The Vaccine Question
Is there anything sadder than seeing your baby cry her eyes out when she gets a shot? Oh, how I am dreading tomorrow. Victor can’t handle it. And I don’t want him to have to. Because my heart breaks in two–and he is much sweeter than I am.
I am avoiding the government hospital. I don’t want them to give the baby the TB vaccine. It creates a scar on the arm from a huge blister that pops. And our doctor said that it was really an unnecessary vaccine due to our lifestyle. We got her Hepatitis B shot through the office, but they tend to get a little pricey. They are free through the government. So, we have debated bucking up and heading down to our local hospital for free vaccination
Victor said to me last night as we were discussing our options, “Jania, the baby is healthy. Why does she need to get a shot?” He didn’t have his shots when he was little. They lived out of town–and things like doctors were a commodity. In fact, he visited the neighbor day after day when he broke his arm. The neighbor would pull on the arm, and wrap it up. He had no medicine. No cast. And he can remember lying in bed crying at night. To this day, that arm is weaker–and you can feel the lump where the bone didn’t heal correctly.
He also had whooping cough and in his words was a “bad Mexican.” Good Mexicans don’t get sick. He was always sick. He shaved years off of his poor mama–causing her to worry about him with all of his mishaps. But he was lucky. She buried three other sweet babies who became sick.
So will we be getting the vaccines? You betcha. Because a moment of crying is so much better than the idea of living without my littlest love. Sigh.
Dear Mama
One of my favorite songs by the Carter Sisters and Johnny Cash video
Dear, Mama, now that we’re older
We can see the load on your tired old shoulders
Mama you’re a trooper, Mama you’re a soldier
Mama, you mean a lot to meShe always got me out of bed early Sunday morn’
And took me out to church
where I could learn about Lord
Mama tried to tell me how my life was gonna be
But I was young and wild,
and it was hard for me to seeDear Mama, now that we’re older
We can see the load on your tired old shoulders
Mama you’re a trooper, Mama you’re a soldier
Mama, you mean a lot to meMama, I want to tell you one thing for sure: you always taught us right from wrong when we were younger. And if we had listened to you then i know we would have saved ourselves a lot of problems. Now that we’ve grown up and we’re all so much older, we realize that you always knew exactly what you were talkin’ about, Mama. And you sure do mean a lot to all of us.
Dear Mama, now that we are older
We can see the load on your tired old shoulders
Mama you’re a trooper, Mama you’re a soldier
Mama, you mean a lot to me
Mama, you mean a lot to me
‘Nuff said.
My First Mother’s Day
Feliz Dia de Las Madres!
My taxi driver chuckled today when I asked if it was “de las Madres” or “de las Mamas.” Perhaps it was my American accent, or maybe it was the idea of it being the day of mamas. In any case, it was a fantastic day!
Last year I wasn’t a mama. I bought my mama a sweet coffee cup–and this year, I am going to buy myself one. After all, you only get one a year! Or do you? (insert maniacal laugh here…) I am referring to this wonderful thing called being-a-mama-to-a-Mexican-American-baby. That means the best of TWO worlds–including (but not limited to) TWO Mother’s Days!
My neighbor greeted me this morning outside and reminded me with a hug and a jovial, “Happy First Mother’s Day!” Ahh… That sounds good. I returned the greeting, but didn’t realize as I headed off to work what was in store for me. See, although I was in Mexico last year, I wasn’t a mama. And even though I love my mama dearly, the grandness of this day was a little lost on me. Not the case any longer.
I got hugs as soon as I walked through the door of the school. Women I don’t even really know were hugging me and telling me congratulations. I love greeting with a kiss now, but I remember it being so strange a little over a year past. My students walked in the door with their arms spread to shower me with their love. I received some candies and a new wallet/purse from the school.
And I left with my head a little higher.
Then I got home. Snuggled my baby. And reveled in this amazing job. There is nothing in the world that has ever made me feel like this. It isn’t the attention, the presents, or the pride. It’s the sweetest baby in the world staring up at me with big Mexican eyes–making me fall in love with her over and over and over…
Feliz Dia de Las Madres!
Dear Baby From Mama
Hi My Sweet Little Girl,
I am watching you smile sweetly at your daddy. He’s whistling and making funny noises at you while he tickles the space between your eyebrow. I am glad you still have space between your eyebrows, but I am thinking that won’t be the case much longer. I won’t pluck them though–not until you’re old enough to care about them. And if you turn out looking like this we will celebrate your beauty.
I see you getting bigger and more observant. And I feel the pressure. Because, Baby, I want to be the best mama I can be. I know I’m a novice when it comes to being a Mama. But to be the BEST? I know what that means:
It means that even when I want to save you, I have to let you fall.
It means that when you fall, I show you empathy and give you a shoulder to cry on.
It means that I will continue to sit in a closet and pump you bottles for as long as I can, because I know it is the best nourishment I can give you!
It means that I will swallow my jealousy when you flirt with your Papi–because every girl needs a daddy like your daddy and my daddy.
It means that I will sing “Tell Me the Story of Jesus” to you, even when you begin to request “#1″ every time we sing.
It means that I will make sure you get to meeting, even when I think of a billion excuses for myself.
It means that I will set you up for failure now while you are young, so that I can “Love and Logic” you into a successful adult.
It means that I will support your Daddy when he gets after you (even though it isn’t the way I would do it).
It means that if you want to be a car washer, “starving artist”, or bicycle mechanic, I will support you.
It means that if you want to be a teacher, doctor, lawyer, or indian chief, I will support you.
It means that if you want to quit your job and move to another country, I will support you.
It means you will have my unconditional support (this statement is invalid if you ever decide to drop out of high school, smoke cigarettes or do anything harmful to your body.)
And when you do stupid things (because I know that you will–even though I am dreading the day that happens), I will still love you–but I will (try to) allow you to suffer consequences.
It means that when you get hurt roller skating down a ramp, I will rush you to the doctor and love you up.
It means that when you’re sick, I will clean up your throw up without letting you know that you’re disgusting–and I will sleep next to you to be there in case you need me.
It means that if ever you do need me (while you’re living your own life in some remote place), I will move heaven and earth to be there.
And, Lord help us all, when you start getting hormonal–I won’t make you feel like an alien. Even though you will most assuredly act like one.
It means that I will probably embarass you one day. There is no way I will be the “cool mom,” and you will pretend that you don’t know me. But I will show you how to love yourself by not caring what others think.
It means that I will teach you to love unconditionally: the old, the sick, the weirdos, the unfortunates, the privileged and the poor.
And when I get old, I will hide my weakness from you–to give you extra time to love your Mama.
It means that when our roles are reversed, and you’re giving me a bath–I will probably complain and worry that you’re wasting your time on me.
When I look at you, Ale, I see how perfect God made you. And I mean it when I sing, “I really think that God above created you for me to love. He picked you out from all the rest, because he knew that I’d love you the best.” I love your chubby cheeks, and if they stay chubby when you’re 29–know that you are beautiful despite what the magazines say.
I know that one day, you will grow too big for your britches. Your Mama won’t be the light of your life. You’ll make plans to be the complete opposite of me in every way that I annoy you. But if there is one thing that you should accept and adopt–let it be this love I have to you. Because THIS love is a legacy. I come from a long line of loving ladies, and like it or not, that love is concentrated all on you.
Love always and forever,
Your Mama
My baby at 7 weeks.
First Day Back!
Today was my first day back at work. I’ve been asked all day, “How are you feeling?” And then I get the weirdest looks when I answer, “Oh, I’m fine!” in a cheerful tone of voice. I know what they’re expecting. I’ve heard them all year from my friends who head to work after maternity leave. And honestly, if my husband wasn’t the world’s best daddy, you would hear the same thing from me.
Today was horrible.
I know you’re thinking, “But you just said you were fine!?”
Today was horrible, but the best part was leaving my baby. (Now I am really not going to win Mom of the Year…)
Going back in a classroom that hasn’t been your own for three months is tough. Those kids are mine. These things are mine. That desk is mine. But why is everything all out-of-place? Why do the desks have all this junk in them? Why is my desk so tidy? (haha) Worst of all: why am I having to remind my kids what I expect?
Oh, I know the answer to that… And I keep telling myself, it’s not that you’ve been gone–it’s that summer is right around the corner!! (34 work days left…)
And then there was the pumping breast milk while sitting on a child-size chair in a closet where things have been “stored” for the last 8 months. Let me tell ya, nothing says, “Come on, let-down!” like staring at all of the things you need to clean, get rid of, and organize.
On the to-do list for tomorrow: Block the vent at the bottom of the door. Apparently, the teacher spending 20 minutes in a closet makes second graders pretty curious.
The Mamas and the Papas
I’ve been thinking about this miraculous family unit–and how the gears all work together to make things run smoothly. One gear out-of-place and things get rough. Squeaky gears need a little attention to get going. When everything works together–progress can be made.
My little squeaky is really growing up so fast. I’ve heard people say that all my life, “They grow up too fast.” I never knew how true those words were until now. Her six weeks are literally just around the corner, and this mama is heading back to work. It’s a good thing I really love my other job (teaching)–because I might start squeaking too.
I was thinking about an event from a couple of years past. My ex and I were at a church convention, and were playing with all the kiddos. Suddenly, he picked up a little girl and began swinging her wildly around by her arms. Well, my sister’s arms popped out-of-place when my uncle swung her like that–and I began freaking out. The mama of the little girl said to me, “Jania, this is why God gave us a Mom and a Dad.”
I suppose I could twist that to mean that God gave us Mamas to keep the Daddy’s on the right track… But in all honestly, she proceeded to tell me that kids need a little rough play every once in a while.
Kids also need time alone. This is what my husband has taught me this week. The Mama in me wants to cuddle, love on, and snuggle my little bug all the time. I want her naps to be beside me on the couch–not out of my sight. I want to jump when she says, “Wah” and fix everything wrong in her little world. I want to make sure that she doesn’t get hurt by padding everything around her. I want her to have music and sweet sounds to sleep to. I want her to get to rock while she still fits inside the swing.
This is why she has Papi. Papi said to me the other day, “She really needs some time alone. She’s going to get used to being in your arms.” I forget the word he used to tell me that she would be spoiled. I let him take her, change her diaper, and he returned without the baby. And guess what?
Her world didn’t crash.
She didn’t cry in outrage.
My heart didn’t break in two.
And I learned a lesson.
My baby doesn’t really need to be with me every second of every day (and night). She needs peace and quiet just as much as you or I do. Logic (and my Mama) tells me that if she were unhappy, she would have let me know with more than “Wah.” Because when that
Wah” becomes “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” you bet we both go running.
Since then, I’ve tried to let little Sugar Bug do a little exercise on the floor–even when I am yearning for cuddles. She is becoming stronger–lifting her head and looking around. She’s learning to touch with intention, and loves to tickle her toy that jingle-jangles. And Mama is learning to give a little growing space to her bebita.
See, God really does know what he’s doing. He gives us Mamas to cuddle and love on, and Daddys to help us grow. (That doesn’t mean that Papi doesn’t get his cuddles in there too, or that Mama doesn’t have words of Advice for growth…) Mamas dresses us up pretty every morning. Papi wraps diapers in a no-frills-this-will-leak-soon way. Papi settles us down at night with no nonsense. And Mami hums a tune as she climbs in bed beside baby–her body rocking even though her baby isn’t in her arms. Mama scrubs baby up in the kitchen sink. Daddy worries that baby will be hurt from leftover pepper juice and germs. So how does it all work if Mama and Papi are so different?
Mami and Papi and learning to keep mouths shut. This is allowing that machine of a family unit to get moving the way things were intended by a higher power. Because the minute we start tinkering–trying to change the way things are done–it all will fall apart.
Poop Poop Everywhere
My husband likes to take my daughter’s diaper off and let her roll around naked. Apparently, this is a Chiapanecan thing. He says she needs some air on her nether region in order to keep from getting diaper rash. And I don’t totally disagree… BUT I can’t help but sigh in exasperation when she does it again.
Alexandria has pooped or peed nearly everywhere and on everything. Furthermore, I breastfeed her. So her poop is this really slimy yellow liquid. Not exactly what you want to clean off:
1) Our first bed– this was the bed that we were in right after Ale’s arrival. We moved to a different bed the first weekend. She pooped or peed (or both), and Victor had to wash all the covers in the middle of the night.
2) Our second bed– we change her diaper here most often. That means this is where husband-0f-mine likes to let her air out and “exercise.” It wasn’t long before he decided to get a mattress cover (Not a fancy normal mattress cover–but a sheet of table-cloth material from the Tela Store).
3) Her Daddy– I like to sing, “Poo-poo on Daddy!” When Victor lets Ale get a little breeze–he also will tend to carry her around naked. So more than once I’ve heard, “Oh no!” Then he comes to show me poop on his leg. ”Look what she did! She pooped on me again!” he will say proudly.
4) Her play carpet– we bought this carpet because our floors here are tile. I wanted to have a place for Alexandria to lay down and really get exercise. Yesterday Victor had her naked (Do you notice a trend here?) when she began crying. I always take my shoes off when I step onto the carpet–and lucky for me! I found out the hard way that she had peed all-over everything! (Seriously, how do baby girls a) pee so much, and b) really shoot it out there?)
Our daughter doesn’t have to have her diaper off when she makes one (I like it in Spanish when they talk about dirtying a diaper–that’s how they say it.) She likes to really spread the love:
5) All over the nice lady we stayed with in Monterrey during meeting– I look over thinking that she’s handing me Ale just to see something dripping down into the floor. Oh yes, explosive diaper. All over the front of Rosario’s skirt and all over the cute outfit she was wearing…
6) On her breastfeeding pillow– I like to prop her up on this thing. She holds her head up and will push with her legs. Actually, she catapulted herself over the top the other day. The same day I had to wash the cover–thanks to a little squirt (Not a nickname–just the verb…)
You know the one place she hasn’t made her mark yet? On me. I am really hoping to keep it that way…
Making Mistakes–Part of Learning the Language
I did it again. Only now, I’ve learned to laugh at myself. Which is good–considering everyone else was laughing too!
Rosario and Antonio in Santiago
When we went to Monterrey, we stayed with a family there. While the father and a son lived a little over a year in Texas–their English is developing. So the majority of the time (99.9%) we spoke Spanish. Or rather they spoke Spanish, and I tried… Actually, upon leaving I felt like I had learned so much! It’s amazing what five days with just a little English will do for you.
I have a friend from Monterrey who I contacted prior to visiting. Her parents live there, and I thought that if we had time we could see them. Fortunately, their photography shop was just a short distance from the family we stayed with. We stopped by one afternoon, as they were leaving the next day for a trip. Victor and I sat and chatted with the older gentleman–as he speaks English. But we went back and forth with a bit of Spanish too.
REALLY old church in Santiago, Nuevo Leon
Eager to show my skills when we were leaving, I gave a parting goodbye. Here in Mexico, they often will say, “Que tenga un buen dia.” Which means, “Have a good day.” Or in the south they more often will say, “Que la vaya bien.” Which is something close to,”Have a good one.” I wanted to say, “Have a good trip.” And I really thought I knew what I was saying. So confidently, I said, “Que tenga un buen viaja.” Which my husband told me later was like saying, “Have a good old woman (or can also be used as a term of enderment like ‘honey’.)” older woman=vieja, trip= viaje
Victor at Cascada Cola de Caballo
Later that weekend, we were looking at photos of the family on the computer. Both parents have large families, and it was a lot of fun to find out who’s who. Rosario has three brothers–and she is the only daughter. Upon looking at her family, I ask, “Quien es mejor?” She looked at me strangely, and said, “Well, they’re all good–but I guess him,” pointing at the man standing next to her in the photograph. Victor knew what I was really asking, and let her know I wasn’t wondering about the best brother–just the oldest… mejor=best, mayor=oldest
I may make a lot of mistakes, but I sure do it with gusto!
Family picture at the overlook in Santiago
Proud to be (Mexican) American
Whew! I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve written about life and living here in Mexico. Last week was a whirlwind of excitement (and a little stress) as I rushed around getting things in order for our visit to Monterrey.
I don’t know how many people have made comments about my baby’s nationality–before she was even born. They were worried about her not being American. I would just say, “She’s going to be American. I am American. Therefore, no matter where I have her–she’ll be American too.” It’s funny how (as Americans) we often don’t understand the ends and outs of being a citizen.
For example, the above statement.
I, of course, grew up in the United States (of American), and lived there most of my life. When I began paperwork on Ale, I had to prove that I had lived there a sufficient amount of time in order to transfer my citizenship to her. It’s really only five years–but when you’re the one searching through your paperwork to find proof, it seems like longer. It wasn’t too hard for me, because I have college transcripts that show I lived in the States. (I like to have extra college transcripts just in case…) Some of the citizens that were there trying to register their newborns were having a more difficult time. My heart was breaking for a couple who drove 8 (dangerous) hours to the consulate to try to gain citizenship for their little girl. They were unable to show five years, and were encouraged to try to get more evidence.
I was impressed by the American officer at the consulate. He was incredibly kind and empathetic to everyone. When a couple wouldn’t have enough evidence on hand, he would ask questions and list documents that they could bring to strengthen their case. When exasperated Americans acted like jerks while trying to secure passport pages, he just kindly apologized and kept on track. If there was one great thing about our time waiting for Ale’s papers–it was watching him.
So, to register your child’s birth abroad in Mexico, you first must make an appointment online. That would suggest that you would be seen at that time, right? Wrong. This is the government we’re dealing with here… We made our appointment at 8:45. It was the only appointment available on that day. But we knew from the appointments available on other days that appointments began at 8:15 and ended at 9:30. We showed up to the consulate, and waited to enter through security. Once inside, we were instructed by a guard to take a number. The room was already full–and we joined the masses in waiting.
At 9:00, the office behind the windows began to show signs of life.
As numbers were called, anxious Americans would go first to a window where they would pay for what they hoped to obtain. They dropped off paperwork, and sat down to wait. After a while, they were called to a second window where a Mexican worker would have prepared their file. They would ask questions, and get information needed for the American officer. The ONE American officer mentioned above. Eventually, the American officer would call them to a third window where they would take vows promising that the paperwork was correct. FINALLY, they would receive the news that they waited for.
We didn’t get to meet with the American officer until after 1:00 in the afternoon.
I can’t help but think there has to be a better way to do this–but I guess it would require hiring more people. And maybe they prefer to stay behind glass. I really expected to come in, sit down at a desk with an officer, and explain why I had the paperwork that I had. Not so.
In any case, we were SO excited when the amazing officer let us know that sufficient evidence had been provided, and we could apply for our passport. I know people get excited when adults become American through the naturalization process, but it was pretty wonderful to kiss my American baby too.
What makes me even happier, is that she gets the best of both worlds! Should she ever choose to study here in Mexico–she can! If she wants to vote in the States–she can! I am so happy to have a little girl who will get to really be a part of two very different countries.
What a lucky little Mexican-American we have on our hands.
