Momentary Escape Needed.

Confession.
I love my daughter but tonight I do not like her.
I came home with a headache and my sweet child came home happily high from her music class only to come crashing down in temperament ten minutes later. Oh, said her awesome nanny... By the way she didn't nap today.
Warning One.
Then she whips out a bag of new hand-me-down trinkets from bigger girls she knows.
Warning Two.
It is filled with easy to break and lose toys and did contain a barbie which I hid the second I discovered she had left it behind before heading off to music class.
No barbies for many years for my girl. And now I have the challenge of somehow extracting the clothes that remain for barbie in precious new hand-me-down bag.
Lily forgets nothing so the clothes will never escape our lives even if there is no buxom plastic long legged creature to model them. And missing barbie will haunt us too no doubt.
And her Big Girl Panties are off.
Warning Three.
No interest in the potty this evening, nor diapers or anything else.
Cool.
Headache more prominent.
Battle to get her into the tub. Three negotiations to get her to sit. One concession to get out of the tub to use the little potty, no big potty, no little potty, no big potty.
She went.
Fleeting moment of happy-joy -feelin-alright-whoopin-it-up for mother and child.
Wondering if I have any Tylenol. Or anti-kryptonite antidote.
Back in tub, good groove going in the water, mom feelin ok.
Out of the tub and bedtime story go nicely. I thought we were OK.
Crib proved to be unwanted. Screams, moans, tears, I want chewy (frozen teething thingy), I don't want chewy, no blankettttt, yes blanketttt... More tears.
I closed the door and turned on kitchen sink to drown out noise.
Dishes never so much fun.
Sink off, I hear chewy hurled out of crib. Then cries - I want chewwwwwwy!!!!!
More cries.
Crying stops, transition to singing and clapping.
Then a few conversational yells - Mom! MOM!
MOM!!
Quiet.
Oops. Jinx. More singing.
She is cute.
But I am tired. Mono style tired. It is still light out and all I want to do is sleep.
Sleeping Beauty Style Sleep.
I'll take the prince wake up too.

June.

Summer is here.
There is so much about it that I love and look forward to, though its arrival seems to have converged with so much other...
stuff.

Steamy heat in NYC brings everyone out of hibernation. Back we go the the parks, to scurry under sprinklers, shed our layers, relish in the outdoors, sneeze among the trees. All good things. But this weekend, as the indoor isolation thawed, families were everywhere - all on their outings together. Granted, I saw a lot of dad's on the periphery of the sandbox, glued to their cell phones, wishing they were golfing (as one friend aptly put it) but none the less, they were there.
And it's hard to see.
And Father's Day is fast approaching.
And we had a picnic with dear friends where Lily couldn't get enough of her courtesy Uncle Miles - chasing him up and down hills, watching him throw a frisbee, "Miiiiiillllles!! Miiiiiiiiiiles!!", holding onto his finger in the stroller - just like she'd do with her dad.
And this time almost three years ago we were in the hospital desperate for answers, and when one finally came, it was the one no one ever ever ever wants to hear.
And we scattered Alan's dad's ashes this weekend. In a beautiful place.
Alan wasn't there.
And Lily is wearing "big girl panties". Day three.
And learning how to pump her legs on the swings.
And she just climbed the round metal ladder arch all by herself at the playground.
And I just attended her soon-to-be pre-school, her first real school, at a meet and greet.
I think everyone was married. One man asked me if my husband was there. I cheerily chirped "No, I'm widowed". I tried to keep it light. So light that I'm not even sure the words registered to him. Without skipping a beat he told me where his wife was in the room.
Good to know.
There were lots of single parents there, but I think their spouses were all at work.

That's how the world looks to me.

The island of Lily and Sus.

And yet we spent many lovely moments this weekend with our own family and dear friends. But as my therapist reminded me, it doesn't take the loss away.

It's always there.

Thank god for beautiful and loving distraction. Our most caring friends and family.

And sunny days.

While dining at a friend's house on Monday - as Lily and I hung out at the potty - I could hear them put some music on. Seconds later, strains of Mona Lisa and Madhatters, an Alan favorite, wafted into the bathroom. And there we were, me and our girl, smiling at each other, marveling at Lily's "achievements".
And happy we had new good friends in the other room.
The words rang true.

I thank the Lord for the people I have found.

Grateful for such people.
And Lily is just like the mandolin.

Sprinkles beauty over the sadness.

Glory Days.

Somehow this morning I found myself reading the early email exchanges that Alan and I exchanged the month that we met. A dangerous foray, a beautiful rediscovery, love so new, hearts on the line. And I think what brought the tears to my eyes was the happiness and humor and honesty and assertiveness that so blatantly radiated from Alan's words. So odd that I'll never have love letters to share with Lily - to be pulled out of crisp, yellowed envelopes, stuck together and foxing - but I could, if I dared, print them in one of those self-designed books to share with her one day.
(Suuuuuuuusss...... He's saying.....)

I will. I must.
For the babe, Babe.

Her dad was hilarious, engaging, witty. A most unintentionally, stunning writer. I'm not sure he ever noticed that in himself but this morning I was taken in again by his words. The life which flowed from his messages was electric.

It is good - so good - to be reminded that we found such happiness in each other. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his stride. We both spent a long time looking. And once we found one another we felt as though we were home. We met in September of 2003, and were in love by October.
Yes, Alan endured a lot of unfairness.
Life's most undeserved slap. But.

He
Was
Happy.

I just needed to hear it again. Be reminded of the excitement that carried us through all of the amazing and difficult times. Be reminded that Alan's life had beauty and richness throughout it.

Life is much easier these days, I am more positively focused on the present and future, but I still walk unknowingly into walls of memory and often the sting takes me right back. Yesterday. Today. I am always caught off guard but the hurt is old hat. And that's how it will always be, I think.

Nearing three years, without my man. But feeling alright.
Before all the clouds there was wonderful sun.
Note to self, wonderful sun.
And now I share my life with an eternal optimist who just called me to see if I could "bring home cookies and lollipops".

She, too, shines through her words.

Love from Above.

There is so much I miss about living with my other half. I will always long for Alan, but the hollowness that once was unbearable, is much more "manageable" now. Still present, but not crippling, freshly filled up with love for our girl. Holidays are especially hard because of the hype, but really, everyday has monumental challenges. I wish we could parent together.

The days leading up to Mother's Day, usually filled with uneasy yet hopeful anticipation, this time around, were joyful. I love hearing Lily's upbeat chatter as I near the front door and her elated footsteps as she sprints to greet me. This week, numerous freshly crafted cards awaited me. She opened them for me, excitement not to be contained, my favorite envelope decorated with band-aids.
Her artistic choices never fail to charm me.

The best came Saturday night as I was closing the door at bedtime.

Thank you Mama. Happy Mother's Day.

Did she really just say that?!

I love being a mom.
Even if the thank you came after two attempts to avoid sleep - one "potty ploy" and the other "Mama, wanna talk to you."

I will always wish Alan could spend days with us, special or otherwise. I think this year they would have gotten bagels for the occasion, and banged away in the kitchen together concocting some sort of fruit smoothie. Alan was a noisy cook and proud of his culinary inventions. Gratefully, friends included us in their Sunday plans and we both had a beautiful morning. I got many flowers and messages from friends and family.

I was reminded that Alan has tremendous back-up covering for him.
He manages to take care of us from all around.

He must have been trailing Lily in the park as she gleefully ran in every direction except our destination, keeping an eye on her when she repeatedly abandoned her scooter to chase squirrels and birds with spontaneous delight. I was the mother, barely keeping up - juggling stroller and scooter as I chased after her, calling her by her first and middle names for impact, an homage to my parents.

I love her name and to hear her dad's aloud as part of it.

Alas, no response from my escape artist. My free bird.
She was retrieved by friends.

But that is the nature of childhood, and this Mother's Day the best gift was seeing how happy she is.

Root and Rise.

Sometimes I'm afraid to stop. Really stop. But this morning I treated myself to my first yoga class in three years (not counting the ones with Lily within).

I managed.

I was graced with some peaceful prep in Jamaica just last week. Lily, my mom and I spent a week on the beach. Digging in the sand, resting in the sun, and swaying to "real" music as Lily called it. Live music. Music that floated weightlessly through the air heavy with heat.

It sounded good.
And it didn't hurt... so much.
Only when Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay" was piped into the bar.
But that was on day one, and I know it was Alan joining us, to watch his girl flit among the candles and plantain chips, stopping only for the occasional sip of sparkle water.

And in the downtime, as Lily drifted through four hour naps with a sitter watching over her, I sat in the shade, dipped in the ocean, and cleared my mind of most things. I felt quiet within and peace all around me.

It was a relief.

Alone time with no distraction can be daunting, but this time the sadness didn't prevail. Melancholy still hovers and the sadness is always there, but last week I didn't feel so... broken. Perhaps it's that I felt a bit more rested, maybe it's because I heard news that two books I've written for Lily (and others in her shoes) have found a home with a publisher. Whatever it was, I actually felt good.

Feels good to feel good.

So today as I breathed in and breathed out to the theme of "harmonious expansion" I felt like I was finding a place for myself in this world again. Taking a bit of space back - filling in my own footprints again. I keep seeing Lily with her watering can, recklessly pouring the ocean into her beach molds and sandprints and that's how it felt.

Filling up again.

I was never not here, but over the last few years I have been lover, caregiver and now nurturer. I resent none of it, but you have to take the back seat when other lives are leaning on you.
You just do.
And I know I have the love and strength to do so.

I will always be that tree, deeply rooted and there for those who need an extra stronghold - but today it felt nice to reach up into the air and to reclaim some space around me.

Giant Step.

Confronted regularly now, and consumed by Lily's persistent inquiries after her dad I summoned up the emotional strength to meet with a professional who has extensive experience with children who have endured loss. It was a challenging yet empowering moment - I have been anticipating these conversations with Lily for some time and thus far, have handled them thoughtfully; but I wanted to make sure the language, and concepts, were appropriate for a two year old.

A precocious two year old with a huge heart, and insatiable curiosity.

The therapist's thoughts were comforting and blunt, truthful and bold.
Honesty, she said was the best, even at an early age.

I just say he died? I asked.
Yes.
Dada died. He got very very sick, not a sickness like what you or I get when we go to the doctor, but a different kind of sickness. One where medicine doesn't work, and his body stopped working.

His body stopped working - the note I wrote down.

His body stopped working.

Note to self, his body stopped working.

Sigh........
Tears.
Deep breath.

Okaaaay... So that's what I say? Just like that?

Yes. This will be a long process for her and over the years she'll begin to understand more and more and you can elaborate appropriately. For now she'll take in only what she can handle and she may ask over and over again. She won't understand much of it, but it's a beginning. Some day you'll say he had a disease called cancer, but you'll reassure her that most people die when they're very, very old.

A beginning.
I created her dad for her and now I must take him away.
And her Papi too, who passed away last summer.
Who she knew and paints for frequently.
I have never misled her and always told her we can't and won't see them, but "died" took it to a whole new level. Perhaps more so, for me.

I wonder if I should have mailed Lily's valentine to Alan.
She made him one, I mailed it.
I did.
The address just said Dada.
And I put it in the box on my way to work.

Sure enough, 6:34 the next morning, from the crib, she asked.
Wanna see Dada.
Wanna see Dada on Sunday. (Weekdays now a large part of our vocabulary, in no particular order)

Sitting up in bed, with a cheery voice I said, He died, Pumpkin.
Dada died. And I gave her the scripted explanation.
She gazed toward the window, processing the information.
Dada died, she said.
And then she asked again.
I repeated myself.
She asked about Papi.
Same thing.

Two deaths, one morning.

But it went OK. I said we can look at pictures of them and talk about them.
That is always a nice idea to her. We do that a lot. A comfort to me too.

And it was OK.

On to talk about the day ahead.

I had told the therapist re. heaven that I believe in a more Buddhist approach - that Alan is everywhere - in our hearts, in the nature all around us, in the fiber of her being.

That his spirit is everywhere.
Can I say that?

Sure she said.
Dada's spirit is still with us. Within us. Around us.
She'll take in what she can.

And so she did.
One large step forward, with Alan by our sides.

Wait. What? (for real?)

Confession. After watching an episode of Downton Abbey, I stumbled on a reality show about a woman who I think guides soon-to-be-parents through pregnancy prep. All I caught was one couple who felt as though the arrival of their child was doomsday and were in denial of the the wife's largess and then another couple who HAD A FOCUS GROUP to evaluate names for their child.

Come ON.

OK. Yes, it's a reality show (in NYC) and as "real" as they are they're scripted and staged to the nines so perhaps the couple was roped into this idea.
I hope they were.
I hope they were horrified by the idea but wanted to help a desperate producer/friend out. Because it was... Appalling.

Perhaps I'm bitter.
No... No. No. Not over that.
Who leaves a name, that will carry one through life, up to strangers? The last thing I wanted to know was how strangers might feel about our names. One bad association and it's engrained in you forever. Then you can't use it.

Miffed.

Alan and I chose names from a hospital bed. And the best ones had been mulled over for years. We had options for a girl, a boy, two girls, two boys, a girl and a boy, and triplets.

The twins, Alan decided, George and Gracie.
The triplets? Larry, Curly, Mo.
And no, it wasn't the Fentanyl, or morphine talking.
Lily Alan's dad at his finest.

But I am envious of partners who got to plan their entrance into parenthood together. My pregnancy was pretty dark, with dashes of sunlight. There were family members and friends that wanted to be a part of it - wanted to share it with me - and they did. To an extent. But I didn't want anyone but Alan.
I wanted my husband. I wanted the father. I wanted him.
Here.
And I had a minor complication with the pregnancy so nothing seemed like a done deal. I just wanted to get to the finish during what should have been a joyful sabbatical from everyday life. Deep down I was overjoyed at the prospect of our child but it was hard to balance the tangible, death, with the intangible - life-on-the-way.

Life Saver on the way.

Lily was my lighthouse and all I wanted was a healthy child.

So the bitterness? It's more about fortunate people who don't know how good they have it.
Pregnant?
Buck up, you got yourself there.
With ease.
And you probably had fun too.
No needles, hormones, ice-packs. Chemo.
So don't whine about how you can't deal with baby-proofing, where your "you time" is going, or the over-tanned man who doesn't like the name... Bowen. Jesus.

Bowen?!

(See? Good thing they don't know me.)
Is this really what some lose sleep over?

Lucky people. Lucky kids.
Life.
You get a life out of this.
Period.

Rant... Over.

Alan Around.

Lily turned two at the end of February and I recently found myself thinking about how her actual birthday celebration didn't break me down emotionally as it might have. And I marveled at how I pulled through it with such joy. And then I remembered a moment during the party in which I did find myself in a bubble - looking out at the families around us - moms and dads doting on their kids - feeding them pizza and cupcakes - snapshots of what the two of us are but also what we might have been.

Had we been three.

It was then as I was kneeling next to Lily, perched at the head of her long long table, that I whispered my gratitude for her in her ear and told her how much she is loved by me and her dad and everyone that was there. It was a fleeting moment but one that the two of us shared.

I am grateful that she is such a happy little person, and that our lives are graced by so many old and new friends and family members. It is beautiful to watch her forge friendships - I love hearing her yell to a friend across a room or playground to come swing with her, to come jump with her - I love to hear her exclaim to her teacher "look at me!!" when she and I are dancing together in a class, or to a neighbor as we gallop down our hallway, to her Tio and Tia as they enter a room or to her Granny when she has something to show her. "Do it!!" she'll say to a friend if she wants them to experience the joy of a party blower, or if she wants you to repeat something you've done that she finds hilarious.

She lives life with the transparency of a two year old.
Confident, shy, ebullient, skeptical.

I hope Alan can see how she's evolving into a little girl. No matter how she and I go about our daily lives together, not an hour goes by that he isn't in my thoughts. In our thoughts, as Lily mentions him too. Often.
I want to ride a bus with Dada.
Dada come to Lily's house.
I wanna go there with Mama and Dada (pointing to a picture of me and Alan in Yankees Stadium).

I never want anyone to forget Alan. In snippets I introduce Lily to him every day. Yet every day as she grows closer to him in knowledge, his physical presence here, is one day further away.

But within the last month I was reminded by two different people - how Alan is remembered. And those moments were the best gifts I could ever receive. One acquaintance who had only mingled with Alan at occasional parties commented to me how she remembered his quiet, ever observational presence, his sweet unassuming demeanor; and a dearer friend mentioned to me that Alan had been on his mind a lot last week and proceeded to reflect on Alan's character in so many nice ways.
Then he launched into his disdain for the overly commercial new Yankee Stadium.
And another friend joined in about the scoreboard crowded with logos, & barely visible scores.
Alan was chiming in from above. Nodding his head.
Spitting out sunflower shells as he did.
I know it.

I heard him. I could see him.

Unexpected, heart-stopping, gifts.
I love to talk and to hear about Alan.
Moments like those help to reassure me that his presence is very much alive.

Yes, he's gone, but he's still here.
And Lily will know him.
Through herself, through me, and through the eyes of others.

Word Girl. (Conversations)

Lily has her mama's gift of gab.
Chatty Cathy her dad would have called her.
She has a good ear. And mind.
Her language is colored with imagination, her observations wonderfully specific.
A recent snippet overheard with her animals and dolls went like this:
No. No. Listen. Listen. So ummmm... You have a jacket? Go to museum? See butterflies and dinosaurs? OK. Let's go. Let's go.

Recent responses/interactions with her include:
Oh, just playing.
No thank you, I'm just fine with my water.
C'mon Sister, let's go to the airport. (OK pumpkin,where is it?)
On Broadway.
I have my wallet to go to Whole Foods.

And on a recent sunny daytrip to the park, as she gazed up at the sky:
The moon is smiling.

A recent phone conversation:
Hi Mama! How are you?
I'm fine pumpkin! How are you? Are you having fun?
Yes. Had a lollipop!!!!
Oh! Was it yummy?
Yeah. We need playdough.
OK, I'll get some more.
Jake and Jojo coming over!
Oh great! Are you going to share toys with Jake?
Yeah. Lily's toys...

Favorite expressions that emerged before her second birthday: "I just love it." "I'll be right back!" "Just one minute" "Just two seconds" "Just ONE second".
"Hmmm. Where could it be?". "It's lost. It's lost. It's lost."

And at her two year check-up with the doctor:
C'mon Mama, let's go.

At a party this weekend, which was probably my first in about three years, conversation was amusing on a... different level.
The best of the best coming from a guy I once dated.

So... How's married life treating you?

My friend Sam and I had a good laugh later as only dear friends and fellow widows/widowers can do with me. We contemplated responses.

Hmmmmmm. Not so good... Not so good.
Not
so
good.

Even Alan would have laughed.

Maybe he did. Somewhere.

Sitting on the bright yellow larger-than-life moon that night.

Instead, surprised but not taken aback by his not knowing,I responded,
"Actually I'm widowed."
Oh... Sorry... He says fumbling awkwardly. Actually, pathetically.
"Yes. He passed away almost three years ago. Well, two and a half years ago."
He's still stuttering feebly, looking at his feet. (How old are we now?)
Helping him out, "But I have an awesome two year old girl, and she's the best."
STILL mumbling and shuffling, staring at his drink muttering Oh. Wow....

I had to walk off. I couldn't bare his uneasiness. I felt bad for him.
What's wrong with that picture... I gave him a break.
Went to the food table. Couldn't handle his not being able to handle.
Baba ghanoush was good.

Wow is right.
I did get to a party. And I spoke to adults.
Grown-ups we call them.
A challenging first but I think I did just fine.

But nothing beats talking with my two year old.

Mama Lost?

A fellow widowed blogger is plotting a move to a foreign country - now that the future she had planned with her man has ... dissolved.
And I am envious.
How I long for a new beginning.
A fresh start.
A chance to re-channel the rest of my, hopefully long, life. Find myself again.

Lily is by no means holding me in place. She is my anchor and my dreamgirl. She helps me to take flight during the hours of a day. Visit imaginary places. Gives me a glimpse at the wondrous future that she will experience. She is a delightful dance partner. And gives me tickets to every place she's visiting. Last night we went on a picnic, to the airport, to Central Park, we sat on a bench. Sometimes we just sit and wait, or watch the images in our minds float by. I follow her lead when it's time to move on. She is a wonderful companion.

The most beautiful reason to live.

Most of me says, "It's her turn now."

It is.

But a tiny part of me says "I'd like another turn too." Turn at what? Not so sure. I'd like a new home, with more space and a chance to cook and entertain with the wedding gifts we never got to enjoy. Sounds unfair and selfish in light of Alan not being here ~ to mix drinks or to torch his excellent Bananas Foster for all to enjoy.
To live.

But what else can I do?

I'd love to love again but that's just a dream. Not sure how to do it anymore. Not sure if I'm capable of it anymore, except for that which I shower on Lily. My love for her knows no bounds. But I am lonely for adult companionship. I am envious of others who go on family vacations, weekend getaways. I am envious of the co-parenters who share responsibility and can let one finish a meal while the other tends to the child. One who can stay home while the other goes out - without watching the clock as the tab runs for a sitter. One who can take the kid to breakfast while the other sleeps in. I know dual parent households have their own constraints with work and multiple kids and infinite exhaustion - but there's still that ability for one to get rest, or alone time sometime. Sometime.

Lily and I could go on a vacation but I am exhausted, so trips that just the two of us embark on are never restful because I don't... rest. I rarely get out at night and if I do, my next morning begins anywhere from 6:15 - 7am. No break. Ever.
Wouldn't use that lounge chair much.
To think I'm finally up early enough to snag the good one with an umbrella on the beach and yet, I'd never use it. Good for drying towels. Diaper changes.

I relish in our time together. But mama needs some breathing room.
A teensy weensy bit of space. Just a little bit.
And one 8am wake-up. "Just One", as Lily says when she lobbies for a lollipop.

Ahh me. How pathetic this all sounds. But it is how I feel,some of the time.
Much of the time.
Bad mama me.
The guilt that comes with that confession. Whew.

And yet, I cannot imagine a Lily-less world. It's an impossibility.
She is my world. She charms the universe.

She hangs the moon for me just like her dad did.

I only know myself through her these days.
But somewhere in there is Susan, Susie, Sus.
I just need to find her again.

Ready to Play.

Our girl is almost two. She mentions it to passers by and is perfecting the peace sign with her fingers to indicate her age. To commemorate her milestone she climbed out of her crib last night. Twice. She is a wild child.

A wild flower, rather.

Full of energy and light.
With actions of delicacy and moments of speed.
Just the other night I sighed exhaustedly as I watched my mother chase her through a Vietnamese restaurant.
"Want to say 'Hi'" she says.
"You can say hi to everyone after dinner, Lily".
She then reached for her third pair of chopsticks, which she handles expertly.
Just like her mama.
Except when she's running around restaurants.
Then she's her dada.

A few days ago Lily walked into the livingroom with a baseball card of Don Mattingly.
"Here Mama, Dada."
She had found in one of Alan's drawers a few pages of baseball cards that had been a gift to him during one of his hospital stays. Alan was not Donnie Baseball but he would have ben honored by the comparison. He had many great catches and hits of his own in the playing fields of Central Park. Somehow, Lily managed to pull out the card of his all-time favorite Yankee.

Hi Babe. We miss you. Thanks for the message.

It had to have been a hello from above.

We love you. And Lily has now filled up her purses with the entire collection. She will need a tutorial on all of the players, so when the time is right we will have Uncle Ron, Auntie Jill and Uncle Steve (all longtime friends of ours) come over to give her the details she'll need to follow her dad's footsteps right into the stadium.

I will be on hotdog duty. And sunflower seeds if need be.

Oh to be almost two. So much life ahead of her.

And boy could she run the bases.

Shipmates.

My birthday came and went quietly, celebrated with a few friends and family. I was, as usual, beyond exhausted, and also blue. What can I say, loss lingers.

Forever.

My favorite part of the day was in the morning when Lily climbed into a plastic container and said, "Lily sailing with Dada. Lily sailing with Dada and Mama! Come on Mama, come in boat?" So in I climbed. And off we went. For a couple of beautiful minutes we rode the waves on our yellow carpet and I imagined wind on our faces, all three of us, looking ahead, with nothing but the sound of waves lapping up against our boat.

It felt good, the quiet togetherness.

Lily is very into birthdays these days so she sang to me and other people whose birthdays had passed or were to come. She is very excited for hers which she reminds me, everyday, is "coming up". She also likes to say that presents she sometimes gets are "from Dada". Sigh.

And again, sigh.

I used to tell Alan about how I always loathed February as it was a cold and dreary month and when I was little I had to postpone my party due to pneumonia. I sulked inside my tee-pee on a hand-me-down beanbag chair. He loved that anecdote. When we learned our babe would be due in February he said "Sus, now it'll be a good month!".

He was right. (Yessssss, Alannnnnn. You were right...)

This very cold month has been laced with pretty snowfall and with me resides the prettiest snowflake of all. Lily can brighten any blue period. And her influence is instant. Although this month has had it's struggles - I think we're sailing through just fine.

Comes With Love. A Fairly Easy Lesson.

If you do love someone, with every fiber of your being - whether it be a child or partner - there are things you owe yourself, and them, to do. Alan and I were somewhat prepared, yet many of the crucial issues we addressed in the 11th hour. I am grateful we did, but it was an uncomfortable, sobering scramble and not something you want to deal with when you're savoring a life.

This what I'm talking about:
Wills.
Reconciling bank accounts.
Locating the life insurance policy / finding out if there's one through work - you never know.
Clarifying instructions regarding a DNR/DNI end of life care.
Consulting a lawyer if there will be remaining sperm/eggs/embryos if you did assisted reproduction.
Organ donation.
What you'd like for yourself re. burial/cremation.

Much to contemplate, all of it of dire importance.
Bottom line? Do it. You can handle it.

If you have a spouse, especially if you have a child, if you are employed - or not, get life insurance NOW. Do it. It is painless, you call an insurance broker, they do a brief review of your medical history, send someone to your home to do bloodwork and then they issue you a policy. It is easily implemented and takes less time than the usual procrastination.

Do your DNR/DNI form NOW. You can find basic ones on line, but they are state specific so make sure you find one for where you live (here). Spell out how you want your end of life care whether you're in an accident or struck ill or live until you're 102 like Lily's great grandfather. You owe it to your loved ones who will also be your caregivers to tell them whether or not you want to be on breathing tubes, kept alive if brain-dead, given enough pain-killer to be pain free, put in a hospice facility, taken care of - if possible - at home. Yes, these are heavy, terrifying issues to contemplate but trust me, you will be grateful there is no second guessing/hoping praying you're honoring someones wishes when you cannot communicate with them.

Wills also can be found on line and will need to be notarized. If there will be multiple beneficiaries or if it is going to be complicated, get a lawyer.

List - somewhere safe - all of your bank account numbers, passwords, policy numbers etc... in an place that a loved one knows about. If you find yourself in an untimely, dire situation, try as best you can to transfer or empty all cash bank accounts into the soon to be survivor's name. Name your beneficiaries on ALL of your accounts. Now. Here's the deal. When someone passes on, their accounts technically should be inaccessible and will become what's known as part of "the estate". It may be frozen if there is debt to pay, bills to negotiate, etc... If your loved one's finances are already in your name it allows you to protect some assets or at least have them readily available for immediate needs. Estates can be frozen for MONTHS. There will be bills to pay, funeral expenses, post-mortem taxes to prepare for your loved one, and you may not be psychologically/spiritually able to return to work. I wasn't.
And I was pregnant.
You may need all the financial help you can get.

Do it by February 14th. Is it a Hallmark card? No.
A deep way to show your love? Yes. (And you can do both. Woo hoo!)

When I look at Lily she is the embodiment of all of Alan's love and mine, combined. And everyday I consider her Alan's valentine to me.
She is well worth all of the planning above.

Happy Dreamer

Dada come down.

She says waving Isadora Duncan style in the air above her. Not sure who or what gave her the idea he was up there. She often refers to people, alive, in the sky so perhaps it's her imagination at work.

Oh Lily, Dada can't come down.

Dada come visit.

Oh Lily, Dada can't come visit.

Dada come visit, soon!

Oh Lily, that's a very nice idea but he can't come visit Lily. Not soon.
Not ever.
I'm sorry my love. But Dada loves you soooo much.

And then I wonder if I should have said loved and I rephrase with the latter.
I have never said ever to her. It doesn't make sense at this age. But the questions and ideas are repeated often and I need to lay the groundwork for deeper conversations that sadly are not far off. I don't want to mislead my dreamer.
For that she is.
She has more and more wonderful thoughts and her imagination is wild at play. Yesterday she cooked and served me eight playdough pies in about five minutes. I was also fed rice (a rock), served multiple cups of tea and also cake.

Thankfully she moved on to other topics as she ate dinner and she remained all smiles. Her hands, greasy with pasta, are Alan's hands. Someday when she's a bit older I'll share that with her. She may not get to hold them in hers, but she'll know exactly what they looked like. Her fingers are tapered in the very same way. Narrow at the top, wide at the bottom.
Just like her dad's.

What is most beautiful about life with Lily is that she lives for the moment. She has recently begun to grasp the word "soon" (she also enjoys the expression "right n o w " - and she uses it often with requests for anything), but in general her world is up and down. In place. She lingers in the moment. She lives for the present and has no concerns or thoughts of the future. "We're in a rush" has no bearing on her, and I say that thankfully even though getting a jacket and shoes on and moving out the door can sometimes take seemingly forever. But she is so everpresent. And that is a gift for me as well. I worry constantly about the future and ruminate heavily on the past, so Lily is my anchor in the beauty of a day.

Such a difference she makes.

To Sleep...

Must be the time change. And teething. And travelling. The CA to NY transition. And congestion. This was a first but I am tired and my daughter-formerly-known-as-Lily must be overtired.

Last night's 90 minute Avoidance of Sleep Concerto:

Maaaaaamaaaaaaaaa!
Big Babyyyyyyyy! Big Babyyyyy!
Little Babyyyy! Little Babyyyyyy!
After 15 minutes, Mama concedes, tucks in babies.
Sleep Mama's Bedddddddddddddd!!!!
Mama's Bedddddddddd!
Pour glass of wine. 15 more minutes of drink and no peace.
Nose Runninggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg! Nose Running!!!!!!!
Enter Mama. Wipe Nose, remind sobbing babe how to do it herself. Convince her to lie down, round three.
Sit on couch. Drained. Tantrum eruption continues.
Mouse Painttttttttt!!! Mouse Paintttttttt! (new book) Read Mouse Painttttttt!
Bunny Honeyyyyyyyyyy (another book)
Sob. Hyperventilate. Another 15 minutes. Mama frozen on couch. Shell shocked.
Sleep on Mama's elbooooooooowwwwwwwww! Sleep On Mama's elbow!!!!!!!
Nightgown offffffffffff! 20 minutes of this.
Blood pressure rising.
Must be.
Re-enter mama. Unwind Lily t-shirt sleeve that that has somehow turned tourniquet. Plea. Come on sweet pea, please go to sleep Lily. Calm down. Everyone's sleeping.

Rattle off list of 40 friends and relatives and dogs who are sleeping.

Sobbing, hiccuping, shaking ensues.
Little baggggggggg... pointing to new mini mermaid just like her cousin's in mesh bag.
Mama caves in, gives it to her.

Mama exits. Furious. Exhausted. Fantasizes about going to the neighbor's or around the block for a few minutes. Gets cookies.
Ponders parenthood induced obesity while watching TV on mute.

End of rope. Desire to shake baby creeps in but is warded off. Another 15 of screaming, tears and reckless jumping trampoline style.

Mother-formerly-known-as-Mama steams back into room. Takes toys out of crib. Turns out nightlight. Tells daughter that she HAS TO SLEEP and that MAMA IS MAD AND SAD (quoting one of her newer books) AND VERY TIRED. Lily lies down, mama calms down, covers her with big blanket, sweeps her hair out of tears on cheeks, tells her she loves her soooo much. Kisses her, strokes back.

Mama Go. She says.

After all that.

Exit mama.

All is quiet. Wait 20 minutes. Creep in, climb into bed. Pray for sleep. Ask Alan for help. Pray for sleep for the night and all other nights.

Got it, at least last night.