New Baby

A new baby was born into this world today — my husband's cousin's baby boy.  In honor of new births… the new baby boy whom I can't wait to squeeze, the royal George Alexander Louis, the darling buds of July… I would like to announce my new baby.

He's 35 years old, but he's the newest member of our family.  I don't have a name for him yet but I think he's a boy.  I've got to check his underside to be sure.

I've been obsessed with the VW Camper Van (or Kombi) for as long as I can remember.  I think this is THE MOST PERFECT CREATION in all history.  Anyone who knows me knows that nothing moves me like the Kombi.  If I were the type to get tattoos I would have sleeves of Kombis covering my arms.  For our wedding gift, one of my friends did a painting of a blue 67 Kombi with front split windows like this below (my favourite!).  For Christmas last year, I got the VW Camper Bus lego set.

What is more beautiful than this?  Nothing!

Nothing comes close to its beauty, design, concept, functionality, and certainly not its ability to invoke happiness.  These are happiness machines created to bring bliss into people's lives.  Only a design from divine hands can exhibit unrivaled beauty with a modest profile.

We are going to pimp out this baby.  All the dents will be smoothed out.  The rust will be sanded off.  A new coat of soft seafoam blue will replace the brown.  I will make window curtains in the finest linen.  Mila's college fund will now be spent to outfit this baby with new cushions and foam mattresses, pop up tent canvas, all new wood panels for the frame, new seals for all the windows and doors, brand new kitchen and appliances.  Nothing will be too good or too fine for this baby.

With the top popped up, this camper can comfortably sleep 4 adults.  We will purchase a new baby cot so that Niko can sleep above the front seats.  I'm practically foaming at the mouth thinking about all the dinnerware and cutlery that I will carefully arrange, measure with a ruler, straighten, and place in the drawers.  Then I will take them out so that I can enjoy the process of placing them in again.  I'm imagining all the lovely meals we will have under stars.  Espresso machine, toaster, solar panels, iphone dock, shower and toilet?  Only the best for my baby.    

The first meal in our Kombi, albeit in Fred's garage

  
With so much jaw dropping beauty and excitement, who has time to worry about the practical?  I know that these cars require a lot of work.  There are always little issues that pop up from time to time.  Currently the engine has been ripped out of the car and is sitting on the ground in the middle of our mechanic's lot.  An insignificant detail is that this car, in its current state, is illegal to drive in California.  We must swap in a fuel injection engine.  The other minor detail is that our mechanics from Fred's Garage are not optimistic about achieving this task.  But that's nothing a batch of cookies won't fix.  So a batch of cookies is exactly what I baked for them this morning.  The cookies, along with some sandwiches from my husband, will surely push this project along.  This might become a slight financial burden.  A second or third job will likely be imminent, perhaps another mortgage on this house.  I can sell my hair.  I'm committed to go the distance.

I'm nearly certain that this car will hear the sound of a roaring engine by the end of this year, perhaps even its own engine.  And I'm almost willing to bet that Mila, when done with college, without the help of our funds, will enjoy a meal in our dear Kombi, under the stars… maybe even a few hundred feet away from Fred's Garage (with a couple pushes from a few strong men).  

14 months

Here are a bunch of photos to mark Niko's 14 month mark.

I love when Niko looks all disheveled.

This is chan pie gnon, Niko's new favourite toy.

And a few videos

Niko was able to put herself to sleep in a loud cafe that hijacked Quentin Tarantino's playlist.  

Trying out a friend's bouncy.

While at Georg Mark's Children Place last weekend we met a visiting horse as part of their animal therapy… guess who slept through the whole thing.  

Can she move her arms?

I live in an energetic and densely populated neighborhood that has a paradoxical small-town culture.  North Beach is a perennial favourite with tourists and packs in the highest concentration of bars and restaurants in the city.  However locals make up an integral part of the fabric of North Beach.  You can never get lost in the crowd here.  Everyone knows your name.  It's hard to walk to the corner store without stopping to chat with a few friendly faces, and harder yet to escape from an invitation to lunch or coffee.  Neighbors and local merchants swoon over your kids and give them sweets when they think you're not looking.  They tell you if you've left your lights on.  They share the latest gossip.  They know your business.    

I was chatting with a man from my neighborhood while waiting for coffee yesterday.  He's my morning-small-talk-guy.  And he suddenly asked me, "Can she move her arms?", referring to Niko who was strapped to my chest in a Bjorn.  "Yes, but she has limited mobility, and will most likely not improve over the years."  Wow, I was impress that I got that out so casually without losing my shit.

It was when I got home that I fully appreciated his thoughtful phrasing of the question.  "Can she move her arms?"  It allowed me to answer his specific question with exact details, and without getting embarrassingly emotional.  "Yes she can move her arms"  Or "She's got stiff joints but we are working on increasing her range by stretches."  That's easy to say.  And it relieves me of making that hard decision of how much, to whom and when should I share.  What he meant is, "What's up with your child?"  Of course I can see that.  But if he had asked that, I would have either burst out crying, or suddenly realized that I was very late to a pressing schedule and didn't have the time to chat after all.

I love specifics.  Specifics I can talk about.  It's the whole package that I have trouble articulating.

And Niko can move way more than just her arms.  Here is a video of her in OT.
I have always noticed her leg strength.  I just didn't know how to help her use it.  So I asked her OT if she had a platform with wheels so that Niko can try scooting on her back.  What she had was too high for Niko.  Her short little legs couldn't touch the floor.  So her OT allowed Niko to push against her hands.  This really blew my mind.  Niko shot across the room in no time (and on her first go).

 

And here she is pushing herself to bear a little bit of weight on her legs.  It's so cute.

And a bonus video of Niko laughing.

The Crying Pigeon

I started doing yoga.  I'm ashamed to say that I have not exercised in about 5 years, unless you count competitive sneezing.  I used to be a workout junkie.  Now it's nearly impossible to find the time.  So I'm starting slowly.  I take a yoga class once a week.  I know it's hardly enough but this is my meager attempt to “get my groove back”, so to speak. 

Last Friday, we ended the yoga class in a pigeon pose, which is a hip opener.  It can hurt like hell if you do it right.  As I leaned forward toward my bent knee my thoughts were pulled toward Niko by gravitational force. 

I do admit that I usually think of Niko during yoga.  But those thoughts are voluntary and usually involve visions of Niko doing the yoga poses with me, and it takes every effort of control not to burst out laughing.  I often picture Niko doing the downward dog or the warrior two pose with her usual “what the fuck” look on her face.  I picture her standing (yes, standing!) and moving through her lunges and straightening her little arms until they are completely stretched to the maximum distance from her trunk (still barely reaching the top of her head).  I picture her doing headstands and back bends, with her big head getting in the way of every posture.      

But the thoughts that flowed from the pigeon pose last Friday were involuntary.  I didn’t think of anything in particular, just her face.  I saw the look of concern that sometimes appears on her face, marked by a sideways tugging of her mouth.  I saw her glowing round cheeks, beaming red due to her natural tendency to run hot.  I saw her little square shaped hands rubbing her crusty eyes.  And suddenly a huge ball of emotions welled up in my chest.  It was so strong that I no longer felt the stinging pain in my hips.  I just felt my chest about to burst.  Then my thoughts drifted to Gabrielle and her cute new glasses.  And I started sobbing…. in class… on a slippery yoga mat.  I tried to masquerade the sobs as coughs.  We switched legs in the pose, and I appeared to be having a coughing fit.  The tears just poured from my face.  I was trying to regain control, taking deep breaths and fake coughing, but to no avail.  I was slipping on my wet mat.  I was a ridiculous situation.

Sometimes I feel silly keeping up this blog.  But then I think of Gabby’s parents.  I think about the blog to which they poured their hearts into and what a beautiful and honest chronicle of Gabrielle’s life they have now.  And I think wherever she is now… she can walk and jump and skip and hop and run and do cartwheels.  And she can read, with or without her cute pink glasses.  And she can now read that blog and understand exactly how much she is loved.

And I think about the scary future.  I think about the leaky bucket that is my long-term memory.  I do not want any memories of Niko to slip through the cracks.  And I realize that I, too, have an honest and personal chronicle of Niko.  Gabby was a game changer.  She has inspired me to look at life in a more realistic way and to appreciate the moments.  I can’t pretend that I can avoid Niko's death by not thinking about it.  It’s inevitable.  And that is why I find such everyday-moments so extremely precious.       

… like Niko exploring a new toy

 … or the way her head droops when she gets tired

 

… or rolling onto her elbows.