Happy Birthday, amore mio.

"Ci sono giorni nella vita in cui non succede niente, giorni che passano senza nulla da ricordare, senza lasciare una traccia, quasi non fossero vissuti. A pensarci bene, i più sono giorni così, e solo quando il numero di quelli che ci restano si fa chiaramente più limitato, capita di chiedersi come sia stato possibile lasciarne passare, distrattamente, tantissimi. Ma siamo fatti così: solo dopo si apprezza il prima e solo quando qualcosa è nel passato ci si rende meglio conto di come sarebbe averlo nel presente. Ma non c'è più."

"There are days in our lives when nothing happens, days which go by leaving nothing to remember and no trace of their passing, almost as though we hadn't lived them at all. Come to think of it, most days are like that. But when it dawns on us that the number of days we have left is limited, we wonder how we could possibly have let so many slip by unnoticed. But this is how we're made. Only afterwards do we appreciate what came before. Only when something is in the past do we understand what it would be like to have it in the present. But by then it's too late." 

-Tiziano Terzani-

Life Lessons

Yesterday, Sofia came home from preschool and told me that one of her best little girl pals said she was no longer her friend and uninvited her to her house.

And, though she was perfectly serene when she told me this tidbit, my heart stopped pumping. Then it shattered into tiny lifeless pieces of mush.

I can remember that feeling, all too well. Kids - girls especially - have such rabid mean streaks. A few sick days from school often meant coming back to a friendless recess or two. Wearing something, doing something, saying something out of the ordinary was a huge risk: it could either shoot you straight up to Leader of the Pack or could condemn you to four highschool years of ridicule.

I've been on all sides of it. The bully and the bullied. I've also been the Defender and the Wet Noodle/Coward who conveniently opted to - suddenly - mind my own business. I've been befriended, regaled with "BFF" stickers, and I've been coldly unfriended (was that a word before facebook?). I've been both backstabber and backstabbed, I've had a broken heart and given one.

All of this? Has made me a better person, I can say in all seriousness. Time, Age and, yes, Motherhood, have all made me acutely aware of the douche I've been in the past, and have allowed me to forgive my past aggressors without so much as a second thought.

But now. This, though, is too much. My baby girl, alone out there in the wild. Deciding on her own whether to turn the other cheek or growl back. Having to figure out for herself that it will all, in the end, be ok.

I didn't think about this when I decided to become a Mom. I thought/think about alcohol or drug abuse, about when she'll start driving, about the first time she'll get home after curfew and scare the living daylights out of us. But not this. I have to admit I, very naively, never thought of her battling her way through school and that big B word: Bullying.

Will she be strong enough to handle it? There are plenty of stories going around about girls who can't. Whose shame and embarassment and pain are too much for them to bear, who take their lives because they can't see the forest through the trees. Will my Sofia - sensitive, observant, curious soul that she is - have enough chutzpah to shove her way through it til she gets to the other side? Will she be able to figure out who her Real friends are and stick to them like glue? Will she find Real friends who will stand up for her and talk her down from that precarious ledge?

Will she recognize her worth?

Now, though, she is only 3 years old and, thank goodness, I still make the rules and set the tone around here. So, for the moment, my answer was "We'll call her mom and meet up with them for ice cream one of these days, ok? I know she will be happy to see you."

And, as I said it, I wished with all my being that that would always be enough. Unfortunately, though, I know it won't.

1 is the tiniest biggest number

The afternoon I took this picture was quintessential "Samina".

Dirt in your fingernails, picking daisies and putting them in my hand, carefully analyzing each one, looking to me for approval every time you *didn't* put one in your mouth.

Squealing with joy, arms up over your head at the birds flying above, as if you were trying to catch one.

Rebelliously ripping your hood off your head each time I slyly tried to pull it back up, afraid you were getting too cold.

Smiles from ear to ear at the arrival of your Papà and big sister.

Insisting you drink your water from a plastic cup, all by yourself, but then unwisely giving into temptation and crinkling up that cup, water and all, too enchanted by the sound it made.

And then, getting tired, whining til Mommy picked you up, sticking a thumb in your mouth and the other hand right down my shirt, searching for comfort.

Happy 1st birthday, my remarkable girl. Every day with you is a lesson in living. I am so lucky to be your Mommy.

We love you, Sami.

- Mommy, Papà & Sofi

To wean or not to wean.

With Samina's first birthday rapidly approaching (!!!!), I suddenly find myself in the eye of an important decision: weaning her from breastfeeding or not.

Do I continue? Or do I stop? And, if I stop, why am I stopping - because *I* want to, because *she* is ready? Or because people in general are telling me I should stop?

Before Samina, I was of the "if the baby can ask for it, it's time to stop" camp. Not that I really thought about it all that much, but if I saw an older child breastfeeding, or that famous cover of TIME magazine, I would have done a double-take or even, well, cringed on the inside.

But then I started breastfeeding. And now I ask myself questions like "Why did I cringe?" and "What is it about nursing that offends the general public so much, or at the very least gives them enough angst to have an opinion about it?"

I've already started getting unsolicited input about it. My mother-in-law has warned me about becoming one of "those" women who nurses for over a year. At a round-table discussion at Samina's daycare, a couple of the other moms declared that nursing for over a year would make me miserable. At a recent check-up with my ob/gyn, she raised an eyebrow when I said I was still nursing. A lot of people seem to have an opinion on this topic.

And me? What do I want?

When I got home from the round-table discussion, I cried. Because I'm not ready. Because Samina's not ready. Because those words, those opinions and judgements, are hurtful. And, mainly, confuse me. Andrea and I have put so much stock in going with our guts - with trying to follow a *natural* path with our daughters - that it doesn't make any sense to me...it feels right. It feels ok. It feels perfectly natural. And, while I do have a lot of thinking to do, because I really do believe that only when I wean her will we all finally sleep through the night, I also already know the answer. At least for now. Because, honestly, there are so few ways that we as parents are able to soothe our children, to give them the comfort they desperately crave. And she will only be little once, and I will only be able to give her this particular gift once, at a time in her life when all she longs for and needs is wrapped up in my role as a parent. So what is the sense in suddenly cutting her off?

Angel/Devil

I'm not really sure what happened. As you'll all remember quite well, Samina was my Angel baby. In the very beginning, we did crazy things like eat meals in peace and forget she was in the room. And sleep, and Dream, of doing things in a composed and calm fashion, as a quiet family of 4.

As she got older, it was obvious she had a real personality in there, but she was still so sweet and, most of the time, calm as could be. She would bat her Angel eyes and coo and all would be right with the world.

Then. One day. A couple weeks ago. SOMETHING HAPPENED. My Angel baby is still the smiliest, cooingest baby in babyland...but now, only when she gets her way. The other part of the time, she is...well...very loud.

And now, I can't bat my eyes without her getting into something. Can't leave her out of my line of vision without her climbing onto a table or putting something in her mouth -- and then calling us over, in all her proud glory, so that we can scold her (or not...still not sure what the best tactic is to get her to stop).

Samina and that twinkle in her eye love nothing more than stealing whatever her sister's playing with which, as you can imagine, goes over really well with Sofia. Ohhh, and the diaper changing/dressing/putting her in the car seat/making her sit at the dinner table. Those wars are fun for the whole family! The screaming! The headaches! The flashbacks to her big sister at this age!

Me: "I thought one of the two was *bound* to be easy!"
Andrea: "Maybe the first one was, but we didn't realize it until now."

Gulp. I think he may be right....

Breathe.

A friend of mine posted this on facebook this morning, and it hit a serious chord in my heart, so I felt the need to translate it. It's so obvious, but so hard to forget during the day-to-day...

 

 

 

RESPIRA... Sarai madre per tutta la vita.

Insegnagli le cose importanti, le cose VERE: a saltare le pozzanghere, a osservare le bestioline, a dare baci di farfalla e abbracci fortissimi. Non dimenticare mai quegli abbracci e non negarglieli MAI: può essere che tra qualche anno gli abbracci che ti mancheranno saranno proprio quelli che non gli hai dato
Digli quanto GLI VUOI BENE ogni volta che lo pensi. Lasciagli immaginare, e immagina con lui. Non lasciarlo piangere, piangi con lui. Le pareti si possono ridipingere, gli oggetti si rompono e si sostituiscono continuamente: le urla della mamma FANNO MALE PER SEMPRE.

Puoi lavare i piatti più tardi, mentre tu pulisci...lui cresce. Lui non ha bisogno di troppi giocattoli. Lavora di meno e ama di più, e soprattutto, RESPIRA.

Sarai madre per tutta la vita....Lui sarà bambino solo una volta.

 

BREATHE...You are going to be a mother your whole life.

Teach them the important things, the REAL things: jumping in puddles, observing animals, giving butterfly kisses and teddy bear hugs. Never forget those hugs and NEVER withhold them:
it may be that, in a few years, the hugs you'll miss will be those very ones you didn't give. 

 

Tell them HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM every time you think it. Let them dream, and dream with them. Don't let them cry, cry with them. The walls can be repainted, objects break and are continuously replaceable: Mommy's yelling CAN HURT FOREVER.

 

You can wash the dishes later...while you're cleaning, they're growing. They don't need a lot of toys. Work less and love more and, above all, BREATHE.

 

You are going to be a mother your whole life...They're going to be babies just once. 

 

 

 

Things I Love about you, Samina Elisa Rossi.

When Sofia was very little, I spent much of my free-ish time pondering things about her. Examining her every move, my every feeling, all details I loved and hated and in between about Motherhood. But that was then, this is now. In my present day, with two, time to ponder has been halved (thirded? fourthed?) so, much as the cliche goes, we're behind on Samina's baby book and, as 2013 would have it be, I am behind on my blogging about her.

And so, I decided to write this...

Things I Love about Samina Elisa Rossi:

1. That smile. That electric smile (which has now been paired with a classy Princess-like hand wave) makes people fall in love with you, and instantly. It is, some days, the reason I get up in the morning.

2. That laugh. Some might think this goes together with number 1, but that's because they don't know you and don't know your contagious laugh deserves a number of its own.

3. The way you take everyone and everything in. You and your sister are world class observers, and observing you observe is my new favorite past-time. And, as you do it, you mutter little things under your breath, like "baa" and "whappaga", and it's like you're commenting on what you're seeing. I'll bet you are, and I'll bet if we could understand you, we'd all be getting a little talking to.

4. You are so sweet and cuddly. Andrea and I decided that this time around we weren't going to be so strict with the sleep arrangements. And so began the co-sleeping. And, want to know a secret? Some nights, as you fall asleep clutching my nose, I hear your sweet breathing and a little pang remembers it won't last forever. I am officially one of *those* moms.

5. Motherhood sucks sometimes (many times, for different reasons), I'm not gonna lie. But you? You bring peace to this house, to us, to me. Any three of the rest of us can be angry or self-righteous about any number of the latest wrongdoings on someone else's part, but then you pull yourself up and wave, or yell out something incomprehensible, or talk to your plastic giraffe, and all is forgotten for the moment. Which is no small feat, mind you.

6. Your little hands. They pick things up. Many times, one of your hands (and its nails, ouch) holds fiercely onto one of our necks while the other hand's thumb relaxes in your mouth. They examine, they caress, they wave, they play, they hold a piece of bread as you learn to feed yourself.

7. Your spirit. You have quite a little personality, my dear Samina. Yes, you are the peacemaker in the family. You bring people together, you love nothing more than having your family all together, you sing yourself songs. But you also know your rights, and you are not afraid to claim them. Girls' got chutzpah - don't let her cherubic demeanor fool you.

And so, my dear Sammy (Sammy Davis, as your papa' calls you on occasion), thanks for being part of the family. We love you and are so happy you're here with us. Don't let the lack of baby book confuse you (papa's working on it!).


p.s. and lucky number 8: the entire time I wrote this post, you entertained yourself with a toy on the floor in front of me. Bless your heart, little girl, bless your heart.