds like that to a gentle and firm "no". It's a battle Dano and I are willing to fight if we want a little girl with a happy heart and unfortunately for her, that not only means she has to be glad for what she already has, but most importantly she can't always get what she wants.
As many of you know from personal experience, Lilah has commandeered my phone and has learned to dial, change settings, and (believe it or not) text using the preset templates that came with the phone and are unfortunately undeletable. I hate my phone and therefore wouldn't care if it got ruined, and it's easier for me to apologize for her babbling voicemails and erroneous texts stating "Watcha Doin?" and other obnoxious phrases than it is for me to put the effort into keeping it constantly out of reach. This being the case, Lilah has come to the understanding (quite unintentionally on my part) that any object that seems remotely interesting and is within her line of vision is automatically hers. Today I got my camera out to take some photos of her cute pigtails and ribbons. The only ones I snapped were either blurry with her arms reaching for the phone or of her bawling her big blue eyes out because I didn't let her have the camera. She nabbed it a few times throughout the afternoon, but I redirected and distracted her away from it.
After a few more episodes like this, I was getting a little impatient. I struggle with this with the residents at work from time to time. It's always the same cycle - "Behavior. Redirect. Behavior + anger at the redirection. Distract. Behavior + kick you in the shins." It usually never ends well for me. This time I wouldn't get a kick in the shins, only a screaming baby. Lilah and I went upstairs and I put on a Veggie Tales movie. I was going to choose Lyle the Kindly Viking because it's her favorite, but I chose Madame Blueberry: A Lesson in Thankfulness instead. The premise involves a "very blue Berry" who is sad because her neighbors all have nicer things than she, so she goes to the local "StuffMart" to buy her way to a happy heart. On the way, she sees a very poor family celebrating their little girl's birthday with only a piece of apple pie, and a little boy whose father can't afford to buy him the train set he really wants. Instead of being unhappy, the little kids sing, "I thank God for this day, for the sun in the sky, for my mom and my dad, for my piece of apple pie, for the love that He shares, cuz He listens to our prayers. That's why I give thanks every day. Because a thankful heart is a happy heart. I'm glad for what I have. That's an easy way to start. For our home on the ground, for his love that's all around, that's why I give thanks every day."
This is the kind of mindset I want Lilah to grow up with (and I would do well to follow it more myself), so I wanted to get it in her head early. After the movie was over, I sang her "You Can't Always Get What You Want" to really seal it into her brain. She resumed playing and I congratulated myself on a lesson well-taught as I dabbed some mineral powder onto my face to hide the purple shadows under my eyes that I'm learning to accept as a permanent fixture. I saw Lilah's hand snake into my lap for the little jar of powder and I caught her wrist. "No, Lilah. That's Mama's." I handed her a toy. She looked at me with disgust and threw the toy. I raised an eyebrow and went back to what I was doing. Over snakes the little arm again and we repeated the same thing, only I was a little firmer this time. I picked her up sat her down about a foot away and handed her the toy, making it dance happily in front of it. She tossed it aside and made a grab for the jar. I raised my voice a hair. "Lilah, No." She burst into tears and threw herself back onto the floor, then sobbingly held out her arms for me to come get her. I made an executive decision and went back to what I was doing. She screamed and kicked her legs, then came back for the jar again! This went on for about 10 minutes before she accepted that she was not allowed to have something and just cried quietly to herself until I was done. She did not, under any circumstances, understand the lesson from the movie and it's going to be a long, uphill battle if she responds like that to a gentle and firm "no". It's a battle Dano and I are willing to fight if we want a little girl with a happy heart and unfortunately for her, that not only means she has to be glad for what she already has, but most importantly she can't always get what she wants.
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