Monthly Archives: March 2008

I love you the most….

For some reason, Tash was kind enough to compliment this slacker blog with a “less than three” award. I less than three her as well but I think there are rules against throwing it back. Just the other day I was walking across our campus and heard an undergrad girl (I really should say “woman” I guess) say to her friend, “See you later! I heart you!” and I smirked and felt old. So thank you, Tash, for making me feel like I fit in just a little bit better with the sweater legging set.

Speaking of love, I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by how much I adore Baby Man, and how much I cannot stand to be away from him. I remember being quite shocked by the fullness of my love for Natan, in the few minutes I got to hold him. I remember how sadness and love competed in those moments, how horribly conflicted I felt as I touched him and noticed how beautiful he looked. I remember the doctor telling me that JJ and I had made a beautiful baby, and I responded, “I hadn’t expected him to look so perfect.”

Take away the sadness and replace it with joy, and that fullness of love of equal measure I now have for Baby Man. Because I had to hand Natan over, I didn’t know how it would be to have the option of exercising and expressing that love every moment of every day. I am greedy with it. I miss him when I go the mile to campus to work. I miss him when I go to a coffeeshop a block away. I miss him when he’s asleep in the other room. I miss him when he’s on the floor looking at his Octopus toy on the play gym. I sneak a look at him a dozen times or more during his naps, I gaze at him while he breastfeeds in the middle of the night. And every time I am overwhelmed with our good luck. How did I get here? How can my heart that broke so badly when I handed Natan over be so full now?

I have this habit of saying, “I love you six times.” I say it to Josh, and now I say it to Baby Man too. I don’t know when or where I picked it up. One day, it just came out. I thought about what I knew about the significance of numbers in Judaism. Seven is complete, six is almost complete. On the sixth day God created humans, and the first six days belong to them. When I thought about it, I realized I was trying to say I love them as much as I possibly can. I thought perhaps therefore I should say “I love you seven times,” but it felt wrong. We can look, or move our head in five directions – up, down, left, right, forward (I know that’s not perfect but it’s an allegory). The sixth direction is inward. And I love JJ and Baby Man with all that is in me.

What about Natan? Maybe I do love him seven times. It’s not about more or less, but what I can complete in this world. There’s nothing more for me do to for him here.

I had no idea this post would go here when I began writing it.  But this is where I go with numbers.

I less than, but more than, 3 so many bloggers, but of late my heart has been with Julia, and Bon, and Wanna-Be Mom who are at the moment in the throes of what this blog became so much about in the past year, waiting and hoping again after loss.


One year six days ago I posted this.

This year six days ago, I spent the morning lying on the floor watching Samuel suck his fist during tummy time. I felt completely happy.  “G-d I am so lucky,” I thought. How strange. Foreign almost. For just a moment I was completely unconscious of anything but my beautiful boy. And life seemed perfect.

I wish I could give you all moments like that.

Plight of the Liberal Academic Child

True dialog:

Me (Mommy), as I pick up socks from the floor: Samuel, I hope that when you have a wife you….oh, wait, or a husband, that’s ok too, or, oh, ok, a partner. Oh whatever, I just hope that when you grow up you have someone to share your life with. What was I talking about again?

Samuel: Ah goo

Me: Socks, right, just pick up your own socks ok?

Something came up

Something came up today that’s quite relevant to this blog and things happening in my favorite corners of blogland so if Samuel remains calm while I pump here I’ll post about it.

I ran into someone with whom I share a long history of mutual dislike. No details necessary. She looked at Samuel and asked how old he was. I said about 12 weeks. She said, “Oh he’s so big. I thought he’d be older. I thought you’d have had him a long time ago,” and she looked confused. I have no idea if she knew about Natan and I didn’t want to prolong the conversation just in case I was misunderstanding her. I saw no reason to enlighten her so I just smiled. She said, “what was he, almost 9 pounds?” Yup, I said, again no reason to be specific, really. She then told me how her baby born two years ago was 8 and half pounds and that was great except of course you have to have a c-section to birth a baby born that big so that was a disappointment. She looked at me so expectantly. What a perfect opportunity for me to compete. She’s the kind of person who makes you want to do that – one up her at any opportunity because she’s such a braggart.

But I felt sad for her. No need to tell her to just be grateful the baby was alive. No need to tell her, that well, actually, I pushed a 9 lb 9 oz baby out of my vagina. None of that. I just looked at her blankly while thinking quietly, “Is there just nothing we can’t feel bad about?”