Brooklyn Sweet Brooklyn

Levi’s naps are converging. From two half-hour naps to one one hour and a half nap. I wanna celebrate.

Levi took a breather from art on a beanbag that turned out to be a gazing spot for some art on the ceiling.

Yesterday was a quiet, contemplative day for me, a day as usual for Levi.  One year has passed.  One year ago I was in a calm but intense state, birthing Levi in our warm candlelit bedroom.  I thought about my transformation as a mother, as a person.  I thought about the emergence of Levi: a feeble individual so fragile in the sunlight and in the moonlight, his eyes not understanding.  Today he is a feisty baby whose eyes pierce and who loves Peekaboo Morning and laughs when I sign teen numbers.  He is full of life.  I am full of love for my Levi.

Where fish?  Levi asks.  A lot.  He asks this when reading a book on animals, when fooling around on our iDevice (we have a “Fish Farm” app).  Where fish?he asks sometimes, abruptly, while playing with his blocks.  We decided on two goldfish for his birthday.  Now he says Fish downstairs.

Really.  Wow.

This is Levi’s antidote. He’s momentarily happy, forgetting about his first fever. Yo Gabba Gabba!

Someone during Thanksgiving at our house said Levi, not the turkey, was the superstar.

When I lived in Los Angeles, getting ready for a night out on the town was the most savory experience.  The idea of not knowing what to expect was a thrill quite so new.  Today this is exactly how I feel when I look at my son.  I get hit by a delicious wave of anticipation.  

“The great motherhood friendships are the ones in which two women can admit [how difficult mothering is] quietly to each other, over cups of tea at a table sticky with spilled apple juice and littered with markers without tops.”
-Anna Quindlen