Look Up!

Quick, can you tell me how many light bulbs are on the ceiling? Don’t look. no cheating!


Well, I know how many there are. That’s because I’m a baby. In my short life, I have spent most of my time looking up. Literally. I know that adults use that expression “look up” to help you focus on the positive side of things, but the truth is that I automatically look up.


For the first few weeks of my life, except for those rare episodes of tummy time, most of my days were lived on my back. So I noticed things that most people did not. While mommy cramped her neck gazing lovingly down at me all the time, or her computer, or the sink while washing dishes, or most of her daily tasks, I was looking up. Looking up at mommy and abba. Looking at the bright blue sky. Gazing at the stars. Checking out the toys strategically hung above me. Looking at the light bulbs on the ceiling. And counting them.


Apparently, its a whole new world up there, one upon which most humans do not focus. But its the only world I know. Since birth, everything has hovered above me. And what a lovely perspective it has been, so bright and captivating.


Looking up is biblical too in many ways. We are supposed to set our minds on things above. That is probably why Jesus wants us to become like children to enter the kingdom of heaven. He probably meant babies, but he just included all children because he is a nice guy, after all.


Now that I am rolling, I see that there is more to the world than sky and lights. However, mommy tells me to enjoy it while I can. Because pretty soon I’ll be like other humans - I’ll spend my life looking down. And getting a cramp in my neck.


But take it from me, a baby, try looking up. It’s worth your while.

Follow @nic_jansezian

Daniel's Busy and Adventurous Week

If it wasn't my schedule it was mommy's. Or it was Mimi's daily Skype marathon from New York, starring me. Or the internet at home just didn't work as was the case several evenings this week. Basically, I was just plain busy this week, too busy to blog. Did you miss me?


Well I'm back! And I'd like to take you on a tour of my very interesting week.


On Saturday I met some friends from England for the first time. They bought me a cute outfit they sent over when I was first born. It was the only outfit that fit me those first few early weeks.

Thanks Michael and Anthea! Nice to meet you!

Then I had "spa day" at Shalva. Here's me in the pool!

It all started well enough.

Then I started getting skeptical.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one!

On Monday, more spa-like activities. This was "play time with Ayala," one of my many fine physical therapists.

Me on a bouncing ball.

Afterwards, a culinary adventure! Mommy took me to my first hummus place, fittingly, with Aunt Majda, who was indoctrinating me on the intricacies of why Hummus Lina is the best. While abba agrees with her, mommy likes Gamal the best. But I'll be the judge when they take me there.

At first I opted for my burp rag. Yum!

Soon though, I dove in like the good Middle Easterner that I am. More yum!

Then on Tuesday, mommy had her own schedule so I met up with Grandma for a short date. Here's me arriving in the Old City on my carriage.

In between all this mommy managed to squeeze in a few runs and is now in the best phase of marathon training: tapering! This means she runs a lot less. 


During one of those short runs on Tuesday, abba took me out for a stroll and we picked up some sushi. He didn't let me taste it for some reason, but mommy gave some to Lucie - not fair! But this is apparently what happens also during marathon training - my parents eat a lot of take out.


Today, well, we went to a cafe to write this. Look, I've almost graduated to real lattes!

Photo courtesy of today's Skype-a-thon with Mimi!

Follow @nic_jansezian

Keeping Pace

Another Friday. Another long run. This time mommy ran with a group of people comprised of what she calls "real runners." You know, the serious hardcore athletes with 0 percent body fat, who look good in spandex and sport brightly colored, highly technical clothing that makes them svelte and swift. 

Surprise to me - the world looks different from my tummy

Those people. The uber runners with whom mommy cannot keep up. And today she did not even try. After last week's psychologically devastating run, she decided she needed a new strategy, nay, a new theme: March to the beat of your own drummer (to borrow and paraphrase a quote from Thoreau). Yes so instead of keeping up with the crowd, mommy listened to her "inner drummer" setting her own pace for the run, which was much slower than most of the group. But it was maintainable. Whew. Psyche restored!


But with all that time to think (you have nothing else to do when you run for three hours), mommy came up with a lesson for me: I too must march to the beat of my own drummer. I must try to find my own rhythm. Sometimes it is hard because your own inner drummer voice might be drowned out by all the noise of the world's cadences telling you what you should do and at what age you should be doing it. But tapping into your own rhythm is key - therein lies our endurance to run the race of life, the race set out for us individually. To reach out and grab objects. To roll over. To sit up. To crawl. Later to walk and then last, talk. 

Right now, rolling is my rhythm. I am rolling like a snowball down a mountain - faster and picking up dangerous speed. I am no longer to be left for one nano second on a dangerous height without supervision. I mean, just a few weeks ago I learned that my arms could defy gravity and reach up to smack something. And now my whole body is following the arms and legs into new, happy contortions.


We can change our own rhythm, we can speed it up as we strive to do more. Or we can slow it down as we listen to our circumstances craving slowness or rest. But it is my own inner drum I have to find. And then, I shall bravely sing "Little Drummer Boy" with Angela from The Office!


In the meantime, my own training has been successful, to an extent. My inner drummer tells me there is only one way to eat. However, mommy, since I've eschewed all other options, is training me to drink from a cup. Yes, a bona-fide real (plastic) cup. Not sippy, not straw, not bottle. A real deal cup. And I successfully, albeit messily, did so - I drank a rice cereal shake! Only problem is this: as good as these shakes may be, I still prefer my lattes. So I just waited patiently for lunch until mommy got back from the long run.

Follow @nic_jansezian

Going Cardio!

Note my tres cool onesy. More info on this later.

It was supposed to be very rainy and wintry here. But the actual weather is an anti-climactic partly cloudy, super windy day with sputters of rain here and there. 


And so was my appointment anti-climactic. No team of experts. No surgeons. And only one doctor, the nice one, he's French and he chirps like a bird to me. And, no new news, just "Don't call us, we'll call you"(hopefully next week, they said) regarding surgery. Yes, I still need surgery (miracles to the contrary still welcome!). But no, it is not an emergency. That whole scare of "must have surgery by 7 months" will come and go on March 15 and I will probably be closer to 8 months when surgery happens. April perhaps?

Blood pressure and O2 saturation testing. Fun!

Besides all that, it was a lovely day at the hospital, as far as days at the hospital can go. I flirted with the nurse as she took my blood pressure. I put on my curiously serious look as one of the doctors observed me in the waiting room. "Meod philosophi" he said about me (very philosophical). Yes, you should only know, doctor. (Remind me to make business cards with my blog address.)

That cute nurse was the target of my flirtations.

Note how I seduced her with my charming toes.

When I was brought into the examination room I saw the long flat bed waiting for me. Playtime! I instantly started shimmying around the bed pumping my legs and then I even rolled over dragging with me the ultrasound machine with all of its wires and buttons attached to my chest.


This, apparently, was counterproductive. Thanks to that intense workout I was breathing hard, rendering impossible an accurate reading of the ultrasound. As I rested, I suddenly noticed the TV monitor above me -- that was my heart on the screen! Fascinating. I stared and studied with rapt attention. I think I'll be a cardiologist when I grow up. I know it is early to declare a specialty, but I dare say, this is a thrilling possibility. 


In line with this new career, I placed my hands on the doctors' and assisted him in running the probe over my chest. See, I'm practically an MD already! I basically conducted my own ultrasound. I wish mommy got pictures of that lifetime milestone, but she and her camera were separated at that crucial moment unfortunately. Oh well, you'll just have to trust me.


Afterwards, I took a winner nap while abba and mommy drank some cappuccinos at a hospital cafe. Photos below.


So, no news yet, as usual. But I'll keep you posted!


My awesome onesy and other amazing art by Jean Shen can be found here: http://jbrushwork.com/html/paintings.html

The reason my mother speaks to me in English rather than relying
on the Israeli school system to do so. Note "toest" and "sandwitch"

Later mommy noticed, while "salt" is spelled correctly for salt,
what they intended to write was "salat" in Hebrew, meaning "salad" in English. Yikes!

Follow @nic_jansezian

Matters of the Heart

Abba getting his first up-close-and-personal glimpse of moi

When I was born, my arrival sent many professionals into a panic. Despite my cheery orange hair, the remaining lanugo (white fetal hair) effecting a halo around my cherubic face and a trademark broken cry that my parents were soon able to identify from across the preemie ward, the doctors decided to worry. They kept me hospitalized for a full week attached to all sorts of beeping instruments and an IV in my very tiny wrist. On the bright side, it was air conditioned and it spared my parents changing my most evil meconium diapers. When they did discharge me, the doctors sent my parents home with a list of scary possibilities which they should monitor: my eating or lack thereof, sweating profusely, turning blue when crying, not growing or gaining weight, sleeping more and longer, etc.

Mommy said I reminded her of sunshine

All of this was because of my heart. I was born with what is known as AV canal defect. Since I’m just a baby and not a doctor I won’t try to explain it as I might get some of the technical jargon wrong, but basically the walls of my heart are not complete and that can only be fixed surgically or miraculously, which would be a GREAT option. I guess AV canal problem presents differently in different people. That’s why my friend Hallel won't have her operation till between 1 and 3 years old while my cardiologist said mine should be before I turn 7 months. Well, that will be in exactly one week, and most likely I will not undergo an operation before then. 


I do, however, have a major appointment tomorrow morning with hospital VIPs. My cardiologist, other heart doctors and surgeons will be there to check me out and give us a date for surgery. It is a day of reckoning of sorts. Since the initial worry has worn off, it is easy to forget this big looming issue. The first days home were a bit harrowing as I recall. Well, not as much for me.


But being new parents, abba and mommy had ample opportunity to worry despite my best reassurances. Let’s go through the doctors’ list:

1. They doctors said I’d never be able to nurse. But after eight weeks of life, I decided to prove them wrong, getting my mouth muscles up to par and pumping my heart. Now I do nothing else for food. Oh, the tastings you saw in the videos? That is for fun, not sustenance.
2. I did sweat profusely, but the new parents realized that stemmed from the 100+ temperatures inside and out of the apartment during the hottest summer ever. And perhaps they should not have swaddled me on those sauna-like nights.
3. Turn blue while crying? Well, at first my parents didn’t let me cry. Typical new parents they materialized out of thin air at the first hint of my stirring. And I only turn as blue as any baby trying to get their point across.
4. I am steadily gaining weight like a champ even though I’m still relatively small. 
5. They told my parents that I would sleep more often and longer as I “aged.” Oh that THIS were true. Instead from months 5.5 to 6.5 I had the most wakeful time of my life, ever. Approximately three times a night in fact. Plus I’m extremely physically active. I roll over like a snowball down a mountain and I am learning to swim - massive cardio events at this age.

There was one time when the panic hit a crescendo. In mid-December I wasn’t eating well at all. Mommy noticed that I winced when I would begin eating and that I would very weakly take in some milk before giving up. She thought that for sure it was my heart failing and she was ready to cancel our trip to NY and plan for emergency surgery. But as I was trying to tell her, no, it was merely thrush, a fungus that grew on my tongue and affected my eating.


So despite all the evidence to the contrary, I am on the examination table for my heart tomorrow at the hospital. Coincidentally (or ironically??) my paternal grandfather is having a procedure tomorrow for his heart. Our issues are not related, but he is also constantly under observation so that his heart continues to function properly. We will be at different hospitals at the same time, both getting our hearts checked. Warm and comforting in a way.


I appreciate your prayers and thought for tomorrow! Remember, option 2, "miracle," is our first choice :) 


Now, here is a portfolio of one of my spiffy Ralph Lauren outfits, courtesy of Mimi (maternal grandmother) who has me all ready for Long Island's Gold Coast (as if!). Mommy constantly laughed at me and called me Little Lord Fauntleroy for some reason as I wore my double-breasted, collared, finely knit attire.

Follow @nic_jansezian

Training for Everyone

My training is in high gear right now. I've been practicing for this marathon for weeks now. I'm nowhere near where I should be and my lofty goal remains to be reached. But after much effort and many failed attempts, on March 25 I must be able to ... take a bottle. Or some alternate form of food supply besides mommy.

"They" have been warning me for awhile now that on marathon day, mommy will be gone for hours. She'll be running probably for five hours and she'll leave at least an hour before the race starts. So we're talking about six hours minimum of finding an alternative ways to sate my appetite.


It is funny how life changes, even when life has only been a half year long. From my first days at the hospital I was introduced to a bottle by the nurses there. And then I took nothing else. Mommy tried offering me her supply, but I was still dreamy and sleepy and preferred the easy-access bottle. The doctors said I probably would never nurse, considering my conditions. Especially my heart. Nursing is an aerobic sport for us babies, never mind running.


So mommy continued to pump so I could have the good stuff and occasionally try to get me to switch. Then one day, about eight weeks into my life, (did you hear the angels sing??) I just did it. I nursed, no problem.


And I never looked back.

I will accept tastings, but I still don't view those as meals or substitutes for the real deal. I enjoy the fun food that mommy and abba mash up for me. I will eat it off a spoon. I will eat it off a finger if it is offered. And I love to taste things. I ate an entire orange wedge the other day. But bottles, no way. Not even a pacifier will do. After weeks of taking just silicone nipples, I refuse.


This puts abba in a bit of a quandary when we are alone. How will he feed me? He tried on Friday during mommy's long run to give me rice cereal from a regular plastic cup. It would've worked had I not flailed my arms in excitement and knocked the cup and its contents clear across the living room. Oh well.

In the meantime, mommy had what she termed "the worst run of my life" on Friday. Boy was that depressing. And she only has less than three weeks to recover. Pray for her. For comic relief, she read this article about running in Israel and she hopes that remembering this while running the race will give her some joy to power her through.


So how will I be fed on race day? Well, that is for them to figure out, not me. After all, I'm just a baby.

Follow @nic_jansezian

Learning to Share

Sharing, I've been told, is an integral part of life and of living in a community be that family, friends, school, society and so forth. And so this week, I had a few preliminary lessons in sharing. For starters, I shared my lunch with Lucie.

Lucie and I waiting expectantly for more chicken.

American and UK baby websites generally recommend no solids until six months and then just fruits and veggies. Meat comes in at eight or nine months. So what's a new mother to do when in Israel, doctors, nurses and the stranger butting in off the street are all shocked when she hasn't yet fed her five month old hummus and chicken? I remember hearing my mother snort with derision at a nurse who recommended pureeing "whatever you eat for dinner" for the six-month-old baby. 

Mommy: "ANYthing?" 

Nurse: "Yes, anything. Hummus. Chicken. Fish."

Mommy: "Fish? I didn't like fish until I was 25!"

Gross as it sounds, she finally did puree some chicken, which I shared with Lucie. Mommy did also venture out into some Middle Eastern cuisine. She'd exposed me to Italian while in NYC, so thought it only fair to balance my other half with some tehina as you can see here: 

Then I learned to share toys and floor space when I met a new friend - or an old acquaintance. Yosia and I were born in the same hospital just two days apart. We even bunked on the same floor! I was born two days ahead of him, but he has done everything he can do to catch up ever since. In fact, now he is about three times my weight! 

Playtime!

Not too sure about this...

Play it cool and everything will be okay...

Okay, okay you win!

I also shared my nasal congestion and an eye infection with mommy this week. She insists that does not rate as "sharing." But it's the thought that counts, isn't it?

Follow @nic_jansezian