Christmas Baby

I'm an only child. I'm a Christmas baby. When I tell people that my birthday is December 24th - or Christmas Eve - I get one of two reactions: delight or dismay. Usually, far more dismay than delight. People's eyes pop out of their head. Their volume goes up a few octaves. In some, disgust washes over their face. Others yet, give me solemn pats on the shoulder. They give me a hug to make up for emptiness, lack of love, disproportionally low number of presents that must have come from such an unfortunate Birthday. Of all the days in the year, it's a crying shame that I was born on that one. I was surely forgotten. I was overshadowed.

Some people mention friends of friends, and great aunts, and third cousins twice removed who had birthdays in December. Some on Christmas itself, or New Years eve. Poor souls. In the eyes of almost everyone I meet, it really sucks to be born the day before, the day of, the day after or anywhere near Christmas.

While it would have been nice to have a birthday in the summer, with it's flower themes and Slip n'Slides, I didn't know what I was missing.

When my friend's daughter was born on Christmas Eve six years ago, she asked me what being a Christmas baby is like. And I had to chance to explain in detail how magical I thought it all was. As a kid, being a Christmas baby was perfect.

My parents would have a party at our place every Christmas Eve. It was a traditional Christmas dinner, and the one day a year that all of the family, extended family and friends would get together. It was also my birthday party. In addition to the Christmas tree, garland, wreath and nativity scene, my mother would put Happy Birthday banners in the basement with streamers and balloons. Everyone would gather around and sing Happy Birthday while I blew out the candles on a big cake.

Most of my aunts and uncles would go out of their way to bring two presents. One with Christmas paper and the other with Birthday paper. I received so many Birthday cards. I never felt that my birthday was forgotten. On Christmas Eve I was only allowed to open one present. The rest had to wait until Christmas morning. My birthday spilled over for days and days.

Maybe it's because I'm an only child, but I never thought that my birthday was anything less than amazing. I was, no I am, blessed with incredible family. I absolutely love the holiday season. I love the wonder and the magic. I love the traditions. I love the excitement. I love that the holidays are a time to remember, honor and celebrate friends and family.

And now that I'm a mother, and this is my daughter's first Christmas, I love the season that much more. It isn't about me or my Birthday anymore. I get to see Christmas through the eyes of a child.

~ humps

The Magic of Bubbles

There is something magical about watching a little baby grow up before your eyes. All of their little achievements, adventures and discoveries. Some call them milestones. I call them miracles. From a little thing who couldn't even hold her head up, I now have a person in front of me who cruises around the room, takes a book of the shelf and sits down to play with it, finds toys from the basket and takes it with her along her journey across the living room, tests the limits and strength of her legs all day, everyday.

She's just seven months yo and she blows me away. All. The. Time.

But a few nights ago, while we were doing the usual bedtime routine - bath, book, boob, bed - I saw the world through her eyes for a moment. I saw her discover bubbles. I saw her reach down into the soapy water and chase delicate bubbles with her tiny fingers. She moved in slow motion. She was gentle. She touched them. They popped.

This was not a true bubble bath full of frothy, hearty, can't escape them because they are everywhere bubbles. This was pretty much a basin of water with a few stragglers. The bubbles where the kind that fall off of the curve of babies' backs, land in expanses of water, and fight the long hard fight to stay around. They are small but mighty. And my small but mighty baby went after the few little ones that were there. She wanted to take those bubbles with her through her journey. And I got it. I want to take those bubbles too.

Having a baby, seeing the world through their eyes, is amazing. It's magic.

~ humps

I See Myself In You

You're a little girl that steals hearts, brings joy and loves. Loves so much for being so little. Loves unconditionally. These qualities contrast starkly with my cynicism, self doubt, social trepidation. It is remarkable to me that I made you. It is remarkable to me that you have me flowing threw your vains. But everyday that passes I see more of me in you.

When I hold you and bring you to the mirror, and make faces and hold our heads together, I see myself in you. The curls that are forming at the top of your head, and attempting to form at the sides. The way your eyebrows frame your brown eyes. The way your eyelashes clump in small segments and curl. The outline of your upper lip. Your smile. The complexion of the skin on your toes. The palm of your hands. I see myself in you.

And one night when it was too late for little babies to still be awake, you played in protest. So I took you and few board books to bed with me. While I was propped up on one side, engrossed in a novel from the library, I looked over to my left. There you were laying on your stomach, with a book in front of you. Your head moved back and forth, like you were reading that little book, sounding out the words, admiring the pictures, engrossed in that story. It was all too much for a little six month old baby. I was stunned, and without missing a beat you focused your energies on turning the page. I saw myself in you.

And when the sweet breath of sleep kissed your forehead, I watched. Your eyes closed slowly. Grudgingly. You raised your eyebrows in hopes that this last ditch attempt would cement your eyes open. Because, you only sleep on your terms. If you miss anything, there will be trouble. So I kissed your plump cheeks. Whispered goodnight. I understand my darling. I see myself in you.

XOXO humps

The Ultimate Mom-Baby Playlist

On Sunday, I had a little get together for family and friends after BABY's baptism. Just a little brunch at my place. I didn't want to do anything too fussy. I wanted it to be low key, casual and comfortable.

And that's how I approached the planning.

I started by inviting an intimidate group of my really close friends and family. The ones that I see and talk to regularly. The people that are really connected to BABY and see her often. I skipped the catering, and planned a menu of appetizers, sandwiches and salads that I could prepare the day before. While I would never call myself an expert chef, I do enjoy cooking for people.

But before groceries were bought, or a pan was put on the stove, I was preparing for the most important part. The music. I made the ultimate of Baptism after party playlists, that began as one celebrating the love between moms and their daughters.

Since I am very much a giving, generous and good spirited blogger, I will share this with you - in hopes that it too can be the foundation for the parties you are having. Baptisms, birthday parties, baby showers, Mother's Day, Labor Playlists, whatever the need maybe. I got cha!

On this playlist, it was important to me that the songs represent different eras, different artists - you know, since that's how I roll! I wanted it to be something that my older family members and younger friends could sing along to. So you will see that there is everything from Jackson Five, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations to Dixie Chicks, Michael Buble, Whitney Houston to Jay-Z, Lauryn Hill, Kanye West.

The songs also included "love songs" - such as This Magic Moment and No Air - but I felt that it still fit the theme.

Check it out:

You can either build the playlist so that the sequence of songs is perfect, or hit "shuffle" for more spontaneity.

For the Baptism I added to that some more reggae - as a tribute to my West Indian family, which included some Beres Hammond, Tony Rebel, Tarrus Riley, Sizzla, more Bob Marley. I also added another playlist that I had with some of my favorite gospel from Mary Mary, Donnie McClurkin, Kirk Franklin, Yolanda Adams and even 'Jesus Walks' from Kayne West and 'Faithful' from Common. (Unfortunately Playlist.com didn't have all of the songs that I used.)

Hope you enjoy!
~ humps

Angels

On Sunday, my little angel was baptized. While I haven't talked about religious beliefs - and all that jazz - on this blog, I couldn't help but celebrate this day in her life. In both of our lives. It was an emotional day for me.

You see, I started going to this church less than a year before I got knocked up with BABY - for lack of a better description. It was a time when I was just beginning to explore the possibility of moving to US, when a close friend and I were having a conversation about church. We talked about going to church as a child and what that was like. We talked about how long it has been since we have been back and how life - just being a young adult in the city - so easily got in the way. We talked about a lot.

There were a handful of beautiful old churches in the city. We decided that we would check a few out and see what it was like. See if we could make a church connection and maybe give this whole "religious" thing a try. I mean it is one thing to believe in a maker and another thing entirely to be a full fledged church member!

One Sunday morning I ironed my clothes, broke open a new box of pantyhose, put on a nice but not sexually suggestive pair of heels. It was like I was going on a very conservative date: wanting it go well, a natural connection, to be comfortable and not wanting to say something stupid. "Please don't swear, please don't swear, please don't swear!" Add to that the unique dance that is church going: standing and sitting at the right moments, singing at the right volume.

We arrived at the church and found a place to sit a few rows from the back. We smiled at the people sitting around us. We stood and sat at the appropriate moments. We sung all of the hymns with the appropriate level of volume and enthusiasm. We didn't swear. Most importantly we listened. The pastor was a younger man standing in front of the backdrop of an older church - I would learn later that he was a thirty-something new father. He was starting a sermon series. When he talked, I felt like he was talking to us. It was just that relevant. I had Goosebumps. When it was over, before we got up to gather our things, we looked at each other. We came back the following week.

When the time came, I was more scared about telling people at my new church that I was pregnant than anyone in my life, because well nothing says SINNER than having a baby out of wedlock. I mean, really! Isn't that their whole deal?! I felt like having a baby was my own Scarlet Letter.

I am happy to say that it wasn't like that at all. And I now believe that having my little girl is a blessing. That I was given the most incredible gift. That God doesn't make mistakes. That I was suppose to find this church before I had her. That there is something to learn in all that I have and continue to go through.

And this weekend, when we stood beside the other families who were baptizing their children that day, I was trying really hard to hold in emotions. To the right of me were these families that I have grown to know, with a mom and dad. A small part of me pained that this wasn't the picture that I was presenting to the world. But to the left were my daughter's God Parents and all of my family and friends that were there to support us. I looked at them, and they smiled back at us. I looked out into the crowd and saw all of the people's faces that I now know. I looked down at this little girl that I held who looked back at me with big brown eyes. And I knew that it was perfect. And I exhaled.

My little angel. In. Every. Way.

~ humps

Don't Walk Away

If you have read a few of the posts here you would pick up on my mixed emotions about BABY growing. It is at once remarkable, exciting, fulfilling to watch her grow up before my eyes, and I feel so grateful to be able to witness it all. At the same time, I am sad that she is growing up so fast. She's my little baby!

The latest in the series of exciting, heartbreaking milestones - crawling. We already have a baby that sits up and rolls over. She loves "standing" with your help and pulling herself up. I'm waiting to see what she will do next. It seems to be changing every week.

Her journey towards crawling has been entertaining. I am left wondering if all babies like this. Is this the sequence to crawling:
- She started pushing up on her arms a while ago.
- She then started pushing up on her knees so that her butt was sticking up in the air.
- She learned how to push up on both hands and knees - table top style.
- She has been working the "take off", where she bounces on her knees and looks like she might launch herself across the room.
- She has been using her arms to pull herself in a circle.
- She uses her arms to push herself backwards.

All of these things combined with the sitting and rolling over, means that she is actually "traveling". She can help herself to that remote or cellphone or grocery list or key chain that was once a few feet away. But she hasn't yet got the momentum to really start crawling.

So I relish in small movements. I relish in each minute that she sits up on her own and looks up at me, and stays there. For all the time that she doesn't crawl, walk or run away, she is with me. That makes me a happy mommy.

~ humps

A Great Grandmother

My mom has one of those really big photo albums from the 70s with the hundreds of pages, gold accents on a pearlized hardcover, clear plastic vinyl and sticky pages, large metal binder-style rings. You had to take the plastic from the sticky pages apart and put the pictures inside. The photo albums were so heavy that I'm sure they were a hazard to have in the house. Those albums were kept stashed away.

A few of the photo albums are dedicated to pictures of me as a kid - I'm an only child so I was the subject most of the time. I used to look at the pictures in the albums a lot. It was great to relive the vacations with aunts and uncles, the holidays with cousins, the summer days with neighbors and friends. I especially like looking at pictures when I was a baby - most of which included my grandmother.

One of the most memorable pictures I had was with my grandmother giving me a bath.

My grandmother and I have always been very close. I can't put into words how much she was a part of my life since I was young. Caregiver, baby sitter, role model, teacher, therapist, confidant, accomplice, companion, nurse, best friend, chauffeur, daycare-pickuper, booboo-kisser, overall-everything. We used to spend a lot of time together. She took care of me.

About 10 years ago she moved back to the West Indies for health reasons. Her arthritis, food allergies, back problems made living in Toronto's cold winters too difficult. When her job with a bank became redundant and early retirement was offered, her physician suggested that was the perfect time to make the move. Most years, she comes up to Toronto for the summer and returns to the West Indies before it gets too cold. Sometimes she avoids the hassle and doesn't come.

My grandmother bought a ticket back to Toronto in time for BABY's birth. She wanted to be here. I wanted her here. There was no else that I wanted to share this summer with more than her. She was at the hospital when I had BABY - at times walking the halls with me, rubbing my back to relieve my contractions, holding my hand when I needed it. At 2:00 am she was holding my little girl in her arms. I cried. My daughter is her 10th Great Grandchild.

This summer we spent a lot of time together. When I brought BABY home from the hospital, my grandmother was looking over my shoulder as I gave her first bath. Just like the picture that I remember looking at in my mother's albums.

Her flight left on Friday. I brought BABY to say goodbye. My grandmother kissed her forehead, called her Princess and hugged her. BABY smiled. When my Grandmother comes back next year - God willing - my daughter will a year old. She will be older, different. She will be waddling instead of just reaching.

Over the last few months I have begun my own extra large photo album. It might not be like the 70s version that my mom had. There are no sticky pages or plastic, or metal rings or hard covers. But there are lots of pictures of my grandmother.




~ humps