Lost at the Moma

Posted April 23rd, 2010 by Lena

Ok, so this past Sunday we went to the Moma (Museum of Modern Art) with some friends. We went to the Tim Burton exhibit and visited as many of the other floors as we could fit into our brains.  Honestly, by the time we got to Tim Burton, to fight our way through the hoards of people, two out of four of us were feeling a little overwhelmed.

Now the mounds and mounds of sketches and notes by Tim Burton were AMAZING, but I mostly saw the back of peoples heads as I steered through the crowd with our baby stroller.  There were, easily, a hundred people in a space with the capacity of 35.  Anyone could have easily been stressed out by this experience however it didn’t seem to phase me.  I was enjoying a beautiful Sunday with my husband, baby and good friends at the museum.  How could this be anything but great?

Once we exited this particular attraction, I needed to use the restroom so I let my husband know that I would be right back to join them.  I came out of the restroom, literally, 2 minutes later, took a sip from the water fountain and turned to continue with my husband and baby.  However, the only thing standing before me was a sea of people moving this way and that way.  None of the faces were recognizable as my family!  I figured they were waiting for me by the elevator so I made my way to be by their side, but the only people I found waiting by the elevator were sitting behind a desk labeled “Information.”  I briefly considering asking them if they had seen a man with a baby in a stroller and quickly released how silly that would sound.  Next I remembered that we were on our way to see Marina Abramovic sitting at a table staring at guests.  “Ah, now that is something I can ask information and not sound like a crazy woman”  I thought.  Once I asked and found out Marina was on the next floor down I was confident this is where I would find my lost hubby and baby.  Briefly, I waited for the elevator and then realized the silliness of this without a stroller and made my way down the escalator.  There she was, Marina, sitting at a table and staring at a guest seated across from her.  I really wanted to participate and find out more about this performance art, but I stayed focused and scanned the crowd for my family or friends.  It was about this time, when I didn’t see them anywhere that I also remembered my cell phone sitting calmly in the stroller cup-holder next to my peacefully slumbering little one.  Suddenly, I pictured her waking up hungry and searching for her mommy to feed her, my husband helplessly staring at her attempting to lactate.

Breathing and calming myself, I returned to the floor above thinking that they must now be waiting by the bathroom door for me to exit.  A run up the escalator and a quick squrry through the crowd found them no where in sight.

Suddenly, I remembered our conversation about visiting the sculpture garden. Back to the information desk I went to find out where to go next and then a quick jaunt down to the bottom floor.  However, as I glanced at the garden through the glass which makes you wonder if you are on the inside or the outside, I began to wonder if I was the one lost.  As I ran back up the stairs to scan the floor where Marina was sitting I thought that I might have to use a pay phone and questioned whether they existed anymore.

Again, this proved to be a waste of energy because I couldn’t find them anymore but could, in my minds eye, see my precious baby waking up.  This is when I have to admit I started to panic.  My breasts began to throb and it was as if she and I were connected by an unseen thread.  I knew I had to find her and find her quickly.  To my left stood a security guard and so I asked him, “where do people go when they have lost their party”?  Sadly, this was a difficult question for him and he didn’t understand what I had lost which only fueled my anxiety about being lost.  There I was Lena in Moma land.

After returning to the information desk I learned that Moma doesn’t have any such location for lost people nor do they have a protocol.  So…I ran all the way back downstairs to the ticket counter and basically begged to use the phone in order to call my husband.  Sweet Jesus, what delight to hear his voice on the other end.

The moral of the story?  Do not, EVER, leave your baby with your husband in a crowded museum, restaurant, mall, store, school, theatre, party or any other place!

April 8th, will go down in history

Posted April 9th, 2010 by Lena

It’s the day that she rolled over from her back to her tummy for the first time!  “Amazing!” I shout while holding my hands into sign language position for her to understand what a wonder baby she is. She gets that she has done something wonderful and continues to do it all day long, every chance she gets and probably dreams about it during every cat nap. However for her this isn’t quite enough as she now struggles to figure out crawling. I turn to my husband and say, “we are in trouble.” His response, “What’s that?” I repeat myself and he says, “Oh yeah now she’s mobile.” But see, it’s not only that she’s mobile, it’s that this new feat has created a new set of challenges and a new reason to frustrate her.  One day later now and she is rolling on to her tummy and becoming frustrated that she can’t crawl, rolling back to her back and becoming frustrated that she has to start the process all over again. And now this creates a new challenge for me as well. How can I teach her to enjoy the feeling of rolling on your belly and back, to view that as the only goal for now and simply play, play, play.

She has super powers

Posted April 6th, 2010 by Lena

I know I sound like every new mommy when I say that my daughter is far advanced for her age, but she is. She is my wonder baby! Little Zoelle is now 4 months old and she has been babbling and smiling ever since she was 1 month old. Now she is sitting up with assistance, rolling from her tummy to her back, able to press all the correct buttons on her saucer to create the animal sounds, learning baby sign language and wanting to stand up all the time. She is truly a wonder baby! She even proved it by revealing one of her super powers. The other day while I was changing her diaper she was able to shoot poop out of her butt. Yup, it shot straight across her changing table onto her new wrist rattle. The rattle went right into the trash as I’m sure she was giving me a direct message that she really didn’t like this wrist rattley toy. She is a wonder baby! Obviously she couldn’t tell me that she didn’t like it so she had to find some way to communicate her dislike to me. : )


Posted March 19th, 2010 by Lena

She consumes my time. Meaning that I have no time to myself, at all. Night time parenting, they call it, but it’s really full time-all the time-around the clock-forget you had a life parenting.
Now, I’m not complaining but this isn’t the way I envisioned it to be. Just the other day I was telling someone (I can’t remember who now because of mommynesia or maybe it was her I was telling because she is the one I speak to most of the time) that prior to her birth I had visions of an angelic little baby sleeping beside me as I sewed and built my “work from home business”. Oh yes, it was Dawn, I was telling, Dawn. Dawn is a friend from aerial dance class, one more thing I don’t have time for. Hahaha…honestly, I’m not complaining at all and wouldn’t have it any other way. For crying out loud, I waited a long time to have her just so I could devote my entire energy and focus to her. I want to do nothing but give her my entire time, simply, I didn’t know that I would HAVE to. She needs me constantly. Constantly!
It’s a beautiful thing when you think about it.
My husband says she is kind of like a pet. Obviously, his time is not totally consumed by her as is evidenced by far more blog entries on his part not to mention his viewing her as something of a pet. Full devotion, this is the way it should be right now. One of us has to devote our entire time to her because she needs us. I mean, she really needs us. Anyone who is a parent or has been a parent understands this need and this need can only be understood by being a parent. I LOVE giving her my time, all of my time. I only wish I could get paid for this full time job. And on that note, I won’t be returning to my previous place of employment. I won’t be returning to a new place of employment either because we are moving to New Mexico! (That’s for another post)
For now, I’ll be spending my time: feeding her, bathing her, entertaining her, holding her, kissing her, loving her, talking with her, changing her, washing her poopy clothes, carrying her, singing to her, listening to her, taking her to baby sign language/developmental play/yoga/creative movement, gazing upon her beauty, memorizing every toothless smile, recording her laughter, playing the clown to generate more of that addictive sound, learning her body temperature, helping her sit up, cheering every milestone and treasuring every second we have together because as cliche as it may be, “time goes by very quickly”.

She keeps throwing up on me

Posted February 23rd, 2010 by Lena

I’m not sure what it’s about or whether she is really sick or simply making a statement about the food I am serving her.  Perhaps she didn’t like the green chili I added to my chicken soup or the salmon cream cheese on my bagel.  Does my breast milk hold the flavors of what I eat?  Do I need to put myself on an elimination diet in order to find the culprit?

Maybe this is just what babies do or perhaps she is only spitting up and I think it’s throwing up.  I mean, how much is too much?  What exactly is the difference between throwing up and spitting up?  A teaspoon is spitting up and a tablespoon is throwing up?

I should add that she isn’t running a fever nor is she acting sick in any other way.  She is smiling, playing, laughing and all around very happy.  In fact, she seems to enjoy throwing up on me. Hmm…

back in the snowy New York

Posted February 17th, 2010 by Lena

We just returned from our trip to Seattle.  It was incredible and she was such a good baby on the plane.  Well, as long as you count pooping all over and puking all over as good.  I think it’s very good!  She didn’t cry on the plane and only fussed a bit.  On the flight back, she enjoyed the winter Olympics and I wonder if she will be a snow boarder, figure skater or bob sledder.  I must admit that I am pulling for ice skater.


Posted February 5th, 2010 by Lena

I’m happier than I’ve ever been.  I love her and I love being her mommy.

We attended our first baby sign language class today.  I signed and sang the song to her that we learned when we got home while she giggled and requested more!  I do believe she is the smartest baby in the world, but I am her mommy.

So I thought I could dance.

Posted February 4th, 2010 by Lena

Wow, I went and took a Zumba class last night and it kicked my butt. Not only was my energy level not what it once was, but my bumba wasn’t doing any of the right cumba-zumbas. For the first time in my life I felt my age.
Oh dear…is this what motherhood is all about? Yeah, I would like to point the finger at being pregnant for the past year or the trauma of labor, however that would be wrong. This flabby-flab, jiggle-wiggle, huffy-puffy red faced girl can only point the finger at herself. It’s the comfort of that desk job, the security blanket I have swaddled around myself and must return to.

Getting my groove back

Posted February 3rd, 2010 by Lena

The day before yesterday Zoelle and I went for a walk to pick up a Nosefrida. (I will save info about the snotsucker for a different pos) I decided to take the stroller and was happy to feel like I was doing my own form of strollercize. All I did was walk at a quick pace, but that felt great. Much to my surprise my feel good walking pace drew the eye of a few admirers. The most shocking one was a “toot toot” from the bus driver. I mean, really? I was like, “no he didn’t”. But he did! So I guess I am getting my groove back.


Posted February 1st, 2010 by Lena

I’m breastfeeding my little girl and I had no idea that by doing so I am making a social statement. Just like having a home birth is something of a social statement which I didn’t realize before choosing to have one, now I am learning that breastfeeding is the same.
During my drowzy night-feedings I am reading Ina May’s Guide to Breastfeeding. It’s a little late since she is now 8 weeks old, today in fact, and I should have read this book before she was even born. Had I known what a challenge breastfeeding could be I would have done more research while pregnant.
It’s now 4 am and I’m reading a chapter called Nipplephobia and rather than heed the advice to “sleep when my baby sleeps”, I’ve found myself blogging.
I don’t understand why people would have a problem with a woman breastfeeding in public. Now, I’m not talking about whipping out the boob at a five star restaurant, holding the baby with one arm and sipping soup with the other. But come to think of it, what is so wrong with that? When did breastfeeding become barbaric or indecent? And more over, why?
After all that I have been through in order to breastfeed my baby: lactation counselor, lactation consultant, frenulum expert, nipple consultant, breastfeeding clinic, sore/cracked/bleeding/damaged nipples, prescription cream, lots of ibuprofen, not to mention the hour after hour of feeding around the clock; and you mean to tell me that now I could face ridicule in the public eye for breastfeeding!!! Seriously? I mean, even if I have a wrap around myself and my baby? Seriously? I should be given a fucking trophy for continuing to breastfeed after all I’ve gone through. And then people say that formula is as good as breastmilk which is something I will NEVER believe, no matter how many times you tell me.

Now some may say, “but look at everything you went through, doesn’t that prove that breastfeeding is outdated?” or “if it’s so natural why has it been so difficult for you?” To this I say, “I was under the ignorant impression that it would be easy because no one talks about it.” Or maybe they do and I just never found that website. I mean, it’s certainly not shown in mainstream movies or on TV. Can we say, “nipplephobia”?