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.

Samina's First 50 Foods

I am fully aware that this post will be of little interest to anyone but myself and Andrea, but I decided to use this blog as a..well...log!

1. pasta with olive oil
2. capocollo
3. blackberries
4. lettuce
5. bread
6. prosciutto (crudo)
7. banana
8. broccoli
9. breaded chicken
10. prosciutto (cotto)
11. tomato
12. meatballs
13. olive
14. fish
15. cucumber
16. egg
17. zucchini
18. ricotta
19. parmigiano
20. asparagus
21. green beans
22. porcini mushrooms
23. cheese pizza
24. peaches
25. pork steak
26. pineapple
27. kiwi
28. shrimp
29. strawberries
30. arugula
31. stracchino cheese
32. farro
33. potato gnocchi
34. peas
35. liver
36. onion
37. orange
38. apple
39. blueberries
40. sweet potato
41. black truffle
42. 'fiordilatte' gelato
43. banana gelato
44. plum crostata
45. tofu
46. rice
47. malt yogurt
48. soy sauce
49. lemon
50. saffron

Community

Yesterday, we went to a birthday party for one of Sofia's little friends. And when the cake came out, I noticed something fascinating: all of the parents and grandparents in the room were smiling - ear to ear, genuine cheesy grins. Some of them, including myself, for a little girl they hardly knew.

One of the greatest gifts parenting gives you - should you choose to accept it - is Community. I think of my early days of Motherhood and the importance - no, the *essentiality* - of other moms in my life. And that has held true over the past 3 years. I have found genuine friends through my daughter. People who laugh and cry with me along the ebb and flow of daily life. People who have come to care for and cherish my daughters as if they were blood relatives. My go-to community with any parenting doubts, as we dredge together through the confusing waters of pre-school and potty training and what to do on a rainy day in Perugia.

These days, I often find myself citing the old "It takes a village" because, yeah, well, it does. I am even more aware of it now, with little Samina in our lives. Like when we are all at the park (as we almost always are), and someone stealthily grabs her from me so I can sit still for a minute, or when I turn around to find that someone else has dried Sofia's tears before I even had time to notice she was crying.

We parents do often seem smug from the outside, I am well aware of it. We often seem like one of those pompous clubs which requires the worst kind of hazing to become a part of. But that's from the outside. We are really just a bunch of lost, confused, disheveled souls feeling so incredibly fortunate to have found we are not stranded on a desert island. So relieved to cut the boredom of toddlerhood with the laughter of a fellow parent, so aflutter at the notion that there is someone else who might actually be interested that your little kid finally pooped in a public toilet or stopped his war on vegetables or will only wear pink to pre-school.

And so, as I looked around that raucous birthday party room, with what seemed like 1,000 tiny little voices belting out "Happy Birthdayyyyyyy to youuuuu," it was hard not to feel the pride. Pride resonating from the 1,000 parents of those 1,000 tiny little voices, as they saw the birthday girl's eyes grow wide and her electric smile turn to blow out those 3 little pink candles. The community. It had gathered around one of its families and bear hugged it, with the strength that only common experience can provide.