Once a week, my daughter goes to dance class. Since the dance center she attends is closer to my parents’ house, I take the opportunity to head to their house after picking her up from school. We use this time to hang out with the abuelos and I get a chance to see my parents before it’s time for her dance class.

It’s become such a regular part of our weekly routine, that every Thursday when I pick up baby girl at school, she confirms, “Are we going to Abuela’s house?” On the rare occasion when something interferes with our plans, she gets disappointed. I do too, honestly. There’s something very comforting about knowing that each Thursday afternoon we get to see my parents. My mom and I talk, she feeds us as only your mom and an abuela can, and both baby boy and baby girl get the extra hugs and kisses from their grandparents.

For me, seeing the bond that my children have with my parents is especially precious because I never had such a relationship with one of my grandparents. I didn’t grow up near any of my grandparents – my paternal grandmother passed away long before I was born and the other three grandparents lived in New York City. While this is something that I certainly wish I had as a child, it’s something I’ve accepted for what it was. But, it does help me appreciate the special relationship my parents have with my kids. It helps me understand that it is important for them to visit their abuelos, to have sleep overs, and talk with them on a regular basis.

So, while it’s certainly not the only time we visit my parents, dance class day will continue to be a ritual. We will enjoy what the abuelos have to share with us and keep on nurturing the treasured connection such a relationship affords.

Did you have a special relationship with your grandparents?

Every day when I pick up baby girl from school I ask her the same questions: How was your day? Did you have fun? and What did you guys do? The majority of the time her answer to the last question is a simple, “I don’t really remember.” She can tell me all about what games her and her friends made up during recess and who she talked to while waiting at the car loop, but it takes a lot of digging to find out what they did or talked about in her Kindergarten class. However, fast forward a few days, or even a week, and little snippets of what they’ve done come out in casual conversation.

With Martin Luther King day being celebrated early last week, it wasn’t until the weekend that we were able to find out more about what she learned in class regarding the man behind the holiday. Of course, as is customary for my baby girl, it wasn’t a straight “here’s what the teacher told us” conversation. The information almost always comes out in things she says or does; she also has a habit of surprising me at the most unexpected moments. Here’s a glimpse at a couple of conversations we had over the weekend that were sparked by her class’ discussion of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

No More ‘Whites Only’

“I’m glad the ‘white only’ signs are gone mommy,” she said as she was watching TV and I was changing baby boy’s diaper.

“Me too baby.”

“But, what happened to the babies?”

“What do you mean sweetie?”

“Well, since people with dark skin couldn’t be in the same house as people with white skin, what happened to the babies with dark skin? Did they take them somewhere else?”

“No! They stayed with their parents. If the babies have dark skin, then that means the parents did too, right?”*

“But, what about baby boy and I? You don’t have dark skin, but we do. So, pretend the ‘white only’ signs were still around – what would happen to us?”

“You don’t think I have dark skin?”

“Well, it’s more like tan.”

“Ok. Well, they didn’t separate the babies from their parents, sweetie. They all stayed together in their house. And, actually mama, if we lived back in those days, they would have thought I had dark skin too, just like you.”

“Oh, ok.”

*I realize this statement is not completely true, but I didn’t really want to get into an explanation of genetics with a 6 year old.

Love Drives Out Love

She sat at our dining table drawing a picture as I fed her little brother. When she finished she showed it to me as she normally does.

“What does this say?” I asked her pointing to the words I had already read, but wanted her to explain.

“Love drives out love.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well, at school they told us that Martin King-”

“Martin Luther King?”

“Yes, Martin Luther King said ‘Hate does not drive out hate, only love does.’”

“Ok. And, do you know what that means?”

“No, no I don’t.”

“You guys didn’t talk about it at school?”

“No.”

“I see. Well, what he was saying was that if someone has hate in their heart, to give them more hate, by being mean or violent, is not going to take that hate away. You have to show them love to take their hate away.”

“Ohhhhh…”

“Do you really get it?”

“I think so.”

“He believed in being peaceful. He didn’t think you could make someone who has hate be better by being violent. You needed to show them love and be peaceful to help them change.”

“Like the people that wanted the ‘white only’ signs!”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Ok. Well, I was trying to say love brings more love. Love drives out love.”

“I get it. That’s a very nice thought baby girl.”

It always amazes me how much farther her mind takes things. She’ll always have a follow-up question. Or she’ll think of varying scenarios and wonder ‘what if’. She loves to explore and imagine. This is a good thing. It will help her empathize and understand the world better as she grows.

Discussions on race will no doubt continue in our house for a long time. As she learns more and more about this country’s history, she will come home with more questions. It will take a long time for her to fully grasp all that was, all that is, and all that may be. And, that’s ok. I’m still working on it myself.

Top photo by Tim Krepp

Today my baby girl turns five years old. That is a big deal. Five is (in my mind anyway) officially the age when kids turn into big (little) kids. That is, they are no longer babies, preschoolers, or whatever other term you use; they are now actual little kids. Which is why I wanted to be sure to properly celebrate her birthday this year, even though I knew I’d be 38+ weeks pregnant and our second child could arrive at any time. Thankfully, we were able to pull it off and our baby boy cooperated and waited to be born. His big sister was able to have her birthday party this past Saturday amongst many friends and family. Today, she gets a second celebration with her preschool classmates. She’s a happy five year old girl!

My husband and I thought it would be fun to ask our daughter some questions in order to get inside the mind of a five year old. After all, she’s been talking about turning five for a really long time and has set some pretty high expectations about it. She has been commenting for a few months now how she’ll be able to do this and that when she turns five: “I can’t do that now, because I’m only four. But, soon I’ll be five. Maybe I can do it then!”

So, this morning, we sat down and asked her these questions. Of course, in true kid form, when you try to record the answers and save the memory, is when they decide not to talk. She wasn’t as talkative this morning and did not provide very detailed answers as I know she would have normally, but nevertheless, here are her thoughts:

1. Do you think turning 5 years old will change what you do each day? No.
2. What do you want to be when you grow up? A baby doctor.
3. Why are you excited about turning 5? Because, I’m turning 5 and tomorrow the baby’s coming out!
4. How long did you wait to turn 5? Like, almost 100 years. I wish every day was my birthday.
5. Anything special you want to tell me about turning 5? I’m excited about being a big sister for the baby.

We plan to ask some of the same questions next year and see how the answers differ. Hopefully, we’ll be able to build a nice scrapbook for her of each year’s answers, so that when she gets older she can read through it.

What humorous moments or thoughts have your children shared with you?

Mommy, you know there are bras for little girls too?

Well, not for little girls like you, but older little girls, yeah.

Like for 5 year olds? (Mind you, she turns 5 next month and apparently the world is going to drastically change when she’s 5 – she’ll officially be a big girl that can do any.thing. So she thinks.)

No, not for 5 year olds. Older girls. Like 10 maybe.

Nuh uh! [classmate's name] had a bra on when she was 3!

Are you sure it was a bra sweetie? Maybe it was an undershirt, like the ones you sometimes wear.

Noooo. It was a bra.

How do you know it was a bra? Did you see it?

Yes, she showed it to me.

Well, baby, even if she did, you’re not going to wear a bra until you need to – when you start growing breasts. That’s when mommy started wearing a bra.

Awww…I wish I could wear a bra.

Baby girl, don’t rush it. Enjoy being a 5 year old and not having to worry about that. When the time comes, you’ll wear a bra. Your body knows when it’s supposed to grow and when things are supposed to happen. Don’t rush things, ok?

Ok, mommy.

So went our conversation a few mornings ago. I’m not sure if her classmate really did have a bra on or not – I would hope not, since there’s no reason – but, somehow my not-even 5-year-old got the idea in her head that she needed a bra. I know she sees them in the stores too as we shop for her clothes and nowadays they look really pretty. I cringe every time I see a padded beginner’s bra. Why does a 10 year old just starting to develop and wear a bra need padding again? Aside from the padding, the bras in the little girls’ section are definitely much prettier than the ones around when I went through the ritual of picking my first bra. I definitely get why they are enticing for my girl.

Still, I can’t help but think of what else is coming my way. Did I ask my mother such questions at such a young age? What other questions will I have to answer within the next year and especially when she begins kindergarten?

I am not shying away from such conversations, but it would be helpful if I could peek into her little brain and know ahead of time so that I can prepare myself. It would also help if she waited until after I’ve had breakfast and fully woken up before she springs such heavy conversation on me.

If you have a little girl, at what age did she start asking about bras? What other questions have you fielded from your young children already?

[photo credit: Glamcheck]

My three year old daughter is incredibly cute. I’m not biased or anything. Just see for yourself.

See? I told you so.

Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she’s an incredibly sweet little girl as well. And smart. Also? Funny. Truly funny – not just “Oh, she’s so cute so I’ll laugh at anything” funny either.

I love all these qualities about her. She’s definitely got a strong combination going for herself.

Sometimes I look at her and I can just see the wheels turning in her head. Then she’ll burst out with some random thought. I love those moments. They give me an opportunity to glimpse into her little brain and get an idea of what she’s thinking about all day.

Some of the random thoughts she’s said lately:

• Mommy, you’re my best friend.
• When I grow up, I want to be a detective.
• Daddy’s a funny guy, isn’t he mommy?
• You know what abuela? I’m from the United States.

They all make sense to me and my husband. And all show different characteristics of baby girl: love, aspirations, admiration, and culture.

She continually surprises me and never ceases to amaze me. And I just want to eat her all up. But, then she’d tell me “Mommmyyy, we DON’T eat peopleeee!”

What craziness do you love about your children? Let’s share some positive memories in the comments to get away from the everyday aggravations for a little bit.

“Brian’s funny.”

“Oh yea?”

“Yea, I like him.”

“Do you?”

“Uh hmm. He’s my boy-friend.”

“Your what?”

“My bo-y-friend.”

“Is he? And why do you say that?”

“He was at the playground. And I asked him if he wanted to hold my hand. And heeee saaaaid YES!”

“So that’s why he’s your boyfriend?”

“Uh huh.”

************************************************************

Little Cesar is always in time out. Every other day when I walk in to drop off my daughter, there he is at the front of their classroom, sitting by himself at the table. He’s adorable with his little chubby cheeks. Even in time out. And I feel bad for him.

This is the same kid that lied on my daughter’s second day of preschool and said she had been bad. He always talks to me or my husband. You can tell he just wants to talk to someone.

On this particular day, little Cesar looked up at me from his time out chair and said, “[something I didn't understand]…Brian’s girlfriend.”

“Who’s Brian’s girlfriend?”

At this point, my daughter came up to me and showed me something, so little Cesar sat for a second thinking.

Then he said, “Her! She’s Brian’s girlfriend!!”

And then I hear “Yeeeee-aaaaa!” from the corner and see little Ms. Megan (who’s sitting on the potty bench) is the one being little Cesar’s back-up homegirl.

Seriously? The fact that my daughter thinks she’s Brian’s girlfriend is a known fact amongst the other little boys and girls??!!

What in the world is going on at this preschool?

If this is the crap I have to deal with at THREE (almost four), I fear greatly for the teenage years.

In fact, I think I’m gonna just lock her up soon.

*All names have been changed cause I don’t want their mommies to beat me up if they ever find this blog.*

I needed it.

I needed to come home last night after a long day at work and just sit down. Sit down with my baby girl and share some applesauce. “With two spoons mom! So we can say cheers!”

“Claro que sí, mama.” Of course.

While we shared our applesauce, we listened to dance music. And it really was dance music, like what they play in the clubs.

In the car ride home, we had danced. “What’s the name of this song mom?” I don’t know, I said. I told her the type of music was called reggae, though. And that was good enough. So we bopped our heads in sync to the rhythm.

When her daddy came home she told him, “We were dancing to reggae dad!”

Pride. My girl has pride. Everything she does, she tells us proudly.

The evening continued smoothly. We danced some more – to a special request of I Like to Move It. I think it’s probably her favorite song at the moment.

We played. She read her Leapfrog Tag Little Mermaid book. And before we knew it, it was bath time.

But, this time it was different. There was no rush. No madness to get it all done before the bath. Even the bath itself was a long one compared to most nights. And while daddy bathed her, I sat back and watched a bit. I contemplated.

And being the little princess that she is, when she got out, she told me her hair needed to be combed.

So I combed her hair. Do you remember the feeling you get when someone else brushes your hair? Maybe it’s just me, but it always makes me feel so peaceful. Except that this time, I was on the giving-end. And it too was peaceful.

It was a good end to the day. A great way to say good night to my love.

I needed it.

Did I ever tell you about the day my daughter was born?

I’ve told the story so many times in this past month that I feel like I should tell you as well.

Now, this is going to be a bit long, but I feel you need to know all of the information so that you can get a true feeling of what went on that day.

A bit of background story first…

My doctor swore up and down that my daughter was in position and ready to be born. This was around 36 weeks or so.

A short while later, I was sitting at work one day and just wasn’t feeling my baby move as much as she normally did. You have to understand, that my baby was *super* active in my belly. So much so, that my husband nicknamed her Samurai-J, like the cartoon Samurai Jack.

Since she was not moving as much that day, I called the doctor. After once again doing the pelvic exam and stating she was in position and he could “feel her head,” he sent me to the hospital for a non-stress test. They were not able to get a proper reading on this test, so they decided to send me for a sonogram, just to be sure.

Well, the sonogram was fine, and baby girl was good. Whew! What a relief.

So, I casually ask the tech, “And, she’s in position and all looks good?” To which he makes a face, turns his head and says, “No…actually, she’s breech.”

WHAT?

You’re kidding, right? But, the doctor said he could feel the head?

Shit! That means…

Yup, by the time I was out of the sonogram room and heading back up to the nurse’s station, the nurse confirmed that “You’ll be needing to have a c-section since your baby’s breech.”

After I got over the initial shock, anger, and disappointment (because, yes, I actually wanted to experience normal childbirth for my first baby), I accepted what had to be so that she would be healthy. And no, I wasn’t about to try to deliver her vaginally when breech.

I was scheduled for a c-section on a Tuesday. The Wednesday night before the day, I began to have pains. Because the pain was low and was also in my back and came and went, I assumed they were contractions. I rode it out through the night because it wasn’t horrible and not very often. I woke up on Thursday with the same pain, so I figured it’d be safe to call my GYN, who sent me to the hospital.

The hospital was unable to track any contractions and I was pretty sure they were going to send me home (or rather I thought I’d be heading to work). But, the nurse came back in saying, “We’re going to go ahead and deliver this baby today! Doc said you’re close enough and rather than send you home for the weekend with pain, we’ll just do it now.”

Uh, what? But, I’m not prepared. My bags are at home. My mother isn’t here yet!

I’M NOT MENTALLY READY YET!!!

Of course, I had a few hours before the surgery, which gave my husband time to run home for our bags and gave my mom time to arrive and all that good stuff.

Now here’s where things really get good…

When the anesthesia was administered from waist down, the doctor made sure I was numb. I swear he pushed his knee down on me.

I confirmed that no, I didn’t feel anything. I was good to go.

My husband wasn’t in the room because they have some ridiculous rule about him having to be out for the anesthesia, but they “would call him right in.”

And then the doctor cut. Because my doctor was a trigger-happy, hyperactive doctor who didn’t wait for the nurses to call in my husband.

And.Then.I.Felt.It.

I felt him cut. I felt pain. Oh so much pain.

I literally felt the knife cut into me.

So, I screamed. I screamed like I’ve never screamed before. I screamed things like, “Get my husband in here!” And oh yea, “STOP!” and other profanities I’m sure. It’s hard to remember exactly.

I was asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling pain and not just me tugging? Because you’ll feel me working in there, but shouldn’t feel actual pain.”

Hmmm…I’m pretty sure that’s pain alright! Now, get my husband!

And, as my husband walked in, his first sight was me laying naked on a table and crying hysterically.

Of course, now I would have to go under general anesthesia, and my husband once again had to step out of the room.

Down came the mask on my face and the next thing I remember was me being rolled down the hall towards the recovery room.

How is she? Did you see her? Is she ok?

Yes, I saw her. She’s fine.

But, were you there? Did you get to see her come out?

Yes, I saw her.

Is she ok? Where is she?

I was a rambling, bumbling fool who was 1/4 awake from the anesthesia. My husband says I asked him the same questions about 5 times.

He later filled me in on what happened while I was out. He walked in right as they were pulling her out.

He heard her first cries. Saw her grabbing at the cords and giving the nurses hell while they cleaned her up.

And, I did not.

Which, still makes me sad to this day.

But, all is well and I have a healthy baby girl.

One day we’ll record this and make a video, because it’s way funnier to see us act it out.

Of course, my husband tells the story *a little* different than I do. His version involves much more anger and many more curse words.

He says he’s “never been so happy and so angry at the same time.”

I concur.