La mort, c'est jaune citron et ça goûte comme vanille.

FIRST WEEK OF FEBRUARY

2012-02-05T15:35:00.001-08:00

2012-02-03T18:48:00.001-08:00

You can choose the sky from a line-up. The color, the clouds, the shape of the horizon, the memory of it all fits into the palm of your hand. You can close your eyes. Open. Close. Everything is as it was. As it always will be.
The west was won the day you were born, and you never looked back. Or east. Or north or south. It's always been here with you. You couldn't leave if you tried. And you've tried.
When you lie down, your hips and waist and shoulder, a bit of your arm, they sigh into place, and take the shape of the foothills, the mountains. A valley in between.
You could say you never knew, but you did. You've looked up from the back seat and known it wasn't right. The air feels weird. The temperature is lower. The moisture is dry. The sun is bright.
I need this. I need this thing.
Say it.
I need this. I need this thing.
It's yours. You can let go now.

THE END OF JANUARY

2012-02-02T10:37:00.001-08:00

FOURTH WEEK OF JANUARY

2012-01-28T16:24:00.001-08:00

THIRD WEEK OF JANUARY

2012-01-23T15:39:00.001-08:00

twenty two

2012-01-17T09:57:00.001-08:00

Paloma,

Today you are twenty-two months old.

I didn't want to get out of bed today. I thought that maybe if we just stayed in all day you can't get any older.

I think it started with a pair of shoes you'd outgrown, I can't recall now, but, suddenly, I could see the time slipping through my fingers. You are almost two. You are almost no longer one. You are almost-

There are a few moments of your birthday that I can still recall so vividly. For example, when I came out of the bathroom, from the shower, Ami had arrived and the first thing I saw when I opened the bathroom door was her bag. But it was not her bag, not her usual bag, and so it looked so strange. And serious. Like the EMTs had arrived. It looked like that sort of bag. And it was HUGE. And it was open and there were things in there, and I don't know what it was that I saw, but it all hit me right then: I was having a baby. These were the big guns. She hadn't doubted my contractions. She wasn't second-guessing me. She hadn't left the birth bag at home. Nope. This was really happening.

Another moment was when I was on the floor. I had unrolled a yoga mat and was moaning and rolling around and in so much pain and thinking about how if some nurse came by my hospital room and asked if I wanted drugs I'd say FUCK YES NOW AND THANKS AND WHAT TOOK YOU THIS LONG TO ASK. I was in no condition to say, Why no, but thanks for the offer, I've decided I'd like to go drug-free and experience all this pain in all its magnificence and it's actually stated right there on page 73 of my birth plan.

Nope. I'd have said yes.

But my next thought was, I don't want to shut it off forever. I just want five minutes. I would have killed for five pain-free minutes to regroup. Pause. And then I would have jumped right back in, no problemo.

But you can't have five minutes in labor. You get no minutes. You just keep going.

And so I feel like that applies here. I cannot keep you from growing. I cannot stop time from passing. Soon you will be in school and I will kill for five minutes in the middle of the day with you so we can go on an adventure. I will kill for five minutes of holding you in my lap while you nap and my whole arm goes numb.

I am of the lucky few, these days, who get to stay home with you and spend every waking minute with you and experience you in all your tremendous glory.

Don't doubt for a second that I don't know it.

Happy Twenty-Second Monthday.

Love,
Mama

SECOND WEEK OF JANUARY

2012-01-16T16:49:00.001-08:00

2012-01-14T08:12:00.001-08:00

FIRST WEEK OF JANUARY

2012-01-13T12:48:00.001-08:00

8 January 2012

2012-01-09T13:52:00.001-08:00

She suddenly went from hating everything about the beach to loving it. We couldn't get her out of the water. Even after falling in face first. Twice. Soaking wet and freezing and she wanted more.

Perhaps the best birthday gift ever.

2011-12-19T22:27:00.001-08:00

There are days when she climbs into my lap, out of nowhere, and falls asleep in my arms in an instant, no struggle, no forewarning, so easy.

The other days I feel like I'm wrestling a premenstrual bear.

Twenty One

2011-12-16T23:32:00.001-08:00

Paloma,

Today you are twenty one months old.

You are a toddler. I suppose you earned that title at nine months when you began walking, but the label on your clothes would say otherwise. You still shop in the "baby" section.

I went out to find some new pants for you yesterday and I brought home two pairs that will fit you for another week. Maybe two. In the store they looked bigger than your current pants. Bigger enough. Babies burn through clothes in three month cycles. But they're not bigger. Not at all.

They're size 18-24 months, and so, apparently, I need to let it go. You are not a baby. You are a walking, talking, eating machine. You speak in sentences. You have opinions. You ask for things, "Yes, please."

You pretend to make cow soup in the bath with a cup and a bubble wand. We add imaginary salt and a dash or two of frog or rubber ducky, tasting as we go.

You walk through the house with your arms straight out, droning, "M U M M Y." Some days you call me Mummy and I've made the mistake of responding. You also call me MOM. As in MOM. O, MOM. MOM! Etcetera.

You learn new words and shout them out at random for the remainder of the day. CABLE CAR! SHARKS GAME! SUSHI! And so on.

This month we night-weaned, meaning you get no more milk at night. It was the easiest thing we've ever done. So easy, I'm afraid to put it in writing, but there it is: NIGHT WEANED.

For a long time - maybe month nine to now - you've been a hybrid baby-toddler. A 'tween of sorts. A babbler? A tobby? But no more. I miss the baby, but I relish the toddler.

You are grande.

Happy Twenty First Monthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-12-16T13:39:00.001-08:00

2011-12-15T14:17:00.001-08:00

As she drove down the narrow, tree-lined
street she realized, in hindsight, that those years were some of the best of her life.

2011-12-11T19:15:00.001-08:00

2011-12-11T08:37:00.001-08:00

2011-12-10T15:58:00.001-08:00

"Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road."

lucky charm

2011-12-07T09:05:00.001-08:00

2011-12-01T07:53:00.001-08:00

2011-11-29T12:30:00.001-08:00

Twenty

2011-11-17T08:23:00.001-08:00

Paloma,

Today you are twenty months old.

•

At first I thought this would be one of the longest letters, yet, but then I read a sweet something on the Internet that was so concise, I rethought my yet unwritten ramble and instead am going to say this:

What happened this month, something I perceived as, in a way, someone trying to come between us, my reflection on what occurred has only made me love you with more ferocity, has only made me this much more sure that I am doing what is right for our family, and has only proved that I will fight for you.

Years from now, looking back, it might seem so silly, how huge it all feels now, but I am loving you in the moment, and that means doing what is right, right now.

•

Happy Twentieth Monthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-11-14T08:48:00.001-08:00

2011-11-10T08:20:00.001-08:00

All of my kitchen gadgets are mysteriously, simultaneously breaking one after one, just in time for Christmas, shortly followed by my birthday, so rather than that pet goat I've always wanted, I'll probably be getting a new salad spinner.

how it feels

2011-10-24T16:20:00.001-07:00

Soda

2011-10-20T21:56:00.001-07:00

Steve

2011-10-20T11:21:00.001-07:00

The passing of Steve Jobs really struck me, and I've been slowing unraveling The Why.

Here's what I've got thus far:

When I was about five I moved with my mom and step-dad into a house in Saratoga, California, the next town south of Cupertino, home of Apple. I pretty much grew up in that house, in that neighborhood, in the Silicon Valley. I say "pretty much" because my parents are divorced and I did spend time, here and there, with my father.

I have often wondered what my life had been like if my mom and dad had stayed together, or if my mom hadn't remarried. With my dad, we lived in agricultural towns: Davis, Fresno, etc. Partly because that's my mom's industry, and partly because it was affordable. But my parents split when I was two and my mom remarried shortly thereafter and we moved to the Silicon Valley because my step-father is an engineer. At one point he worked for Apple.

So parents aside, what if Steve Jobs hadn't helped make what Apple what it is today? What if the Valley hadn't attracted so many smart, talented engineers and their families? What if the public schools I attended hadn't been so high ranking? Would I have gone to UC Berkeley? Would I be where I am today?

My step-father and his brother grew up in the city I live in now with my own family. They went to the same public schools as Steve Jobs. They went to class together. If we stay here, my daughter will go to those same exact schools.

I think Steve is bigger than Apple. I think Apple is a part of a web of institutions and economies and neighborhoods and I think I have more to thank him for than my new iPhone 4S.

I think I owe him my education.

This is one part of The Why.

2011-10-19T21:06:00.001-07:00

I am almost entirely sure I can predict the future within a few seconds, maybe five, so I am almost entirely sure that someone with even more intuition and knowing power and longer whiskers can probably most definitely predict the future within a few weeks to years.

Nineteen

2011-10-17T07:10:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are nineteen months old. Which makes me a bit sad to say; there was something special about 18.

•

Today is your second day of preschool. It's not that kind of preschool, the kind that makes mamas and toddlers cry, no, not yet. It's the sort of preschool where I stay with you the entire time, but you get lots of chances to lose me. And then find me again! Hey! Fun! You can wander off and I'll still be here.

That's a big deal.

The first day was quite a surprise for me, pleasantly. You are what we call "slow to warm up," meaning you prefer to hang back and observe before you even put a toe in. Fair enough, since you get that from me, so I really can't talk, but the first day of school you ran around having a great time until after twenty minutes you were like, hey, that gate, open it so we can go now, I'm done.

Oops.

But you made it through and didn't cling to me or hang back like I had expected you to. You kept your shoes and all your clothes on. It was quite a moment for me, to watch you interact with this new environment and new ideas and take them in stride.

I suspect you are one of the younger ones in the class, and now that I say that, it's true: You are mere days away from the cut-off date and so yes, it's just a fact that you are one of the youngest in the class.

It was obvious to me on that first day. You looked so small compared to the other toddlers that were all less than six months older than you, but six months is like sixty years for toddlers. Some had more words, some movement, others ideas or confidence, most had some milestone you had not yet reached. Again, tiny nuances to most people, but to me it was glaring.

I guess I share this because, for the most part, we think of you as being so advanced and bright and with it. The other night at dinner at my mom's house you turned around in your chair and while pointing to each tapestry on the wall you counted them 1-2-3. I beamed with pride. But if there had been four? I don't know. You obviously don't really know how to count, but yet you do. Sort of. Really. Not.

Like you'll point to yellow and name it and blue and name it and pink and name it and then call purple blue and orange yellow and green yellow and yellow green and start all over naming them all wrong. So, like, you get it. And you don't.

So I suppose it was a gentle reminder. One foot in front of the other. You can't walk until you crawl. You can't string together sentences until you've started saying the second syllable of a word.

But no matter how long it takes you to do any of these things, always know that we think you're incredible. We are your biggest fans.

•

Happy Nineteenth Monday.

Love,
Mama (and everybody else you call family)

2011-10-16T09:50:00.001-07:00

2011-10-11T14:03:00.001-07:00

2011-10-08T14:57:00.001-07:00

2011-10-06T15:42:00.001-07:00

2011-10-03T18:04:00.001-07:00

Goodbye, Summer

2011-10-01T17:56:00.001-07:00

Hello, October

2011-10-01T15:39:00.001-07:00

2011-09-25T21:07:00.001-07:00

2011-09-24T17:56:00.001-07:00

2011-09-23T20:28:00.001-07:00

Eighteen

2011-09-19T14:38:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

On Saturday you turned eighteen months old. One point five years. Another half birthday. How can that be?

I remember getting to six months a year ago and thinking, "Wait, what? Just six months? More like six YEARS." But not today. Today I am like, "Wait, what? When did you get your BA? How are we there already?"

Time is flying by fast.

•

This month you cut two molars without my knowing. It wasn't until one evening while we were playing that I was flipping you up and around and I peeked something white up top and froze you mid-flip and was like, "Whoa, kid, hold up. WHAT IS THAT."

You always cut teeth bottom-right, bottom-left, top-right, top-left. In that order. All eight so far. And then what? What is this? You were all swollen on the bottom right and I had been waiting and waiting on those when out of no where you've got two up top. Two! Both sides are cut.

This is awesome and scary all at once.

For a year and a half we've been one unit, mostly, and I knew everything. Every little bump or scratch. Every inch of your tiny body. I knew it all.

But now you've got teeth that come in without my knowing. We've been toying with the idea of putting you in a preschool a few days a week to get you out of the house and give you a hobby. The distance between us just keeps growing.

Some days I don't know if I'm ready.

I don't think I have a choice.

•

Happy Half Birthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-09-19T14:05:00.001-07:00

2011-09-07T09:31:00.001-07:00

2011-09-06T13:00:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T16:35:00.000-07:00

You'd think, she said softly, and he leaned in close to hear, from this music we listen to, that we were both suffering broken hearts. He sat back, nodding, because it was true.

2011-09-01T14:28:00.001-07:00

Municipal Rose Garden

2011-08-26T15:02:00.001-07:00

2011-08-25T21:13:00.001-07:00

2011-08-24T13:10:00.001-07:00

I mean, yes, if you're paying me I'll tattoo your logo across your forehead, but, no, you're not paying me so you cannot have your URL tattooed across your logo.

Seventeen

2011-08-17T21:02:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are seventeen months old.

And that pretty much sums it up right there.

Happy Seventeenth Monthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-08-01T22:02:00.001-07:00

This is exactly what I'd hoped for; this is exactly what I'd feared.

2011-08-01T11:40:00.001-07:00

2011-07-29T13:48:00.001-07:00

2011-07-27T13:33:00.001-07:00

2011-07-21T22:39:00.001-07:00

Sixteen

2011-07-17T17:53:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are sixteen months old.

•

The challenge with parenting, as I have stated numerous times before, is that it is an ever moving target. It is one of those awful games at a carnival. It is something I can never win.

So it begs the question, Is it even about winning?

Obviously not, because I aim, I fire, I miss. Every single time.

Just when I think I have a pattern, I've got it down, we can do this. It changes.

This month you want it a certain way. Your way. All the time.

I pull out a shirt in the morning for you to put on and you proceed to pull out everything in the drawer searching for the one thing you want to wear.

You still need my help for so many tasks but you're so close to not needing me at all. Like, you know that the keys go in the ignition, now if only you could reach the pedals.

You are no one's baby. You are Paloma.

Today I declare myself a Fancy Shot. I aim behind my back, under my leg, with my best Charlie's Angels hair flowing.

Because I'm going to miss. But hell if I didn't look good while trying.

•

Happy sixteenth monthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-07-14T22:08:00.001-07:00

One of those obnoxious Paid-Volunteer-with-Clipboards-and-Binders was outside the grocery store the other afternoon, but she was the worst kind, the kind that looks like she represents more than just the organization so that when you snub her you feel like you're saying in your silence, "Why yes, I do hate the ozone, and Lesbians can suck it, too."

She had some terrible comment about second chances, and how often do you get those?

"Oh, Honey, every morning is a second chance," I thought. And I meant it.

Today I don't know if I believe that.

Silence on the radio

2011-07-07T15:35:00.001-07:00

I think I'm still here.

Fifteen

2011-06-17T10:04:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are fifteen months old.

•

A few weeks ago we were in the backyard - me, you and the dog - and I looked at you and realized something.

Back when I was pregnant I fell head over heels in love with you. I knew not what you looked like or how your voice would sound or even that you were a girl, but I knew your energy and I loved you. It was the greatest love I'd ever felt and I didn't think it got any greater than that.

How wrong I was.

Since you've been on the outside for the last fifteen months my love for you has grown deeper and grander and larger and wider than I ever knew it could. You are an amazing little being and it is an absolute honor to be you mother.

Thank you for teaching me how to love, how to mother, how to be a better human.

•

Happy Fifteenth Monthday.

Love,
Mama

feverish

2011-06-07T19:42:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow will tell, but I think I quite literally nursed her back to health in 24 hours. She took in nothing but milk for close to that entire period, and almost continuously without pause, breaking the "fast" with kelp this afternoon. All entirely led by her lead.

Sometimes I think she's teaching me how to live.

driveways and mexican skies

2011-05-29T09:17:00.001-07:00

2011-05-23T22:22:00.001-07:00

Went out to the cinema, out to dinner: I was a wife.
Sat on the couch, opened a gift at the table: I was a daughter.
Crawled into bed, nursed her back to sleep: I was a mother.

fertilizer

2011-05-22T09:46:00.001-07:00

lens

2011-05-19T16:56:00.001-07:00

This morning was going well until it wasn't and suddenly I had a baby in my arms who refused to get down. I obliged and sat with her while she watched her daily dose of music videos (Robyn, Shakira, Lykke Li and Yelle - apparently we're going for international feminist pop power here) on iTunes. She snuggled quite a bit until I reached for the Nikon.

It was today that she took her first photographs. I showed her the shutter button and she knew what to do from there.

Behold, the first self-portrait:

I cannot lie. I am proud.

two pounds of roses

2011-05-18T14:01:00.001-07:00

Fourteen

2011-05-17T12:33:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are fourteen months old. Somehow, every month, on the seventeenth day, you start cutting a tooth, and turn into a complete turd, thus forcing me to rethink all the nice things I was going to tell you in this letter.

I'm taking a deep breath, pushing the last thirty minutes aside, and remembering all the awesomeness over the last month.

OK.

•

You are really working on talking. This morning, for example, you pointed out a bird to me but before I even saw you sign "bird" I heard you making a quiet, "buh, buh" noise. SO COOL.

There are signs you sign without any noise at all, but the more important words in your life get sounds and signs.

Jacques was one of the first to get a sound assigned to his sign. You call him "À" - it's very distinct.

Papá, book, bird, toothbrush. They all get sounds sounding like the first syllable.

And you're very good at making actual sounds, perhaps because they are only one syllable. Cows are moo-moo, a horse is neigh-neigh, a polar bear is night-night.

I'll explain that one some day.

•

Along with imitating sounds came imitating actions. You and I brush our teeth together every night; you floss and then do a little brush-brush and then spit, repeat. Just like me. Or close.

But it really has me thinking: What do I want you to do as I say, and do as I do? What are my habits I hope you adopt and others I hope you never see? It's not that I've become self-conscious over the last month, but perhaps even more self-reflective than normal. Before I show you something, I do have to think, "Do I want her to repeat this behavior?" Because you're going to. Several times.

This wouldn't be the first time I've felt pushed towards becoming a better person by your presence. But it's now so much more clear, so much more cause/effect, so much more here and now.

I suppose I'm hoping you become a curator of habits, picking up what's useful and good for you and reflecting upon and discarding the bad. I'm obviously not perfect, and I hope you see that, acknowledge it, and strive for better.

And when you discover your own bad habits, either adopted or created on your own, I hope you do the same: Acknowledge, reflect, strive for better.

Or just sigh and accept it.

•

Happy Fourteenth Monthday.

Love,
Mama

2011-05-11T17:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Bobby,

I just realized upon typing that out that you are probably Robert, known as Bob to the adults in your life, but as a child you were Bobby, and that is how I knew you, Bobby, not as a child, but as your childhood name.

You are a childhood friend of my step-father's, how exactly the two of you met is not really known to me, I only have a few details of your life, but they are interesting. There's that bit with the Winchester Mystery House. That's the best bit.

•

My first distinct memory of you is when you came over to our house for dinner, I being the only kid at the time, my other siblings still very young, perhaps one not even yet born. We sat next to each other at the table. I felt special.

The next memory is from when I was twelve, or so, and we all went to Disneyland together. Actually, forget that, because I don't remember going to the park with you at all.

That same trip we visited your sister and her husband in their home in Yucca Valley. I remember that. They had turtles in their bathtub. This was awesome and admirable. I was twelve, remember.

I remember going to the grocery store together that night. I remember picking out chips in the snack aisle. You were there.

And then you disappeared from our lives. I asked after you often, but no one knew where you were. Or how. It always tugged at me. I didn't like not knowing.

•

I think the adults you meet while a child are the easiest to know. You know, know. Adults are easy to see through when you're young and they either suck at being around kids or they are genius. There's no in-between.

You, I read you, and you had a good heart. I felt that. Irony being that it was your heart that did you in. Sorry about that. Perhaps it was such a good heart, so kind and loving, that it absorbed all the bad. You know how they do that? And you didn't know where to put all the bad so it hardened and that's what killed you.

On Monday I will be at your funeral. That is where we will finally meet again and now I know where you are. And how.

I'm sorry that you have to read this letter from heaven and not in person or not at the dinner table with our family.

Heaven. I hope you're there.

Until we meet again,
Katie

2011-05-07T21:25:00.001-07:00

There are now two weeks of my life that were, digitally, undocumented. When I look back, will I remember?

Thirteen

2011-04-28T11:56:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

A few weeks ago, on a Sunday, you turned thirteen months old.

I didn't write you a letter, but I did think a lot about what I would have written if I were writing a letter. I think I wanted to see what it would be like to not write a letter, to not have something "due" and to not feel pressure to create.

I don't think I liked it much.

Writing letters to you has ~~been~~ become an important part of my mothering of you and so I think I'd like to continue. When a month arrives and I don't feel it anymore, I won't do it anymore.

Fair?

•

What has struck me hardest this last month is your ability to communicate what you're noticing in the world. I suspected all along that you'd been wide-eyed-ed-ly gathering data about your environment, but now you're able to "tell" me all about what you're seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, observing.

You mostly use ASL that I've slowly (re)acquired and taught you. The words that are most important to you, you pick up quickest.

Outside. That's one you picked up in a second. Going outside is one of your most favorite things ever.

Parents of babes that don't use ASL? I don't get it. They just wait around for verbal communication? That would drive me nuts. I love that we can both observe an airplane overhead and share that observation. Now. Not in two more years when your mouth and toungue finally get their act together and can say, "Airplane."

No thanks, I'd like to be able to use words, now.

•

Yeah, this has been the month of "now" and "italics." It was April 6 that you were still a baby and April 7 that you became a toddler. That was the day you put "NO!" in to full effect.

I think you were feeling off and so everything was NO.

"Would you like to go outside and play?" "NO."

Hm.

Maybe I should stop asking so many questions. But someone pointed out that if you don't know how to say NO you can't choose.

I'm happy to say I have a toddler that can make decisions.

Carry on.

•

Happy belated Thirteenth Monthday.

Love,
Mama

everybody's doing it

2011-04-26T17:21:00.001-07:00

Homemade spoon oil, for all your wooden oiling needs, recipe and how-to via 3191, naturally.

I doubted our need for oiling wooden spoons, but our inherited flatware was looking dry and dull and on the verge of splitting. Then I read how relaxing it was to rub oil into wood. Then I found a friend with extra beeswax. Then I offered her a trade of wax for two batches of oil, one for me, one for her. Win, win.

Then I sat down and rubbed spoon oil all over our kitchen tools.

Can I get a big sigh of "AHHHH" up in here?

easter sunday

2011-04-24T17:19:00.001-07:00

as you see it

2011-04-23T18:52:00.001-07:00

because wouldn't you just shit your pants if I grew an avocado tree

2011-04-17T16:06:00.001-07:00

sacred spaces

2011-04-14T19:31:00.001-07:00

only soup

2011-04-13T13:27:00.001-07:00

Having a moment

2011-04-12T15:39:00.001-07:00

Practicing positive discipline means letting the baby melt into the floor and providing the blanket and stuffed companion to accompany her while she takes a break from life.

Gladly.

jacques

2011-04-12T13:16:00.001-07:00

storybook

2011-04-11T12:31:00.001-07:00

screened

2011-04-08T09:17:00.001-07:00

everybody off it's time to go under

2011-04-07T10:08:00.001-07:00

ceci n'est pas

2011-04-06T17:23:00.001-07:00

recent acquisitions

2011-04-05T19:17:00.001-07:00

I learned to play dominoes while in the hospital. Incidentally, I was wearing white moccasins.

undertaking

2011-04-04T11:52:00.001-07:00

here now there

2011-03-31T18:16:00.001-07:00

seeds of start

2011-03-28T13:55:00.001-07:00

ste. helena

2011-03-28T10:32:00.001-07:00

in your backyard

2011-03-22T22:02:00.001-07:00

On missing DFW and others

2011-03-21T09:18:00.001-07:00

My favorite bit: "Whether [depression is] a “good” thing or a “bad” thing, I cannot pretend to know, but it exists and it can kill you dead."

It's a quick read and worthy of your time whether you the patient or the help. It also gives such clear words to the physical feeling. Actually, perhaps it is the physical feeling. The feeling of it all gets so tangled it's often hard to figure out what's what.

Which is exactly why you should, indeed: Get help. Don’t think. Get help.

spectrum

2011-03-20T20:37:00.001-07:00

The Year of the Baby

2011-03-20T08:47:00.001-07:00

lucky bird

2011-03-18T21:08:00.001-07:00

It would be no St. Coincidence that our order number at birthday lunch was Seventeen.

Less than three, kid, <3.

Twelve

2011-03-17T11:09:00.001-07:00

Paloma,

Today you are twelve months old.

For the last month or so I've been working on your birthday gift. Things were going well and then suddenly I stopped working on it. But not just stopped. I started avoiding it. I started actually getting many other things done just to avoid working on your gift.

I made drapes for the kitchen window. And decorations for your party. And framed and hung some prints I made while pregnant with you. Etc. Etc.

You always know there's something wrong with me when I start getting shit done.

But your big day was coming quickly and so I got back to work. Worse than facing emotions is not having a gift to give. But as I draft this letter to you, it's still, technically, not done. There is one last step to take and I'm still not ready.

Your gift is a quilt. The top is made from old pairs of pants, all in grays, that I once wore at some point in life, an outline of San Francisco stitched in. The back is natural flannel embroidered with your initials, the date and time of your birth and the geo-coordinates of the location. And in between is a layer of batting and your birth sheet.

Please, please don't ever ask me to take the sheet out so you can see the stain. I took a photograph of it; I hope that will do.

Putting your birth sheet inside a quilt and stitching it down felt so final, like a burial of sorts, like your birth was really over and it was done. It was so hard for me to let go and put it to rest.

And last, the last thing to be done, is the point on the map where you were born. The location. Home.

When I went out to find us an apartment I was already pregnant and already planning to birth you at home, so every place I walked into I had to ask myself: Can I give birth here.

Your birth was curated. The time, the place, the bed, the sheets, the midwives. Everything. Most births just happen, in ways, that yours was decided. The sheets were from your great-grandpa's house. The bed was the only thing I really pushed for, something proper, because somewhere inside me I knew you weren't to be born in a tub, but right on our bed. (I actually had strong feelings about the foot of the bed, on the floor, but that's not how it went down.) The blankets we wrapped you in and the hat you wore first thing were not handed to us by a nurse; they were given to us by family and friends. Everything we washed and dried a bit extra to kill the germs.

Indeed, anything could have happened that day, as is possible in any birth, but the details were all planned by us: your mama and papa and midwives.

I really hope that once you're old enough to understand the meaning of the quilt that you find it endearing, or, at least, charming and thoughtful, and not as weird as it all might sound.

The fact that your favorite nursery rhyme involves a black sheep has me thinking otherwise.

Yes, your mother is weird, and even weirder around birthing, because I tell you this: It's all you from here. I just wanted to give you the best start at life possible.

And now that your day is here and I've wished you a happy birthday the moment you opened your eyes this morning, I've made a knot and cut the thread. Your quilt is done.

•

There are a few moments in my life that I will never forget, that I will always be able to recall vividly. The moment you spilled out onto our bed, this is something I will always know. That very second I saw you for the first time. I will never forget. You were exactly as I'd imagined, the same baby as my vision, the first time I saw you come down from the stars, there you were.

But better.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mama

today the answer is tomorrow

2011-03-16T13:39:00.001-07:00

2011-03-11T08:45:00.001-08:00

2011-03-04T04:36:00.001-08:00

I guess I thought something bad would happen if I told someone I wanted to swim to the bottom of the pool.
Could you.
So when I touch the bottom I'm not alone.

magic kingdom

2011-02-28T09:05:00.001-08:00

Wrist Worm

2011-02-28T08:31:00.001-08:00

2011-02-24T10:11:00.001-08:00

Mother Earth, I will never forgive you if the one, ONE!, time you snow in San Francisco in my lifetime I am out of town.

NEVER.

Please wait until next week. Please.

Or include Los Angeles. That would work.

2011-02-22T09:34:00.001-08:00

2011-02-21T12:13:00.001-08:00

Eleven

2011-02-17T09:30:00.001-08:00

Paloma,

Today you are eleven months old. I'm proud to say that I'm no longer afraid of twelve. I'm excited. I'm ready. And so are you.

You have made some of the biggest leaps, yet, this month and it has been so exciting.

The first happened precisely the day after you turned ten months old: You started babbling. Anyone who has a baby knows that ten months old is really, really late for babble and so anyone who has a baby knows that I was terrified. Not on the surface, no, but way deep down I was so scared you would never talk. I showed concern at your nine month wellness check and was assured that things were normal, but that's my job as your mother, my job is to worry.

These past months I've defended you and your silence. Because that's really what it was: SILENCE. You did nothing with your mouth, tongue, or voice. Nada. No raspberries, no bubbles, no blahblahblah. I said all along that as soon as you figured out walking you'd start talking. That there's only so much growing a baby can do at once and you chose mobility above all else. But ten months is a long time to wait to hear someone's voice.

Sure enough, you started walking with some confidence and every bit of baby babble came flowing the next day. It was as if you'd been storing up all the sounds and were just waiting for the right time to try them out.

Phew!

More than worry and defend, though, my job is to be your advocate. Yes, I was terrified on some level by your silence, but I was confident you'd come around, and whatever happened in between or here or there, I'd be there to figure it out with you. There are so many unknowns as your life's coil begins to unwind, and one day this month I realized that I'm here to witness and support it all - no matter how rough or smooth the road may be - and that we'll be just fine.

•

Another thing I've come to see this month is how much of a person you are, already. I mean, yes, DUH, but I don't know that every parent has that moment of realization so early on.

You have thoughts and feelings and opinions and when something gets in the way, you're pissed. And rightly so.

It takes a lot of effort on your part to get a short distance and so when some adult comes in and swoops you up in a blink, you're mad. I get that.

This is why, in part, I might not continue to share these letters I write to you after the twelfth. I'm not really writing anything new, anything that another mother doesn't already know, but that's not to say that what happens between us, day to day, isn't sacred, but this isn't just my experience, it's ours. I have made the choice to share it with others, but I don't know that you would choose the same, and so I've started to slowly wean you from the Internet.

I want to always treat you with the most respect that I know and so, in part, that means keeping your life to ourselves until you reach an age when you can publicly author your story. I just want you to know that the only reason I even began writing to you was due to similar honest writing by other women that has both inspired and comforted me - even before your birth - and I hope that by sharing our story here, month by month, I have done the same for someone else.

•

Perhaps, a bit of why I'm ready for month twelve is that we are planning a celebration of sorts. The weekend after your birthday we will be having family and friends over to help us mark a year of your life here on Earth. I wasn't so sure how I felt about planning an event for someone who won't remember it, but late one night I had a moment of inspiration when I suddenly felt the need to dedicate two godparents to you. And what better time than for your birthday?

It is hard to type out "first" before the word "birthday" because it is not your first birthday. It is your second birthday and that's exactly how it feels to me. You were born almost a year ago and as it draws closer, I'm more and more aware of how much time has gone by and the order of events that occurred.

Our baby shower was this month, a year ago, and I'm hoping all the same people that came to that come to help us celebrate your first year.

Then, all the other babies in our home birth group were born, one by one, more or less, sometimes on the same day!, and we waited and waited for you.

This is also the month I stopped working at the museum to take time - a month, in fact - to get ready for your arrival. The first few days of leave were so boring. And hard. I didn't know what to do with myself. But I slowly got used to the idea and cherished those last thirty days of you in my belly, just me and Papá in our bed. I barely remember how I kept busy, but I did. Looking back, taking a month off was one of the best things I did for me and you. It gave me plenty of time to meditate on your birth and be fully ready and willing to go into labor. It wasn't until we reached your due date that I really let go and told you it was time to come out. I loved being pregnant with you, but it couldn't go on forever.

We were in the bathtub, you and me, one night. I used to go in there late and slouch down into the water as low as I could go. Inevitably, you, in my belly, would still be sticking out of the water and in all the still quiet you'd squirm a bit. Sometimes I'd read, but most of the time I just sat with you; it was enough to keep me occupied. This is when I'd sing to you very softly so that only we could hear. I'd decided on Baby Beluga as the song to sing and it's done wonders to calm you on the outside in times of stress. And it was in the bath, late one night, when I told you it was time to come out and I made you the promise that I would hold you right here.

And I've held you ever since.

•

Happy Eleventh Monday.

Love,
Mama

OUT OF DOORS

2011-02-16T11:06:00.001-08:00

I'll give you three guesses as to where her favorite place to be is, lately. And now it's raining all week. This is when I'm so glad no one reads this because I'm sure, like, fifty people would be yelling at me about poisonous plants and lead.

She's a good reminder that we all need to get outside more often. For the sunshine, fresh air, and germs.