Nap time, take two-
Khalid, who is laying under my desk and pulling on my toes as I type this, is overdue for his nap. He would have been asleep already, had it not been for his iron determination to be awake. Half an hour ago we did the whole nap thing- we had lunch and then went to the bedroom, where I told him to lay down and he started rolling around in bed and protesting. Normally he protests for about ten minutes before he winds down and falls asleep, but today things went a little differently. 3:00- I lay Khalid down in the bed and then take position in the rocking chair. As per tradition, I pick up a book and start reading. Khalid whines a bit and rolls around. 3:15- Khalid goes quiet. I assume he's asleep and continue reading. It's Going Solo, by Roald Dahl, and as I get to the part where Dahl describes the incidence of the cook's wife being carried away by a lion, I look up and realize that I can't see Khalid. I can, however, see a pile of pillows in Khalid's bed. Khalid doesn't have pillows in his bed. In order for him to be hiding under a pile of them, he must first have crawled out of his bed into mine, grabbed all three of them, and then carried them back, all without me noticing. Also, pillows don't normally have feet. I lift one of the pillows and see Khalid, grinning excitedly at me. I try not to laugh (which is one of the harder parts of parenting that those books never tell you about) and I take the pillows and put them back on my bed. Khalid protests and starts whining again. I sit down on the bed, which is closer than the rocking chair, to prevent further such secretive escapes. I resume reading. The cook's wife is put down by the lion unharmed. She is wearing a red dress with white dots on it, and now she must wash it because there is lion saliva on it. Roald Dahl watches as the cook and his wife do a joyful dance on the immense brown plain and suddenly Khalid has gone quiet again. I look up from my book and see the top of Khalid's head and his wide, unsleepy eyes watching me from just over the top of the bed. Then he ducks down and they disappear. A few seconds pass. Roald Dahl marvels at the strangeness of the situation- an old lion came out of the jungle, picked the cook's wife up in its mouth and was carrying her back, gently and unharmed, to the jungle. Dahl is paid five pounds to write his account for the newspaper. Other hunters write to the paper and offer theories on the strange incidence. Khalid's head comes up slowly again. I attempt to look stern. I cave and burst out laughing. Khalid realizes that he's off the hook, and he jumps into my bed and we have a good laugh a roll-around. So that was the end of round one. Round two will begin as son as soon as I finish typing this blog. It's 4:10 now, and Khalid is starting to rub his eyes and pull at his ears. I'm going to pick him up and put him in bed again. I wonder what happens to Roald Dahl next. Labels: BebeFiles
KHALID SAID HIS FIRST WORD!
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah- at the age of two years and two months, my son finally said his first word. Socks. His first word is socks. I'm slightly miffed that he bypassed both of his parents and ended up on footwear, but for now I'm just happy he said something! Woohoo! Also, we're coming to Amerika! This week! We'll be in Chicago, so who wants to come over and play? :) Labels: BebeFiles, the
Ma-Ma?
So Khalid still doesn't talk. At all. He doesn't even say Mama. I mean, he does say things like akichigaa and gagin-gagin and mamamamamamaaaaaaa, but nothing with meaning and context. I'm not worried about his development, just impatient to be able to communicate with him. All of the recommendations about helping ease sibling rivalry and smoothly introducing a new baby to your toddler involve communicating with your child and getting them to help you care for the baby. Multiple mothers, including all you lovely people in my comment box (I apologize for not being able to reply most of the time) recommend the same thing- let your toddler help and the problem will resolve itself. I completely agree, but 'please bring me the powder' is about as meaningful to Khalid as akichigaa is to me. We're not speaking the same language, and I know he gets frustrated trying to communicate what he wants. I end up handing him everything on the dining table only to find out he wants something from the window-sill behind it. So how do you involve a non-verbal toddler in caring for a newborn? As it is right now, Khalid probably thinks his sister's name is Gently. He approaches her, raises his hand, and is greeted with "Khalid jaan, gently. Gently... no whacking! Pat her gently, gently!" I wouldn't be surprised if it was his first word, heh. Ah well, Iman is doing well Alhamdulillah, and seems happy and amused at things in general when she's awake. Alhamdulillah that newborns spend so much time sleeping, it gives me time to lavish some attention on Khalid when I'm not running after him and trying to put the house back together in his wake. Gots to go, both kids are asleep and their mother needs a shower. Over & Out, Abez & Tribe Labels: BebeFiles, Mystery Bean Chronicles
A toddler, a Newborn and a Paradigm Shift
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. We’ve been home a week and Iman is healthy, happy, and adorable in the squashy, pink, surprised-looking way that newborns are so good at. Khalid, on the other hand, is having a rough time, as we seem to have brought home fierce competition for his Momma’s attention. When I change Iman’s diaper, it’s with Khalid trying to push me away from the changing station. When I nurse her, her tries to pull her out of my lap, and when she cries, he puts his hands over his ears and starts crying too. They take turns waking up throughout the day and night- Five minutes into Khalid’s nap, Iman woke up. An hour and a half later, Iman went back to sleep. Half an hour after that, Khalid woke up. So we’ve had a rough week, but we’re learning how to cope. I am determined not only to cope though, but to succeed. Succeed at what? Ah, now there’s the paradigm shift- a paradigm shift being a radical change of perspective- The standard of a productive, successful day once included a clean house, a freshly-cooked meal, a well maintained toddler and at least two hours of work. But that was the standard for Abez and Khalid. The standard for Abez and Khalid and Iman involves a house, a meal, and two alive children. Work is not a possibility. Getting dressed is optional. Lunch today was peanut butter. So, according to the new standards, we’re not doing half bad! Look, we’ve even found a little time to write a blog! (Iman is asleep, Khalid is being fed breakfast) We’ve also found time to dig out our box of pre-maternity wardrobe, try things on, and then be both horrified and amazed- (Horrified that we seem to be so very far away from buttoning anything, amazed that we were able to just a few months back.) But I digress- it’s been a bumpy ride, but we’re moving forward Alhamdulillah. Labels: BebeFiles, Mystery Bean Chronicles
The Bebefiles: 20 Months- we don't need no stinkin verbal communication!
 Khalid doesn't talk yet, and that doesn't seem to be holding him back. Case in point- Khalid wanted cheerios. When Khalid wants a book read, he will track me down and hand it to me. When Khalid wants a date, he brings me the box. When Khalid wants to go out, he brings me a shoe. (Just one, it's enough to get the message across, but then we have to spend ten minutes looking for the other one because he's probably put it in his toy box) Khalid has a variety of interesting sound effects in his verbal jukebox, but no meaningful ma-ma or ba-ba. Compare this to the 120-word list of my vocabulary at 18 months that my own Momma recorded for me. Khalid seems to be a little behind schedule when you compare him to baby Abez, but as far as other milestones go, he's way ahead of the game. Take, for example, eating dirt. He may not even be two years old, but my Bebeface is a full-fledged dirt-eater. That in itself bumps him from 'baby' to 'miniature boy.' Why? Because babies don't eat dirt, but little boys sure do! Khalid drives toy cars all over the furniture (and walls and floors and family members) which is also a very little-boy behavior. He doesn't go vroom vroom yet, but I know he's thinking it. He also drinks from a cup on his own, and is decently good at it, except when he stos paying attention and then pours his entire drink into the space one inch from his open mouth. Oh, and he eats bath bubbles too. That's very advanced, is it not? *beams with pride* My little boy. They grow up so fast! *wipes away tear* Labels: BebeFiles
Cheesecake and Strategic Negotiations
"Oh Ye who believe! Fear Allah and make your utterance straightforward. That He may make your conduct whole and sound and forgive you your sins; he that obeys Allah and His messenger, has already attained a great victory."
The Qur'an, Chapter Al-Ahzab (33) 70:71
So I came across this line today and it made me smile. It may be a reinforcement of what I already believe to be true: the best type of speech is honest and straightforward, but it's great see that and be able to go, "And look, God said so too!" On a side note, I had an imaginary conversation with Bebeface a few minutes ago that went something like this: Bebeface, who was no longer much of a Bebe, but around 16 and wanting to go hang out with the guys on the corner who stand around each other's cars and do whatever it is that teenagers do, comes up to me and says- Hey Mom, can I go hang out with the guys? And I put my cheesecake down (if I'm imagining things, I might as well add a piece of cheesecake) and say, Where to babe? Oh, we're just gonna hang out. On the corner there. And I picture what we see every night now- groups of young men- some in their late teens, smoking and drinking that alcohol-free malt that still looks like a can of beer that no one would really drink if it was packaged to look like just another soft drink. There are younger kids too, hanging around them, but not with them, at a distance great enough to be safe but not too far to be excluded from the vicarious coolness. And there will be a few cars with the hoods up, and a few guys looking inside and comparing things. And although there will be nothing distinctly wrong with the picture, there will be an outpouring of wrong- ness; the cigarettes, the near-beer, the fascination with fast cars that has little to do with engineering and more to do with drag racing, and then there's the hierarchy of coolness and bullying and the social pecking and punching order of youth when more than two of them occupy the same dimension in space. And then there's wondering what they're all doing out at 11:30 on a weeknight, and where they're going afterwards, and what their parents think they're doing. I can't hide Khalid from the world, and I can't hide the world from Khalid. I don't want him to get burned, but he has to know what fire is to be able to avoid it. And I wonder if I say no- will he give me some sort of smart-alecky answer? No Khalid, now ask me why. Aw Mommmm... why? There will be times in your life when you can't avoid people smoking around you, but this isn't one of them. There will be times when you can stay up late for a perfectly good reason with friends, but hanging out on the corner isn't one of them. If you want to hang out with your friends, do something tomorrow in the day time. If you need a ride or want to go somewhere cool, grab your dad and we'll plan something out that's a whole lot better than hanging out on the corner at 11. And last of all, if you just want to hang out, invite your friends over and just hang out. You know that smoking is a deathwish, and I wouldn't let anyone else rip your lungs out, so I'm not going to let you do it to yourself- Mom, that's gross- But it's true, so you know not to hang out with people who are smoking, even though some of your friends may smoke, they don't have to smoke around you. So that's a no? Yep. Want some cheesecake? No thank you. And Khalid sulks away and goes to his room. And I'm not sure if that went very well, because the end goal is not control, but education and guidance. There are basic human needs that make everyone tick, and for kids, the need to feel like a part of the gang (aka: social acceptance) can be overpoweringly strong. So I call Khalid back. Hey kid, let's have that conversation again. And this time, let's use strategic negotiation, ok? Mom, I would like to hang out with the guys, who are, at the moment, hanging out down the street. I say Ok Khalid, I recognize the validity of a. you wanting to hang out with your friends However, I have the following concerns: 1. The timing 2. The venue 3. Possible negative behavioral elements I would like for you to enjoy your friends' company in a time and place that doesn't infringe upon certain agreed-up boundaries, such a curfew and behavioral norms, how can we reach a solution that addresses both of our interests? Here, Khalid looks at me like I'm crazy, but because he's grown up with the principles of strategic negotiation (which HF and I try to use for all disagreements, even now) he knows how they work and what he needs to do in order for us to reach a compromise. He swipes a bite of my cheesecake and says: As per venue and negative behavioral elements, Sami is the only one who smokes, and he's not there right now because Hammoudi think he's a moron, and I know it's late, but if I could just go for twenty minutes, I can talk to the rest of the guys about meeting up tomorrow, at a venue that we both find satisfactory, during a time that fits well within curfew, and in a setting that minimizes the possibility of negative behavioral elements? And he smiles hopefully. I nod. And he comes home exactly twenty minutes later, and we arrange for he and his friends to come over tomorrow and hang out in the pool (imaginary cheesecake goes very well, poolside) after Maghrib. And I make secret plans to make them all volunteer in the cancer ward of a hospital for a few weekends, so they can see what lung and throat cancer does to your body, but that's another imaginary battle for another imaginary day. By Zeba, the end. Labels: BebeFiles, Islam
Post-Partum Depression & I
There are a few mommy-related blogs that I’ve been meaning to type, one of them is on post-partum depression, or PPD. There’s an interesting generational/cultural gap that exists where PPD is concerned- traditionally speaking, in the Pakistani culture, there is no such thing. (Wateezdiss, pee-pee-dee? After your baby is born you’re supposed to be miserable!)Yes yes, so after your baby is born you become a sleep deprived, and you worry about whether you’re doing things right, and you desperately wish the baby would sleep, but when the baby does sleep, you have to go check to see if the baby is breathing... Being a new mommy is hard, but is it supposed to make you depressed? One friend of mine, whose baby is six months younger than Khalid, called me up and very bluntly said- I’m taking a survey about post-partum depression. My mother said there is no such thing, but after Asiya was born, I couldn’t sleep, stopped eating for 36 hours at a time, and felt mentally paralyzed, no one told me about this! How about you? How about me? Well, I was a sleep-deprived baby-tending robot whose engine ran on caffeine and the terrible fear that my baby was starving all the time. And, this is hard to admit but unfair to hide- I wanted to die. I did. I didn’t want to kill myself, and my contradictory brain was terrified of anything happening to Khalid or to myself (because then who would take care of Khalid?) but we used to live on the sixth floor of our apartment block, and I wondered what it would be like to fall from the balcony. I have never wanted to be in a car accident, but there were times in traffic when near misses disappointed me. I wanted something to happen. Why? Was I unhappy with my baby? No, I adore bebeface. Was HF unsupportive? Not at all, and he did what he could to support me and make sure I was taking care of myself too. (Also, we snuck out to movies and ice cream and went for drives and walks) I was constantly tired, but had terrible insomnia. I was completely disinterested in socializing. I stopped answering the doorbell, and I kept it all, the misery, the insomnia, the thoughts of death- all to myself for as long as I could. I dreaded having to feed Khalid, because nursing was, in the beginning, difficult and very painful, and no matter what I did, he always seemed hungry. (It turns out we had serious latch issues + low supply for nearly two months) At one point I broke down and told HF. I think it took him by surprise. He asked me what was making me so depressed, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him because I had no idea myself. Nothing specifically was making me unhappy- but I was miserable about everything, and I was sure that I was doing everything wrong- why else was Khalid crying all the time? When did things get better? Gradually, when Khalid was a few months old, things got better. They didn’t get easier, they just got better. One thing that made a huge difference was HF checking up on me- “How are you feeling? How was your day? Hey, you’re doing good.” It seems like such a small thing now, but HF reassuring me that I was doing good and that Khalid was fine gave me the reassurance to not freak about him starving/ailing/wailing, and it made everything lighter, more bearable. Alhamdulillah, my experience with PPD was, from what I understand, really mild. I thought about dying, and I had some pretty fantastic crying sprees, but it never got in the way of me caring for Bebeface- I was never incapacitated by it. There are people who have had it far, far worse, and I am grateful to God that I was able to break out of the misery and be alright again, Alhamdulillah. So yeah, we’re taking a survey- Anyone else out there had PPD? Any advice? We have some new mommies on the block who may benefit from what you can share. Love to all Mommies! -Zeba Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: One Year!!?
It's 10:23, and Bebeface is asleep, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. Of course, yesterday he insisted on staying up until 4:30 am, and the night before that, 3, and the days following those long nights tend to be fuzzy and a little disoriented, but hey, SubhanAllah, it's all good. :) Khalid cruised by the one-year mark a week or so ago, the 19th being an uneventful though especially cute day, MashaAllah. These days, Khalid is working full time on his newest skills- getting around by holding on to the sofa and taking wobbly steps in the direction of the laptop, crawling or something like it, and learning simple games. Every day Khalid does something that makes me gasp out of either surprise, amazement, or shock. A few days ago he went from sitting to crawling position by leaning too far back to stare at the ceiling and then turning in mid-fall to land on all fours instead of his head, Alhamdulillah. And then there is the 'feed momma crackers' game, where I open my mouth and Khalid pokes whatever soggy edible he has been gnawing on inside. We've learned, rather unexpectedly, that this game also applies to other cracker-shaped objects as well, like the business card Khalid pushed into my mouth last week. And Khalid plays peekaboo with newspapers, and bedsheets, and embarrassingly, with the hem of my skirt at a dinner party. (peeka- No!) And Khalid has discovered that the best things in life have buttons on them, like the cordless phone that he yanked out of my hand and dropped on the floor, or the TV remotes with the tasty rubber buttons, or any of the many mobile phones belonging to the various family members foolish enough to leave the phones where he can demand them. Khalid sent his daddy a blank sms two days ago. We were all impressed.
HF: (checking phone) You sent me an sms just now?
Me: No, what do you mean?
-pause-
HF: Where's your phone?
Me: Khalid?And Khalid has turned bath time into a force of nature, specifically, a typhoon. He whirlwinds his arms and legs, churning up furious waves, soaking the floor, the towel, the momma... anything in a five foot radius. And Khalid is intensely interested in personal grooming, specifically manicures, and any time nail clippers are placed anywhere near his nails, he immediately wants to inspect (as well as taste) whatever it is that they're doing and why they insist on doing it to him. And prayer time with Khalid is extra challenging, as there are fewer less distracting things than a baby crawling excitedly over to your feet so he can grab hold of your toes and talk to them. (bibbibibibib bbbbwwwwwwmmmm) And I know exactly where the last year has gone, but I can't believe what was taking so long has passed so fast. SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah, Khalid isn't really a baby anymore, but he's not quite a toddler yet. He's at an in-between stage, he's an oversized grabby wiggly thing that wants to go for a walk to see the oscillating fan oscillate, but still clings to his momma like a shy koala baby. Too big to be a baby, too small to be a boy, my little Babysaurus. :) Labels: BebeFiles
Possibly one of the more interesting evenings spent shopping
There is no way to describe how hysterically funny as well as deliciously relaxing it is to sit in a showroom massage chair (The OTOCare Deluxe, only 6,500dhs!) with the foot rest up and the remote control in Bebeface's hands. I laughed until my stomach hurt while being massaged randomly by Khalid's ham-fisted grip on the remote control. The salesman in the corner was trying very hard not to be seen laughing. He turned pink. Khalid cooed and growled and mashed at the remote control, turning the chair off a few times and turning the intensity up regularly, until I felt like I was being pummeled by an pair of oompa-loompas who had been paid to hide behind the chair and rhythmically punch me in the back, shoulders, and uummm.. seat. (oompa, loompa, doompity doo! yes, we can beat on your tushy-tush too!) SubhanAllah. :) Labels: BebeFiles
This is why God made babies cute
Last night was another interesting night, rather than nurse Khalid to sleep I tried the 'crying it out in arms' approach, which basically involved him screaming his little self tired- in my arms. Someone posted a link to this in the comments of one of the crying it out posts, and I'm not sure who it was, but they should also have posted a link to body building and developing muscle for high-stress baby-rocking. :p Khalid is, MashaAllah, over the 95% percentile for his weight and height, which means me bouncing almost 12 kilos (26 pounds) of angry, screaming, WWF-Wrestling baby in my arms for 20 minutes before he winds down and falls whining to sleep. Alhamdulillah, he slept, and last night wasn't too bad, although there were no long sleep stretches over an hour and a half. I think by now I'm so frazzled by the every-forty-minutes schedule that an hour and a half seems good. The other night I put Khalid to sleep and even though I was exhausted, I wandered in to the kitchen and got on to the laptop to do some work. Why not? I thought, he's just going to wake up in forty minutes, why bother going to sleep?But going back to the title of this post- Last night, about fifteen minutes into rocking and screaming and wrestling- my arms were burning (you know burning? it's five minutes past aching and two minutes before dying) and my back was aching and I was getting frustrated and suddenly Khalid stops crying, looks up at me and says, "bap bap bap?" Then he smiles at me and launches into a few minutes of impossibly cute baby-babble, "pibpibpib, bap bap bap, nanagagagaGAK!" He lays relaxed in my arms, just making cute little sounds and smiling at me, and manages to undo all of the anger and frustration that had been piling up onto my shoulders just minutes ago. SubhanAllah. Standing there in the dark, at 1:30 am, with aching body, aching feet, and 12 kilos of sleep-resistant babyfat in my arms- I laughed out loud. I kissed his soft little cheeks. I remembered that bed time is an ordeal for him too, and he's not deliberately being difficult, he's just being what he is- a baby. We went to the pediatrician last week for his cough, and HF asked the doctor about Khalid's atrocious sleep habits- waking every forty minutes, not sleeping at night, etc. The doctor patiently listened and then shrugged apologetically. "That's normal, all children are like this." We asked her if she was sure. She was. And she had her own kids too. SubhanAllah, I sometimes forget how much I am blessed. Allah has blessed me with a beautiful, beautiful child, free from disabilities or conditions or any visible defects- ten perfectly chubby, perfectly formed fingers, same number of wiggly little toes, enormous gorgeous eyes, the sweetest, softest cheeks- Khalid is a perfect baby, and it's my fault for forgetting- he's a perfect baby. He's sitting in his high-chair right now, banging a clothes pin against a set of teething keys and periodically chewing on a baby biscuit that he's also managed to rub into his eyebrows. He's a baby. My beautiful little son. :) It was time for his nap about an hour ago now, and he managed to sleep for ten minutes before waking up again with a happy -bapbapbap- He's starting to rub his eyes and pull his ears (which also have cookie crumbs on them) so I guess it's time for me to try to put him to sleep again. Please remember us in your duas- I need patience and he needs an off button. :p Peace & Chikken Grease Abez & Bebeface Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: Crying it Out- Success and the Lack Thereof
Well, the past three days have been hectic. Picking up where we left off- Night Before HF gets here- Bebeface cries it out for an hour and forty minutes, only to wake up two hours later and then be up and down all night as usual. That is very discouraging. Night HF gets home- Bebeface cries for an hour and a half before I go in to rescue him from him own stubborness- it's midnight, HF and I are both tired and he's just gotten back from a business trip. I nurse him to sleep, hoping that crying for so long has at least drained his batteries a bit. He sleeps for an hour as usual, and wakes up about six times during the night. Yesterday Night- I am swamped with two separated freelancing tasks with seriously short deadlines- I put Bebeface down to cry it out for the night, and after an hour of listening to him scream and get not quieter, but louder, I am not able to concentrate at all on my work. I go in to nurse him to sleep. He nurses, and then is up and ready for action until 1:30 am. Yesterday Night- I do nothing related to crying- I happen to be in the shower when I notice that Bebeface, who HF had been rocking and singing to (I love you HF!) had gone quiet and fallen asleep. And there is much rejoicing. (He wakes up ever hour or so all night. This is usual.) This evening- Hoping for similar success, I feed, pajama, and soothe Khalid before passing him to HF for a rocking to sleep. Bebeface stubbornly resists. HF passes him back to me after about half an hour, and I nurse Khalid to sleep. He's asleep now, my little bundle of impossibility. I must clarify- the bedtime routine of a nice bath and a feed and a kiss and a song- I've been doing that for about a week and a half now, and if the purpose of it is to make Khalid rub his eyes with sleep, then it accomplishes its goal. But then, since Khalid wakes up every morning at 9:30 by the latest, regardless of what time he's gone to sleep, getting him to rub his eyes and yank his ears and pull his hair from tiredness has never been a problem. It's getting him to close his little eyes that we seem to be doing so badly with. So now what? Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: Crying it out- Part II
Yesterday, after Khalid's hour and five minute crying jag, he once again slept for five hours. Five lovely, uninterrupted hours, Alhamdulillah. It's 10:40 right now, and he's been crying since ten o'clock. He's definitely winding down, and I peeked in on him a second ago- he's laying face down on the bed, he raises his head to cry, gets tired and rests it for a few seconds. Then he raises it to cry again. I don't know if he'll beat yesterday's time, and I don't know if any progress is being made. This is only the second night anyway, so looking for progress right now is a little early I think. If anything though, I at least don't feel like I'm dying of guilt pangs. Yesterday was hard, and I felt horrible, but it yielded very real and very encouraging results. Oh wait, he's gone quiet... No, he started again. But the pauses between crying spurts are getting longer and the cries are getting softer and more tired-sounding. But like I was saying, having done this once yesterday and seen really encouraging results, I don't feel so bad and it's not as hard for me today as it was yesterday. My child is sobbing his little eyes pink, and I'm ok. Does this make me a bad mother? I hope not, I would like to believe not. He's not in pain. He laying in a bed, he's fussing himself to sleep. He's fine. I've already gone and spent a long time in the shower (with Owlie listening out for me) but I ran out of hot water after ten minutes so I'm back out again. Khalid's been crying for 45 minutes and I suppose we've got another fifteen to go. 10:50- I tell you, this kid could do commercials for energizer. 11:20- The good news is that Khalid is asleep- the bad news is- I caved. At eleven I went to check on him, and found that he had wiggled past the fortress of pillows and bolsters I had surrounded him with and was lying face-down on the cold, hard, floor- crying. (his mattress is on the floor anyway, so it's only a two-inch roll down, not a fall, Alhamdulillah) But I couldn't help it. I picked him up and he sighed and shuddered and clung to me. I nursed him to sleep. I'm sorry and did, and yet I'm not. I feel torn between wanting to do things right and wanting to do right by my son. Why isn't there a way of putting him to sleep that doesn't involve making both of us miserable for upwards of an hour? I keep wanting to apologize to him, I feel like this is somehow my fault. Well, 11:20 is his sleep time, let's see how many hours he sleeps. I know he's utterly exhausted, chances are he'll sleep five hours any. I feel selfish for putting Khalid through this, and I feel discouraged. :( Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: Crying it Out- Part I
So once upon a time there was an impossibly cute (MashaAllah) but horribly scheduled son of mine, whose unruly sleep habits have been the only (but rather large) down side to motherhood. He wakes every 40 minutes, night or day, to feed, and drives me rather batty with sleep deprivation. Everyone and their mother tells me I need to let him cry it out. I know. I know, but it hurts my heart to hear him cry. Really, physically- I can't explain how it feels to hear him sobbing away. Like how he is now. Sobbing. In the next room. Last week, after many frustrating and futile attempts to put Khalid to sleep (punctuated by being hit in the face with his flailing arms and being savagely bitten with his pointy little teeth) I put him down and walked out the bedroom. I hadn't been intending to let him cry it out, but ten minutes into it, I decided what the heck. Let's go for it. It took an hour, and I'm sure it was rougher on him than it was on me, but I'm not sure it was by much. In the end, it finally happened. Bebeface cried himself to sleep, and he slept for five hours straight. Five hours. Straight. Five hours, from a kid who's never slept longer than 2 hours in his entire life. Fastforward to this evening- HF left for a five-day business trip, and since he won't be disturbed by Khalid's ear-shattering (and heart-breaking) wails, I've decided that this is the week we're gonna cry it out. It's 11:24 right now, and Khalid has been crying since 11:15. I know he's exhausted, I left him in the bed with a full stomach, rubbing his eyes and pulling his ears out of exhaustion, but the second I closed the door, the BebeSiren sounded and he's been wailing away ever since. I learned from the last time that after half an hour he'll start to wind down. Everyone I've talked to has told me that kids learn fast- let him cry it out two or three times and they'll learn to soothe themselves to sleep. One woman I know did it over the weekend- she went away for two nights in a row, and the husband volunteered to keep an eye on the baby- and it was a hard weekend but the baby learned in two days, and now she sleeps straight through. Admittedly, I feel horrible right now. Khalid is now hiccuping as well as wailing- and I can hear the little gasps and shudders between cries, but he is winding down. I wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish he came with a 'sleep' button. I can't really sit and listen to him cry, I need to find something else to do- like take a shower or something. I didn't turn the water heater on though, so the water's too cold to be any sort of pleasant distraction. 11:31- Still wailing. Oh wait, there was a pause. Ok, now he's gotten a second wind and seems to have hit a higher pitch. I'm going to go wash dishes or something. 11:53- Well, there are longer and longer pauses between the crying fits now- I know that these silent moments are spent in rubbing his eyes or pulling his hair, and I know he must be exhausted. The crying is getting tireder, the pauses longer- I think the water might be warm enough. I wonder- if I take a ten minute shower- will he be asleep by the time I come out? Let's see. I need to relax, I feel wound up and tense. 12:21- Asleep. All quiet. Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. It took Khalid an hour and five minutes- which is five minutes longer than his previous time, but maybe tomorrow will be better InshaAllah. And let's see how long he sleeps now InshaAllah. I spent the last fifteen min taking the longest, hottest shower I've had in months, and I'm ready to pray and hit the sack. I'm really looking forward to five beautiful hours of gorgeous lovely sleep. (Many thanks to everyone who's kept pushing me to just do this- to retrain Khalid no matter how hard it is. Taubah, my Momma, and especially HF- who's been nagging me to do this- even volunteered to take Khalid for a weekend, and has been so patient with my foolish refusal to do so until this point. It could only last so long. You can only run so long on sleep deprivation, and not letting Khalid learn how to fall asleep on his own doesn't do him any favors. Also, much love to Owlie- who's been the Abez Distraction Committee these past two times I've let Khalid cry it out. >>>hugs<<< ) JazakAllah Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: Ten Months, where has the time gone?
As I sit at this computer desk with all the wires taped securely to the legs and all the peripherals moved away from the edge of table, I wonder where the time has gone. Bebeface, whose misbehavior was once limited to wiggling alot and peeing on me, has morphed into something else entirely. He has become- Cap'n DangerIsMyMiddleName. Two days ago he unplugged the laptop. The day before that he pulled the wireless signal repeater out of the wall. Last week he reached up to this desk and got hold of the electric drill and very narrowly avoided dropping it onto his head. Yesterday, he woke me up by falling off the bed. It was a different sort of alarm. Instead of beep beep beep the noise went waanh waanh wannh. I woke up in a panic- I could hear Khalid crying but couldn't find him in the bed. He was on the floor in an untidy heap of baby, his head down and his legs propped against the leg of the crib, looking very offended and somewhat more compact than usual. I scooped him up and went to the kitchen, where immediately, I turned on the microwave. Khalid likes the microwave. In a few seconds, the wails turned to whimpers. Then the whimpers were replaced with the silent hyper-vigilance of Khalid watching the plate in the microwave go around in circles. Then he giggled. All was well and the mighty fall from the bed was forgotten. (Oh, and the other day he pitched himself off the sofa head-first and was caught in mid-air by Knicq. Many thanks Knicq Bhai.) Khalid is now a little human. Officially. He used to be a little blob, and before that he was a jellybean of some sort. Now he's a little person who likes chicken, doesn't want his nose cleaned, laughs at the pictures in his baby books, follows you around with upheld arms, pulls my pant legs when I'm doing dishes, tastes absolutely everything, and plays peekaboo. Really, he plays peekaboo. He will hold things in front of his eyes, wait, and then peek out and smile. Then he'll do it again. And again and again. Alhamdulillah, SubhanAllah. He's growing, he's learning, he's developing sneakiness. Combine a desire to pull the phone cord with the knowledge that he shouldn't be, and you get a baby who drops the phone and runs smiling up to me when he's caught, as if he's never pulled a phone cord to within an inch of its life before. Oh no. Not me momma, would this face lie? Right now Khalid is laying in my bed (surrounded by a wall of pillows) and drumming his heels on the mattress, growling, and playing with a rubberband simultaneously. In a minute we'll head to the kitchen for lunch, maybe scoot around the house in the walker later, and then we're off to Ikea for yet more adventures, so I guess I'll just finish this blog later. Bebeface & I, over and out! Labels: BebeFiles
BebeFiles: Some Firsts
Alhamdulillah, Bebeface is seven and a half months old now, and the rate at which he's developing dangerous and cunning new skills is amazing. This week alone has seen several developmental firsts- several key skills he has obtained and now uses to threaten all of humanity with.
So Eye See... Glasses are not part of a person's face, and can be removed with one quick yank of the gooey, wet fingers and then dropped on the floor. Khalid now knows that glasses are both removable and edible, and there seems to be no turning back, regardless of how we threaten to withdraw damages from his college fund.
Take that, HA! Khalid now has the ability to, but not necessarily the proper licensing to, drive his walker all over the kitchen, into my ankles, against the dining chairs, etc. Up until just two days ago, he just sat in the walker and if he moved his feet it was out of excitement or frustration, but not with any direction or purpose. At some point though, he seems to have had an epiphany, and one morning surprised me by very purposefully steering himself towards the garbage can and then proceeding to worry said garbage can from one of the kitchen to the other, and then back. This kid can drive. Take That, CHOMP! Teef. Alhamdulillah, Bebeface has two little bottom-teeth about half-way out now and the two on either side of them are just starting to appear beneath his gums. So now what used to be a cute little gnaw on peoples' fingers is now a life-threatening, needle-sharp brush with dismemberment. Khalid likes to chew, and he likes to chew HARD. Hello there, Handsome. Khalid has long, meaningful conversations with the handsome baby in our bedroom mirror, and spends tens of minutes (which is hours in baby-time) cooing, squealing, and wiggling his eyebrows at the baby on the other side. And, he does this all sitting up. Khalid started sitting up about a month ago, but only now is he getting really stable enough to stay upright for long periods of time, and without toppling over. Mine, all mine! Khalid is no longer my computer buddy. It used to be that I could sit him in my lap and operate the lappy easily. Now, I sit Khalid in my lap, turn towards the computer and then frantically push everything away that he's trying to grab and cram in his mouth- mouse, headphone wire, tea cup, hair clips, pen, cell phone, digicam... anything on the table is fair game and very likely to be scooped towards Khalid with both of his outstretched little arms and then slobbered on. Even when I have moved everything out of his reach, he still cranes forward to slap at the power-indicator and wireless modem switch (those pretty blue and yellow lights) on the front of the laptop and gives them a good beating. You gonna eat that? Cuz if not, Khalid will try. It doesn't matter that Khalid has never had soup before in his entire like, he still wants it, and yesterday he managed to grab a spoonful of it as it was headed towards my mouth, splattering chikken noodle in my lap and down his arm. On top of that, he wouldn't let go of the spoon. He saw me drinking a cup of tea earlier today, and zoomed towards me in his walker, came to a crashing halt against my knees and then started smacking his lips and looking deprived. I'm sorry kid, you are years away from caffeine. Hey, whose feet are these? Khalid has discovered his feet, and day by day he is learning that they can go closer and closer to his mouth. He holds one foot in each hand, and in a gesture that would be rude if it weren't so impossibly cute, he grins at you over the full-moon he's pointing in your direction. (When he does that without a diaper on, I get scared.) So yeah, MashaAllah. SubhanAllah. Bebeface gets more and more beautiful and unpredictable and alive every day. He has wants and needs and even a sense of humor, and has a beautiful little laugh that lights up everything- his face, the room, the people around him. I laugh at him sometimes and he looks at me and just laughs back, my crazy beautiful little kid. Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: A Beautiful Thing
A beautiful thing happened two days ago. After the bounce and the jolt and the crash- after the smell of the hot asphalt and the exhaust cleared, I took Khalid from his car seat and got out of the car. To get out of the car - that was a beautiful thing. We walked through stopped traffic to a shop on the other side of the road, where I took Khalid's clothes off and looked for injuries, and I could see, from where I sat, the back bumper of the car lying in the road and the front end of the car crumpled and pushed into the nose of an 18 wheel truck, but I could see both of my husband's parents had gotten out and were standing near it. To still be standing - that was a beautiful thing. And the men from the street brought in Khalid's car seat, and brought his stroller, and brought water and tried to comfort and soothe Khalid. Khalid's little face was flushed pink from the heat and the fear and the pain, but the men held him and kissed him and told him he was ok, and that too was a beautiful thing. And my right knee was bloody, and my right calf was cut, and my right ankle was swollen, and my left leg was rapidly turning purple, and my right eye was swollen, and I had hit my head, but the x-rays said that nothing was broken, and that was a beautiful thing. And Khalid was scared and in pain, and he spent 45 minutes screaming and crying until he passed out from the effort. Even in his sleep, he shuddered and whimpered, but after two hours he woke up smiling and that, Alhamdulillah, SubhanAllah, AllahuAkbar, was the most beautiful thing of all. Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. Always wear your seat belt. Always keep your baby in a car seat. Life is a beautiful thing. Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebefiles: AMBUSH!
I should have known what was coming when I saw how close the box of q-tips was to the edge. I should have moved them when I placed Khalid on the bed to change his diaper. I should have known that a kid who has mastered spitting up not on my shirt, but in my shirt, would be able to take advantage of the q-tips' precarious position. Bebe's Plan for Revenge for Putting Bebe to sleep last night at the wee hour of 11. Step 1: Pre-place box of 200 q-tips on the edge of bed. Step 2: Soil diaper. Step 3: Allow self to be placed on bed and freed of diaper, thus exposing lethal weaponry. Step 4: Kick Q-tips off of bed, scattering them precisely within range of lethal weaponry. Step 5: Allow mother to stoop to pick up q-tips, foolishly leaving lethal weaponry exposed. Step 6: Ready. Step 7: Aim. Step 8: FIRE! Step 9: Beam joyously as you soak momma's back in a fresh, steady stream of revenge. Labels: BebeFiles
The BebeFiles: Time Flies
Somewhere when I wasn't looking, Bebeface turned 3 1/2 months. I hadn't noticed really. There were other things to look at- like spit bubbles. My son has become quite proficient at them, pursing his lips together to produce a nice, long cascade of wet, frothy silliness. Then he beams. He doesn't smile anymore, he beams, his whole bebe face lighting up in the biggest, gummiest expression of joy. A few weeks ago he noticed his own hands for the first time and then spent a few days staring at them intently. Soon afterwards, he began playing with his toys for the first time, MashaAllah. Lying underneath an assortment of hanging toys, Khalid now has mighty battles with the jingly yellow tiger. Khalid crams the tiger in his mouth, and the tiger retaliates by craming its stuffed legs into Khalid's eyebrows. Khalid growls. The tiger jingles. The battle continues. It's hard to believe that this is the same baby I brought home with me in March. That baby was a tiny, non-interactive bundle of newbornness. This baby is a wiggly, cooing, squealing, arm-waving, judo-chopping, bicycle-kicking handful of chub and happiness. The Bebeface I brought home only cried, but this one holds conversations with you. "coo! bbbbb! aaaa?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at the end of the sentence. He expects you to answer. So you coo and laugh and squeal back. And he beams. Bebeface noticed his reflection the other day, and spent a vain long time engaging it in conversation. "bbbBbbb?" (translation: "Who is that handsome devil?") I wasn't looking when it happened, but my son developed a personality. MashaAllah. Labels: BebeFiles
The Bebe Files: Eight Weeks
Here's to eight weeks, SubhanAllah, of my silly little son. Here's to his tiny hands and how diligently he tries to cram both of them into his mouth. Here's to his precious, wrinkled feet and the day he learned to kick- he lay on the carpet for half an hour first extending one leg and then the other with complete concentration. Here's to the number three, which is how many times he wakes up in a night to be fed. It used to be five. Three is a much lovelier number. Here's to his senses, which have him currently convinced that anything that gets close to the mouth must be for licking- bath water and shirt collars included. Here's to his soft, dark hair, and how it's only growing back on the top of his head. He looks like a chubby little monk. Here is to life lived in a series of increments, in bursts of activity that must be achieved before it's time for BebeFace to wake up again. Here's to the fussing and the wiggling and the crying. Here's to gripe-water and anti-gas drops that I took to the Chateau and now can't seem to find. Here's the to the complete reliance of one helpless human on another. Here's to the perfect honesty that a baby regards you with. Here's to the sincerity in a baby's tears. Here's to my baby, whose sleeping and waking are the constantly repeating events that I mark time with, whose tiny hands open wide to hold whatever he can. Here's to the way he holds onto my shirt for no reason. Here's to the smile, the beautiful, innocent gummy smile he greeted me with this morning that renewed me, that refreshed me in a way that two months of cat-naps at night could never do. I've never been a fan of sugar coating, I find it unfair to whoever bites in and then finds the inside sour. It's true, a baby is a challenge beyond what you could ever expect. If you thought standing in line for half an hour was tedious, try standing for two hours, rocking a fussy baby to sleep for three nights in a row. If you thought eating cold food was annoying, try eating cold food, standing up with one hand long after dinner time is over because you alone can feed the baby and there's no way you'll make your child wait just so you can have yours first. If you thought four hours of sleep was impossible to work with, try 2.5. Everything you ever though impossible can be done, Alhamdulillah. Hug your mom. Now. Now now now. And then hug her again. And when you have children hug your wife, and don't ask her why she looks more like a bag lady than the woman you married, tell her that the circles around her eyes are beautiful. Don't ask her if she's tired, take the baby from her and tell her to lay down. Tell her she looks adorable in pajamas, because not much else will fit her yet. Tell her she's doing a good job, because it will be a while before the child could ever say that, and chances are it never will. Not until it has children of its own anyway. And never, ever sass your mother. Labels: BebeFiles
We are the champions, my friend...
When they ask whether you're ready to be a parent, what they really mean is, "Do you know any lullabies?" Apart from the weirdly morbid "Rock a bye-baby" and a few lines of "Go to Sleep," that were reworded to sing at summer camp, it turns out that I am sadly lacking in the lullaby department. Instead, I maintain a maternal jukebox of Yusuf Islam, Dawud Wharnsby Ali, a little bit of Bob Marley, and some Freddy Mercury that would make Queen flinch. (We will, we will BURP YOU!) A while ago someone asked me what being a mother was like. I thought for a bit, and the most honest thing I could say was that it was like having a gigapet that you can't turn off. Of course, that's not the whole truth, because your brain is not hardwired to pop out of bed like a piece of hyperactive toast at the gigapet's tiniest little beep, twenty-four hours a day. And a gigapet cannot melt you with its first sloppy, lopsided smile. And a gigapet won't bury its warm little face in your shoulder and sigh with contentment when it's full, and a gigapet won't fall asleep on your stomach and look so perfect and so peaceful that you sit watching it for the next half an hour out of awe. So ok, motherhood may not really be like owning a gigapet, but what else could I have told the guy? I might have said that it was like emotional bootcamp, but then I would be neglecting to mention the immense emotional returns, and when's the last time a drill sergeant made you feel all warm and fuzzy? Heh. Labels: BebeFiles
The Baby Files: One Month, Alhamdulillah
If you went to an electronics store and the salesman tried to sell you an expensive piece of equipment that came with no manual, required round the clock maintenance and would not perform anything except very basic functions for the next three years, would you buy it? And yet we have children, because they are the embodiment of love and the promise of future. They are tiny, beautiful, vulnerable extensions of our own selves. They are us, reborn. They give us the ability to remake ourselves through them, hopefully this time with less mistakes, and hopefully with better looking ears this time. It’s been four weeks of being a Momma now, and I’m not sure where to start. I’m exhausted but coping. I’m emotionally depleted but have discovered new reserves. I haven’t had a full night’s rest for a month now, and the circles under my eyes are looking permanent, but SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah, I am happy. I find it amazing, no, awing that every single mother goes through this. Rather, ever single blessed mother goes through this, because Alhamdulillah, my child is blessed to be without disability or illness that would make this process even more difficult than it is. Taking care of a newborn has, like the pain of delivery, pushed me farther than I thought I could ever go. I never thought I could survive, thrive even, on a series of naps for an entire month. Khalid never sleeps for more than three hours at a time, and he usually sleeps for much less, and that means I do too. Once upon a time if I had less than say, five hours of sleep it would be difficult for me to function. Now I dream of getting five hours, and although I miss rest and sleep and waking up naturally, I don’t hold this schedule against my son. My tiny little boy has a tiny little stomach, and he can’t sleep when he’s hungry. I can’t either, actually. I miss keeping in contact with my friends, but my son is more important than email. I miss getting dressed and feeling like a presentable human being, but I have a limited amount of time and getting dressed has fallen rather low on the list of priorities. Khalid comes first, after that comes the husband and the house and food and laundry and hey, yesterday I had ten minutes free so I washed my face and made the bed. It felt nice. There’s a pulled muscle in my right shoulder, just where it joins my neck, that’s been killing me for three days now. I don’t have the option of going easy on it, because I need my right shoulder. And my left shoulder. And a third shoulder would be helpful. I think that instead of getting fat while pregnant I should’ve put my effort into growing another arm. You need one when the baby comes, trust me. You only make the mistake of taking a wet baby out of the bath without having a towel ready once. After that you learn to lay the towel in your lap before even putting the baby in the bath so that your naked little Bebeface doesn’t start crying and shivering when he’s taken out of the warm water. (Either that or you grow a third arm so that you can hold the baby with two hands and open the towel with the new one.) Please remember us in your duas, pray that God gives my son a character that He loves and makes the road to righteousness smooth for him. Please pray that I grow a third arm. Peace & Chikken Grease -Abez Labels: BebeFiles
A Post Without A Name
I was going to title this blog "A week in the life of" but it occurred to me today that it's been more than a week since some amazing madness took place. So let us begin from the beginning, the beginning being about, errr… nine days ago? Ten? Once upon a time at 3 am, after I had just finished assembling the crib, rearranging furniture, moving a rug and reorganizing storage, I went to sleep on the sofa. I was waiting for HF to return home. He did come home, and he brought me a surprise cup of Chai. No, not the kind you drink, this one. Chai, my homey who was presumably nowhere near this part of the earth at the moment. And there was much rejoicing. Props to HF and Chai, it is NOT easy to surprise Abez. Also, it is apparently not easy to induce early labor either. If moving furniture and arranging a nursery and being surprised nearly to death at 3 am aren't enough to do it, I don't know what does. Day two: Owlie, Momma and Daddy (of Chez Daddy) arrive as per a pre-planned lunch. Owlie, being traffic-weary and in a frazzled mood moans, "I need a cup of chai!" Chai, of her own theatrical volition (and what theatrical volition it is) then runs out of the room and exclaims, "Someone said they wanted Chai?" which gives Owlie several small happy heart attacks. The rest of day two is spent in shopping, showing Chai around, and getting ourselves ice-cream drunk from the Marble Slab Creamery. The evening is spent playing Scrabble and eating popcorn and jellybeans while watching Howl's Moving Castle. There is much rejoicing. Day Three: there is more out & about as we again fill Chai full of ice-cream, take her shopping and then return home to grab her luggage. I am left at home due to logistics. Had I come with Owlie and Chai to the airport, then Owlie would have had to double-back to drop me off before driving home again. Chai is delivered to the airport. HF returns from work and we take our sleep-deprived, over-funned selves out to a friend's for dinner. We get home around midnight and collapse into bed. Day Four: Khalid is born, 3.45 kg, or about 7 1/2 pounds, at 5:30 pm SubhanAllah, with his eyes open and his little fingers and toes wiggling. I'm not sure where to begin with this. SubhanAllah, my limits of pain and tolerance were pushed farther than had I ever thought possible. Then suddenly the pain ended and the nurses placed my tiny, precious, amazing, perfect little son on my stomach, and the threshold for love and emotion and overwhelming joy was pushed farther than I had ever thought possible. These emotions were not just for Khalid, but for my loving, amazing, wonderful HF, who was not technically allowed into the labor room but kept me company on my cell phone, and who so endeared himself to the staff that they even snuck him in to be with me during the most difficult stages. If you thought you loved before, try being a parent, try going through nine months with the best man you've ever met to give birth to the most beautiful little man you've ever seen. Everything before that is just the first stage of understanding how deep, how overwhelming, how desperately in love you can feel for someone. Day Five: Khalid and I are discharged from the hospital. Before we even clear the delivery ward, he manages to work his hands free and grab big handfuls of both his own cheeks. (Hey, what are these, and who put them on my face?) We decide we need baby nail clippers very soon. Day Six: Khalid and I spend the day sleeping. We're both exhausted. Me, from the delivery, him from all the effort required to repeatedly escape his swaddling and wave his arms around. His face is less swollen, and he develops the ability to open one eye at a time while sticking his tongue out, my cheeky little son. Day Seven: Khalid looks decidedly yellow, and a visit to the pediatrician confirms that he is jaundiced. He is admitted to the pediatric ward where he will spend this and the next two days being gently roasted under a phototherapy rotisserie to help clear the biliruben from his system. During his baking period, he will discover, and later master, the art of removing the cover that protects his eyes from the ghostly, electric-blue light. He will also establish himself as a baby evil genius, and be pitted against his mother for the first time. Momma vs. Khalid, The Mask Battle. I eventually won the battle by taking a baby hat and cutting the band loose. I fitted that over his eyes and challenged him to work that off. I won. Ha! Day ummm… Nine? Khalid and I return from the hospital around 9 pm, and it is like the first homecoming again. I am exhausted from 3 days of waking, feeding, changing, and turning Khalid every two hours, and Khalid is looking less yellow and quite happy to have escaped captivity. I check my email and discover over 25 unread messages, none of which are spam. I write one letter to my brother informing him of where on earth we've been for the last week and I crash in bed. There is much rejoicing. Today is day, err.. ten? Khalid is still being fed every two hours to help clear his system, and I'm still in my pajamas. In about 15 minutes it'll be time to wake him up again. I'm wondering what new skill he'll have learned. Yesterday he learned what his fingers were for (sucking on) and the day before that he got his first case of hiccups outside of the womb. That was hysterical to watch, as each hiccup took him by surprise and left him confused. (Hic! What the? Hic! Who did that?! Hic!) I'm still in wonder & amazement mode. I still can't believe that this tiny, silly boy is the son I carried for nine months. His face changes every day, and he learns new and devious things faster than I can account for. Today he peed in a perfect 3-foot arc, clearing the towel and the changing area and squarely hitting the leg of his crib. Not only was that a well-aimed shot, it was also well timed. I had been sitting with him as he lay naked, soaking up some sunshine, and the minute I decided to get up and grab a cup of tea, he let the waterworks loose. My boy, I tell you he has timing. I commended him on the good shot and diapered his deviant little cheeks before cleaning the puddle up. Yes, updates may be short and few for the next few weeks. Khalid and I can't settle into a normal routine just yet because of the two-hour feedings. As soon as we do though, I want to get back to the things I missed during pregnancy- like my feet. I haven't seen them in months, and we have a lot of catching up to do. Love, Peace, and Handi Grease -Abez Labels: BebeFiles
Call me Speedy. Ice cream, anyone?
Under normal circumstances, a pregnant woman with a bucket of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other could not possibly outrun her well-intentioned but confectionarily cruel husband. Under current circumstances, where well-intentioned husband is burdened by a plaster cast on his well-sprained ankle, the pregnant woman not only has a chance, but she also has 1.9 litres of cookies and cream all to herself. As well as gloating rights. mwaahahahaa So HF has suffered his first mortal wound. The building was burning you see... it was a charity hospital... for orphans... for umm, orphaned kittens. And it was on fire, yes. So he sprained his ankle while rescuing burning kittens from the burning building. My hero! *swoon* (Really though, and this is just between you and me, habibtis- he called me from the gym last week and said, Mabrook! and I said, Wha? and he said he had sprained his ankle. Hai, kitni cute.) So HF is on crutches and in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king. Bring me my sceptre, I can use it to serve ice cream. Labels: BebeFiles, HusbandFiles
Nine Months Pregnant
So people sez, "How are you Abez?" And I sez, "Alhamdulillah, nine months pregnant." Nine months pregnant. Sounds dramatic, doesn't it- especially with the nine being emphasized to ummm, emphasize that you could go -pop!- at any given moment. Nine Months Pregnant is an explanation unto itself, and if you've been there yourself, you nod sympathetically. You think of how the floor is always farther away when there's something on it you need, and how your shoelaces are always untied but never within reach, and how automatically you get programmed with politically correct responses to people's questions. People sez, "How is the baby?" And I sez, "Good, Alhamdulillah." And if you've had one yourself, you automatically know that the baby is running out of room and protests your constrictive political regime by poking his toes into your lungs and wiggling them for emphasis. The baby wants freedom, and makes this very clear by undertaking a dedicated campaign based on civil disobedience (No, we will not remove our elbow from your spleen until you comply with our peaceful demands.) Of course, civil disobedience can only take things so far, and sometimes your baby will resort to outright violence. *KICK!* People sez, "You must be excited." I sez, "I am." I am excited, and sometimes when my back is aching and my feet are killing me and my joints are audibly creaking under the strain of an extra human + support system, I imagine holding my baby in my hands for the first time and everything- the impatience, the exhaustion, the emotional erosion caused by not feeling like myself for the last nine months- disappears. It all fades and is replaced with a nervous happiness- an impatient, excited, lightness that inevitably brings tears to my eyes. My baby will be here soon, InshaAllah. :) Labels: BebeFiles
Countdown: Six weeks
I turned around in a store last week and only narrowly avoided knocking into a display shelf. It's not that I'm miscalculating space, it's just that my mental idea of how big my stomach is hasn't quite caught up to the physical reality of how big my stomach is. Six weeks InshaAllah. Six more weeks until I am no longer shaped like a wrecking ball and potentially as dangerous. :p Labels: BebeFiles
Traditional Hiccups, Traditionally
Traditional hiccups are (traditionally) an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm. The sudden rush of air into the lungs causes the glottis to close, creating the "hic" noise. They are also, traditionally, felt in one's throat or chest. Fetal hiccups, however, are felt in your big round stomach, and unlike traditional hiccups, cannot be cured by offering the sufferer a glass of water. It is also very difficult to frighten the hiccups out of the sufferer, as fetuses pay little attention to world politics and seem unimpressed by the distressing rise of medical fees and university tuition. -hic!- Labels: BebeFiles
You know you go out too often when...
You and your husband, dressed for Eid-day meet & greet, stand in front of a door. It opens, and the house within is silent. You wonder where the hosts are, why the lights aren't on. You can't remember whose house you've arrived at. Oops, it's yours. Foistly, AssalamuAlaikum & Eid Mubarak & e-hugs to all the sisters and e-nods to the brothas. Now, on with the nonsense. Nonsense Numero Uno: The conversion rate in the UAE is two falafels to a donut hole. Allow me to explain. For one UAE dirham, you can buy either: - Two Dunkin Donuts Munchkins (dh) (donut holes) or -Four falafel balls. (fl) Therefore, 1 dh = 2 flWhere only 1dh is equal to HW (happy wife), but HH (happy husband) is equal to 8fl, calculate conversion ratio from HW to HH. DH=HWHH=8flHW= ?HHNonsense Number Duo: Dear Abez,
Welcome to your third trimester! You may have noticed that clothes you were counting on to wear for Eid are no longer viable options. True, they fit you last week, but this week they wear like sausage casings, and it isn't nice to visually horrify the guests so. Especially after they bring you baklava. Please consider augmenting your wardrobe, you can only live in your PJ's for so long.
Also note, due to rapid expansion and growth, it is recommended that the functions of digestion and respiration be rerouted to legs L and R, left and right respectively, in order to make more room. Things are tight enough in there as it is, and you can't complain about being kicked in the ribs if you just relocate your lungs.
We hope that in the future an understanding can be reached to assure the satisfaction of both parties.
Sincerely,
Your Baby
PS: Icecream? Labels: BebeFiles
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Abez Is... 
