Bye Bye Baby

bye-bye

About 12 hours from now, I’ll be driving south with my mug of tea, and I’m pretty close to certain I will be bawling my eyes out.

I go back to work tomorrow.

And although I like my job and I fully realize I am lucky to have a job, I don’t know how I’m going to walk out on that sweet baby face in the morning.

These last three months have been some of the best days of my life, hanging around the house with Bruce & Lulu, strolling to the beach, running the washing machine at least once a day to keep up with all those essential wee baby articles that inevitably get covered in spit-up and poo.

Back when I was pregnant, back in my other life, I thought that after nearly four months of wearing sweat pants and rubber-band hair, I’d welcome the chance to jump back into the workaday routine.

I didn’t know what I was talking about.

Every day is a small new miracle. Every day I fall in love a little bit more. Every day is filled with a thousand tiny things that speed the hours along faster than ever before.

I don’t want to miss out on anything. A toothless smile. A new, drooly consonant. A gravity-defying poop. I want to see it all.

In the more rational moments, I talk sense into myself. I remind myself that we want Lucette to grow up here, in this amazing city of San Francisco. In this amazing, expensive city of San Francisco. And in order for her to build a life here, off to work I must go.

I remind myself that we’re lucky in so many ways… Bruce can stay home with Lucette most days, so she’ll have quality daddy-daughter time. And when he can’t be home, we have two lovely friends who have volunteered for nanny duty. She won’t be shuffled off to strangers.

But tonight, on the eve of my return to my other life, all of this common sense is cold comfort.

Because when I went on leave back in August, I didn’t really take into account the development of Mommy Brain. I knew life would change, sure, but I didn’t fathom, I couldn’t really understand, how very much I would change.

And I didn’t realize how delusional it was to think that three months would be enough.

So tomorrow I will set off to earn a living, to pay for this wonderful life that we have. And all I will be thinking about is, “When will it be time to go home?!”

-Lo, who has plans to start buying a regular lotto ticket.

Mind Over Mirror

tyranny

We started shooting on a rainy day in January. I had just found out I was pregnant, so I wanted to hurry up and shoot my vignette before I got as big as a barn.

My goal was to finish the entire thing before the baby arrived. But “The Tyranny of the Mirror” was our most ambitious cinépoem to date, and it took a bit longer to complete than I planned.

One cinépoem with eight parts — eight different scenes, eight different women, eight different voices. The poem, as a whole, explores our obsession with our mirror image. It takes a look at a bunch of different ways that the mirror, and how we see ourselves in it, affects us, no matter who we are.

Because I’ve never met any woman who is entirely satisfied with the way she looks. As the poem goes, ...I am not satisfied/I could always be thinner/Mind over mirror.

So I have several people to thank for this one.

My fearless partner in cinépoetry, Michelle Brown, who is usually behind the camera but lent her face and her voice to this project, and starts the whole cinépoem out with a bang in “earth suit.”

Lani Alo, making her cinépoem debut in “thick around the middle” and flawlessly delivering that muffin tops line.

Lisa Sims, also a cinépoem virgin, looking good under a pink-hued sky in “grande y bonita.”

Kathy Azada, cinépoem veteran, holding her own in “dressing room.”

Johanna Baldwin, another first timer, looking fine in “skinny jeans.”

Melissa Fondakowski marks her second cinépoem appearance by eating on camera in “zaftig.”

Annie Leuenberger, also new to cinépoetry, did an amazing job in “cell memory” getting up on pointe.

And Aaron Purvis returns for the third time with an original score that he composed just for us. It’s gorgeous.

So a huge thanks to all of you, and also to my man Bruce, who shot “earth suit,” as well as all our fabulous assistants. This wouldn’t have happened without you!

Now, go see our biggest cinépoem ever, “The Tyranny of the Mirror,” now playing on the cinépoems page and also on YouTube.

-Lo, who can’t believe we finally finished it!

The Speed of Light

spped-of-light

The clock is a tyrant who will stay his hand for no one,
not even you, whose smile should stop time
as it stops this heart of mine.

Each day flies faster than the last,
mornings blur too soon to evening,
every minute closer to the day you take your leaving.

I wish for moments that last a thousand years.

-Lo, mourning the impending end of maternity leave.

Must-See Fotographie

somarts

If you live in or near San Francisco, there’s an art exhibition that’s up for the month of November that you simply must see.

It’s Julie Michelle’s i live here:sf retrospective, and it’s at SomArts on Brannan Street.

If that name sounds familiar, it’s because I’ve spoken about Julie before. She took some gorgeous photos of Bruce and I, when we were expecting (which I need to add to the gallery here, and soon!), and, about a year ago, she let me be a part of her fabulous i live here:sf project… see here.

The show is amazing, lots and lots of fun things to look at. The opening reception is over (it was last night), but the show will be up for the rest of the month, so go see it!

In other news, The Tyranny of the Mirror, a cinépoem that Michelle Brown and I have been working on ALL YEAR LONG, is *this* close to being finished. You should be seeing it soon.

I also have another cinépoem in the works that a few people in Illinois have been very patiently waiting for, and I’m hoping that I will get that completed this year, as well, new baby or no!

Speaking of babies, my niece Josette is still in the NICU and has now had two surgeries because of an intestinal defect. She is currently stable and doing well as surgeons wait to see if the latest operation was a success. I just saw her a couple of days ago and she’s getting bigger and is cute as a button. Your continued thoughts and prayers for the little gal are welcome and appreciated.

-Lo, over and out

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

mood: exhausted | drinking: milk

josette_blue_small

My niece Josette was born five weeks early this past Tuesday, weighing in at just over 5 pounds.

About 24 hours after she arrived, doctors discovered an intestinal blockage and decided to do surgery. Once they were in the operating room, they found that she actually has a very rare defect. They did the best they could, but it appears she will require multiple surgeries to correct this problem.

Right now she is in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit, attended by lots of nurses and her mom, dad and Mimi Witmer. Her big brother Jude isn’t allowed in the NICU, but his mommy is showing him pictures whenever he asks, “Where is baby Josette?”

For months, we have been joyfully awaiting Josette’s arrival, my sister and I swapping pregnancy stories and making big plans for our little girls. Of course, we never factored this crisis into our plans. That’s how life works, though.

We are all exhausted and concerned and feeling like running errands and folding laundry is all we can do to help, but it is much better than sitting still.

This tiny little girl is such a fighter, and we have hope.

My sister and her husband are taking comfort in Psalm 139, the part that says, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made…”

Whether you pray or you think good thoughts, send good energy or whatever, our family could use it. Please keep little Josette close to your heart. This is going to be a long haul, no matter what, and I believe the more people thinking of and praying for her, the better.

-Lo, believing that all things will work together for good.

“Blink and they’re two”

mood: peaceful | drinking: yep

sixweeks

Strangers stop me on the street now. They peer into the pram, ask me, “How old is she?” And exclaim, “She’s so tiny — so beautiful — so precious — la la la.”

But they also, down to nearly a person, tell me, “It goes so fast. Before you know it she’ll be two — be going to school — be driving a car.”

Don’t I know it.

Today Lucette is six weeks old, and I can hardly believe how fast the time already flies. We’ve spent the last week holed up in a swanky hotel suite in Las Vegas. Bruce has been here on a job, and Lulu and I didn’t want to be home alone just yet, so we came along. She and I have had lots of time to snuggle, to bond, and to figure each other out.

The other night, sitting on the couch with the Vegas lights blazing like stars far below us, I promised her that I will always do my very best. In hindsight it might look faulty, but then this is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. And no matter what, I will give it everything I’ve got.

Hopefully that will be enough.

-Lo, who finds it surprisingly natural to refer to Bruce as “your daddy.”

Required Reading

mood: calm | drinking: agua

mckinley_small

Books have always been a huge part of my life. I grew up without a TV, and my mom would take my sister and I to the Dixon Public Library once a week. We’d fill an apple box with books, take them home, and by the time we returned the next week, we had read all the books (some of them twice).

I had an early affinity for fantasy. I devoured fairy tales (the Grimm versions, not Disney), Greek myths, Indian folk tales starring Ganesh and Kali, Lewis’ Narnia, Tolkien’s Middle Earth, Baum’s Land of Oz, George MacDonald’s stories of the Princess and Curdie and the goblins who lived just beneath a layer of earth, like moles.

With all these visions of mayhem and magic and brave, bold girls like Lucy Pevensie, I have no idea how I missed out on Robin McKinley. But I did.

I only discovered her by accident a few months ago, thanks to a vampire tale (her only book featuring vampires) called Sunshine.

I was intrigued by her writing style, her fully-realized alter-world, and her strong, stubborn female heroine. So I started poking around the web for a sequel or prequel to Sunshine, which doesn’t exist. I found instead the rest of McKinley’s ouevre, most notably The Hero and the Crown and The Blue Sword.

I read Hero while still pregnant, and finished Sword while in the hospital after delivering Lucette. And I decided then and there that McKinley’s books would have a prominent place on Lucette’s already packed bookshelf. They will be required reading.

Enough of these namby pamby Disney damsels in distress, whose only hope is a handsome, vapid prince to come along and kiss them, so they can live out their lives in pampered, dull luxury behind the walls of glistening stone turrets.

If Lucette wants to be a princess, I want her to model herself after Aerin in The Hero and the Crown, who gentles a wounded war horse, goes off dragon hunting, and saves her entire country from doom. I want her to favor Rosie in Spindle’s End, who hates the curly golden ringlets bestowed on her by fairy godmothers…

“When she was old enough to hold minimal conversations, the itsy-bitsy-cutesy-coo sort of grown-ups would pull the soft ringlets gently and tell her what a pretty little girl she was. She would stare at this sort of grown-up and say, ‘I am not pretty. I am intelligent. And brave.’ ”

So far this month, I’ve worked my way through four more of McKinley’s books, and I have the last few that I haven’t yet read on order. I’m going to be dreadfully sad when I read the last page of the last novel, though.

McKinley feels like a once-in-a-lifetime discovery, and I pity the poor author whose book is the first to follow my McKinley binge. They will suffer horribly by comparison.

-Lo, who will always find time to read, newborn infant or no.

Post Partum

mood: quiet | drinking: water

pumpkin2

With the exception of one poem called “Good Dog,” written shortly after LeeLoo’s death, all the poems I’ve written in the last nine months have been all about this change, this life, brewing inside of me.

That includes a series of 13 poems titled after fruits and vegetables, starting with “Kidney Bean” and ending with “Pumpkin”… the idea being that the size of the titular piece of produce corresponded with the size of the little one in my womb.

Someday I’ll publish all 13, but I thought now was a good time to post the final poem in the series. So here you are…

Pumpkin

early
I bare my toes to the ocean
and wait for the waves,
salty and cool against my skin
steady and measured inside my womb.

active
There are women
who proudly tell stories
of profanity in the labor room,
of squeezing fingers to pulp, of
screaming fault lines
at the nearest person
possessed of a penis,
of blood, chaos and drama.

But in Room 203 I am falling in love,
knowing we have never been together
quite like we are on this night.

push
They tell me to push just one more time
and I find his eyes and bear down
quivering with effort.

“That’s great, now do it again,”
they say, and I do and I do and I do
and I think “This will never end.”

But it does, in a rush, and you slide
purple and wailing from that world
to this.

He sees you before I do, and turns to me,
eyes welling with the wonder
of having finally met
the person you made
and finding her utterly perfect.

post partum
I am halfway to the drugstore
when I remember
you are no longer with me.

After 10 months of cohabitation
the shock of your absence
is devastating.

A song comes on the radio
that has nothing to do with us

but I weep nonetheless
for the sorrow of solitude
and the joy of delivery.

***

(written September 1st and 2nd, technically weeks 40 & 41)

-Lo, with a little less writing time on my hands.

This Little Light of Mine

mood: transformed | drinking: cranberry juice

lulu_day2

She’s finally here.

Lucette de Luna was born at 7:58 am on Thursday, September 2nd. She weighed 7lbs, 5oz and was 20 inches long.

Her first name means “little light” in French, and her second name means “of the moon” in spanish and italian. So (very) roughly translated, her name is “little light of the moon”. (She’s very multicultural that way.)

Of course, there will be nicknames. We’re getting a head start on those by calling her Luci and Lulu.

mom1Labor lasted 27 hours, and if you told me that going into it, I would have been completely freaked out. But we just took it one contraction at a time and we all made it through just fine.

Of course, it helped that the first 12 hours (from 5:30 am Wednesday morning until 6pm Wednesday night) were spent at home. It was gorgeous in San Francisco that day, so we actually spent a couple of hours at the beach, with me standing ankle-deep in the ocean, waiting for contractions and watching the waves come in. Not a bad way to be in labor, really.

I’m writing this from our hospital room. We’ll go home soon, but for now the three of us are in a little cocoon of post-delivery joy.

dad1Bruce (I should call him Bruce on this blog now, not Boy. No need for subterfuge, right?) was an amazing partner, not only throughout labor and delivery, but through my entire pregnancy. Scratch that, through my entire life. He’s just pretty much the most kick-assingest person I know.

We’re both just beginning to find our way into parenthood, but so far Lulu is making that easy. She’s beautiful and sweet and the top of her head smells like heaven.

I know I have thousands of unknown days ahead, full of their own terrors and joys. But right now, at this moment, I couldn’t be happier or more peaceful.

Lucette’s here, and that’s all that matters for today.

-Lo, from babyland.

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