My Blue Eyed Boy

May 30, 15

My beautiful little Bruno is sleeping next to me in bed with his hands touching together like prayer and his plump but perky lips slightly parted, though he breathes through his nose. Sometimes Massi gets worried and wants to check to see if he’s breathing and I just watch them both, Bruno’s chest and stomach moving in and out while Massi worriedly sticks his finger under Bruno’s nose waiting to feel his breath. 

“Why do you always do that?” I say as I watch Bruno’s stomach pump in and out.

“Because he’s so little. I want to make sure my baby is ok.”

“No, I mean why do you put your finger under his nose when you can just look at him and see that he is breathing.”

Bruno still sleeps in bed with us, but he sleeps so well I don’t want to change anything. We get sleep. He never cries. When he wakes up and he wants to eat he just kicks me and waves his arms. Last night it was extremely adorable how he tried to wake me up, though if it continues my adjective might change. He lay on his back and raised both legs and then dropped them down on my stomach like a wrestling move. I didn’t flinch. He raised his legs again parallel together and boom, dropped them with force on my stomach. That was the first time he’s seemed to have such structured strategy about waking me up. Usually he flutters around and his eyes aren’t even open. These last few weeks he’s been oscillating between waking every three hours to sleeping sometimes six hours straight. I can feel a normal life creeping back to me and as I look back to the first month with him, I can’t even believe how difficult at was at moments.  

Sometimes he just stares at me, well a lot, and it’s the most amazing gaze of beyond love. It’s life. I am his vitals. He trusts me so much sometimes it's overwhelming. No one has ever put that much trust into me.

His hands are beautiful and I cut his nails every other day while I nurse him. Most of the time he lets me hold his hand awkwardly and snip away. He doesn’t even flinch if I accidentally get some skin.

His hair is growing in really slow and there is a little bald patch on the back of his head, perhaps from how he lies in the bassinet and stroller. His eyebrows are blond and his skin seems a touch strawberry behind them. We wonder if he’ll have hints of red hair. I guess Massi’s father’s uncle had red hair.

His eyes are blue, but a darker blue, not turquoise from a shallow Caribbean ocean but beyond in the deeper abyss yet clear like a crystal ball. More stunning than a sapphire. We will be shocked if they turn brown. He looks so much like a blue eyed boy forever.

Crawling out of My Cave

I'm sitting and listening to Led Zeppelin, typing with one hand while Bruno sleeps peacefully in my arms. This . . . us . . . Massi, Bruno and I, has been incredible lately.

I've arrived to motherhood 100% and I'm in love beyond everyday more that it's sometimes difficult to swallow. I even start thinking about the "what ifs . . . What if Bruno wants to ride motorcycles very fast. What if some kid at school bites him . . . What if he hurts himself? The evil curse of fear that comes with the depth of unbelievable love you attain from your baby love. I think I handle it pretty well. I think about how annoying it was when my mother was overprotective of me and I try to let it go. It's a challenging road to navigate . . . control, protection, obsession. . . especially as a mother.

Bruno is now three months old and he is just spectacular. He's started sleeping 6 hours straight through the night occasionally and I have him on a routine of wake, eat, sleep that occur in basically three hour rhythms. The structure and routine make it easier for us to communicate together and for me to feel more at ease about why he may be crying. Plus he recognizes that I'm in charge and he takes comfort with that. He really only cries now when he has to take his naps. He fights the sleep that overwhelms him and that's where I come into play and rock him and tell him it's time to take a nap. He knows what time it is, the repetition, the conditioned response of certain sounds I make when he needs to sleep.
In the beginning when it started working even I was surprised, but now we have such a better relationship. There is more clarity to communicate with each other because a lot of uncertainty over what he is feeling is eliminated. He doesn't have to ask to eat because I feed him every time he wakes up from a nap and his body has adjusted it's need to this schedule. Plus he will always stop eating if he's no longer hungry. This has decreased much of his fussiness and crankiness from either being overtired (because he will not regulate his sleep himself), or from crying over being too hungry . . .and the result overall has been one super smiles happy Bruno.

He is now eating his hands and will sit in his bassinet for an hour while I either cook something, clean, exercise in the living room, and recently I have even brought him into the bathroom while I shower. It's all about timing and I know that I need to start these projects right after he feeds in order to get the best results. It's been almost liberating and I no longer wake up asking myself, "what am I going to do today?" and have to answer, "oh, nothing." Now I have my master list of what needs to get done and I try to crank out as much as I can. I feel like I am crawling out from a cave I've lived in over the last year. It's been a cozy cave with bonfires and 'smores, but I'm so over it and ready for dresses, white table cloth dining, and glasses of wine again in my life.

Can I Have Both? Myself and Bruno?

"Will I ever get through this?" There are some days I question myself . . . after a night of waking every two hours to breast feed and at 4:30 a.m. Bruno decides that he really doesn't want to go back to sleep. Or perhaps it was one of those nights when I went to change his diaper and his little weewee hardens up and sprays. I reach for a wet towel and grab both his teeny ankles with one hand and raise his bottom to clean the leakage puddled underneath him. Now he starts to scream and wail.
"What's wrong?" I ask in that high pitched baby voice you just can't help speaking to them in. "oh my god," my tone drops to low tone. "Shit," I say and my voice raises in volume, hoping his daddy will get involved at 2:30 a.m., "you peed again, all over your face!" I want to cry with Bruno. It's the common tragedy comedy piece that comes with having a baby, so I've discovered.
But that's not the hard part . . . it's the bigger picture of the accumulation of lack of sleep, waking up at 6:30 a.m. tired, and knowing that there's no nap in sight. For the first two months Bruno would only daytime nap in his stroller on a walk. If I stopped moving he'd wake-up. That meant exhaustion plus taking daily four mile walks, two miles per nap, and the mid-day nap was an hour and a half session of Bruno sleeping ontop of me in the rocking chair. I would ponder, "how can I keep doing this?" and that's just the day. I look at the day now in its full 24 hour cycle broken into quarters. Late afternoon/early night is the most challenging. He would get super fussy, I would be super hungry and sometimes he wouldn't let me put him down to even rush to prepare something for dinner. His cries spoke of torture, painful physical disembowelment . . . they are hard for a mother to hear .. . .better to sacrifice myself than to witness him in such discomfort. The crying stops when I hold him. Has anyone ever needed me so much? It's beyond amazing. But I want to get through it. It would be nice to eat dinner. Not to mention the floors need to be mopped. The bedroom dresser has a half-inch of dust on it because it's overlooked. The bathroom is an uncomfortable dirty and mommy is always hungry. There's laundry to fold. The bills to remember to pay on time, and god how nice it would be to buy a new dress that fits my now d- size breasts and to wear lipstick again? Oh, the plants need to be watered, I sill haven't legally changed my name, Bruno needs a passport, and I need to pump my breast milk if I ever want to go to a yoga class or have a glass of wine. I am so behind myself with so much extra time and yet incapable of accomplishing the most bare essentials.
And then one day it's just all easy. And then when he hit two months old, he started staying in the bassinet and playing with himself. And then all of sudden during his fussy time he didn't throw a fit for a week straight. And the house is still dirty, but I bought a new dress and wore lipstick last night. I pumped and drank amazing wines and got solid sleep. Bruno is getting bigger and I am able to start doing a little bit more for myself and I made it through. My ass is still flat but it's starting to lift little by little and I'm hoping to now work on butt lifts in the middle of the day and I know it's possible. I have to admit, the first two months were very challenging, but right now it's becoming so amazing. I can actually start to have both: myself and Bruno.

"Every Mother Is A Working Mother."

"Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world, a mother's love is not." James Joyce

Mothers,

Let's teach our children the strength in valuing real love and honesty. Let's teach our children how to express themselves and their own truth -- and how to handle the world when they disagree. Let's teach our children to stand up for their beliefs because the world will always challenge them especially when they are unsure of what they are. It's just magnetism. It's just that there are a whole lot of assholes out there.

Everyday I wonder, how on earth did our world become so fucked up and dysfunctional? There are so many things that I worry for in my son's future that was never a consideration in mine. And then I think, well this is his world now and the greatest thing I can truly do for him is to lead by example.

Some days I find myself believing that I need to fill his every waking second with some type of learning. I get lost in the worry of wondering if I'm behind in sending him to special classes for children. Am I stimulating him enough? But then I say to myself, "let's be practical here. Bruno has to also learn to entertain himself and watch mommy do her thing around the house. This is truly where he will learn the most right now." How many of us have some of our fondest memories of our parents in the kitchen, or in their work spaces -- for example I used to love to hear the sound of my mother working on the type writer. I used to love to help my nanny clean the house. Who knows in which state the big world will be in when he finally takes his first step alone out into it, but until that happens I will do my greatest to teach him real love and honesty, which he can learn just by watching his mommy and daddy in the living room. I will teach him how to express his own truth and how to handle the world when they disagree, which he can learn by watching me interact with our community every time we walk out our door.

We don't need more money in this world to fix it, we need stronger values and those values start at home. Women are the most influential creatures on this planet. Perhaps we as mothers are so accustomed to sacrifice that we give our power and influence away too much. But this doesn't do justice to us or our children. We have unconditional love for our children but there must always be conditions. We cannot forget who we are as women in order to become a mother. There is a balance and a cross over and I look forward to having Bruno help me discover where they are.

I Try Everything Until It Works. That's What's Called Bonding.

I never thought I'd be one of those moms who guards her baby's sleep like a patrol officer. "No, don't touch him, he's sleeping!"
"Sssshhhhhh, don't make so much noise!" Evil mother eyes glare.
"Gooodddd!" I lament in a whisper, shaking my head, "Don't kiss him like that, you'll wake him up!" All of a sudden daddy becomes the perpetrator.
"If you wake him up you're going to have to deal with the consequences!!!" I've never threatened my husband so sincerely. He looked at me with fear.

What are the consequences? Usually they are the ultimate challenge of your patience and endurance; and usually daddy will always hand baby off before even entering round two. "Mamma," daddy has such a gaze of desperation, 'Bruno's hungry," he sings this as if to soften his defeat.
"He just ate!" I yell. "How do you think I know how to handle him? Because I try everything until it works. That's what's called bonding!"

But I'm not upset with daddy. He works twelve plus hour days, five days a week, providing Bruno and I the luxury of bonding together. But babies are twenty-four hour machines, like the energizer bunnies that keep going and going and going. I've learned a new meaning of perseverance. I've learned how persistence will lead you towards the breaking point -- the entry point -- even if something so trivial as trying to get Bruno to sleep in his bassinet during the day time takes me three days of trying the same routine over and over again. I persevere.

I've learned a new meaning and feeling of success. When you struggle for something so hard, like getting your baby to sleep in/on anything else other than you just so you can eat lunch or dinner, and you finally succeed . . .the sense of accomplishment is unrivaled.

I never give up, and I never assume that just because he was cranky during lunch, or in his bassinet, or woke up in the middle of his walk and I have to stop every five minutes to hold him until we arrive home a mile later . . . I never assume that he will repeat the same action again the next time. I never let that stop me from going out to lunch with friends, or taking another long walk. And when the hoped for moment that he is an angel happens, it's the best moment in the world. The other moments I call bonding time. The other moments of trying to comfort him in a million different positions I rationalize as muscle toning after a long pregnancy. It's amazing how moms do become like octopuses. I use my feet sometimes as often as my hands and have discovered that I can even hold things using the space between my neck and shoulder, using my mouth, my two feet together and even my knees. Basically . . . moms make it happen, no matter what.

My Name Is Bruno. Are You Feeling Lonely?

Hi, my name is Bruno a.k.a. The Italian Stallion. I'm bald, unemployed, and still live at home; in fact, I sleep in the same bed as my mom, and I love me some nice nipples. I'm very playful, and like a good Italian I'm very good with my hands.
Hmm, what do I love? I love women, especially ones with long hair like my mommy so I can grab it and feel powerful. I also love staring in their eyes while making poetic dolphin like squeals.
My shit don't stink and you can clean it for me in a few brisk easy wipes - but I have a mean fart, so loud  and fierce that sometimes mommy has to ask daddy if that was him or me. I can also give a great golden shower. My nonna calls it l'acqua di santo.
I have a double chin and fat rolls on my thighs that are creased so tightly if you pull them apart you can sometimes find treasures inside.
I'm a Pisces and overall a pretty mellow dude. I love attention but I'll make the right woman feel like a princess. I like long walks and to hold hands. I love music and dance, and to read books. My mom says one of my best qualities is that I'm in touch with my sensitive side and know how to express my emotions.
So if you're feeling lonely give Bruno The Italian Stallion a call. We can spoon the night away and I'll fill that dark sad hole you have inside with the warmth and light of my Italian pride.

To Love a Baby

I never loved a baby before. I always saw dirty faces, disgusting stained onesies . . .parents who showed way too many photos of their child, from every different angle possible. I couldn't really imagine changing diapers, cutting fingernails, suctioning boogers from their tiny noses or even just sticking a finger up there if possible. I truly never ever pictured myself singing lullabies or saying, "I'm mommy." I never would have thought that my husband and I would so quickly fall into calling each other daddy and mommy . . . and that it's kind of sexy.

To love a baby is like entering some type of Narnia and I must confess, it's happened to me. It's like a drug addiction and creeps on you with incredible doses of unexperienced ecstasy. Maybe that's what's so exciting, that at my age of 36 and a bit jaded, here is something so fresh, so unexpected, so uncontrollable, so humbling, so spontaneous and so filled with unconditional love.

I am now one of those who has a photo of my baby from every angle possible. I hold him for hours sometimes and just rock back and forth on the rocking chair as if we're lost at sea, smelling his baby skin, caressing his fine-haired soft head with the sides of my chin and cheeks and give him delicate kisses with almost every sway. The tenderness is immense and no other creature than your own baby can lure it from you so organically. My husband asks me, "do you think he knows how much me love him?" as he rubs Bruno's cheeks with his own and then gives him a big suction kiss.
"I don't believe you love me just because you tell me," I say. "Of course, he feels how much we love him."
"When will he start kissing?" My husband sounds as if he's in some type of desperation. This is what baby love does to you. You even feel pangs of love and joy when they fart in your arms. You rejoice together as parents every time they take a shit. "Is it a big one?" You scream to the other whose changing him. "Should we run a bath?"
It's insane. It's mad. Your life becomes secondary to this new relationship - to your new role - and you finally, finally, see your parents differently. Even if you "understood" them before, you now understand them differently . . .for better or for worse. Not every parent surrenders to the baby love. But when you do, it is one of life's greatest gifts of all. It didn't take me long to enter. And now I'll never turn back.