Loveless Motherhood

Before motherhood, I had no clue what to do with a baby. As the youngest of my immediate and extended family, I was never really around anyone littler than myself. I have never babysat nor held one without wincing or from the safe (but socially awkward) distance of a long-arm extension. I didn’t even know where to begin making those ridiculous googling noises in return. And their wobbly bobbly heads… I wondered why parents didn’t simply keep them home until their little necks were strong enough.

Thankfully, there was a wealth of resources to get up to speed during my pregnancy. My parents showed me how to place a diaper on Mitchell, my Fabulous Frog, with the warning that my own baby would not be as compliant nor still when changed. And essentially everything else came online. BabyCenter provided me with pregnancy tips long before I had to search for bathing instructions, growth charts, or vaccination debates. How to nurse and store my milk came from Medela. And scattered far and wide across the web, were endless product reviews to inform me about the various gear my baby simply couldn’t live without.

I was appreciative that so much information was available. I couldn’t imagine if I had to shamefully ask each and every one of my queries out loud. I took immense comfort in anonymously trolling through the messages of advice, exhaustion, pride, and even rage. I figured if I only read enough - I could muster the confidence to at least not drop my baby. The only lingering question was: would I be able to love him? Despite already relishing every little kick along my pregnant way, I feared that if I were to need a c-section I wouldn’t release enough oxytocin to properly bond. I feverishly worried I would be a cold and mechanical mother.

These ideas made my husband think I was insane. He thought it wasn’t possible to not love your own child. And he seriously couldn’t understand why I would waste energy fretting about this. I didn’t think it was so far-fetched. You feel a connection or you don’t. And even more frightening, if you don’t, there is no online tutorial to help. I imagine plenty of women suffering from post-partum depression (PPD) struggle to feel closer to their babies. How many of them would admit this to themselves let alone their families? Would I? Would I simply pretend to be a great and loving mother until the day I snap?

On June 14, 2007, Ismaeel was born on a sunny afternoon in NYC (without the help of an epidural or c-section). It was uncanny how much he resembled my own baby photos. We couldn’t stop staring into our matching brown eyes and as he clutched onto my pinkie with his entire little hand, I had no doubt that I deeply and truly loved him. I was relieved to see the same feisty moves from his ultrasound days and laughed that I didn’t realize I have known and adored him all along.

Still, I don’t regret my pre-natal paranoia. While I didn’t suffer from PPD or a lack of bonding with my son, I now realize motherhood will require me to put my ego aside, often and without hesitation. Even though there is plenty of online support, it doesn’t absolve me from asking for help or speaking to my partner about the things I fear and struggle with. I can only hope that embracing this newfound accountability will strengthen my marriage as much as the bonds between me and my sons.

And yes, even on the days I snap, I love them all without question.

Burger Time

I make a seriously mean burger. Are any other words even needed ?

Please see photographic evidence above and try to ignore the fact that yes, we are still enjoying the disposable luxuries of left over birthday party plates. I’m sorry Captain Planet…

With a home filled of ever hungry boys, it didn’t take long to realize making a bowl of cereal or a grand salad (with light dressing) for dinner just wasn’t going to cut it. The boys simply crave their meat. Even Siraj, who is only slurping down one pureed ingredient at a time, squeals and hollers to try a piece of steak. If only his toothless gums weren’t always in his way… But yes, I am handling more raw meat than I ever imagined - which is just another reminder that motherhood is not for the squeamish.

As for my burgers… While my spontaneous recipe is not in the archives of The Best Hamburger Recipes or Best Burger Recipes - I humbly offer it to those who are suffering from a less than burger experience (of their own doing).

We regularly buy our meat from a Halal butcher in Astoria so I start off with some pretty fresh and high quality chopped meat (often a mix of ground beef and lamb). I lightly season the ground meat with black pepper, garlic flakes, breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, and an egg. I mix everything with my hands and roll into ball-like shapes. I am not overly-concerned with making them the same size nor perfectly round. The most important thing is that the meat is room temperature before I start grilling. On a non-oiled frying pan set to medium high, I place them down to sizzle, and touch them as little as possible. Before flipping them, I drizzle some balsamic vinegar to start creating a little gravy. My husband likes his meat well-done, but I still take his burgers out when they are warm and slightly red-pink. I do this because they will continue cooking from their own heat on the plate and if I left them on the stove they would get tough. As the meat “rests” – I make a gravy sauce by adding some mushroom broth and lemon juice onto the hot pan where the burgers just were. Once thickened, this is poured over the resting burgers. The burgers soak up the sauce while I lightly toast the hamburger buns with aged swiss cheese and roasted red peppers in my beloved DeLonghi Convection Oven. I place some feta cheese crumbles inside the toasted buns right before adding the oh-so-saucy burgers and they are ready to eat…

One important note is that Ismaeel sees absolutely no value in eating bread and will eat his burger bun-less and with a fork. So, don’t panic if you want to go anti-carb as well. It is all about the protein anyway…

Buon Appetito!

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For…

While it is hard to see Ismaeel’s babyhood fading fast – it is thrilling to see him mature into a wonderfully exciting little person with his own ideas. Granted, his best thoughts involve some sort of dessert or monsters with terrible great big claws but they are nonetheless his very own ideas.

Today, he asked my husband and me if we would like to share ice cream with him. The image of him “treating” us to ice cream is simply charming on its own. However, compared to the dinner of leftovers we were trying to garner enthusiasm for – it was more than easy to agree that Ismaeel’s stroke of super-genius was the best detour home.

Rather than waste our time with Mister Softee we went straight over to Soho for the Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream Truck. Seriously supercalifragilistically good. My husband and Ismaeel choose to share a double-scoop of chocolate in a bowl, and I went for peppermint & chip in a sugar cone. All the while, poor little Siraj stared at us with a sense of wide-eyed injustice.

I am a fierce ice cream purist. I could argue for hours unapologetically about how ice cream should be forever soft and never chewed. Even at home, I mash our ice cream to a creamy bowl of fluff before serving. So the whole premise of adding chips to peppermint should have negated the possibility of my order. But this is Van Leeuwen where organic peppermint is complemented by ultra-thin Michel Cluizel 72% chocolate chips. The chocolate nearly melts within the ice cream and certainly doesn’t need to be left behind as sugary chocolate grit in your teeth. Imagine a York Peppermint Pattie grown up as a refined frozen cream with an even cleaner and more natural mint. The sugar cone was perfectly crispy sweet and so good it seemed downright cruel not to let both my husband and Ismaeel try it.

They are already talking about the flavors (pistachio? hazelnut? strawberry?) that we will try next time. Though, I suspect Ismaeel will remain loyal to his sweetheart chocolate. The whole excursion was a refreshing end note to a warm summer day. If only every day was filled with such toddler spontaneity!

And now on to those uber-thrilling leftovers. Sigh…

Daddy-Oh !!!

Here's a not-said-enough-gratitude-list for my husband...

Thank you for:

• Sharing in the trust that our family would grow with God’s will.  
• Being so pleased to hear about both our pregnancies that you were in a state of pure disbelief for days. 
• Patting my back and still carrying on a conversation despite me kneeling during one of my many bouts of morning, afternoon, and evening sickness.
• Supporting me during each and every wild pregnancy craving. I know it was tough keeping the refrigerator fully stocked with lemonade and having to share in all those “I-must-have-a-tres-leches-doughnut-right-now” moments.
• Waiting patiently as I stood in (yet another) too-long line for the bathroom.
• Not only not fainting but being such a trooper during labor. No one delivers the perfect cup of ice-chips quite like you.
• Falling in love with Ismaeel and Siraj utterly and completely.
• Cherishing being able to nourish the boys by simply holding their bottles and stroking their hair.
• Being such a warm and compassionate father.
• Sleeping on the lambie rug next to the crib while Ismaeel fought to go to bed without his pacifier for the first time.
• Waking up with me at 4am just to enjoy listening to Siraj’s cooing.
• Staying up late to decorate the boys’ room with glow-in-the dark stars.  
• Buying a set of home theatre speakers so we can watch Pixar movies with the boys in surround sound. 
• Trying to help with the morning routine even if it means Ismaeel winds up with his shoes on the wrong feet.
• Letting me take two and a half years to build up enough nerve to have Ismaeel’s hair cut for the first time.
• Helping Siraj get settled into slumber while Ismaeel and I read “just one more” story.
• Introducing a voice of calm while the whole house seemed overwhelmed by the trials of potty training.
• Getting just as excited as Ismaeel does when a helicopter is nearby. 
• Cheering for Siraj’s early crawling skills even if it means we have to race to baby proof the house again. 
• Making sure the boys never miss a good night’s kiss.

Happy Father’s Day !!!

21 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

Black, Never Let Me Down

Other than to share the occasional link or video clip, I rarely update my Facebook status. However, I realize this is one of the fastest and effective digital communication tools at my disposal. And so today, at the height of my motherly and fashionable shortcomings – I felt it appropriate to broadcast the following:

Lesson Learned:  A mother of toddler and infant boys should never wear white. Never.

And here goes the whole sordid story:

Getting dressed in the morning is probably one of my least favorite activities. Truth be told, I miss my smaller sized wardrobe and pre-motherhood privacy to try on enough outfits until I am satisfied with my appearance. Instead, I typically grab whatever is clean and vaguely matches. And I try to look back as little as possible in the mirror. As I am easily bored with this technique, I save aside a few pieces of new clothing for particularly low self-esteem days. And so, today seemed like a wonderful day to bolster my confidence by stepping out in a brand new white cardigan. I remember buying it and thinking I have to remember not to drink cranberry juice in this one. Little did I know that Ismaeel would find a way to get tire grease and toddler fingerprints on my backside or that my poor new summer sweater would fall victim to Siraj’s spontaneous bout of intestinal mayhem.

Before motherhood, I never knew such messes were even possible. We are talking a serious comedy of errors here. And I am sure there are some sort of decency standards that preclude me from going into any further details. Basically, my cardigan was pristine until the world started to move and rumble in slow motion and the words soiled or ruined wouldn’t even come close to describing the aftermath.

Funny enough, I wasn’t really upset about it. While I hope that he stops touching grease to point out how messy tires are, I am pleased Ismaeel still enjoys giving me such heartfelt hugs. And little Siraj looked enormously refreshed after his own incident. What mother wouldn’t be relieved to know their baby shouldn’t be suffering from a tummy ache anymore?

Luckily, I still dress in layers and being in NYC means there are plenty of clothing stores within t-shirt walking distance. I am also particularly grateful that they are open before 10:00AM. I was soon flipping through the sale rack at Gap and was delighted to find several replacement cardigans in my size. However, just as I rejected pastel pink and was about to walk to the cashier holding light baby blue – I realized I didn’t want to watch history repeat itself. At least not today. So, I promptly stepped out of line, past the sale rack, and grabbed a full price sweater in black.

Oh, my sweet slimming, matchable, and stain-camouflaging black, promise me you’ll never let me down. You do, after all, cost twice as much...

Happy 7-Month Birthday Baby Siraj !!!

Baby Siraj's toes.

• At 7 months, Baby Siraj is pleasantly settled into the chaotic existence of NYC babyhood.
• He is wonderfully sweet and curious about the world.
• Despite his slender weight and lack of teeth, he is a voracious little eater who constantly tries to steal our table food.
• He attempts to keep up with his big brother’s exuberance by mastering the fastest crawl I have ever witnessed just to chase him from room to room.
• He will happily and intuitively play with anything given to him but has a particular weakness for trying to tear important mail.
• He is contemplative yet loves to be near everybody.
• Essentially the only time he cries is if we break eye contact or happen to walk out of the room at the same time.
• He knows his name and enjoys hearing it exclaimed when we discover he has created some sort of mischief.
• He is able to remain calm throughout the loudest of his friends’ tantrums and will partake in a full slumber in his crib as long as everyone kisses him goodnight first.
• He makes us consider ourselves lucky every day.
• And he is absolutely worth every bit of the constant fatigue, heartburn, and nausea that his pregnancy brought me.

Here’s to celebrating the special day by introducing some blueberry YoBaby organic whole milk yogurt to Siraj’s diet. Now if you could only see his delighted legs kicking and spinning wildly as the spoon comes near…

Countdown: Days Until Ismaeel's 3rd Birthday...

14 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

Countdown: Days Until Ismaeel's 3rd Birthday...