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It caught up to me. Time. The lack thereof. I wondered when I'd fall off posting weekly, which is really not such a challenging thing. But Jonah is on school vacation, Abe is getting simultaneously more interactive and more demanding and more mercurial, and I am bone tired. I should get ready for bed right now, though getting ready for bed with a new baby in the house is more like being an actor dressing for the evening's performance.
The greatest innovation of the past couple of weeks has to be the smile. The photo above is not even the best example of it - it is strangely resistant to camera documentation. But it leaves its imprint right where it needs to - on my soul.
Abraham was named for a great-uncle on my father's side, who was killed in Poland during the Shoah. Another great-uncle, Yehuda, who escaped from the Nazis, eventually settled in Australia and wrote a memoir. Here is an excerpt:
My brother Abraham, with his wife Fenia and their beautiful eight-year-old daughter Shoshana, were killed in Siedlce during the “Aktion” there on 22 August 1942 (“Aktion” served as an euphemism for liquidation). All the people had to sit in the rubble and stones at the marketplace with their heads bent down for two days and nights, without a drop of water or any food in the squalor of those very hot August days.
Suddenly, Abraham got up and vehemently warned his fellow Jews of the fate that awaited them, urging them to fight and try to escape from the German assassins. Before he could finish, a salvo from a German machine gun killed him and his family, and probably others around them too. The Germans liquidated all the ghettos in that region and deported the Jews in cattle trains to nearby Treblinka, where already in 1942 the gas chambers and the crematoria worked around the clock.
This episode was described in “Yizkor Siedlce” (Memorial to Siedlce) by an eyewitness who survived the “Aktion” and the war. May their memory live for ever!
Illness struck the older brother this week, a virus that would not - and still has not - quit. Each day, I hoped against hope he could go back to school, and each day he didn't seem well enough. Last night he spiked a 104 degree fever, so today I finally took him to the doctor. It is just a virus, but I've never seen one stick to him for this long. Poor little buddy. The other night I made myself cry by imagining it was brought on by his broken heart. It hasn't been easy for him to be home with me all week, resenting how much of my time his baby brother takes up. He has said some very illuminating things in recent days, by way of expressing his feelings about Abe. One that sticks out in my mind is one he said in a whisper, then repeated out loud when I asked: "He can't live here." Why? I asked. "Because he doesn't know how to SLEEP." I'm amazed at his capacity for expression, even when what he expresses isn't exactly on the mark... His teacher called our home phone while we were out at the doctor today, and all the kids left a message saying they missed him and hoped he'd feel better soon. Reason #1003 why I love his school.
Baby Abey is on the receiving end of my overzealous dosages of fenugreek to boost my milk supply. For a couple of days at the beginning of the week, I was taking 12 610 mg capsules per day. I woke up Wednesday morning smelling like an Indian restaurant, and realized finally that Abe's frothy, bright chlorophyll-green poops were caused not by the minuscule amounts of formula I'd used to supplement for a couple of days, but in fact by an excess of that milk-producing herb. I have cut way, way back on the fenugreek, but his poops are still quite green. I'm hoping they switch back to the standard-issue butterscotch soon. He's been way gassy because of it, too. Bad mama. Also, having Jonah home all week has meant zero stimulation of Abe's baby senses, aside from the occasional colloquium while he's digesting. Looking forward to getting back to his "education" next week when we have some Jonah-free hours...
This week, I really wanted my mom here. Even with the horrendous conflicts we always seem to get into when she is here. She told me when I was pregnant that when I had another kid I would want to have her around, and she isn't wrong. It sure would be nice. But then I walk outside and run into people I know & like and feel that this is home. Living near my family, but in the suburbs, would not have the same feeling.
We got through the first week. The bleary eyes, the excess of house guests. The bris during a blizzard, still surprisingly well-attended. The second week = settling in. Stability. Reality. Some whopping good tantrums by older brother, usually at the same time (late afternoon), always with the same root causes (sleepiness, displacement). Wild hormonal swings of mama, but nothing requiring medication.
Right now it's quiet in the house - Jonah just left for a playdate at a friend's house - and Abe is sleeping in his fleecy lamb suit that's been on since we got back from our early morning doctor visit (he's as slow of a gainer as his brother was, causing me much angst but luckily not as much as last time around). And it's a sunny, warm day. And I am full of gratitude. I believe I got some sleep last night (always hard to say for sure). I've had some coffee. And I want to thank:
Josh - for being the partner in parenting that I wish every mom had. He does so much, and then finds a way to do more.
My friend Sara - who may read this eventually. Sara, you called at the precise moment I needed you to yesterday. Thank you for letting me vent. Thank you for reassuring me it will all be OK. I actually believe it will.
People who do good - and more specifically, in our case, the many parents at Jonah's school who know what we are going through and who have organized to bring us dinners. What an amazing community we've fallen into. I can't wait until my turn comes to reciprocate.
If I'm being totally honest here, I should probably thank myself too. Jonah's difficulty gaining weight when he was born was made all the more difficult by the fact that I shared our predicament with our families, which led to numerous daily phone calls to find out how he was doing, whether he was eating enough, and a downward spiral of advice-dispensing that left me really confused and vulnerable. As soon as I saw that we'd be dealing with the same thing this time around, I asked Josh to not discuss it, and as difficult as it is for me, I haven't discussed it with my parents either. I am reaping the reward now - a chance to help Abe get back to his birth weight without a Greek chorus of voices second-guessing everything I'm doing.
