Tuesday, April 23, 2013

"a year ago today"

This whole year has been tainted and overcast, and it feels like I’ve been trying to put on rose-colored glasses throughout the whole year, but instead, I’ve been looking through a magnifying glass, with Tommy’s death as my focal point, burning everything that comes between the sun and me and the ground.
Tommy died a year ago today. His sister/my best friend wrote an incredibly moving post reflecting on the year, and remembering that day. There are things in that post that I had never heard before. My heart aches to not be there with them.


Linnea falling

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Saturday, April 6, 2013

eight months

Dear Linnea,


eight months

Every time I take a moment to think about where you are now, I find myself shaking my head and asking myself, "what the what?"

After many a frustrated start, you are ambling along the floor with much galumphing. You aren't quite able to do the cross-crawl yet, but can do the worm across the living room. Except when you get excited. Then you pull yourself up to a downward dog, inch forward, and thump to your belly with a shriek.

floor time

You keep trying to get into the kitchen, which is off-limits at this point. I know you know this because when you amble to the boundary of where the carpet of the living room meets the linoleum of the kitchen, you stop suddenly, turn, and look at me. I sternly tell you "no." You respond by flashing your Lucky charms grin. I tell you no again. You used to then inch your way over the boundary while continually checking my face until I picked you up and moved you back to your play area. Now you instead turn around yourself, and pull over a wastebasket.

Just a few days ago, you started doing this:

supported standing
(I love your little cloth-diapered bubble butt.)

You say "da da" and "ba ba" frequently now. Once, your dad tried to get you to say "ma ma" and you responded with a raspberry. You taught yourself how to drink out of a cup with a straw, and now you wave your arms and pant excitedly whenever you see your sippy cup.

You are also eating a ton. You've liked everything we've given you so far. The word at daycare is that whenever any other kid gets food, you want food too. I've so far been making almost all of your food, which is something that I swore only crazy obsessive parents did. And yet here I am, steaming carrots and pureeing them in the food processor, and getting excited that spring is here and that means FRESH PEAS.

One morning, when we were all in bed, you crawled into my armpit and fell asleep, and for the first time since you were a newborn, we all took a morning nap together as a family.

However, this expression makes me think that we may be in for some trouble soon enough.

eight months

When do we decide when "getting through this" turns into "gotten through it"? When you're one? Five? Eighteen? Who can tell? All I know is that every morning I can't wait to see this face.


Friday, April 5, 2013

a moment

So the story for the last few weeks: I've been drowning. We've had some staff transitions in the course, which means that I am currently managing/coordinating both years of my medical school course (whereas my actual responsibility lies just with the first year). In addition, my course director is also currently ward attending, which makes me the de facto decision-maker for a lot of issues. Linnea is also going through "a thing" and waking up at night again to nurse. I am so very, very tired.

And yet it's already spring.

However, we have hired a new second year manager, who will be awesome. My days of extracting details from the opaqueness that is the spring quarter curriculum will soon be at an end. And my first crazy-town day of the quarter (students are in six different places at the same time) went relatively smoothly.

I am grateful for the Sunday morning when Linnea, after rolling around in the bed with us for about an hour, nuzzled into my arm, sucked her thumb, and fell asleep. She's not a cuddly kind of kid (her general MO is to pinch the shit out of your arm, and then look at you incredulously when you respond strongly), so I was touched at this rare moment of affection and trust.

This photo essay on a father-daughter dance in Richmond City jail touches my heart.

Enolase [via io9].

Beautiful remembrances of Roger Ebert who, with Gene Siskel, taught me how to watch movies.